blue-serendipity

[blue-serendipity]

intro (end of the world)

Synopsis: It has been 11 years since you came to the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. As you and Satoru grew closer to your job at being co-workers, you've been planning to confess but you didn't expect to confess to Satoru while under the influence of alcohol.

Word Count: 4,807 Words

Warning: tiny angst at the end(?), shibuya incident (AGAIN), drinking alcohol. unhealthy amount of drinking boba tea after training (drink water instead of sugary drink! >:( )

Note: another eternal sunshine title! I promise it doesn't hurt that much since it kind of resembles to imperfect for you fic. Will post some bad news tomorrow :( but I hope you enjoy this!

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Knock knock

"Come in," you heard that deep voice, indicative of someone engrossed in a task before you even opened the door. Satoru's eyes, concealed behind his round glasses, met yours with curiosity as you addressed him as your co-worker.

"I brought you some sweets after my mission.” You spoke with a happy tone, you revealed the crepe box hidden behind your back.

That's the moment you wanted to capture when the tired look that Satoru had changed into his usual goofy face.

“I must be so handsome that you had to bring me some sweets,” Satoru joked as you giggled before placing the crepe on his desk.

But you are handsome…

Was something you wanted to say but then proceed not to as you don't want to strain the close friendship you both have.

It has been 11 years since you came to the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. You joined in the third year, but at first, you were confused because there was only one teacher and two students, making you wonder if it was really a school.

**

"These are your classmates," Yaga announced upon opening the door. Expecting a crowd, you were surprised to find only two students: a white-haired boy and a brunette girl.

"Satoru, Shoko, this is [Reader’s name]. They'll be your classmates this year," Yaga introduced. "It's nice to meet you," you greeted them, receiving a response only from Shoko as Satoru stared blankly.

Feeling nervous and confused about his behavior, Shoko nudged Satoru and whispered something, prompting him to sigh.

"I'm Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer," he declared, his ego evident. 

Weeks and months passed and you became close with Satoru but you always felt like Satoru was putting up a wall to prevent you from coming in.

**

“Sensei?” You flinched as you turned around to see Megumi standing at the doorway of the storage room. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Well, I’m just getting a weapon to use in training” You answered. "Shouldn't you be with Itadori right now?" you asked Megumi, curious about his whereabouts.

With an annoyed sigh, Megumi replied, "That idiot is busy feeding Gojo sensei's ego."

You couldn't help but laugh at his choice of words, finding humor in the situation.

As you rummaged through the storage room, Megumi's voice broke the silence. "Hey, um... do you think you could teach me during our training sessions?" he asked tentatively.

You paused, surprised by his request, then turned to face him. "Teach you?" you echoed, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Yeah," Megumi replied, looking somewhat uncomfortable or maybe shy?

 "I've been observing your techniques, and I think I could learn a lot from you." He added.

Before agreeing, you couldn't resist teasing Megumi for his sudden shyness. "Wow, Megumi, I never took you for the shy type, needing someone to hold your hand through training," you quipped, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Megumi's cheeks flushed slightly, but he managed a small smile. "It's not like that," he protested, though his tone betrayed his embarrassment.

You chuckled, enjoying the rare opportunity to see Megumi flustered. "Alright, alright, I'll teach you," you relented, realizing he was genuinely seeking to improve his skills.

After finally choosing the right weapon, you and Megumi headed to the training room to begin your session. Hours passed in intense practice, sweat pouring down your faces as you focused on perfecting your techniques.

Eventually, you both decided to take a break, panting heavily from exertion. Collapsing onto nearby benches, you wiped the sweat from your brow and took deep breaths, feeling the fatigue setting in.

"That was intense," you remarked between gasps, glancing over at Megumi, who nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, but it's worth it," he replied, a determined glint in his eyes.

As you prepared to resume training, Megumi's unexpected question caught you off guard. "What did you see in Gojo sensei?" he asked, his tone curious.

You blinked in confusion. "Come again?" you replied, taken aback by the sudden inquiry.

"It's obvious you have something going on with Gojo sensei," Megumi persisted, his gaze steady as he waited for your response.

You sighed, realizing that Megumi was more observant than you had thought. "Am I that obvious?" you asked, feeling a hint of embarrassment.

Megumi nodded solemnly. "Everyone knows it, but Gojo sensei was too naive or oblivious to notice it," he remarked matter-of-factly, leaving you momentarily speechless at his blunt assessment.

As you thought back on the countless gestures Satoru had made exclusively for you, you couldn't help but sigh. "I don't know," you began, your voice tinged with emotion. "One day, I just felt those feelings bloom when I looked at him. I guess you can't really explain why you love someone."

Before you knew it, Satoru and Itadori approached from behind as you finished speaking.

"Who is this 'him'?" he inquired, catching you off guard. Startled, you flinched at the sound of Satoru's voice.

"I-I..." you stammered, trying to explain that there was no one else, but Satoru didn't seem convinced. Before you could say anything further, he raised his hand, holding a boba tea, leaving you dumbfounded.

"I know you were training, so I brought you this," Satoru said, his toothy grin melting away any tension in the air. As you accepted the boba tea, you felt those familiar butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"You should have got her water, not boba tea," Megumi interjected, glaring at Satoru with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

Satoru just shrugged off Megumi's comment. "Boba tea is tastier than those tasteless waters," he retorted, seemingly unfazed by Megumi's concern.

"Water makes you hydrated, while boba tea makes you dehydrated," Megumi countered, growing annoyed at how Satoru's sweet tooth seemed to cloud his understanding of the importance of water.

Meanwhile, you stared at the boba tea in your hand, a smile spreading across your face as you took a sip, savoring the sweetness of the drink and the thoughtfulness behind Satoru's gesture.

It makes you fall even more

**

A week later, after completing another mission, you found yourself sitting in Shoko's clinic, getting your wounds treated. As Shoko tended to your injuries, your phone chimed with a notification from Satoru, asking if you had finished the mission and suggesting going for a drink afterward. Unconsciously, a smile crept onto your face, catching Shoko's attention.

"You're smiling again," she observed, her tone playful as she noticed the subtle change in your expression.

Your face flushed with embarrassment as you fumbled with your phone, attempting to shut off the notification. "Y-you didn't see anything!" You stuttered out, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Shoko sighed knowingly. "Does he know?" she asked, sensing the underlying tension.

You sighed, avoiding Shoko's gaze as you stared at the ground. "No," You admitted softly, feeling a bit sad at keeping your feelings hidden from Satoru.

"He'll never know if you won't confess," Shoko urged gently, her voice filled with empathy.

Frustrated, you let out a sigh. "So what if I confess? I'll just add to his burden of having to protect me when he's already tasked with protecting the world from the stupid curses roaming around," you replied, your frustration evident in your tone.

After finishing cleaning and healing your wound, Shoko took off her gloves and offered you some insightful advice. "You always think about the bad side. Why not consider the good side? Wouldn't it be better to go on dates with him, to have him follow you around because he missed you?" she suggested, her words laced with wisdom.

She then reached for a cigarette, lighting it up before taking a puff. As you sighed, her words lingered in your mind, prompting you to imagine what it would be like to be in a relationship with Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer.

"I-I would love that," you confessed, your face flushing at the mere thought of such a scenario.

"As much as you think of those bad sides, all I'm saying to you is that Satoru will never make you feel like you're a burden to him," Shoko reassured you, her voice firm and reassuring.

Before you could respond, Shoko shushed you and hurriedly ushered you towards the door, practically pushing you out of the clinic, leaving you dumbfounded by her abruptness.

Checking the time on your phone, you realized it was still early, so you decided to head back to your dorm and change clothes to at least look presentable for whatever the rest of the day might hold.

A few hours later, after you had changed into more presentable clothes, you mustered up the courage to message Satoru, asking where to meet. He replied promptly, instructing you to meet him at his apartment and providing directions.

Curiosity piqued, and you found yourself standing outside his apartment building, hands sweating and heart pounding with nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door and waited anxiously for Satoru to answer.

As you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing a shirtless Satoru, his white hair still damp as he dried it with a towel. Your eyes widened in surprise, and you felt your cheeks flush crimson. Quickly, you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment.

"You should have warned me that you were shirtless!" you exclaimed, your voice betraying your embarrassment.

Satoru looked unfazed by your reaction. "Oh, my phone was charging in the other room, so I forgot," he replied casually, seemingly unconcerned about your blushing state.

Satoru let you inside as you hurriedly headed to his living room and sat on the couch. You finished taking a deep breath and calmed yourself before you looked around to observe his place, after all, it was your first time here.

Satoru came to the living room wearing already a shirt and alcohol in his hand that looked like an imported one.

He placed the shot glass and alcohol on his coffee table before he sat in the other chair beside you. “That looks like a strong drink. Where did you buy it?” You asked. “In America when I was on a business trip a couple of months ago, I had been planning to drink that but I didn't like to drink it alone so I tagged you along” he explained. His hands held onto the alcohol, opening the cap before he poured it into the shot glass. 

“Lady’s first?” He teased, “Well if you insist,” you told him with a smile, taking the shot glass out of his hand as you quickly drank.

“Slow down, you’ll get drunk sooner than you expected,” Satoru said with a light-hearted chuckle. 

He was right, you suddenly felt burning in your heart but you can't shake off the thought of Satoru being shirtless earlier.

You poured alcohol into the glass and offered it to him. “It's your turn now dummy,” You told him while feeling slightly light-headed.

Satoru only grinned, taking the glass out of your hand, and drank the alcohol with no problem. 

“It seems like your apartment doesn't have that much furniture” You spoke, sparking a conversation between you two.

“Oh that, I rarely come here” Satoru simply replied.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I’m more used to sleeping at the dorms in the school.” He poured another, passing the glass to you. “You're more used to sleeping there than in this apartment that has like amazing view from the city at night?” You asked again.

“I don't like how lonely it is to be here alone, I’d rather sleep in the dorm knowing everyone I know is there.” 

Is that so…

You thought, hand quickly grabbing the glass and gulping it.

“But why did you invite me here instead of the dorm? We could have just drank there instead” You wiped your mouth as you looked at him with that curious look.

“I don't know,” Satoru teasingly said, his legs spread wide with a smirk plastered on his face.

He finds your question amusing.

Your conversation with Satoru went on as the passing of the glass containing alcohol continued until you threw your head back, hand quickly massaging your forehead.

“Feeling drunk already?” He asked, you nodded lightly. 

“I feel like I can't face what will happen in Shibuya next month” You suddenly spoke about the mission next month.

Satoru froze in his seat, concern etched into his features. "Why do you think so?" he asked carefully, his tone gentle.

"Maybe because this is more dangerous than the usual mission? To the point that all the sorcerers are alerted to be there," you explained, your voice tinged with unease.

"Are you scared?" he inquired softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yes, yes I'm scared that I might lose you there," you confessed, a hiccup escaping your lips as tears threatened to spill.

"Why do you think you might lose me?" Satoru asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his concern visible.

"I don't know," you replied softly, shaking your head. "I just feel it.”

As Satoru was about to respond to your confession, you glanced at the clock and realized with a start that it was already 1 am. Panic surged through you, and you scrambled to get up from the couch, frantically rambling about how late it was and how you needed to head back to the dorm.

However, the alcohol in your system made you unsteady on your feet, and you nearly stumbled and fell. Just in time, Satoru reached out and caught you, steadying you with a firm grip.

"Whoa there, take it easy," he said calmly, his voice cutting through your panicked ramblings. "You're in no condition to go anywhere right now."

You tried to protest, but Satoru gently scooped you up into his arms, effortlessly carrying you in a bridal carry. Despite your feeble protests, he walked upstairs to his room, his steps steady and sure.

You felt a mix of embarrassment and gratitude as he carried you, your heart pounding with each step. Reluctantly, you settled against his chest, realizing that you were in no condition to argue.

As he laid you down on his bed, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you, despite the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling inside your head.

As Satoru made to leave you alone in his room, you reached out and grabbed onto his wrist, your words slurred from the effects of the alcohol. "D-don't leave," you stuttered out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru turned back to you, his expression softening as he looked down at you. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he sat down at the edge of the bed, his gaze warm and reassuring.

"Okay," he replied softly, his voice tender. 

"I will not leave." He added.

As Satoru sat at the edge of the bed, you couldn't help but notice how his sapphire eyes shone against the darkness of his room. That's when you realize he wasn't wearing anything to protect them since earlier when he opened the door for you, not even his blindfold or sunglasses. His eyes, usually hidden behind some form of protection, were now fully exposed, radiating a mesmerizing brilliance.

"W-wouldn't your eyes hurt?" you asked softly, your words slurred from the alcohol.

Satoru hummed in confusion at your question. "Since you're not wearing your blindfold or the glasses," you clarified, gesturing to his bare eyes with a shaky hand.

Satoru chuckled softly, touched by your concern even in your intoxicated state. His hand moved to gently hold your cheek, his touch warm and comforting. 

"It's fine, it doesn't hurt that much," he reassured you, his voice gentle as he looked into your eyes with a soft smile. 

You felt a wave of relief wash over you at his words, grateful for his reassurance and the warmth of his touch. Despite the haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in his presence.

Satoru pulled his hand back gently, suggesting that it was time for you to go to sleep. However, you suddenly spoke up, your words slurred from the alcohol. "11 years ago... was when I first met you," you said, followed by a hiccup.

Satoru looked at you with curiosity, but he allowed you to continue.

"I always thought you were that arrogant, nuisance bastard who only cared to feed his ego, but I was wrong," you confessed, your words surprisingly coherent despite your intoxicated state.

Satoru's amusement flickered across his features as he listened intently.

"I was wrong because the first time I saw you alone at the training area, I saw how you never had that usual arrogant face, but instead something that shocked me," you continued, your voice growing softer as memories flooded back to you.

Satoru listened intently as you spoke, his expression softening with each word.

"What shocked you?" he asked gently, his curiosity evident.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before responding, your voice filled with sincerity. "You had those unexplainable expressions that I couldn't understand—soft? Or maybe tired," you explained, recalling the glimpses of vulnerability you had seen in him over the years. "Shoko once told me how your clan always put pressure on you because you inherited the techniques..."

You paused, then reached out to take Satoru's hand in yours, the warmth of his touch comforting. "That's when I knew I wanted to comfort you, and I want to let you know that you can always open up to me," you added earnestly. "I hate it when you just cope with them on your own.”

Satoru felt his heart skip a beat as he processed your words. 

"I know, you're drunk right now and I want you to take a sleep now, we can talk about this another time-”

"I love you," you declared, your words filled with raw emotion. "I don't care if I'm drunk or not, but I fucking love you that I can't help but smile like a fool whenever you're in my sight."

Satoru's mind raced as he struggled to find the right words to respond to your confession. He felt a surge of warmth and affection for you, but he also knew the weight of your words and the vulnerability they carried.

Taking a deep breath, Satoru reached out and gently brushed a tear from your cheek. "Thank you for being so honest with me," he replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "I need some time to process this, but I promise we'll talk about it when you're sober. For now, let's focus on getting you some rest.”

He leaned in and gently kissed your forehead, his heart heavy with emotions as he contemplated the depth of your feelings for him.

You looked up at Satoru with a pleading gaze after he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You promised?" You asked, voice filled with vulnerability, your eyes resembling those of a puppy seeking reassurance.

Satoru chuckled softly at the sight, nodding in response. "I promise," he affirmed, his heart swelling with affection for the vulnerable yet determined person before him. "Now, get some sleep."

Not long after, you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, your breaths evening out into light snores. As Satoru adjusted the blanket, his eyes darkened when he noticed the bandages wrapped around your wrist and stomach. 

It was clear that you had sought treatment for your injuries from Shoko before coming to his apartment, a realization that filled him with a mixture of concern and admiration for their resilience.

Satoru stood up from the edge of the bed and made his way to the door, pausing for a moment to glance back at you one last time. 

Instead of addressing your drunken confession directly, he decided to give you space and time to process it on your own. 

With a soft sigh, he resolved to wait for you to realize and make the move to talk with him when you were ready. With a final, lingering look, he closed the door behind him, leaving you to rest peacefully in the dimly lit room.

**

As the week passed, the memory of the drunken night with Satoru faded into a haze for you. All you could recall was waking up alone in a bed that you assumed belonged to him, feeling a pang of embarrassment for getting drunk and you felt you were unable to face him as you rushed to get out of his apartment.

Despite your worries, Satoru continued to be his usual self, his goofy and teasing nature shining through as he interacted with his students. Surprisingly, he didn't ignore you or act any differently towards you, as if the events of that night had never happened.

It left you feeling relieved yet puzzled, wondering if you had somehow managed to keep your embarrassing feelings hidden or if Satoru knew about them but simply chose to overlook them for the sake of maintaining your friendship. Either way, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his continued presence in your life.

With the big mission in Shibuya drawing near, you and Maki found yourselves at the training area, immersed in a rigorous combat battle. 

As the stakes heightened in anticipation of the mission, every moment spent sharpening your skills alongside Maki, known for her formidable combat prowess, became invaluable.

After engaging in intense sparring, you found yourself on the ground, Maki's stick pointed at your neck with a victorious smirk on her face. "I win," she declared triumphantly. Sighing in defeat, you accepted her help to rise back to your feet, grateful for the opportunity to learn from her expertise.

As you both headed to take a well-deserved break, Maki's keen eyes caught sight of a boba tea beside a sticky note with your name on it, sparking curiosity and intrigue in both of you. 

What's this?" she asked when she took the note and holding up for you to see. You took it from her and read the message, feeling a flutter of surprise and warmth in your chest as you recognized Satoru's handwriting.

"It's from Satoru," you explained, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Looks like he brought me a boba tea.”

For the past week, you had been experiencing a curious phenomenon: after every training session, you would find a mysterious boba tea waiting for you, accompanied by a note from Satoru. 

Despite Megumi or Kugisaki's admonitions about drinking sugary beverages after training instead of water, you couldn't resist the temptation of the sweet treat.

Despite their scoldings, you ignored their concerns and indulged in the boba tea with a smile plastered on your face. 

There was something comforting about the gesture from Satoru, and the sugary drink seemed to lift your spirits after the long torture of training.

Despite the passing days filled with interactions with Satoru, training sessions, and teaching the students, you couldn't shake off the lingering sense of dread as October 31st drew nearer. 

The closer it got, the more familiar feelings of fear and uneasiness crept back into your mind.

Before you knew it, October 31st had arrived, casting a shadow of uncertainty over the day ahead. 

Despite your attempts to push aside your fears, the date seemed to loom ominously, reminding you of the looming danger that awaited the Shibuya mission.

As the last of the sorcerers left the meeting room, you waited anxiously until only Satoru remained. Summoning all your courage, you stepped forward and stopped him just as he was about to leave.

"Satoru," you called out, your voice tinged with anxiety. He turned his head towards you, responding with a nonchalant hum.

"Can we talk first?" you asked tentatively, your heart pounding in your chest. Satoru glanced around briefly before nodding in agreement, taking a step back to close the door of the meeting room behind him.

Satoru took a seat at the top of the desk, his arms crossed as he watched you intently. You stood in front of him, fiddling with your fingers nervously, struggling to find the right words to say. The weight of the impending conversation hung heavy in the air, tension crackling between you as you gathered your thoughts.

"Uhmm," you began tentatively, feeling the weight of the words on the tip of your tongue. Satoru could sense where the conversation was heading, and he let out a sigh before speaking.

"Don't be scared, it's just me," he reassured you with a light-hearted chuckle, hoping to ease your nerves.

You smiled in return, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood, and continued, "I know if I said this, our friendship might go to waste but uhm..." Your voice trailed off, the gravity of the moment sinking in as you prepared to finally voice your feelings. 

As you gathered your courage to continue, Satoru's expression softened, and he spoke before you could. "I think I know what you're about to say," he said gently, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of understanding.

 Before you could respond, he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "I've been feeling the same way," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity.

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his perceptiveness. "How did you know I have feelings for you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart racing with anticipation.

Satoru flashed you a playful grin, his usual goofiness returning. "Magic," he replied with a chuckle, clearly enjoying teasing you.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his response, feeling a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. 

Pulling your hand back, you lightly slapped him on the shoulder, pretending to be irritated. Satoru let out a playful whine, exaggerating the pain as he rubbed his shoulder.

But beneath your playful exchange, your face burned red with embarrassment at the thought of Satoru possibly knowing about your feelings since the time you two drank together.

As Satoru noticed your face glowing red with embarrassment, he gently took your wrist and pulled you into a warm embrace. 

"You think it was just you having those feelings? Well, surprise surprise, I have too since 11 years ago," he admitted, his voice soft and sincere.

You were taken aback by his confession, your heart skipping a beat at the revelation. Quickly composing yourself, you placed your hands on his chest, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "11 years ago? But you weren't even talking to me when I was introduced to you and Shoko," you pointed out, puzzled by his revelation.

Satoru grinned mischievously as he spoke, "Well, maybe I was just one of those angsty teens who couldn't express their feelings?" The way he said it earned a laugh from you, and soon he joined in, the tension of the moment melting away into shared laughter.

The realization that both of you had harbored feelings for each other for so long filled the air with a sense of warmth and understanding, strengthening the bond between you. 

In that moment, any worries or uncertainties about confessing your feelings faded into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of joy and connection.

As the moment of happiness began to fade, Satoru's reminder of the impending Shibuya mission brought back a wave of fear and uncertainty. "We need to go," he said, his voice tinged with a solemn tone.

Unable to contain your fears any longer, you confessed, "I don't know why, but I really feel like I'm going to lose you." The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of your anxiety palpable.

Satoru sighed, his hands cupping your cheeks gently as he looked into your eyes with unwavering determination. "You won't," he assured you, his voice filled with conviction. 

"Before you know it, I'll come back with that victory grin and, of course, with kisses. I promise." With that, he planted a tender kiss on your forehead, his gesture offering comfort and reassurance in the face of uncertainty.

You smiled a little but still felt scared inside. Satoru got up and went to the door. You followed him, but that was a mistake.

Before you knew it, things escalated real quick…

**

“Nanamin, are you there!!” You turned around after patrolling the place, your eyes lightened up when hearing Itadori’s voice, and were about to head to where he was when the next thing he said made you stop.

“Gojo-sensei… was sealed!” Your eyes widened and you felt like the world stopped. Your hands went numb making you drop your weapon.

fuck no…

You turned around and quickly ran to find Satoru.

Fuck promises.

[blue-serendipity]

Jujutsu Kaisen Post Card (HQ)

[blue-serendipity]

★- 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

☆-request: I was thinking the reader is in a relationship with gojo and is having the worst time with cramps and just needs a lot of hugs, kisses, and snacks. ★tagging: @no-b10g-here @anxious-chick @aleluvsuu @funky-writes @oneofthesevensins @ladywinterfell13 @kazhyloveslaw @dazaisms @cyb3r-c44t @princessluvz @notherenortherejustaway @okaydokeyyo @iheartamora @haloswrld @churipu @lysaray @olivianyx @desihopelessromantic @kiri1330 @scryarchives

☆-a/n: heya there anon!! i hope this is up to your standards and that you enjoy it!!! i had to do it on a different layout because tumblr is spazzing out on your ask :(

Maybe you should have another chocolate.

But, then again, you have to stand up to get the chocolates.

Laziness and the world were against you today, and god were the cramps tearing away at your body.

Slithering underneath the blanket, you grimace and attempt to fight the growing pains racking your tired body.

"Y/N?"

Staring down at your blanket-encased body, Gojo had to fight the growing smirk appearing on his face because you looked so adorable just lying there, curled up in a small ball with blankets hiding your frame.

He knew that he probably shouldn't laugh, mainly considering that he would most definitely be bitch slapped across the face, and he knew that you were also in pain.

"Come on, look at me."

"shut up and leave me alone."

Wincing at the sharp retort that left your sweet lips, he looked around and snatched the half-empty bag of candies, already un-wrapping one, before rolling you so that you were sitting, but at the same time laying down.

"say ah!"

"wha-"

And with a smug shit-eating grin, he shoved the chocolate into your mouth and pressed a quick kiss against your nose as he unwrapped another chocolate.

"what are you doing 'toru?"

As soon as you swallowed the candy, and with a happy hum, he put the candy on your bottom lip, patiently waiting for you to accept his offering.

And with a reluctant sigh, you opened your mouth, grudgingly letting Gojo feed you chocolates and other sweets, getting rewarded with scattered kisses gently pressed on random parts of your face.

"Come here."

He whispered, already pulling you into his arms and grinning as you squirmed around, before stilling as you got comfortable.

He didn't like to see you in pain, even if it was just a little.

Attempting to grab the remote, and muttering a curse as it almost slipped out of his grip and fell to the floor, he successfully turned the TV on, switching over to your favourite [movie/series].

Occasionally pressing quick kisses all over your face, he massaged your shoulders with a satisfied hum, happily obliging to your asks of chocolates and chips.

Cuddles, chocolates and Gojo.

What else could you possibly need?

[blue-serendipity]

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 Seventy-Three

The war council room in Harrenhall exuded an atmosphere of gravity and urgency, illuminated by streaks of daylight filtering through the narrow windows carved into the ancient stone walls. At the center of the dimly lit chamber stood a large wooden table, its surface cluttered with meticulously drawn maps depicting the shifting tides of battle between the Blacks and the Greens. Figures representing the forces of each faction were arranged strategically across the maps, their positions and movements subject to intense scrutiny and debate.

Around the table, half a dozen men of varying ranks and stations gathered, their faces etched with determination and resolve. Some were adorned in the regal garb befitting their noble status, while others wore the practical attire of seasoned warriors, their armor bearing the insignias of their respective Houses. Among them were representatives from influential families such as Peake, Vance, Butterwell, and Tarbeck, each bringing their own perspectives and strategies to the discussion.

As the murmurs of conversation filled the room, the councilors delved deep into the intricacies of military tactics and diplomatic maneuvers, their voices rising and falling in heated debates and calculated deliberations. All sound stopped when Maera entered the room, the men rising from their seats, heads bowed as a sign of respect of her station as Princess.

Her graceful stride carried her confidently into the chamber, her gaze fixed upon the figure standing at the head of the table—her husband. Even Maera, with her resolve and determination, couldn't help but feel a stirring of excitement at the sight of Aemond commanding the room with his authoritative presence. His tall, imposing figure exuded an aura of power and strength that demanded attention and respect from all those in his midst.

Turning her attention to Aemond’s left, Maera’s eyes alighted upon Alys, standing by his side with a finger tracing a path on the map spread out before them. A fleeting pang of resentment flickered within Maera as she beheld the woman who had inserted herself into their lives, her features composed but her presence a constant reminder of the complexities of their situation.

Undeterred, Maera continued her movements across the room. Her attire, a masterful blend of regal elegance and practicality, featured layers of supple leather adorned with intricate golden dragon motifs. The loose black cotton skirts accommodated her growing belly with grace, cinched at the waist by a gleaming golden belt that accentuated her noble bearing. Compared to Alys’s simple attire, Maera’s ensemble exuded an undeniable majesty, a visual embodiment of her status as a princess of House Targaryen.

With a forced smile, Maera addressed the room, her tone polite but tinged with an underlying edge. "I was not aware there was a meeting scheduled for this morning," she remarked, her eyes meeting Aemond's briefly before turning to address the others.

Aemond replied smoothly, his expression betraying nothing of the tension between them from the day before. "I did not wish to disturb your rest," he said, his tone casual.

As Maera reached Aemond’s side, she maintained her regal composure, the graceful tilt of her head belying the underlying assertion of her presence. The other counsellors may have interpreted her interactions as nothing more than the love a wife held for her husband, yet that was far from the truth. It was a silent challenge, a reminder of their discord from the previous night. “Always so considerate of my well-being, husband,” she chirped, a gentle smile on his face.

With practiced poise, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, a seemingly tender gesture that carried a subtle undertone of ownership, a silent reminder of her place by his side. "But alas," she continued, "the war does not sleep when I do." Her comment elicited chuckles from the other lords as they took their seats around the table. Maera's gaze flickered past Aemond to Alys, who stood beside him.

The witch shifted uncomfortably, her hand instinctively moving to cradle her swollen belly, a protective gesture that seemed almost instinctual. After a moment of reluctance, Alys curtsied to Maera, a gesture that did little to mask the tension between them.

“I am sure your counsel has been valuable thus far, Alys,” Maera remarked with a forced politeness. “But if you could take a seat beside one of the other attendees, we can commence the discussion.”

Alys’s face contorted into a fleeting scowl before quickly smoothing into a mask of forced civility as she gently protested, “I was just in the midst of exploring army movements in the Westerlands, Princess.” There was a subtle defiance in her gaze as she faced Maera head on, causing Aemond to clear his throat against the backdrop of awkward silence.

Though her outward demeanor remained composed, there was a steely determination in Maera’s eyes, a silent promise of the consequences that would befall any who dared to challenge her authority. Beneath the surface calm, a simmering resolve burned, fueling her determination to assert her dominance and put Alys firmly in her place. "I am eager to hear of these developments as well," she replied evenly, "but I'm sure you can do so from the other end of the table.” Alys held Maera’s gaze for a moment and did not move, but the princess didn’t waver. Maera asserted herself once more, “It seems more fitting that the Princess should be situated beside the Prince, as opposed to a… seer.”

A tense silence hung in the air as Alys held Maera's gaze for a moment before relenting with a respectful nod. She made her way to the other end of the table and took her seat, her expression unreadable. Maera settled herself on the right side of her husband, her presence a silent declaration of her authority and position. “Now then, could someone explain to me what has been discussed so far?”

Ser Adrian rose respectfully, nodding at Maera before addressing her. “Princess, the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, or Targaryen as he is now styling himself, has returned to Dragonstone after securing an alliance with the North.” He gestured to a black dragon figure now situated on the island on the map. Maera acknowledged his report with a nod, prompting him to continue. “The North has contributed eighteen thousand men to support Rhaenyra’s cause, along with an additional two thousand known as the Winter Wolves.”

Another Lord, bearing the sigil of House Peake, spoke up. “This indicates an imminent invasion of King’s Landing from the North. Something that can be prevented so long as we hold Harrenhall.” Maera nodded in agreement, offering the lord a small smile in appreciation for his contribution. Despite feeling her husband's intense gaze on her, she remained focused on the discussion.

Ser Adrian moved across the table, positioning himself between two other lords as he shifted a Hightower beacon figure across the map. “Lord Ormund Hightower commands an army of nine thousand strong, preventing any invasion from the Black allies of the Reach,” he explained. As Maera scanned the map, Ser Adrian continued speaking. “However, even with our supporters in the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands, in terms of preventing an invasion…”

“It won’t be enough,” Maera interjected, finishing his sentence with a grim determination.

Ser Adrian gestured towards the Westerlands. “Before you entered, the Lady Alys suggested—oh no, wait, forgive me, not Lady. I—uhm,” he stumbled over his words, causing Maera to sigh with a small smile, the subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betraying her amusement.

However, as she pondered the implications of Alys being referred to as “Lady,” a deeper thought crossed her mind, prompting a fleeting furrow of her brow. The realization that Alys wielded significant influence in Harrenhall and held sway over Aemond, coupled with her pregnancy, suggested that perhaps she was indeed regarded as a Lady by some members of the council. Despite this realization, Maera masked her contemplation with a chuckle, and a raise her hand as a signal for the knight to stop.

“No offense caused, good brother. Given everything that has occurred, I can understand how these things can get confusing,” Maera laughed, offering a reassuring nod to Ser Adrian. She glanced briefly at her husband, noting the tension in his jaw at Maera’s jibe directed at him, before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “I’m sure Alys is honored to be mistaken for a Lady. Now, Alys, what were you saying before I entered the room?”

Alys’s reaction to Maera’s laughter was swift, a fleeting tense of her features before she composed herself. Without missing a beat, she rose from her seat and approached the map, pointing to the Westerlands.

“As a good number of the King’s Army is currently indisposed through executing the traitors of the Crownlands, we need greater support from the West,” Alys began, her voice carrying a hint of urgency, her hand lingering on her swollen belly in a gesture that seemed almost pointed, as if to emphasize her status and authority. She picked up a green figure shaped like a lion and placed it in the Riverlands on the map. “The Lannister army can support us here at Harrenhall and defend King’s Landing from an attack from the Northerners.”

Maera studied the map with a furrowed brow, her gaze tracing the movements of the figurines representing the Blacks and Greens across the Riverlands. The disparity in numbers, with Harrenhall seemingly surrounded by enemies, did not escape her notice, prompting a deepening of the crease between her brows as she pondered their strategy. “We have more enemies than allies in the Riverlands. And those closest to the Westerlands in the Reach are Blacks. Are we so sure these armies will not be ambushed?”

“That is what I said, Princess!” exclaimed the Peake Lord from earlier, echoing Maera’s concerns. With his support, Maera’s expression softened slightly with a glimmer of hope. She recognized the significance of finding support in the midst of adversity, and the possibility of forging alliances provided a ray of optimism amidst the gloom of her precarious situation.

Alys interjected confidently, “There will be no attack from the Rivermen or traitors in the Reach. I have seen the lion swim through the river and make it onto dry land unharmed.”

Maera huffed in frustration at Alys’s supposed prophecy, her annoyance evident in the way she rubbed her temples and sighed heavily. Despite the logic behind their strategic analysis, Alys’s insistence on invoking prophecy introduced an element of uncertainty and doubt, complicating their plans and undermining Maera’s efforts to navigate the complexities of their situation with pragmatism and reason.

“What are your thoughts, my Prince?” inquired a knight with the sigil of House Butterwell adorned on his chest plate, addressing Aemond.

The Prince’s one-eyed gaze swept across the room, absorbing the opinions of the council with a thoughtful expression. With a quiet hum, he rose from his seat and strode purposefully across the room, his movements deliberate and confident. His tall and lean form exuded an aura of authority, clad in black leather garments that accentuated his imposing presence.

As Aemond stood before the map, his eye lingered intently on the marked regions, his mind calculating the strategic implications of their next move. With decisive gestures, he shifted a black dragon figure from Harrenhall to the border of the Riverlands and the North, signaling a shift in their tactical positioning. “If I patrol here daily, where an attack is most likely, we will be able to identify it sooner,” he concluded, his voice firm and decisive, earning nods of agreement from the attending lords.

Maera's eyes followed her husband's movements, her expression thoughtful as she studied the map. Despite the complexities of their situation, she couldn't help but admire Aemond's adeptness at command and his astute grasp of battle tactics. Rising from her seat, she stepped beside him, her form brushing against his as she pointed toward the Westerlands, offering her own insights and suggestions in unity with her husband's strategic vision.

“Half the Rivermen are sworn to Rhaenyra. What is stopping them from invading Harrenhall or preventing the Westerlands forces from reaching us?”As Maera spoke, Aemond’s gaze drifted down to her, a twinkle of admiration shimmering in his violet eye, his stare carrying a depth that momentarily left her breathless. A subtle blush tinted her cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, buoyed by the pride of earning her husband’s respect.

Their shared moment was abruptly interrupted by the grating voice of Alys, clearly disgruntled. “That will not happen, as I have already said.”

Maera chose to ignore the interruption and with deliberate movements, she maneuvered black figurines across the map, mapping out their strategic maneuvers. She then fixed her gaze back to her husband, her tone firm. “You patrol the North. Daeron patrols the South, stopping traitors in the Reach from invading Kings Landing. Yet here,” she gestured to the West, “we are vulnerable.”

Aemond nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing in contemplation, echoed by murmurs of agreement from the other lords. Before he could respond, Alys interjected again, confidently, “I have seen that the Westerlands are safe from attack.”

“And I have seen with my two eyes that I command a dragon almost as large as Vhagar. It would be foolish not to use him,” Maera retorted, her voice laced with disdain as she turned her attention back to her husband. “I suggest I patrol this border, as a cautionary measure.”

Aemond met her gaze, his expression thoughtful as he considered her proposal. “Are you sure?” Aemond asked Maera, concern evident in his tone as he glanced at his wife. Maera replied with a determined nod, her eyes reflecting her resolve, before Aemond turned his attention to the room. “Are we all in agreement?” With nods and murmurs filling the room, indicating their consensus, the decision was made.

A rush of validation surged through her, her insights held weight in his decision-making process. In that moment, she felt empowered and respected, her contributions valued by the one person whose opinion mattered most to her. It bolstered her confidence and reaffirmed her belief in their partnership, igniting a sense of purpose within her.

However, Alys who was clearly unhappy with this stood from her seat as if to protest, her defiance radiated from her posture. Her cat-like green eyes bore into Maera, filled with resentment and challenge, while strands of her dark brown hair fell forward as she stood.

Maera, taken aback by Alys’s insolence, quickly intervened with words that appeared polite on the surface but carried an undercurrent of authority and command. “You look tired, Alys. Perhaps you should rest,” Maera said with a sly grin. “I have spoken with Maester Cain; he is awaiting you in his chambers for an examination.”

Alys clenched her jaw, her gaze briefly shifting to Aemond, hoping for support. However, Aemond’s reaction was not what she had hoped for. Instead of backing her up, he responded with a distasteful expression, merely raising an eyebrow in a reproachful manner, signaling his disapproval of her outburst to his wife. The witch huffed in frustration, her agitation palpable in the air, she reluctantly offered a small curtsy to the Prince and Princess, her movements stiff with indignation. The swish of her simple green dress as she turned to storm out of the room echoed her inner turmoil.

Maera's reaction was one of restrained triumph, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her features as she watched Alys depart. She knew that while this victory may have tilted the scales in her favor for the moment, the conflict between them was far from resolved.

“Have we received an update from Cole?” The Prince addressed the room once more as he returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table, his long, straight silver hair cascaded down his back, framing his sharp features. His posture exuded confidence and authority as he resumed his position, his violet eye scanning the room with a keen gaze.

Maera followed him, her eyes briefly capturing the elegance of his movements as he pulled out the chair for her. She couldn’t help but appreciate his gesture of care, a small warmth blossoming within her. As she sat down, Aemond pushed in her chair before taking his own seat, his presence beside her reassuring in the midst of the council’s deliberations.

“Yes, Prince Aemond,” an elderly Lord from House Vance began, unfurling a scroll for reference. “The Lord Commander has executed Lord Darklyn. Unfortunately, there has been quite an uproar in Duskendale.”

Maera furrowed her brow before strange sensation fluttered in her lower stomach, like a gentle fluttering of wings. Instinctively, she placed her hand over her abdomen, attributing the sensation to nerves regarding the topic of discussion. She listened intently as the Lord continued. “His guards and the common folk have protested, causing our forces to attempt to restore order.”

“Why do they not simply leave?” Maera inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern. She did not want to appear ignorant, but surely if the execution was done then the host of soldiers could return to the task at hand? Thankfully, Maera’s brother-in-law was able to explain the reasoning behind it.

“It is a port, Princess,” Ser Adrian replied, offering clarification. “It may affect trade if balance is not restored.”

The Peake Lord elaborated, “And given the state of the Gullet at present, we need every port we can get to maintain trade.”

Of course, Maera thought. It was still difficult to get food, livestock, and weapons into the Crownlands due to the Velaryon fleet blocking access. Maera’s inherited fleet from Morne was providing security for trade ships but the loss in products meant the arrangement could not last forever. By turning Duskendale green, it would allow trade to arrive easily into Kings Landing.

“Has any headway been made with Essos? Perhaps they could assist with moving the Velaryon naval forces?” inquired the Butterwell knight.

“No, the Essossi are even more stubborn than the Dornish. They only protect their own, and since we have no relationships with the magisters, the chances are slim,” replied the old Lord Vance.

Essos had previously ignored pleas for aid made by the previous Hand of the King, Lord Otto, citing they did not wish to involve themselves in a war that did not concern them. However with the East trading so much with the West, the events that of the Dance of the Dragons was bound to affect them sooner or later.

A thought occurred in the Princess’s mind; she received updates every few months from a link who had travelled across the continent of Essos, one who had said they would offer support however they could, if she asked for it.

Maera interjected swiftly, “My brother Dermot is currently staying with a magister in Myr.” Her words commanded the room's attention, including that of her husband. “I could ask my brother to implore the magister on behalf of our cause.”

Ser Adrian was the first to respond, “That just might work, Princess.” The other Lords nodded in agreement, including Aemond, who displayed a faint smile.

A few hours had passed with the discussion of battle strategies within the council, yet even though Maera attempted to immerse herself, she found herself in awe of her husband’s ability to command the room. Her irritation from the night before seemed distant, and she couldn't help but be impressed. He listened to his advisors but was also able to assert himself using logic and the unique knowledge of riding on dragonback whilst jotting down notes of points that had been mentioned.

Aemond wanted to win this war, that was plain to see. She was unsure of his reasons, but supposed they could be many; an attempt to prove himself to his family as the more adept Prince, through duty of upholding is brother’s rightful claim to the throne, or to make the world a safer place for his House and its descendants. The Prince also divulged plans to the Lords for the royal children to be sent to ward in distant lands. One of the Lords even disclosed that Rhaenyra had similar intentions for her youngest children.

The old Lord Vance rolled his eyes. “I do not see why we don’t just kill her little bastards already. We should not risk bastard blood on the Iron Throne.” Maera's reaction was unexpected as she slammed her fists onto the table and rose from her seat in anger, surprising both herself and the other attendees, her green eyes flashing with intensity. As she stood, she felt that odd sensation in her lower stomach once more.

Closing her eyes briefly, Maera couldn't shake the haunting image of young Jaehaerys's blood staining the stone floor, his headless body cradled in Helaena's arms. A tear welled in her eye, a silent testament to the grief and horror that still gripped her heart.

Suddenly, Maera's eyes snapped open, her senses sharpening as she realized where she was. She couldn't afford to show emotion, especially not to these Lords who viewed such displays as weakness. Her actions needed to be driven by logic and principle, not by the haunting memories of a lost child or the fear for her own unborn child's safety. “The Blacks murdered the King's first-born son. If we do the same, how does that make us any better? What would the Realm think?”

Maera felt a reassuring hand on her lower back, a gentle pressure that grounded her as tension radiated through the room. Glancing up, she met her husband’s concerned gaze, finding solace in the silent understanding that passed between them. With a subtle nod, she relaxed her furrowed brow, silently acknowledging that her outburst was fueled by deep-seated emotions.

“Let us be done for today,” Aemond declared, swiftly ending the meeting. The other lords and knights rose from their seats and filed out of the room, leaving only the prince and princess in the heavy silence that followed. With a shared glance, Aemond and Maera wordlessly acknowledged the weight of the meeting and the unspoken understanding between them.

However, Maera was not quite ready to face her husband after the tumultuous events of the day before and the emotions it stirred within her. Without a word, she turned abruptly and made her way out of the chamber despite Aemond calling after her, retreating to the solitude of her chambers to gather her thoughts in private.

That evening in their shared chambers, the atmosphere was markedly different from their quarters in the Red Keep. The room was spacious but dimly lit, with heavy drapes covering the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden furnishings. The air held a chill, seeping in from the ancient stone walls of the fortress.

Upon the table between them lay a modest spread of food, far less extravagant than what they were accustomed to in King's Landing. There were simple dishes of roasted meats, bread, and vegetables, accompanied by a jug of wine and a few goblets. The fare lacked the refinement of royal feasts, reflecting the more austere conditions of their current surroundings.

As Maera and Aemond sat opposite each other, the atmosphere was palpably tense. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, casting a heavy weight over the room. Despite the flickering candlelight and the warmth of the hearth, an undeniable chill lingered in the air, a reflection of the strained relationship between husband and wife.

Throughout the day, Aemond and Maera had been occupied with their respective duties and interests, scarcely crossing paths since the morning council meeting. Aemond had attended to his princely responsibilities, while Maera had wandered the grounds of Harrenhall before immersing herself in the depths of the castle's library.

As they finally reunited at the dinner table, the couple sat in a subdued silence, each absorbed in their own activities. Their plates were filled with food, though neither seemed particularly focused on eating. Aemond diligently worked on his ledger, his attention devoted to the meticulous task at hand. Meanwhile, Maera delved into the pages of a book chronicling the history of Aegon's Conquest, the familiar tale offering her a convenient refuge from conversation with her husband.

Engrossed in her reading, Maera was startled when she heard the distinct sound of Aemond setting down his fork. Raising her gaze from the pages, she found herself meeting the Prince's eye, a subtle tension lingering between them as unspoken thoughts hung heavy in the air.

“I must commend you, wife,” he began, his voice carefully measured. “Your contributions to the council meeting were impressive.”

Maera scoffed softly, her gaze never leaving the pages of her book as she turned them with deliberate precision. “At least my ideas are grounded in logic, unlike some who prefer to chase after fantastical prophecies,” she retorted, her tone laced with subtle disdain.

Aemond paused, his jaw tightening imperceptibly as he tore his gaze away, a fleeting shadow crossing his features at the mention of Alys. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “I will speak with her regarding her conduct,” he stated, his eye meeting Maera’s briefly before darting away.

Maera absorbed his words in silence, a myriad of emotions swirling within her despite the veneer of composure she maintained. Despite the betrayal that still lingered between them, she couldn’t deny a glimmer of gratitude towards Aemond for attempting to mend the rift, as well as his support for her ideas in the meeting. With a nod of acknowledgment, she murmured a quiet "Thank you," before returning her focus to her book, her appetite waning as she picked at her food.

An odd sensation stirred in Maera's lower stomach once more, drawing a frown to her features as she contemplated its source. A memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes, her mother's gentle voice and the sensation of laying her head on her stomach. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place, and Maera placed a hand on her abdomen, feeling the subtle movements beneath her skin.

Aemond's brows furrowed in concern as he noticed Maera's expression, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Is everything alright?" he inquired, his voice tinged with worry.

Maera's lips curved into a faint smile as she glanced up at him, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. "The baby's kicking," she replied softly, a mixture of awe and wonder dancing in her eyes.

Aemond rose from his seat with a sense of urgency, his ledger forgotten as he closed the distance between himself and Maera. His steps were swift yet deliberate, each movement betraying his eagerness to be by her side. "When did it start?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and excitement as he approached her.

Maera's laughter bubbled forth like a melody as she glanced up at him, her eyes alight with mirth. "Just this morning," she replied, her tone filled with amusement. "It's not quite what I expected it to feel like."

Kneeling beside her, Aemond's gaze drifted down to her delicate bump, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air before pulling back, unsure if Maera would welcome his touch. A soft sigh escaped Maera's lips, her resolve softening despite the lingering anger between them. She reached out, gently guiding his hand to her lower stomach, her own hand covering his as she pressed it against the curve of her bump.

In that moment, as the tiny babe stirred beneath her touch, Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he marveled at the movement. "How big is the babe now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eye never leaving the swell of Maera's abdomen.

"About the size of a potato, if I recall correctly," Maera replied, her voice soft and tender as she met Aemond's gaze with a fond smile.

Aemond’s brows furrowed slightly as he contemplated her words, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Maera’s laughter echoed softly in the intimate space between them as she shook her head, her hand tightening gently around his. “No, it’s actually quite nice,” she admitted, a hint of fondness coloring her tone. “Knowing that our little one is here.”

As the silence enveloped them like a warm embrace, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows across the room, Aemond's gaze lifted to meet Maera's, his hand still resting against her stomach. "Do you think all will be well? In our marriage?" he asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Maera's expression softened as she considered his question, her gaze searching his for a moment before she replied, her tone gentle yet uncertain. "Time will tell," she said softly, her fingers intertwining with his as they shared a fleeting moment of connection amidst the uncertainty of their future.

Notes: Bitchy plus fluffy equals this chapter 🤣 also next chapter I’m thinking of posting an Aemond POV just to break it up. I’ve got about 6 so far and I just know these are going to increase. So imma just litter them about and stick them in another section on the contents page

Tags: @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Seventy-Two

Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom.

Helaena had tried to warn her, time and time again. The egg that had been laid in the maelstrom had belonged to Maera. And the egg in the Rivers, Alys Rivers, was now staring Maera in the fucking face. A large shadow temporarily blocked light coming in from the small window, the witch’s form illuminated by the light of the hearth. Maera’s eyes widened as she watched the unborn child stir beneath the fabric of Alys’s dress, a silent dance of life within her womb. Alys’s hand instinctively moved to rest atop her swollen belly, a tender gesture that spoke of the deep connection between mother and child.

As Alys looked up, her cat-like green eyes with golden flecks met Maera’s gaze, holding it with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. The witch smiled, answering the question that had not dared been asked. “I have the dragon's bastard in me. I can feel his fires licking at my womb.”

Maera took a shaky breath, her own hand instinctively coming to rest on her smaller stomach beneath her damp riding leathers. The contrast between Alys’s swelling belly and her own barely perceptible bump only served to heighten the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

Anger boiled within Maera, mixing with a potent concoction of hurt, betrayal, and a deep sense of injustice. She felt a surge of violent rage coursing through her veins, the urge to lash out and seek vengeance consuming her thoughts.

"You look upset," the witch remarked casually, her tone almost taunting. "You needn't be."

Maera's jaw clenched at the sight of the woman before her, her frustration palpable. "You stand there, pregnant with my husband's child, and wonder why I am upset?" she retorted, her voice tinged with incredulity.

Alys sighed softly, a dismissive shake of her head accompanying her words. "It is the Gods' will, Princess. I have seen it."

The mention of divine will only fueled Maera's irritation further. She took a step closer to Alys, her posture tense with anger. "And I wonder," she began, her voice laced with sarcasm, "was the death of my aunt Viserra and her family also part of this divine plan?"

Alys lowered her gaze to her stomach as she absentmindedly caressed the curve of her abdomen. "It was necessary," she stated coldly, her tone devoid of remorse.

"Necessary?!" Maera's incredulous laughter filled the room, a mixture of shock and disbelief evident in her expression. She raised her eyes heavenward, as if seeking answers from the gods themselves.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maera stepped forward once more until she was practically nose-to-nose with Alys. Their physical similarities were uncanny, but Maera refused to let that distract her. "My husband is a great man," she began, her voice firm and unwavering, "but he has been an idiot."

Maera's gaze bore into Alys's, her stance unwavering as she continued to speak. "You may be able to fool him with pretty words of prophecy, to manipulate him into laying with you and filling your womb," she continued, her voice dripping with disdain, "but I am not so easily swayed."

The witch simply hummed to herself, completely unperturbed by Maera's threatening demeanour. She turned her gaze towards the fire dancing in the hearth below the steel pot, the flickering light casting shadows across her features. The flames swirled and leaped, painting intricate patterns of orange, yellow, and red against the dark backdrop of the hearth. Occasionally, embers would crackle and spark, sending small bursts of light shooting upward before disappearing into the darkness.

“Fire illuminates the truth to those whose eyes are open. No flame is more powerful, nor burns as bright, than that of a dragons,” Alys declared, her voice was calm and measured, betraying no hint of the tension that lingered between them.

Maera furrowed her brow, puzzled by Alys’s strange fascination with the flames. Before she could question her further, Alys turned to look at Maera once again, her eyes reflecting the firelight.

“A great dynasty will be born from the blood of Aemond Targaryen,” the witch proclaimed with confidence, as if it were a proven fact. She rested one hand on her own swollen belly, a serene expression on her face as she seemed lost in thought. “My son…” without warning, Alys reached out to touch Maera's bump with her other hand. Maera's instincts kicked in, and she reacted without hesitation, grabbing Alys's wrist in a firm grip before she could make contact.

The sudden movement caused Alys to glance up, her cat-like green eyes meeting Maera’s with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as she continued, “…and your daughter will return the House of the Dragon to its proper glory. From their union will come the Prince that was promised.”

With a steely gaze, Maera continued to hold Alys's wrist in place, her jaw clenched in determination as she silently dared her to make another move. The action was instinctual, a protective gesture driven by a primal urge to shield her unborn child from any potential harm.

“You are mad,” Maera replied through gritted teeth, her fingers digging into Alys’s wrist, her nails forming crescent moons into the skin.

Alys simply smiled. “It is fate, Maera. Foretold by the Gods.”

Those familiar words. First uttered by the apparition of Lady Gael in her nightmares, the last words she would speak before the dream would tear away the memory from Maera. Helaena had also spoken the words in relation to the broken images that danced within her mind. And now Aemond’s whore had spoken them to her. Maera thought there would be at least be a glimmer of amazement in the stark number of incidents in which these words were spoken. But there was not. There was only bitterness, and unbridled fury.

The wooden door swung open with a resounding bang against the stone walls, causing both Maera and Alys to jump in surprise. Alys's gaze snapped to the door, her small grin betraying a hint of mischief as she managed to slip her hand from Maera's grasp. With practiced grace, she curtsied, head lowered demurely, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

Maera whipped around to face the door, her eyes widening as she saw Aemond standing in the doorway. His long silver hair was tousled, no longer perfectly straight as it had been when he left Kings Landing on his dragon. Aemond's violet eye met Maera's gaze, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face.

He furrowed his brow in a mixture of surprise and concern at finding his wife here, away from Kings Landing. A scoff escaped his lips, accompanied by a deep frown, as he realized she had defied his orders to remain in the capital. He opened his mouth, seemingly to chastise his wife, before his gaze fell onto the witch.

“My Prince,” Alys greeted him, before rising slowly from the curtsy, the movement strained due to her condition

Aemond’s gaze shifted from Maera to Alys, and in an instant, his reaction so pronounced that it seemed to freeze the air around them. His normally composed demeanor shattered in an instant, replaced by a visage of shock and astonishment. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his violet eye widening to the point where it appeared almost unnaturally large against the backdrop of his face.

Maera’s eyes bore into him, capturing every nuance of his expression as he stood there, frozen in the doorway, his single eye locked on Alys’s pregnant form. She noted the disbelief etched into his furrowed brow and the subtle trembling of his lips. Green eyes flicked back and forth between Aemond and Alys, studying their reactions with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Maera noted the absence of fear or concern in Aemond’s eye, no hint of guilt or remorse. It was a raw, unfiltered astonishment that gripped him, leaving him momentarily speechless.

The realization slowly dawned on Maera: Aemond was completely unaware of Alys’s pregnancy. The implications of this revelation swirled in her mind, adding another layer of complexity to the already tangled web of emotions she felt towards her husband and his whore. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maera was the first to break the silence, an ominously light-hearted tone to her voice. “Well, this is certainly a surprise, is it not?”

She turned her head to glance at Aemond, who remained rooted to his spot, unblinking eye still fixated on the witch’s rounded abdomen. A bitter laugh escaped Maera’s lips. She had never witnessed him so thoroughly taken aback, not even in their childhood. Despite the tumult of emotions roiling within her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Aemond so utterly vulnerable, his handsome face now white as a sheet.

“I am sure you have much to catch up on. I shall leave you while I go and settle in my rooms,” Maera declared before taking a step away from Alys and began walking towards her husband. But the she stopped suddenly in her tracks, turning to face Alys once again, as if she had forgotten something. “When is the child due to be born?”

Alys met Maera’s gaze steadily, her expression relaxed. “Two moons, Princess,” she replied evenly, her voice carrying an air of quiet confidence.

Nodding thoughtfully, Maera absorbed the revelation, her mind already processing the implications. She mentally traced back the timeline, realizing that the child would have been conceived around the time of the Harvest Moon Ball.

"Oh, Lady Maera, I can attend to my duties. Very. Thoroughly,” Aemonds previous words echoed in her mind.

Fucker.

The prince had remained in Kings Landing since that day, and whilst that meant that there may not have been adultery in the technical sense, the revelation still stung, igniting a fierce anger within her.

“Has the Maester attended to you?” The Princess asked, seeming concerned for the well-being of both Alys and the unborn child, evident in her voice.

Alys appeared momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question, her brow furrowing in slight confusion. “No, he has not,” she admitted, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

Determined to maintain control of the situation, Maera walked back towards Alys with measured steps. She knew that showing any sign of weakness would only give the witch an advantage. With every graceful movement, Maera silently vowed to handle the situation with cunning and strategy, refusing to let her emotions dictate her actions.

Maera forced a smile, masking her true feelings behind a façade of benevolence as she addressed the witch. “I have no qualms with the child in your womb,” she stated firmly, her words carrying a note of sincerity. “It did not ask to be put there and is innocent in all of this.”

Turning to gauge Aemond’s reaction, Maera found him still rooted to the doorway, his expression a mask of shock. Undeterred, she pressed on. “I will ensure you are examined by the Maester and that preparations are made for the child’s arrival,” she declared, her voice resolute.

Alys blinked in disbelief, gratitude mingling with her surprise as expression softened, a hint of joy shining through her guarded demeanor. “Thank you, Princess. That is kind of you,” she murmured, her tone sincere.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Maera’s lips, a glint of steel in her eyes as she responded, “Yes, it is.” Taking a deep breath, she let the sweetness fade from her voice, her words carrying a warning edge. “But do not mistake my kindness for weakness.”

Maera took another deliberate step towards Alys, her eyes roved over the witch’s form, from head to toe, taking in every detail like she would her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help but pause momentarily on the prominent swell of Alys’s belly beneath her dress, a stark reminder of her husband’s betrayal. Yet, Maera maintained a façade of control, her expression unreadable as she locked eyes with the witch.

“That bastard in your belly is the only thing keeping you safe,” she sneered, each syllable dripping with venom. “If you touch my husband, no actually, if you so much as even look at him in a way I find distasteful…” She paused, raising a single finger to punctuate her threat. “One word to my dragon, and you will die. Screaming.”

Alys swallowed hard, her bravado faltering in the face of Maera’s unwavering resolve. Her jaw clenched tightly as she met Maera’s gaze, a flicker of fear betraying her composed exterior. “Is that clear?” Maera demanded, her tone sharp and commanding.

“Yes, Princess,” Alys replied begrudgingly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maera hummed in response, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she studied Alys’s reaction. With a final, pointed glance, she turned on her heel, shoulder-barging past her husband as she left the room.

She strode down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls as she sought out the main chambers where she would be staying. As she walked, the silence was shattered by the muffled sounds emanating from the room she had just left. Alys’s voice, barely audible, was soon drowned out by the cacophony of crashing furniture, shattering bottles, and clanging metal. Despite the chaos behind her, Maera did not falter, her resolve unyielding as she continued on her path, refusing to look back.

The flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls of the chamber as the maid busied herself preparing the bath for Maera. The servants at the castle were similar in number to that at Rain House, much less than that of the Red Keep. It might have made her feel at home, it were not for the circumstances. The warmth of the water filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of lavender that wafted from the nearby candles.

With practiced hands, the maid carefully undid the intricate braids that adorned Maera's hair, allowing the damp strands to cascade down her back in loose waves, dark brown and silver blended together. The laces of Maera's leathers were deftly undone, revealing her curvaceous form and the subtle swell of her growing belly. Despite the warmth of the room, goosebumps rose along her skin as she slipped into the steaming water, the heat enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

Maera sank into the bath with a contented sigh, the water soothing her weary muscles as she leaned back against the edge of the tub. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the maid, preferring to bathe alone in the quiet solitude of the chamber. Alone at last, Maera closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the water to wash away the tension that had built up throughout the day. The gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub provided a soothing backdrop as she let herself relax, if only for a fleeting moment, in the midst of the turmoil that surrounded her.

As Maera lathered the soap in her hands, she felt the familiar tingle of bubbles forming, yet the soothing sensation did little to ease her troubled mind. With each pass of her hands through her brown locks, washing away the grime of travel in dragonback, she couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. No amount of soap and water could cleanse her of the turmoil brewing within.

The thought of Aemond siring a bastard filled her with a sense of helplessness. Would he acknowledge the child? And what of Alys, with her fanciful notions of fate and birthright? Maera feared the influence Alys might have over the child and the potential threat it posed to Maera’s own status as a princess of the Realm and her child’s status as Aemond’s heir.

Rinsing her hair, Maera couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that clouded her thoughts. How long would she be forced to put up with the presence of her husband's whore? It seemed as though she was expected to tolerate the situation, to play the part of the dutiful wife. But Maera knew deep down that she lacked the strength and resilience to endure such a trial.

The sound of the chamber door opening and closing quietly reached her ears as she continued to bathe, signaling her husband's arrival. She didn't need to turn to know it was Aemond; the familiar presence and the glint of silver in her periphery confirmed his presence as he made his way toward the bed. The soft clinking of metal followed as Aemond began to undress, the distinct sound of his belt and the buckles of his doublet hitting the floor before being placed neatly on a nearby desk. His boots followed suit, the dull thud of leather against the stone floor echoing in the chamber as he removed them and set them aside.

Maera stole a glance across the room as she continued to wash, running the bar of soap across her chest and shoulders. Aemond sat on the edge of the bed now, clad only in his trousers and an oversized white undershirt. Despite his stoic expression, his single violet eye betrayed the emotions swirling within him—guilt, and perhaps even fear—as he watched Maera with a mixture of apprehension and remorse. She did not say anything and simply continued with the task at hand, letting the undeniable tension simmer in the atmosphere.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with a rare note of meekness. “I did not know,” he muttered, his words almost lost beneath the sound of the water.

Maera glanced up at him briefly, her expression unreadable, before returning her attention to bathing. His words hung heavy in the air, but she made no move to acknowledge him. As she twisted her thick hair in her hand to wring out the water, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I swear it.”

A humorless laugh escaped Maera’s lips, the bitterness evident in the sound. “I believe you,” she replied, her tone flat and devoid of any emotion.

Aemond’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across his features. “You do?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

Maera nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on her task. “I do,” she affirmed, her voice soft but firm. “What I find hard to believe is how you could be so stupid.”

Aemond winced at her words, the weight of her disappointment evident in his downcast expression. “I am sorry, Maera,” he murmured, his tone heavy with remorse.

Maera hummed in response, her movements becoming more deliberate as she stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. “Do you realize the position you have put me in? Our child in?” she continued, her voice laced with frustration and anger.

Aemond remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as she began to dry herself off. Maera’s words hung in the air, the tension between them palpable. “It was not an empty threat,” she stated firmly, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face him. “It is a promise. Whatever love I have for you has implored me to be merciful.”

She ran the towel through her hair, squeezing out the water as she turned her back on Aemond, her gaze fixated on the flames of the hearth. “But if she steps out of line once, she will burn, bastard and all.”

The Prince’s reaction to Maera’s chastisement was subtle yet palpable. Though he remained composed, Maera could sense her words cutting him deeply. His eye was fixed on her bare form as she moved across the room, settling into a chair by the mirror to brush her hair, the silver streak standing out amidst the dark curls. Lost in thought as she brushed, Maera contemplated the brewing warfare, both within the Realm and within the walls of Harrenhall against the witch, Alys Rivers. Her mind buzzed with strategies and counter-strategies with each stroke of the brush, each possibility branching out into a web of intricate calculations.

She knew that resorting to brute force against the whore would only play into Alys’s hands, giving the witch the satisfaction of knowing she had rattled a Princess of the Realm. As easy as it would be to simply kill Alys and the bastard within, it only reveal weakness, casting Maera as the jealous wife unable to handle her husband’s transgressions. No, Maera resolved to play the long game, biding her time, and when the moment was right, she would strike with all the cunning and determination of a true Targaryen.

“ Gaomagon ao vēdros issa?” Do you hate me? The Prince asked, as he watched his wife in the mirrors reflection.

“Kessa,” Yes, Maera replied gruffly, her fingers untangling the remaining knots at the end of her hair. She glanced at Aemond’s reflection in the mirror, seeing the tension etched into his features despite his composed facade. It was clear that her words had struck a nerve, stirring up a storm of emotions beneath his stoic exterior. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering in its intensity, as if searching for something within her that he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Yn gaomagon ao jorrāelagon issa?” But do you love me?

His question prompted Maera to close her eyes and sigh deeply. The thought of him being reckless enough to give a woman is seed, and not even think about the consequences of what would happen if it took root in Alys’s womb, filled her with a potent mix of rage and despair. But, she knew that succumbing to such emotions would only weaken her position further.

“Hakotan sīr,” Begrudgingly so, she replied, bittnerness on her tongue as the words left her mouth. While Alys possessed the arcane abilities of a witch, Maera recognised she too was powerful within her own right. She was proficient with the sword, adept at forming alliances, had claimed one of the largest dragons in the world, and, most importantly, ensnared the love and devotion on the One-Eyed Prince.

She stood from her chair that faced the mirror, her bare form ensnaring Aemond to not tear his gaze away, making her way over to her belongings on the other side of the room. She reached into her chest that had been brought in by the guards and retrieved her dagger, the candlelight catching the glint of sapphires and emeralds adorning its hilt, casting mesmerizing reflections.

“I wish I did not. It would make things simpler,” Maera muttered, before turning to look at her husband and strolling towards him. Still sat on the bed, the Prince looked up at her, the silver hair falling away from his face. Approaching Aemond, who remained seated on the bed, his gaze fixed on her, Maera wielded the dagger with a confident air. She pressed its tip lightly against the exposed part of his chest beneath the loose shirt, the metal cool against his skin.

“For instance, I could slit your throat right now for how you have dishonoured me, and not bat an eye,” she purred, applying even more pressure with the blade. As she pressed even harder, Aemond's gaze remained locked on hers as he shuffled backward on the bed. Maera knelt on the mattress, her form following his until Aemond's head thudded against the headboard.

She straddled his hips comfortably, a satisfying smirk crossing her face as she could feel a hardness beginning to grow beneath the fabric of his trousers. “Yet whether to be divine intervention or not, my body will not allow me to press this knife deep enough to kill you.”

A sharp intake of breath escaped Aemond’s lips as the blade broke the skin on his chest, a thin line of crimson welling up in its wake. Maera brought the dagger up to her face, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of intensity and satisfaction as she observed her husband’s blood staining the metal. With deliberate slowness, she opened her mouth and traced the blade along her tongue, savoring the metallic taste of his blood, her gaze locked with Aemond’s, who watched with a potent blend of astonishment and desire, his breath hitching in response.

Grinding her bare core against him, a deep rumbling sound left his throat, his large calloused hands gripping the sheet below him, not daring to touch her just yet. Deciding that he was beginning to enjoy himself a little too much for her liking, Maera snaked her way back down is slender muscular form. The sharpness of the dragger ripped the fabric of the cotton shirt, revealing his toned stomach, a sight that had Maera licking her lips.

The knife stopped at the bulge in his pants and stayed there for a moment. She looked at his face, seeing the tenseness in his jaw and a dusting of pink on his cheeks as he attempted to steady his breathing. With a skilled hand, she hooked the blade underneath the laces, a gasp leaving the Prince’s mouth as Maera pulled the blade upwards, severing the strings that confined his manhood.

Her hand slipped into his breeches to wrap around his length and stroke him slowly, his cock hot and heavy in her hand. She lay on her side between his legs, mindful of her swelling abdomen, as she let her hand slide down his shaft, her touch intentionally light, seeking to draw out the sensation.

“What exactly did you think she would do with the seed you bestowed upon her womb when you lay with her?” Maera asked, her green eyes burning into his as she continued to pump him. No answer came as Aemond attempted to hold back a groan by tensing his jaw. That would not do. Leaning forward she kissed his tip, tongue darting out to catch a bead of his arousal that began to leak from his slit.

He threw his head back, a harsh thud against the headboard indicating that he was beginning to lose control. “Fuck,” he growled, knuckles white from holding the sheets so tightly between his fingers.

“Perhaps wipe it from her body and read what it said in the palm of her hand?” Maera inquired with a mocking tone, before taking him in her mouth. Aemond hissed as she sucked to the base of his length, not breaking eye contact, before coming back up and releasing the cock from her mouth. She tilted her head and continued to taunt him. “Or maybe conduct some sort of ritual and consume it?”

“Maera,” he breathed, the sound of her name from his lips sending a shudder down her spine and causing her core to throb. She wanted nothing more than for him to elicit more such sounds, loud enough even for that whore to hear.

Maera encapsulated him in her mouth once again, swirling her tongue around his tip, ensuring that her eyes were still on his face as he watched her, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. She settled into a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down his length, noticing how he scrunched his face as the control he had continued to fray at the edges, his hips bucking upwards slightly causing his cock to hit the back of her throat.

As he attempted to entangle his fingers into her damp curls, Maera abruptly pulled back, causing the Prince growl disapprovingly. However, as he watched sit up and move to kneel above his cock, his pupil blew wide with lust, hands finally letting go of the sheets and resting on her plush thighs, fingers digging into the flesh.

“You are a Prince. In my eyes, you are a King,” she whispered in a sultry tone, wrapping her hand around his length and rubbing him against her your entrance so he could feel the slick that had formed there. She sank down slowly on his cock, their eyes remaining fixed on each other as they both gasped. “Not some pathetic wastrel who needs validation from a Strong Bastard,” Maera whined, placing her hands on his chest as she slowly continued to lower herself down, savouring every inch of him until he was fully inside of her.

After a moment she began to roll her hips, grinding against him so her clit pushed against his pubic bone. Her skin prickled at the sensation and that familiar coil in her stomach began to wind its self tighter and tighter. The bruising hold he had on her thighs faded as his hands snaked up her torso, stopping a moment on the small bump of their child, before landing on her large and rounded breasts.

He closed his eye before leaning in and taking one of her nipples into his mouth, the feeling of his tongue swirling around the nub making Maera’s eyes flutter shut. His teeth grazed the skin and her cunt clenched around him, head tipping back as she continued to ride him, Aemond’s hips now snapping upwards to meet her movements.

Deciding to regain a semblance of control, Maera cast her eyes downward to see him staring right back, suckling one of her breasts whilst squeezing and fondling the other. As he switched sides, Maera found herself able to speak. “I am yours because I choose to be. Not because of spells or fate. I because I say so,” she gasped, a warning tone beneath the pleasurable noises she made.

Maera picked up the pace, rocking more vigorously as she chased her own high, Aemond now planting his feet on the bed, thrusted upwards, much harder before, hitting that spongey spot within her repeatedly. All of a sudden, blinding white hot pleasure coursed through her veins as her peak hit her, her cunt fluttering around him as he fucked her through her orgasm.

“Seven fucking Hells,” he uttered through gritted teeth, his voice animalistic and feral as he chased his own high, biting his bottom lip so hard that it drew blood. As Maera’s mind became clearer, she continued to ride him, studying his face and paying close attention to his movements as his hips began to stutter, his pace becoming sloppier, his jaw becoming slack.

Aemond was seemingly about to peak, so she promptly hopped off his lap, his cock slipping out of her, glistening in the candlelight with her slick, leaving him shocked and somewhat dazed from the experience. Even though her legs were shaking from climax, she managed to confidently stroll to her chest of belongings, pulling out a nightdress and gown and dressing herself quickly. She caught the reflection of the Prince in the mirror. The image of him sat against the headboard, half-naked with his cock looking painfully hard after he was denied an orgasm was enough to make her chuckle to herself. A fitting punishment.

“I’m going to find a book in the library. Finish yourself off.”

Notes: Honestly, good for her 🖤

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @zenka69

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Seventy-One

“I have to go. It is the Kings command.”

After a day and night filled with arguing regarding not only Aegon’s disrespect, but of what he had asked Aemond to do, Maera’s awoke the following day opting for silence, the flames of her anger burning brighter than ever before. Her husband was returning to his whore. And despite his reassurances that he would not lie with her, nor even be in the same room with her unless absolutely necessary, Maera found little comfort in his words.

War finally felt as though it was at her doorstep. News had reached them that the Lord Commander continued to make his way across the Crownlands, experiencing a few delays on the way to Duskendale due to rebels in the villages of Rosby and Stokeworth, led by wayward knights and angered common folk. These traitors were quickly put to the sword and the Green forces had remained a few days in each location to ensure stability, before moving onto present terms to House Darklyn.

“Are you just going to keep ignoring me?”

The quill scratched furiously across the parchment as Maera penned urgent letters to her siblings, Luthor and Sabine. She implored them to provide sanctuary for her niece and nephew, no, her husband’s niece and nephew, detailing the escalating dangers in King's Landing and the need to keep the children safe.

Meanwhile, a few servants bustled about the room, packing Aemond's belongings into sturdy chests. Each item carefully folded and arranged, ready to be transported to Harrenhal. Aemond's presence loomed in the chamber as he prepared to depart, donning a long leather overcoat suited for dragon flight. Despite his outward appearance of composure, an undercurrent of agitation simmered beneath the surface, fueled by Maera's persistent silence towards him.

She signed her name on the letters to her siblings with a firm hand, the ink drying quickly on the parchment. With practiced precision, she folded each letter closed and sealed them shut with crimson wax, pressing the royal seal of House Targaryen onto the surface.

Despite the urgency of her task, Maera couldn’t shake the feeling of Aemond’s presence lingering in the room. She could sense his eye on her, but she refused to meet his gaze, her focus solely on completing the task of securing the safety of Jaehaera and Maelor.

As she stood from the desk, her movements deliberate yet tinged with apprehension, Maera found herself face to face with Aemond, who had cornered her. His imposing figure seemed to fill the space between them, his eye searching hers for some sign of reconciliation. But Maera remained steadfast, her resolve unyielding despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her. Aemond’s gaze bore down on Maera with an intensity that seemed to penetrate her very soul, his single violet eye flickering with emotion. Initially, Maera averted her gaze, her green eyes skirting away from the raw intensity of his stare.

“I do not know when I will return,” he murmured with a furrowed brow. A sense of defiance ignited within Maera, and she raised her chin, meeting his gaze head-on, her jaw set in determination as the Prince continued to speak. “But I do not wish to part ways like this.”

When Aemond reached for her hand, Maera’s heart fluttered with a mixture of apprehension and longing. She hesitated for a moment, her hand trembling slightly before she tentatively allowed him to intertwine their fingers. Their hands formed a silent connection, a fragile bridge between the chasm that had grown between them. Aemond knew her better than most, and no amount of kind words of thoughtful gestures in this moment would change the way she felt.

With his other hand, Aemond gently lifted Maera’s chin, tilting her head upward until their eyes locked once more. “Do not cause trouble whilst I am gone,” he ordered with a slight smile. Maera’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the weight of his parting words, the warmth of his hand against her skin burning like fire.

He lowered his head down slightly, capturing her attention. “Remain here and focus on the safety of our child. Do not over exert yourself,” Aemond commanded, his tone firmer and face serious, leaving no room for disobedience.

Aemond released her hand, allowing it to rest gently on her growing stomach, a silent acknowledgment of the life burgeoning within her. Maera felt a surge of tenderness wash over her at the touch, the weight of their unborn child pressing against her palm. Their child would be born in five, maybe four, moons, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Aemond would return in time for the birth, if fate would allow him to return at all. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, she forced herself to push aside the anxious thoughts that crowded her mind, focusing instead on the present moment.

His other hand, which had been cradling her chin, now moved to the back of her head, drawing her close. Maera leaned into his touch, her heart skipping a beat as his lips brushed against her forehead, his sharp nose buried in her hair. In that fleeting moment, she breathed him in, the scent of dragon smoke and leather imprinting itself upon her senses forevermore.

“Avy jorrāelan,” I love you, he whispered against her skin, his words uttered like a prayer. Maera felt the tug of desire warring against the walls of her resolve. She longed to surrender to him, to relinquish herself to the undeniable pull of their connection. Yet beneath the surface, a stubborn determination held her back, a fear of vulnerability that she couldn't quite shake.

As Aemond pulled away, his gaze lingering on her form, Maera watched him leave silently, her heart heavy with unspoken words as he departed through their chamber doors. She listened to the echo of his footsteps fade into the distance, leaving her alone with her thoughts as she made her way to the nearby window, sitting and gazing out at the world. After a while, Maera saw the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar soaring through the sky and disappearing into the clouds, leaving her feeling utterly powerless.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, fueled by the frustration of the ongoing war and the relentless chaos it brought. She clenched her fists, a silent protest against the forces that tore them apart. The pang of his departure cut deep, leaving her feeling abandoned and alone in the midst of the tumultuous political landscape. The thought of Aemond's possible interactions with Alys gnawed at her, igniting a bitterness that she struggled to suppress. The war had already taken so much from them, and the fear of losing him to another woman added another layer of anguish to her already burdened heart.

Staring at horizon, her hand instinctively going to her growing belly, Maera couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that enveloped her. The weight of her impending motherhood added to her sense of isolation, leaving her feeling exposed and defenseless in a world fraught with danger. Maera’s keen ears could detect the low rumbles of Ēbrion’s calls on the beach, the noise filled with longing and pain. With a heavy sigh, she allowed her tears to flow freely, a silent testament to the weight of their parting and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Maera made a conscious decision to shift her focus away from her turbulent emotions and instead spent time with Jaehaera and Maelor in the serene surroundings of the Red Keep gardens. As they strolled amidst the vibrant foliage, escorted by Ser Arryk, the laughter of the children and the gentle breeze from the nearby sea served as a welcome distraction, momentarily drowning out the storm of frustration that brewed inside her.

The trees, adorned with leaves of crimson, gold, and amber, rustled softly in the breeze, releasing a symphony of whispers that echoed through the air. A carpet of fallen leaves decorated the ground, crunching softly underfoot as they walked along the winding pathways. The fragrance of earth and decaying foliage mingled with the sweet scent of late-blooming flowers, creating an intoxicating aroma that hung in the air.

Being surrounded by the beauty of nature provided Maera with a temporary reprieve from the harsh realities of her situation. As she watched Jaehaera and Maelor play amidst the splendor of the gardens alongside her protector and a nursery maid, she found solace in the simple joys of the moment, allowing herself to momentarily forget the pain of Aemond's absence and the sense of powerlessness that weighed heavily upon her. In this tranquility, she could lock away her feelings and find comfort in the comforting embrace of denial, if only for a fleeting moment.

“It is hard to believe you were once that small.”

Maera turned to unexpectedly see her father, Lord Jasper, approaching on the stone path. No doubt he had heard of her and her husband’s disagreements before his departure, and was checking to see if all was well. The Master of Laws cut a distinguished figure in his classic attire of turquoise and gold, his chest adorned with a chain that gleamed in the sunlight. Lord Jasper carried a stack of books and scrolls, a testament to his scholarly pursuits.

Despite the presence of her father, Maera maintained her silence, offering him only a brief nod of acknowledgment before returning her gaze to her wards. Lord Jasper joined her side, his gaze also fixed on Jaehaera and Maelor as they played together in the garden. Lord Jasper breathed a laugh as he watched the nursery maid scolding Maelor for tugging his sister’s hair, a scene that brought a fond smile to his lips.

“Laethan and Vaeron always pulled on your braids,” the Master of Laws chuckled at the memory of his late sons, but was met with silence from his daughter. In truth, she could not remember those moments with her brothers, or even what they truly looked like. She knew one had silver hair like their mother, the other dark brown like Maera, but that was all. Another torn page in her book of family history.

Sensing he was getting nowhere, Lord Jasper opted for a different approach. “Your stepmother writes that she is with child again.” This earned more of a reaction, a mere scoff from Maera. This would bring the total of trueborn children up to thirty. More pieces on her father’s political chessboard. A Wylde on the seat of every great House, if he so wished. The news of another sibling brought no comfort. Maera wondered if she would actually even get to meet them now she was a Princess and lived in Kings Landing. Probably not, as her place was in the Keep, with her husband. Her husband who was now gone.

The Master of Laws sighed deeply, turning to his daughter as she met his gaze with a furrowed brow, her eyes the same shade of green as his. “I know this is difficult Maera, but such is the ways of war,” he began. “Your husband will serve the Realm justly at the warfront, and you will serve the Realm here, by providing the Prince with an heir.” Her father’s gaze wandered down to her growing stomach, protruding out of her black and gold skirts.

“An heir that could perhaps also inherit the throne. Stranger things have happened,” Lord Jasper grinned. Maera tore his gaze away from him, instead refocusing on Jaehaera and Maelor playing. Would it be so difficult just to love the child in her belly as it was? And not have it be a contender for the throne? Why was the child viewed as its station rather than the person they actually were? Was a parent’s love truly so conditional?

A hand on her shoulder brought Maera back to reality, causing her to look again at the Master of Laws. He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, almost hesitant for the words to leave his mouth.

“You are his wife. Nothing, and no one can take that away from us,” Lord Jasper stated. Maera shook her head subtly to herself. Of course. ‘Us.’ Naturally, her father cared for little else except their statuses as nobles. Now Aemond and Maera were bound in marriage, nothing a bastard whore presented to her husband could tear him away from Maera by law. But she did not care about law.

“I understand what he has done may have upset you. But it is the way things are, and you need to accept that.”

As her father continued to speak, Maera’s frustration and anger threatened to boil over, evident in the tensing of her muscles and the tightness of her jaw. Despite Lord Jasper’s advice conforming to societal expectations, Maera’s body grew increasingly rigid and defiant, her shoulders squared and her gaze steely.

“It is your duty to stand by his side and endure, no matter what happens,” the Master of Laws concluded in a firm tone, ordering his daughter to simply accept the current reality and be a good obedient little wife, like so many noblewomen before her. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Maera’s anger erupted like a raging inferno.

“Fuck that.”

With a sharp turn, she stormed away from her father, her steps purposeful and determined. Approaching Jaehaera and Maelor, she enveloped them in firm kisses on the crowns of their heads, the scent of soap mingling with the silver locks of their hair, a brief moment of solace amidst the turmoil. Leaving the children in the care of the nursery maid, Maera began to stride back towards the castle, her jaw clenched with resolve. Despite Lord Jasper’s attempts to call her back, she ignored him, her mind consumed by the task at hand.

As she made her way, Ser Arryk, ever loyal, jogged to catch up with her. The clink of his armor grew louder until he reached her side, his mousey brown hair tied back and his neatly trimmed beard framing concern in his hazel eyes. With a steady gaze, he wordlessly offered his support, ready to stand by her side through whatever challenges lay ahead.

The servants bustled in and out of Maera's room for the second time that day, their hurried movements filling the space as they packed her belongings into chests. Black and gold dresses of various styles and fabrics were carefully folded and placed alongside her leathers and weapons, ensuring everything was packed securely for the journey ahead. A smaller chest was prepared, containing essentials that would tide Maera over until the rest of her belongings could be delivered on horseback in a weeks' time.

Meanwhile, Maera sat at her dresser, clad in her black and gold riding leathers, as her loyal maid Thena worked on braiding her hair. With expert fingers, Thena expertly wove Maera's dark locks into neat plaits, the silver streak standing out prominently against the darker strands. As the first braid was completed, Thena moved on to the second, her brow furrowed with concern as she worked.

"I know you don't approve, Thena" Maera stated matter-of-factly, her voice tinged with defiance.

Thena continued her task, her hands weaving through Maera's hair, her expression softening with worry. "I'm just worried for you, Princess, and for the babe," she replied gently, her voice laden with concern. "War is dangerous, and it spares no one."

Once the braiding was finished, Maera rose from her seat and turned to face Thena, taking the maid's hands in her own. Gratitude shone in her eyes as she gazed at the older woman, her ginger hair framing kind brown eyes that reflected genuine care and concern.

"You have been loyal to me since the day I returned to King's Landing," she acknowledged, gratitude evident in her tone. “And I will never be able to repay all the kindness you have shown me. But I hope this helps a little bit.”

Reaching into the drawer of her dresser, Maera procured a black silk purse, containing enough silver stags to start a new life, and pressed it into Thena's hands. "I know not when or if I will see you again," Maera admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I need one more favor from you."

Thena's eyes were filled with tears, and her smile was warm and reassuring as she listened attentively. "Anything," she promised.

Maera's gaze held steady as she spoke her next words with conviction. "Prepare the children to leave the capital when the time is right," she instructed, her tone firm yet earnest. "And if possible, against the King's wishes, try to get Helaena out of King's Landing too."

Thena nodded solemnly, her agreement a silent vow to carry out Maera's wishes, no matter the obstacles that lay ahead. As Maera bid farewell to her loyal maid, the air in the room seemed heavy with the weight of their parting. Their embrace was not a formality, but a genuine display of affection and gratitude, their intertwined arms speaking volumes about the bond they shared. Tears welled in Maera’s eyes as she held onto Thena, the maid’s comforting presence offering a moment of respite.

When the chamber doors creaked open, Maera reluctantly pulled away from Thena, her gaze shifting to Ser Arryk as he entered. He stood there, a stalwart figure, his presence a source of reassurance amidst the uncertainty of their circumstances. Clad in a cloak and without his usual armor, his sword still hung at his hip as a silent reminder of his duty.

Maera wiped her eye before addressing her protector. “Oh Arryk, I have not forgotten about you either.” With a soft sniffle, Maera opened the dresser again and retrieved another purse of silver, intending to offer it to Ser Arryk as a token of gratitude for his steadfast service. However, to her surprise, he shook his head, declining the gesture with a solemn expression. “I made a vow, Princess, and I shan’t abandon it now. You will not journey into the vipers nest alone.”

As Maera processed the news that Ser Arryk would be accompanying her to her destination, a wave of relief washed over her. The prospect of facing the unknown ahead seemed less daunting now, knowing that she would have his steadfast presence by her side. In that moment, she felt a profound sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of both Thena and Ser Arryk, their loyalty serving as a beacon of strength amidst the turmoil of their circumstances.

Maera walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, her steps echoed with a newfound determination. Ser Arryk's presence at her side offered a sense of reassurance, a reminder that she was not embarking on this journey alone. Though he had declined to accompany her on dragonback, knowing that he would meet her at her destination in a week's time provided a comforting anchor amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead.

As she traversed the familiar halls, Maera's mind buzzed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, reflecting on the tumultuous events that had led her to this pivotal moment. Less than a year had passed since she had returned to the capital, yet the landscape of her life had been irrevocably altered.

Married to Aemond, the man she had once despised, their relationship evolved from a childhood friendship to a love that defied expectations. The loss of Jaehaerys, the innocent boy she had watched come into the world, weighed heavily on her heart, a stark reminder of the fragility of life in a world plagued by violence and betrayal.

And then there was Helaena, the fragile thread that had initially drawn Maera back to the capital. Seeing her friend suffer through unimaginable grief and loss had been a horrendous experience, one that had left Maera grappling with her own sense of helplessness in the face of such profound suffering.

But amidst the darkness and despair, there was also hope. With the weight of her husband's child nestled within her, Maera embarked on a journey to mount her dragon, Ēbrion, a creature with whom she had formed an improbable bond against all odds. With Ser Arryk opening the doors to the courtyard, Maera found herself drawing strength from the resilience that had carried her through the trials of the past year, determined to seize control and forge a path forward, no matter the obstacles that stood in her way.

“Maera!”

Turning, she saw the Queen Mother rushing down the stairs, green skirts flapping as she ran, her face flushed with exertion. This was no doubt one last act of the Master of Laws, using Alicent, who had greater authority, to get Maera to fall in line.

“Maera, please,” Alicent implored, reaching out and clasping onto Maera’s arms with desperation. Maera’s expression softened as she regarded her mother-in-law, noting the anguish etched on her face. “You cannot leave. Think of the child within you,” Alicent pleaded.

Maera gently took Alicent’s hand in hers, meeting her gaze with resolve. “It is because of my child that I must leave,” she replied, her voice steady. “Kings Landing is vulnerable. We cannot receive trade via the Gullet. The Realm is divided, and now the Riverlands are lost. My dragon can be better utilized for the war effort.”

As Maera attempted to withdraw, Alicent’s grip tightened, her tone growing more desperate. “Have you even considered your wards, or Helaena?” she demanded.

Maera’s eyes flashed with irritation. “I have ensured the children’s safety,” she retorted. “And as for Helaena, I’ve requested her relocation, but the King refused. If you’re unhappy, take it up with your son.”

With a frustrated sigh, Maera pulled her arm away, her frustration palpable. “I never asked to be thrust into the forefront of a war,” she stated firmly. “But now that I am, I will not stand by idly and watch it unfold before me.” With that, Maera turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Alicent to ponder her words in the echoing halls of the Red Keep.

Mounting her dragon on the beach, Maera prayed to the Seven that what she had learned the past month from the dragon keepers was enough to prepare her for what lay ahead. With a commanding voice, she issued the order for Ēbrion to fly. The magnificent beast responded with a powerful flap of his wings, propelling them into the air with a deafening roar. As they soared higher and higher, Maera took a moment to familiarize herself with the intricacies of the saddle, adjusting the reins to steer the dragon north west, in the direction of her destination.

Though the sensation of flying was exhilarating, she remained focused, her mind sharp as she navigated the skies. With each adjustment, she could feel the dragon responding beneath her, his movements synchronized with her commands and pulling of the reins, ascending into the gray clouds that hung ominously overhead.

After a while of soaring through the calm skies, a sudden shift in the atmosphere signaled the onset of a fierce storm. Dark clouds rolled in with alarming speed, obscuring the once clear horizon with a blanket of ominous gray. Thunder rumbled in the distance, reverberating through the air like the roar of an angry beast. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the clouds with jagged bolts of electric energy. The wind howled with relentless fury, buffeting Ēbrion's massive wings as he struggled to maintain his course amidst the tempest.

Rain began to fall in torrents, pelting down upon Maera with merciless force. Each droplet felt like a sharp needle against her skin, stinging her face and obscuring her vision. She gasped for breath amidst the deluge, the relentless onslaught of water making it difficult to draw in air. Struggling to maintain her grip on the reins, Maera clung desperately to the saddle, her fingers white-knuckled with exertion. With Ēbrion's movements growing increasingly erratic in the storm, she knew she needed to find shelter from the raging elements.

“Dokimarvose, Ēbrion. Pālēs,” Focus, Ēbrion. Evasive Manoeuvres, Maera commanded through the storm, her mount obeying with a mighty roar.

Pushing herself forward into a lying position against the saddle, Maera sought to shield herself from the brunt of the rain. Despite her efforts, the rain continued to assault her with unyielding ferocity, soaking her to the bone and chilling her to the core. As the storm raged on around her, Maera's thoughts turned to the haunting memory of her recent nightmare, the sensation of drowning in the darkness of the water echoing in her mind.

As the storm finally began to relent, Ēbrion soared into a clearer patch of sky, his powerful wings beating against the remnants of the tempest. Maera, her body drenched and shivering from the ordeal, felt a surge of relief flood through her as she finally managed to catch her breath. Laughing incredulously, she marveled at the sheer resilience of both herself and the magnificent dragon beneath her.

With a shaky hand, Maera reached down to place a gentle palm against her growing stomach, feeling the reassuring presence of her unborn child. “Īlon vēttan ziry,” We made it, she grinned.

Turning her gaze past Ēbrion's head, Maera's eyes widened in awe as she beheld the majestic sight of a distant mountain range rising up on the horizon. The rugged peaks stretched out in a breathtaking panorama, their silhouettes etched against the canvas of the sky. Beneath the dragon's left wing, Maera's gaze fell upon an expansive lake, its dark waters shimmering in the sunlight. Nestled within the embrace of the tranquil waters, an island adorned with lush foliage beckoned invitingly, a verdant oasis amidst the vast expanse of the lake.

Yet it was the sight below his right wing that truly captured Maera's attention. As she peered down, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of ruins, sprawled out like the skeletal remains of a once-grand structure. The massive castle, with its towering walls and imposing towers, stood as a testament to ancient power and ambition. The blackened stone, scorched by dragonfire centuries ago, bore witness to the castle's tragic history. Harrenhall.

“Ninkiot.” Land.

With a resounding thud, Ēbrion descended gracefully onto the ground beside the crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, his massive form causing the earth to tremble beneath his weight. The impact sent a cascade of stones tumbling from the dilapidated walls of the once-mighty fortress. Maera wasted no time in unlacing the intricate bindings that tethered her to the saddle, her nimble fingers deftly working to loosen the restraints. She also unfastened the chest secured behind her, which contained her items of clothing and weapons, heaving it onto the ground with a determined grunt.

Descending from her lofty perch, Maera began to make her way down the makeshift ladder fashioned from sturdy ropes, her movements deliberate and sure. However, before she could reach the ground, Ēbrion extended his massive wing towards her, a silent offer of assistance. Grateful for her dragon companion's aid, Maera accepted the gesture, using the sturdy appendage as a makeshift slide to descend the remaining distance to the ground. As her feet touched the earth below, she cast a fond glance up at Ēbrion, silently thanking him for his steadfast companionship throughout their journey.

“Halt!”

Maera’s gaze snapped towards the fortress gates, where two guards dressed in helmets and chainmail stood, swords raised as they approached her. Although the swords were aimed in her direction, their eyes were instead fixed on the gigantic dragon behind Maera. At the sight of the guards’ aggressive stance, Ēbrion reacted instinctively, his massive form tensing as he assumed a defensive posture. With a deep rumble emanating from his throat, the dragon growled menacingly, his blue and black scales glinting in the sunlight as he bared his formidable teeth.

“Lower your weapons, for Gods’ sake,” Maera sneered at the men, hoping to avert a potentially disastrous clash between man and dragon.

“Then state your business,” one of the guards replied, a quiver in his voice as he looked down the dragon’s throat. As Ēbrion prepared to unleash his fiery breath, Maera sprang into action, standing sideways with one arm raised in an attempt to calm the enraged beast. With her other hand held up in a placating gesture towards the guards, she hoped to diffuse the escalating tension and avoid a confrontation.

“Lay down your arms, you idiots!” A voice boomed from overhead, seemingly coming from one of the turrets above the gate. Maera heard the clink of armour of the approaching source of the voice. A voice she was sure she recognised.

Maera’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the approaching man, squinting to discern his features amidst the sunlight. He stood at a similar height to her, with short strawberry blonde hair, a sprinkling of freckles adorning his cheeks, and a neatly trimmed beard framing his jawline. His armour bore the sigil of a blue and silver seven-pointed star on the chest plate, the sword on his hip commanding attention.

Relief flooded through Maera as she recognized the man as Lord Adrian Tarbeck, her sister Sabine’s husband. With a grateful sigh, Maera turned to Ēbrion and gave him a nod of permission to depart. With a powerful beat of his wings, the dragon took flight, disappearing into the distance as Maera and Lord Adrian began to converse.

“You are a long way from home, my Lord,” Maera greeted her brother-in-law with a smile, who returned the grin with a respectful bow.

“Lord Lannister suggested my forces were best utilised here for the meantime,” Lord Adrian replied. He then turned his attention to the guards, barking an order at them to grab Maera’s chest of belongings before inviting her to follow him inside, with the suggestion of settling her into the previous Lord and Lady’s chamber.

Adrian led Maera through the dilapidated courtyards of Harrenhal, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the whispers of history that haunted the ancient fortress. Crumbling walls loomed overhead, bearing witness to centuries of strife and upheaval. As they entered the castle itself, Maera followed her brother-in-law's steady stride, her mind racing with thoughts of her purpose here. She explained to Adrian that she had recently corresponded with Sabine, seeking permission to take Maelor under her care as a ward.

Before she could delve further into the matter, however, Maera's attention was drawn to a room along their path. Pausing in her tracks, she looked inside, her gaze scanning the sparse furnishings—a small bed, shelves lined with jars and ointments, and a hearth crackling with warmth. In the dim light of the chamber, Maera's eyes fell upon a figure standing at the hearth, their back turned to her as they stirred a pot bubbling above the flames.

“Princess?” Lord Adrian’s voice called her back to reality, his blue eyes filled with confusion as he watched his sister-in-law stood beside the wooden door.

She looked at him for a moment, before turning her gaze back to the person in the room. “Thank you for leading me this far, good brother. I shall find you shortly.” Before Adrian could reply, Maera entered the room and shut the door behind her, turning her attention back to the figure standing before the hearth, a silhouette against the flickering flames.

“I knew you would come, Princess,” the woman’s voice echoed in the room, her attention still focused on the pot bubbling over the fire.

Maera’s brow furrowed in surprise. “You did?” she questioned, taking a few steps closer.

The woman nodded slowly, her movements deliberate. “Yes, I saw you in the storm cloud. And in this fire I lit to cook my supper,” she replied cryptically, her words sending a shiver down Maera’s spine. “I see much and more, you know.”

Maera felt a chill settle over her as she recognized the voice. It was the seer, the witch, the whore—Alys. Despite her apprehension, she squared her shoulders, steeling herself before addressing the woman.

“You see a lot, yet do not know how to appropriately greet a Princess of House Targaryen?” Maera’s tone was laced with thinly veiled disdain, her eyes narrowing as she observed the witch’s form.

Alys breathed a laugh, the sound echoing in the room as she dropped her spoon into the pot with a clatter. “My apologies, Princess,” she replied, turning to face Maera with a smirk playing on her lips.

As the witch turned, Maera’s heart skipped a beat, and a shiver ran down her spine. The woman’s features were eerily familiar—the dimples that creased her cheeks as she smirked, the lines etched around her eyes, and the mesmerizing cat-like green hue of her irises. It was the same face that had haunted Maera’s nightmares, the face of her reflection. Alys then offered a mocking curtsy, her movements fluid yet filled with a subtle mockery.

Maera’s gaze was drawn downward, her blood running cold and a gasp audibly leaving her mouth. The room held a tense silence, broken only by the crackling of the hearth and the distant echoes of the storm that had battered them earlier. Maera stood frozen, grappling with the unmistakable large bump of pregnancy protruding beneath the fabric of Alys’ dress.

“Fuck.”

Notes: 🎤 drop. Things are about to get super fucking messy 🖤

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @0eessirk8 @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Seventy

As Maera and Aemond discussed the implications of Luthor’s letter, they found themselves in agreement regarding the decision to send Jaehaera and Maelor away from the tumult of Kings Landing. Together, they weighed the risks and benefits, recognizing the importance of safeguarding the royal heirs from the perils of warfare and political intrigue. Their shared resolve to protect their family prevailed, guiding their choice to send the children to the safety of distant castles and into the hands of those they trusted most.

That night, as they settled into bed, Maera felt a sense of peace envelop her. The warmth of Aemond's presence beside her offered reassurance, grounding her amidst the uncertainty of the times. She listened as he shared his intention to request an audience with the King the following day, recognizing the importance of Aegon's input in the matter. Though they were the children's guardians, Aegon's role as their father and the King meant that his approval was paramount.

It did not take long for Maera to succumb to the embrace of sleep, Aemond's comforting presence serving as a silent reassurance, the warmth of his bare form enveloping hers. She drifted into dreams, finding fleeting moments of peace amidst the turbulent currents of their reality.

The dream seemed the same as it always did. But eerie differences began to reveal themselves in mysterious ways. For instance, the dream now started in the Red Keep, not Rain House, as it always had before. The oppressive atmosphere of the vast corridors seemed to close in around Maera, amplifying the eerie groans and wails that echoed in the darkness. Eventually, she found herself standing in the throne room, a grand chamber adorned with ornate tapestries and towering pillars, the imposing presence of the Iron Throne looming ominously at its center.

In the dim light, Maera's eyes were drawn to the spectral figure of her late mother, Lady Gael, swaying before the throne like a ghostly apparition. Dressed in a flowing nightgown stained with blood, her once-beautiful features now twisted in agony, her violet eyes hauntingly empty as her mouth hung open in a silent scream. Driven by a desperate longing, Maera rushed to her mother's side, catching her frail and bloodied form in her arms and holding onto her tightly, as if clinging to the memory of her presence. Tears streamed down Maera's cheeks as she wept, overwhelmed by the sense of loss and helplessness.

“Ziry iksos vējes, Maera. Volpe ondoso Jaehossas.” It is fate, Maera. Foretold by the Gods, Lady Gael murmured with a strained breath.

But even in the midst of her grief, Maera felt a creeping dread as her mother's spectral form began to fade, her final moments slipping away like smoke in the wind. With a trembling hand, Lady Gael ominously pointed a finger into the distance, directing Maera's attention towards the Iron Throne itself. Confusion clouded her features as she tried to decipher the meaning behind her mother’s cryptic gesture, uncertain of what significance the throne held.

Suddenly, the scene shifted and morphed before Maera’s eyes, the throne room melting away like wax in a fire. In its place emerged a breathtaking vista of towering mountain ranges, their jagged peaks reaching towards the heavens with an awe-inspiring grandeur. The air was crisp and cool, tinged with the scent of pine and earth, as Maera blinked in disbelief, marveling at the surreal transformation unfolding around her, her senses inundated by the overwhelming majesty of nature’s handiwork.

In the center of this natural wonderland, nestled among the craggy rocks and ancient trees, lay a serene pool of water so clear it seemed to reflect the very soul of the world. The surface shimmered like liquid glass, mirroring the surrounding landscape with pristine clarity, while delicate ripples danced across its surface in response to the gentle breeze that whispered through the trees.

Approaching the mountain pool, she felt an inexplicable pull, as though some unseen force beckoned her towards its tranquil depths. With each step, she couldn't shake the sensation that she was being drawn inexorably closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she neared the water's edge. Glancing down at her nightgown-clad form, Maera’s hand instinctively cradled the subtle swell of her pregnancy bump beneath the fabric.

Perching herself upon a moss-covered rock at the water's edge, Maera peered into the crystal-clear depths of the pool, her reflection staring back at her with an uncanny familiarity. For a moment, she simply gazed into the serene surface, feeling at peace in her surroundings. But then, to her bewilderment, Maera noticed a subtle shift in her reflection, as if a veil had been drawn across the mirrored surface. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she observed the changes unfolding before her eyes.

The once-distinctive Targaryen silver streak that had adorned her long curls seemed to fade and vanish, leaving behind a uniform cascade of dark brown hair. Her subtle bump beneath her nightgown seemed much, much bigger, as if the child was to be born sooner than expected. And as she scrutinized her reflection further, she noticed more subtle alterations to her features—the slight dimpling of her cheeks, the dullness of her complexion—all seemingly at odds with the image she knew so well.

Maera leaned down and looked closer, her gaze fixated on the subtle yet unmistakable differences that set the mirrored image apart from her own likeness. Thin lines etched beside the mirrored eyes, adding an air of age and wisdom to the otherwise familiar features. But it was the eyes themselves that held her captivated, their hue a stark departure from her own emerald orbs. While Maera's eyes were the shade of Rainwood forests on a stormy day, flecked with hints of grey and darker green, the reflection's gaze held a hue reminiscent of a cat's eyes—paler in shade, with flecks of gold that danced upon the surface like sparks from a fire.

A sense of disquiet washed over Maera as she beheld this distorted reflection, a nagging feeling of wrongness tugging at the edges of her consciousness. She yearned for the image to change, for the truth of her own reflection to be restored, and with a determined resolve, she reached out to touch the water's surface in hopes of altering the scene before her. Yet, as her fingers broke the surface tension of the pool, a sudden chill raced through her veins as her reflection's hand shot out from the watery depths, seizing her by the wrist with a vice-like grip.

Before she could react, Maera found herself yanked beneath the surface, the cold embrace of the water enveloping her in its depths. Panic surged within her as she thrashed against the unseen force pulling her down, her lungs burning for air as she fought to break free from the suffocating grasp of her mirrored counterpart. Each desperate kick and flail brought her no closer to the surface, her strength waning with each passing moment as the darkness of the depths threatened to consume her whole.

As the water filled her lungs, Maera jolted awake, her heart racing as she struggled to catch her breath. Clutching the sheets tightly to her bare chest, she glanced around the dimly lit chamber, her eyes wide with fear.

Beside her, Aemond stirred at the sound of her gasping, his features illuminated by the soft morning glow. His sharp nose and chiseled jawline spoke of strength and determination, while his hand found its way to the small of Maera’s back, offering a reassuring touch of comfort. With a gentle motion, Aemond sat up, the sheets falling away from his lean and muscular form to reveal the slight scars that adorned his skin.

Despite the empty socket where his eye once lay and the scar that marred his face, his remaining violet eye gazed at Maera with concern and tenderness, a silent reassurance of his unwavering presence by her side. Drawing her close, he pulled her towards him so that her head nestled against his bare shoulder, offering a comforting embrace as her heart rate and breathing gradually began to slow.

"Another nightmare?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Maera nodded, her expression still haunted as she tried to shake off the remnants of her dream. "But... it was different this time," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly with unease.

Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion, mirroring her own perplexed expression. "Different? How so?" he inquired, casting a comforting glance in her direction.

Before Maera could reply, a sharp knock at the door echoed through the chamber, signaling the arrival of Thena, Maera’s devoted maid. With a curtsy, Thena entered the room, her attire of red and beige servant’s garb a stark contrast to the opulence of the surroundings. The maid announced that the King had requested an audience with them, and assisted the couple in dressing.

They did not break their fast before making their way to the King's apartments, side by side through the corridors, their shared presence exuding a sense of regal grace and authority. Maera's attire, while still elegant, now accommodated the subtle changes of her pregnancy. Her black and golden dress, adorned with intricate detailing, draped loosely over her form, the fabric gently swaying with each step she took. The corsets, once a staple of her wardrobe, had become too restrictive for her burgeoning stomach, prompting her to opt for a more comfortable ensemble.

Loose black cotton sleeves billowed around her arms, while a golden belt cinched her waist ever so slightly, accentuating her feminine silhouette. Maera's luscious brown curls cascaded down her back, the distinctive white streak adding a touch of intrigue to her appearance. The front of her hair was delicately braided away from her face, enhancing her features with an air of sophistication.

Beside her, Aemond cut a striking figure in his customary attire of deep black leather. His doublet and trousers, meticulously tailored to fit his slender frame, exuded a sense of rugged elegance. Polished leather boots encased his feet, the knee-high design adding a subtle yet commanding presence to his ensemble. His silver hair, flawlessly styled, framed his angular features with a touch of refinement, while the black leather eyepatch, a constant reminder of his past, lent an air of mystery to his appearance. As they walked, Aemond's arm remained protectively at the small of Maera's back, just like always.

“Kostilus ziry īlon jorrāelatan ūndegon zirȳla. Raqagon nykeā maegi,” Perhaps he knew we wanted to see him. Like a seer, Maera whispered jokingly to her husband as they stood outside the King’s doors.

Aemond scoffed in response. “Ao tepagon zirȳla hōzinon.” You overestimate him.

As the ornate doors to the King's chambers were opened by the guards, Maera and Aemond were greeted by a sight that, while somewhat disconcerting, was not entirely unexpected. The chamber was in a state of disarray, with discarded garments strewn haphazardly across the floor and various items of furniture overturned or askew. Papers and scrolls lay scattered about, some crumpled and forgotten, others bearing the marks of hastily scrawled notes.

Undeterred by the disorder, Maera and Aemond made their way into the room, navigating carefully around the cluttered obstacles that littered their path. Aemond gallantly offered his hand to Maera, assisting her in stepping over spilled liquids and fallen chairs with practiced ease, his protective gesture not going unnoticed by his wife, a smile gracing her face.

“Brother!” A voice exclaimed, causing the couple to turn their heads. Walking in front of his bed, a goblet in hand, stood the figure of King Aegon, stark naked in the center of his sleeping quarters, his form illuminated by the soft glow of the sun filtering in through the windows. Maera instinctively averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the unexpected sight, while Aemond emitted a low groan of disappointment at the untimely interruption of his brother's indecorous display.

“Gods be damned,” Aemond muttered under his breath, moving swiftly to retrieve Aegon’s robe and tossing it in his older brother’s direction.

Aegon rolled his violet eyes, his smirk unwavering. “Well, I did not know your wife would be joining us, did I?” he retorted, slipping his arms into the dark green robe that Aemond had provided.

“Even if she wasn’t, I alone should not be subjected to such a sight,” Aemond grumbled, his frustration evident as he began to gather up the chairs that had been scattered about the room.

Once decently covered, Aegon turned his attention to Maera, his smirk widening. “Mayflower,” he greeted with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Maera dipped into a curtsey, her cheeks still tinged with embarrassment as she replied, “Your Grace,” avoiding his gaze altogether.

Aemond rang a bell, summoning a plethora of servants into the room. He wasted no time in commanding them to clean the chamber and prepare food. “My wife and I have not yet eaten since you so urgently called us for an audience,” Aemond stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get dressed, and we will break our fast together.”

With a huff, Aegon begrudgingly complied, and the servants hurried to fulfill their orders. Meanwhile, Aemond guided Maera to a nearby chair in the adjoining room, assisting her as she sat down at the table. With practiced efficiency, he began to organize and put away the scattered documents that Aegon had carelessly left lying about.

The bustle of activity continued around Maera, with the kitchen maids arriving to adorn the table with a variety of breakfast offerings. Platters of freshly baked breads and pastries were arranged alongside bowls of seasonal fruits and berries, their vibrant colors adding a cheerful touch to the otherwise somber atmosphere of the chamber. Plates of cured meats and cheeses were also presented, along with pots of honey and preserves to accompany the bread.

Amidst the array of delicacies, Aegon finally made his appearance, his arms outstretched in a grand gesture as he presented himself fully clothed. His short silver hair had been meticulously combed into soft waves, framing his features with a sense of regal elegance. He wore a dark green tunic adorned with intricate embroidery depicting green and gold dragons, paired with black trousers and freshly polished boots. Maera couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his dramatic entrance, as if being well presented was not to be expected of the King.

Still, she took her husband’s lead of showing respect, albeit begrudgingly. Aemond stood by the table, arms behind his back and stance exuding power, the Hand of the King pin on his chest catching the morning light. Maera rose from her chair, bump in tow, awaiting for the Protector of the Realm to take his seat and begin feasting, so they could be permitted to join him.

However, Aegon did not immediately take his seat. Instead, he approached Maera with a toothy grin. “So, goodsister, how fares my growing nephew?” Aegon asked, his arm outstretched in a gesture to touch her belly, filling her with discomfort and a sense of intrusion. Before his hand could make contact, Aemond swiftly intervened, his arm shooting out to grasp Aegon's wrist in a firm and decisive hold, halting his advance with a clear message.

Maera glanced at Aegon, who scowled at his brother with a sidelong glance. Aemond, undeterred and unwavering, kept his gaze fixed on Aegon, his expression and demeanor conveying a silent warning. Sensing the tension, Aegon reluctantly pulled back, raising his arm in a gesture of surrender before finally making his way to his seat.

She glanced down at her belly, a protective instinct washing over her as Aegon referred to her unborn child. "What makes you so sure it is a boy?" Maera inquired, her voice tinged with skepticism.

"It has to be!" Aegon declared with unwavering confidence, settling into his seat as the others followed suit. "What man would not want a son, don’t you agree, brother?" he directed the question at Aemond, who responded with a scowl, choosing to focus on his meal instead.

Maera could not help but furrow her brow in Aemond’s direction. Did he truly desire a son above a daughter? It was a sentiment deeply ingrained in the minds of many lords across Westeros in order to continue the family line, but Maera found herself questioning its significance. After all, King Viserys had defied tradition by naming his daughter Rhaenyra as his heir. But then again, it was a decision that had sparked a bloody conflict, tearing the realm apart.

Instead of responding, Maera mirrored her husband's response and turned her attention to her plate, hoping to avoid further conversation, but Aegon persisted. "I have only one son now," he remarked, a hint of melancholy in his tone. "If anything should happen to Maelor, your boy could one day sit the throne."

Maera's lip curled in disdain at the thought. "I most certainly hope not," she retorted sharply, unable to fathom any harm befalling the two year old Prince, as well as subjecting her own child to the burdens of the crown.

Aegon clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You never know, Mayflower," he persisted, his tone almost teasing. "Helaena remains madder than ever, and there is no way she will let me lie with her now. I will have no more trueborn sons whilst she remains living.”

Fury ignited within Maera at the mention of her dearest friend, gripping her fork tighter at his words. It seemed that any trace of empathy Aegon might have briefly displayed following his son’s death had evaporated, leaving behind the same unyielding demeanor. Maera felt a surge of pity for Helaena, knowing firsthand the trials and tribulations her friend had endured, and yet she was still viewed as nothing but a brood mare.

"Perhaps a new madness will encompass your poor wife," she shot back with barely contained venom. "One where she actually finds your company bearable enough to lie with you for the two minutes you can provide her with."

Aemond cleared his throat, attempting to conceal a laugh, but his smirk directed at Maera betrayed his amusement.

Aegon merely chuckled at the Princess’s retort. “They are so feisty when they are with child. I feel sorry for you, Aemond.”

“Enough,” Aemond warned, his patience wearing thin. “My wife has an important matter to discuss with you.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow but did not look up from his food to show an interest in Maera, causing her to bite back a groan at the blatant disrespect. Nevertheless, she presented her case.

“Your children have thrived in our care, my King,” Maera began with a warm smile, speaking of their wards with genuine affection. “Jaehaera grows more beautiful every day, and her wit is admirable. And Maelor’s speech has greatly improved. He’s undergone significant growth in these past few months.”

A shadow passed over Maera’s features as she continued, her concern evident. “I love them as if they were my own. And for that reason, their safety is my primary concern. Spies lurk within the city, and assassins wait in the shadows. Given what happened to Jaehaerys…” Her voice trailed off momentarily, the memory still fresh in her mind. “I do not wish the same fate for your remaining children, goodbrother.”

With Aegon’s attention finally fully captured, Maera pressed on with her proposal. “Jaehaera and Maelor should be sent to ward outside of King’s Landing, each to a different location to ensure their safety. I propose sending Jaehaera to Storm’s End, to be under the care of my brother Luthor and his new wife, the Lady Cassandra. And Maelor should journey to Tarbeck Hall, where my sister Sabine will provide for him.”

There was a palpable tension as Aegon considered Maera's proposal, his gaze flickering to Aemond for confirmation. The one-eyed prince nodded subtly, signaling his agreement with his wife's plan.

“My concern also extends to the welfare of your wife, Your Grace,” she continued, her voice softer now, laced with empathy. “She will not even let me see her. She has moments of lucidity, but most of the time, she simply stares out of the window, neglecting to eat or drink.” Maera’s gaze met Aemond’s, silently conveying her worry. “Perhaps a change of scenery would do Helaena some good. Rain House would be honored to receive the Queen. And if her health improves…”

Aegon’s interruption was swift and decisive. “Dragons do not flee from fire. I will not have the crown appear weak with the Queen abandoning her post,” he declared firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “But you have my permission to relocate the children.”

Though disappointed by Aegon’s refusal to consider relocating Helaena, Maera accepted his concession regarding the children. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will make the necessary arrangements,” she replied graciously, her tone respectful despite her lingering concerns.

After a moment’s pause, Aegon’s gaze shifted to Aemond with a sly smirk. “Do you think it wise to wait for your wife to leave before we discuss other matters, brother?”

Maera scowled instinctively, ready to interject, but Aemond’s hand on her lap halted her, his touch offering reassurance. With a squeeze to her thigh, he directed his attention to Aegon. “Whatever you need to discuss, you can do so in front of Maera.”

A triumphant smile graced Maera’s lips as she glanced at Aegon, but his smirk only widened. “You’re sure? The subject is rather… sensitive,” Aegon teased, a hint of mischief in his tone.

“I have just claimed one of the wildest dragons as my own, Your Grace,” Maera retorted, her smirk matching Aegon’s. “Rest assured, my stomach is strong. The mention of war won’t unsettle me.”

Aegon chuckled, rolling his eyes before relenting with a sigh. “Lord Grover Tully is dead,” he announced to Aemond, then turned his gaze to Maera. “As is Lord Warren, his grandson, and heir.”

Maera’s eyes widened in surprise, her discomfort evident, but Aegon seemed to revel in her reaction as he continued to provide details. “Apparently, Lord Warren met his demise quite quickly after venturing into Ser Elmo's encampment. The news proved too much for Lord Grover, and the old fool's heart gave out,” he explained, his amusement evident.

A scowl crept across Maera’s features as she glanced at Aemond, who avoided her gaze, guilt flickering in his eye. It was his doing that Lord Warren had ventured into Ser Elmo’s camp in the first place, an apparent weakness that the witch Alys had foretold.

Clearly the whore was not right about everything, and it had led to the death of an honourable man. How long would Aemond place his faith in her? What would it take for him to stop gambling his future on a supposed seer? Until his own family’s lives became at risk?!

“Then the Riverlands are lost,” Aemond stated matter-of-factly to the King, breaking Maera’s contemplation. But Aegon’s laughter filled the room.

“Don’t be so quick to concede defeat, brother,” Aegon replied with a smirk, rising from his seat and retrieving a map from a nearby shelf, which he spread out before Aemond. Maera leaned forward, intrigued, as Aegon pointed to various locations in the Riverlands.

“We still have loyalists here and here,” Aegon explained, indicating Whitehall and Atranta on the map. “Though they may be minor Houses, their number of soldiers are not insignificant.”

Aegon then fixed Aemond with a determined gaze. “Fly there and rally their forces to join us here,” he commanded, his finger tracing a path on the map until it rested on a familiar location, Maera’s eyes widening in recognition. Harrenhal.

“You need to remain there until I say otherwise,” Aegon concluded with a smirk, his gaze fixed on Aemond.

Aemond attempted to interject, his voice carrying a note of diplomacy, “Brother, is this truly—”

“No,” Maera's voice cut through the air like a blade, her eyes flashing with defiance as she rose from her seat, her anger palpable.

“No?” Aegon raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“He’s not going,” Maera repeated, her voice laced with conviction. “The Tully’s allegiance lies with Rhaenyra. No trip to Harrenhal will change that.”

Aegon’s smirk widened. “Ah, it seems my sister-in-law wants to advise her King on military matters now,” he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Maera’s gaze remained steely as she countered, “Any ruler with half a brain would see the folly in this decision. Sending Aemond away, on the world’s largest war machine might I add, leaves Kings Landing defenseless. And since you haven’t been seen riding Sunfyre lately, I sincerely doubt your ability to defend us.”

Aegon's patience was wearing thin, his annoyance evident in his tone as he chose to address Aemond directly, “Tell your wife to hold her tongue, or she will lose it.”

Aemond tensed at the insult, moving quickly to stand at his wife’s side, his hand reaching out to touch her arm in a plea for restraint. “Maera, please-“

“I may carry an heir of yours in your belly, remember?” Maera sneered at Aegon before yanking her arm out of Aemond’s grasp. “Would it be so wise to harm its vessel?”

The King chose not to respond directly, instead leaning back in his chair with a smirk playing on his lips. “I wonder, Mayflower, why you are so defensive about your husband returning to Harrenhal?”

Maera felt a rush of embarrassment and shame at Aegon’s allusion, the subtle pink tinge on her cheeks betraying her inner turmoil. She avoided Aegon's challenging stare, her green eyes seeking refuge elsewhere in the room.

Aegon’s grin widened as he turned to his brother. “Ah, so she does know,” he exclaimed gleefully. “No need for pretense then. Let’s dispense with the charade of my pious brother’s honor.”

A growl rumbled in Aemond's throat, but Aegon brushed it off, rising from his seat and reaching for a jug of wine. “It’s a win-win, Maera,” Aegon declared, pouring wine into his goblet. “Through using Harrenhall as a rallying point, I get a chance at reclaiming the Riverlands, rightfully mine as King of the Seven Kingdoms.” He raised his goblet in a mock toast. “And Aemond gets to return to his whore, a well-deserved break from his wife.”

In a moment of unrestrained fury, Maera launched herself towards Aegon, her body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. However, her attempt to attack him was swiftly intercepted by Aemond, whose arms encircled her, holding her back with a firm yet gentle strength. Her frustration mounted as Aegon's laughter filled the room, casually sipping from his wine goblet, reveling in the discord he had orchestrated.

After struggling in Aemond’s arms, Maera managed to wrench herself free, her chest heaving with ragged breaths and her heart pounding in her ears. She shot a piercing glare at Aegon, her green eyes ablaze with fury and indignation, before turning her attention to her husband. The feelings of betrayal and hurt surged back to the forefront of her mind, reigniting the smoldering embers of her anger.

With a low growl rumbling in her throat, Maera stormed out of Aegon’s rooms, her steps echoing in the hallway despite Aemond's calls after her. Each stride was fueled by a mixture of indignation and frustration, propelling her forward with determined purpose as she made her way back to her own chambers.

Notes: the drama is flowing ☕️

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Sixty-Nine

“Do not think this means I forgive you for lying to me.”

After breaking their fast together following their coupling, Aemond brought Maera to peak again twice more. The minute they had finished eating, the one-eyed Prince removed both of their clothes completely before leading them to their shared bed.

He sat down, reclining back against the headboard before guiding Maera to straddle him, hands on her hips as he slowly lowered her onto his stiff cock. Aemond rocked her back and forth in a rolling motion, hitting her spongey spot just right with every movement, burying his head in her full chest as his breathing became heavier. She gripped onto his shoulders desperately, throwing her head back as she felt her climax slowly build, her arousal coating his cock and thighs with her release.

The second time she peaked was by Aemond once again feasting on her with his tongue, head between her rounded thighs as she lay back on their bed, lapping up their mixed essence with his skilful tongue as he coaxed her orgasm from her, like a starving man who had not known sustenance for an ungodly amount of time. After cumming again, Maera lay on her husband’s chest, a tangle of limbs and warmth in the soft glow of the morning light through the windows.

The Prince’s toned, slim torso pressed against Maera's curvaceous form. His muscular arms enveloped her, one hand gently stroking her hair as they basked in the afterglow of their passion. With his eyepatch removed, the sapphire nestled in the hollow of his eye socket gleamed in the soft daylight, casting a mesmerizing glow across his sharp-featured face. Maera's body was a canvas of curves, her skin bore the faint flush of their shared ecstasy, enhancing the natural beauty that radiated from her every feature. Her brown curls, tousled and wild, framed her face in a cascade of unruly elegance, the silver streak shimmering like a celestial thread woven into the fabric of her being.

Aemond met her gaze, the softening of his violet eye betraying a depth of emotion, though his face retained its stoic exterior. His fingers tenderly weaved their way through her locks as he spoke, "I respect you enough to never presume that forgiveness is easily earned."

Maera shifted her body to lay on her side, aligning herself to face him, prompting Aemond to mirror her movement. Their eyes locked in a silent exchange of understanding. She teased him with a playful sternness, "You are still paying back the debt for being an arse to me all those years ago."

A silent laugh escaped Aemond's lips, his affectionate gaze never leaving hers. "A debt I will no doubt be paying for until the end of my days," he acknowledged, reaching out to delicately move a strand of hair from her face.

Maera responded with a contemplative hum. Despite the intimacy they had shared, the specter of Aemond’s deception loomed large in her mind. Her heart, heavy with the weight of their shared history, yearned for reconciliation, for a restoration of the bond that had once held them fast. Yet, amidst the tender caress of his touch, the echo of Alys's presence lingered. The spells the witch had woven, binding Aemond and Maera together through dark sorcery, whispered like sinister echoes in the recesses of Maera's consciousness, their implications casting a pall of unease over her thoughts.

Anger smoldered within Maera, a seething fire fueled by the knowledge of Aemond's laying with Alys and the tragic consequences that had befallen her extended family. Betrayal gnawed at the edges of her resolve, a bitter taste lingering on her tongue as she grappled with the weight of Aemond's deceit.

Confusion gnawed at her soul, twisting and turning like a tempestuous sea, as she grappled with the conflicting emotions that warred within her, as well as questions she still longed to know the answer to. “If she knew we were fated to be bound, that our union had to happen… why did you treat me with such hostility the moment I returned seven months ago?”

Aemond’s expression softened, his gaze drifting as he searched for the right words. “I was angry, I suppose,” he admitted with a shrug, the admission heavy with the weight of his past actions. “Angry at our fractured friendship, and angry at the sense of inevitability Alys had painted about our future together. It felt like I had no control.”

Maera’s eyebrow arched in skepticism, prompting Aemond to offer further explanation. “I thought that by pushing you away, I could change the course of our lives. But as it turns out, you cannot change fate.”

She focussed on his words. Fate. Helaena also said fate could not be changed. Lady Gael in her dreams said fate was foretold by the Gods. Was everything truly written by the Seven and they were merely acting out their pre-conceived roles? Or could it be altered, even a fraction of an amount? Alys had told Aemond although fate could not be changed, it could be swayed.

Sensing her introspection, Aemond gently cupped her face in his hand, their eyes locked in a shared moment of vulnerability. "I never meant to hurt you, nor dishonor you in the eyes of the court," he confessed, his sincerity evident.

Maera frowned, her fingers tracing the jagged scar beneath his sapphire eye. "What's done is done," she murmured, a mixture of acceptance and resilience in her voice. After a moment of reflection, Maera spoke again, her tone measured. "It will take me some time to trust you again. You will need to accept that."

Aemond nodded, his gaze filled with understanding and a quiet determination to prove himself worthy. With a sigh, Maera's gaze wandered down to her swelling belly, her hand instinctively resting upon the curve of her abdomen. "As tempting as it may be to mount Ēbrion and escape from it all...I want this marriage to succeed."

Aemond's hand found hers on her stomach, a gesture, this time, that brought a sense of solace. Maera continued, her voice tinged with determination. "Not just for the child I carry, but for us as well. We exchanged vows before the Gods in the Sept. With House Targaryen divided and a war raging around us, our child needs parents who are..."

"Who are?" Aemond prodded gently, his curiosity evident.

Rolling her eyes playfully, Maera finished her thought with a stubborn resolve. "United."

Aemond chuckled softly, sinking back against his pillow with a wry smile. "That's not what you were going to say," he teased, his eye dancing with amusement.

Maera propped herself up on her elbow, her gaze fixed on Aemond as she prepared to speak her mind. “What did you expect me to say, husband? Some grand declaration of love or poetic verses about our supposed magical bond?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful sarcasm.

Aemond's smirk only widened. “I would not necessarily oppose that,” he replied, his eye sparkling with amusement.

Rolling her eyes with a smile, Maera continued, her expression turning more serious. “My feelings about you at the moment are... complicated, to say the least. I doubt you would care to hear them,” she confessed, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

Aemond lifted his arm to rest behind his head, his features softening with a hint of seriousness. “I will gladly accept whatever feelings you have towards me, Maera. The good, the bad, the confusing ones too. Your words may burn, but I am a dragon. I can endure,” he assured her, his gaze unwavering.

Maera sighed, resigning herself to the conversation ahead. “You speak of burning, but you forget the wreckage you have left in your wake. My heart has been shattered by you more times than I can count,” she began. Maera glanced at him from the corner of her eye and could see he was listening intently. She continued, “We were children of nine when we first met, and I believed we shared a bond unlike any other. But that bond was shattered when you claimed Vhagar, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our broken friendship.”

Her words continued to flow with an undercurrent of emotion, her hands gesturing animatedly as she sought to convey the depth of her anguish to her husband. “Then I return for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, hoping for reconciliation, and you treated me with disdain, as if I were beneath you.” Aemond listened in silence, his single violet eye fixed unwaveringly on her face. His expression was a mask of solemnity, his features drawn tight with the weight of her words.

Her brow furrowed in concentration, her green eyes fixed on a point in the distance as she gathered her thoughts, the weight of her memories pressing heavily upon her. “Yet, despite your cruelty, I found myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, only to be burned time and time again.”

Maera then balled up the sheet covering her body within her fist, gripping it intensely as her anger spilled over. “You entertained the notion of witch’s prophecies, foolish enough to give a woman who practices dark magic your blood and seed. And now my aunt Viserra, my last link to my mother, and her kin, are gone. Sacrificed at your hand, all to bind me to you, to ensure that I am yours and yours alone.”

She shook her head in disbelief, realising how absolutely preposterous this sounded, each chaotic event painting a sad and broken picture of her life with Aemond in it. “You chased away suitors, denied me happiness outside of your grasp, refusing to let me have anything that did not involve you. And now, with the revelation of your manipulations, I question whether my feelings for you are genuine or merely a product of your meddling.”

Maera’s eyes began to water at this. She was afraid, afraid that none of this was real. Aemond’s hand wandered to touch her arm lovingly, a silent affirmation of his attentiveness and empathy, a glimmer of understanding flashing across his face. With each hesitant breath, Maera spoke her next words with brutal honesty, staring him down as tears began to flow freely. “You are cruel, Aemond. And arrogant. And selfish.” Throughout her words, Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable as he absorbed her criticisms. There was no trace of hurt in his features, but rather a contemplative expression that hinted at deep introspection.

Maera sighed once more, her frustration momentarily abated. “But you are more than that.” She reached across and traced his contoured jawline with her finger, using a feather light touch. “More than your Targaryen blood. More than a dragon rider. More than the second son.” Her head leant down as she traced his jawline with her lips, the satisfying sound of a groan catching in the Prince’s throat. “More than your duty. More than the expectations of the Realm or your family. More than your past choices.”

Closing her eyes, she ghosted her lips across his, hesitant for the next words to leave her mouth. But they were true, and they were needed in this moment, more for herself than for him. A reminder and vow as to why she was with him of her own volition instead of just a political alliance or the spell cast by a witch.

“Ao issi ñuhon,” You are mine, Maera whispered against him, feeling him shift next to her, and his neck crane upwards, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. “Sepār avy jorrāelan.” And of course I love you.

Aemond’s sighed deeply at her words of devotion to him. Yet as he leaned in for a kiss, she pulled back, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stood from their bed, slipped into her robe and rang for her servants.

“But you still have much to atone for, my Prince,” she warned him with a smirk, chuckling to herself as she took in his wide-eyed expression. In that fleeting moment of hesitation, she asserted her independence and agency, a reminder to Aemond that her love was freely given and not to be taken for granted.

And ‘atone’ he most certainly did. For a month, he toiled in her service in order to win back her affections, unknown to other members of the court. The gestures started off small. Instead of retreating to the Tower of the Hand to work alone, he now made a conscious effort to complete his paperwork at Maera’s side, sending for her to join him or setting up his writing desk in their shared chambers.

He sought to express his love and devotion through lavish gifts, each carefully selected to reflect Maera’s diverse interests and passions. Uncensored scrolls from the Citadel offered her unrestricted access to knowledge and information, while new paints from YiTi promised to enrich her artistic pursuits. And when it came to her weapons, Aemond spared no expense, adorning her old dagger with sapphires and emeralds that sparkled in the candlelight, as well as a fresh polish to the metal of the blade.

Aside from these, the Prince also helped the dragon keepers in the design of Ēbrion’s saddle, fit to be used by Maera as a rider. The saddle, fashioned after the design of Vhagar's legendary equipment, was a formidable sight to behold. Crafted from black leather and adorned with intricate chains and ropes, it exuded an air of strength and resilience. The chest harness provided a sturdy foundation for the saddle, while reins attached to the saddle allowed for precise control over the beast's movements.

As the dragon keepers worked tirelessly to fit Ēbrion with the new creation, Maera stood watchful by his side, a calming presence amidst the chaos. Although she was reassured by the Vovnik that the beast would not feel a thing due his tough hide of scales, Maera still winced at the sound of the saddle being bolted onto her dragon’s chest and back. Yet she remained poised and vigilant, soothing Ēbrion with gentle words and comforting touches.

Aemond stood at a distance, watching the proceedings with a mix of admiration and longing. He understood that the beast’s fierce nature required delicate handling, especially in the midst of such significant changes. Maera had explained that since Aemond still evoked some negative feelings, she did not want this to be transferred to her mount, which could possibly result in the death of more Keepers or even her own husband. And as much as he still angered her, she did not wish true harm to befall him.

During his month of atonement, Maera kept the Prince at arm’s length. Although she was grateful for the gifts and his newfound attention, she was still hurt, and had not invited Aemond back to her bed since the day she rode Ēbrion. And the Prince had not presumed to join her, which Maera found oddly admirable, her resolve began to soften as the nights grew colder and lonelier. After a week of restless sleep and silent longing, she finally relented and allowed him back into their shared bed.

That night, and each night after, Maera couldn't deny the comfort of Aemond's warmth beside her. She curled up against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Aemond would wrap his arms around her, pulling her close in a protective embrace. In the darkness of their chamber, they found a sense of peace in each other's arms, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.

Most mornings, she was now awoken to Aemond indulging himself between her legs, calloused hands stroking up and down her soft thighs as he feasted on her, his violet eye shut with bliss. When she was awake enough to realise what was happening, Maera hands would immediately fly to his hair, grabbing onto fistfuls of the silver locks for dear life as pleasure coursed through her very soul, now so much more intense as she entered the second part of her pregnancy.

With each gesture, Aemond hoped to demonstrate his unwavering commitment to Maera, to show her that he was willing to go to great lengths to earn back her trust and affection. And as the days turned into weeks, Maera couldn’t help but be moved by his sincerity, gradually allowing herself to soften in his presence, to once again find solace in the embrace of the man she loved. She had not forgiven, nor forgotten, but the sting of his transgression hurt a lot less than before.

On a windy day during the fourth month of the year, Aemond and Maera worked tirelessly in their shared chambers at their own pursuits. As the storm raged outside, the sky was a canvas of gray clouds, swirling with the promise of heavy rain. Leaves, tinged with the fiery hues of autumn, danced on the wind before being swept away by the downpour. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, a reminder of the changing season.

Inside, Maera sat at her easel, her paintbrush moving with fluid strokes across the canvas. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the walls as she carefully crafted a new painting, another to add to the growing pile in her room. This one was destined for the nursery of their unborn child. Her brushstrokes were deliberate and precise, capturing the essence of a tranquil night sky.

In the painting, a full moon hung low on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the landscape below. Against the backdrop of stars, nine dragon silhouettes soared gracefully, each representing a member of House Targaryen connected to the new babe. Maera meticulously painted each dragon, infusing them with life and vitality despite their stark black outlines. Two larger dragons, one representing Maera and the other Aemond, stood as parents guarding the night sky. Surrounding them were the dragons of Helaena, Aegon, and Daeron, the aunt and uncles. Two smaller silhouettes represented the child's cousins, Jaehaera and Maelor.

A subtle, keen eye could discern two faint, almost imperceptible silhouettes. One symbolized Lady Gael, Maera's late mother, a spectral presence in the family's celestial tableau. The other, a smaller dragon, paid homage to Prince Jaehaerys, a reminder of the family's tragic loss. Lastly, a particularly radiant star stood out among the rest, symbolizing Maela, Helaena's lost babe, whose memory shone brightly in the night sky.

Softening the lines of the faded silhouettes with a damp sponge, a low hum from Aemond distracted Maera from her work. She turned at him and cocked her head to the side, curious as to what was on his mind. The Prince did not even have to look up from his writing to know the green eyes of his wife were on him.

“It seems that twat in the cells finally succumbed to his torture,” Aemond grumbled, causing Maera to frown, not understanding to whom he was referring. From her lack of reply, Aemond looked up, his brows furrowed. “Blood.”

The butcher. One of the men who had slain Jaehaerys. The one who had been caught at the Gate of the Gods two days later. And who had been under torture in the dungeons ever since. Maera clenched her jaw at the thought of such a monster.

“Death was too good for him,” she replied coldly, before turning her attention back to her painting, softening the edges around the dragon that represented Jaehaerys. “Did he reveal anything useful?”

“Yes, actually. It turns out he was working for one of my uncle’s favourite whores. And that he was asked to bring Jaehaerys’ head back to Dragonstone as a prize for Daemon,” Aemond answered, his words causing Maera to tense. He continued on, “Towards his end, he gave up the names of other spies in Kings Landing, probably some feeble attempt to keep himself alive. So now I am tasked with signing their death warrants.”

Maera let out a shaky breath. “Anyone we know?”

“No one important, just a few guards. But they have patrolled our corridors, stood watch outside our doors,” Aemond sneered, noticing that Maera had now frozen at her easel. She heard his chair scrape along the stone floor as he rose from his seat, striding towards her before wrapping his arms around her waist from behind her. He placed a chaste kiss on her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder, his single violet eye looking at the masterpiece of a painting his wife was producing for their child.

Maera’s gaze lingered on the painting, her thoughts drifting to the uncertainties of their future amidst the looming threat of war. How many more dragons would be reduced to faded silhouettes if their enemies continued to plot against them? The spies lurking within their midst, their presence only now coming to light, cast a shadow of fear over the once secure halls of their home. The prospect of further losses weighed heavily on Maera’s mind, each potential death a painful reminder of the fragility of their house and the dangers that surrounded them.

“We are not safe here. None of us are,” Maera whispered, as if not wanting to breathe life into the fact she knew well. She turned to Aemond, her eyes filled with concern.

His gaze softened. “Come the morrow, those traitors will lack heads,” the Prince proclaimed with reassurance in his voice.

Before Maera could respond, Aemond lifted his hand and revealed a piece of parchment, addressed to her, bearing the seal of House Baratheon, a sight that sparked intrigue within Maera’s curious nature. Eager to uncover its contents, she reached out to snatch the parchment, only to find Aemond teasingly withholding it from her grasp. With a playful pout, Maera’s annoyance was evident, but Aemond relented, allowing her to claim the letter with a mischievous shove in return.

Breaking the wax seal, Maera’s eyes scanned the contents of the letter with keen interest, a smile gracing her face as she immediately recognised the handwriting.

“It’s from Luthor,” Maera beamed, before quickly scanning the words.

Dearest sister (Or should I refer to you as Princess in our correspondence now? Royalty or not, we still threw food at each other at the dining table not that long ago),

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. Father recently shared the joyful news of your pregnancy with me, and I couldn't be happier to hear that I will soon be an uncle again. I do hope for both your sakes that the new babe is just like your husband, even though I do not know what he was like as a small child. Memories of your mischievous nature and the mere size of you when you were born is enough to put anyone off having more than one child.

Maera’s chuckling caught Aemond’s attention, his single violet eye looking in her direction as he settled back onto his writing desk.

“He says he hopes our baby is more like you than me,” she chortled, the thought of their child filling her with joy. “Apparently I was quite large when I was born, and a difficult child as well.”

“You being described as a handful stuns me,” Aemond replied sarcastically with a smirk, picking up his quill and commencing his writing once again.

Maera rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Tis just as well you are not a jester or we would all be bored of your unfunny material,” she teased before turning her attention back to the letter.

In other news, I am pleased to inform you that I am now wed to Lady Cassandra, the eldest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon. Our wedding coincided with that of Prince Daeron and Lady Ellyn Baratheon, and I must say, the poor prince seemed quite terrified. I did my best to offer him comfort amidst the festivities. Thank the Gods for whatever the Maester gave him to perform in the bedding ceremony, lest I do not think this would have been completed otherwise. Unfortunately for his new bride, the Prince returned to his duties and flew back to the Reach after bedding her, with the promise to return in a few weeks time.

“My brother is wed, as is yours. And Daeron was able to fulfil his duty, the poor boy,” Maera announced to her husband, a pang of sympathy for the youngest Targaryen Prince in her voice. Aemond simply hummed in response as he continued writing his documents. She read on.

Of course, I had no qualms fulfilling my duty and bedding my new wife. (I will spare you the details. Hearing snippets of what happened on your own wedding night was enough to make my skin crawl, and I shan’t wish that on you in your current condition.) The Baratheon girl seems pleasant enough and I find myself still getting to know her. Lady Cassandra possesses the typical Baratheon traits of black hair and striking blue eyes, and I must admit, I am surprisingly eager to earn her approval. A simple laugh at one of my jokes during dinner felt more rewarding than winning any sparring match.

Father is adamant about the importance of fathering an heir, as a male child could potentially inherit Storm's End. Yet, I fear his ambitions may overwhelm my new bride. I tread cautiously, not wanting to frighten her away. I will fulfil my duty, yes, but I will not pressure nor force the Lady to bear me a child in such haste.

A sad smile graced Maera’s face. Happiness was such a rare thing in political marriages. But Luthor was trying and, for this, she felt proud of her elder brother. Maera was not surprised of her father’s pressuring agenda yet it did not stop her from feeling irritated. Every Lord that steps foot into the Red Keep is so full of self-interest in an attempt to get close to, or even sit upon, the Iron Throne. She could not understand why Lord Jasper would push his children so hard just to have his blood be apart of the tapestry that made up the great Houses of Westeros.

Maera understood Aemond’s desire for the throne. He had worked so hard throughout his life, only for it to be given to his oaf of brother, simply because Aegon was born first. Yet as stupid and ill-equipped as her brother-in-law was, she was glad it would not be a burden that would be passed onto her own children. That ugly metal chair brought nothing but chaos and destruction to those who sat on it.

The specter of war looms large, and I worry for your safety in King's Landing, especially given your marriage to the King's brother. I'm uncertain if the Crownlands will prove a safe haven for your growing family. Please know that even though I am far away, I am always here for you. If there is anything I can do to assist or support you, do not hesitate to ask.

Your brother,

Luthor

With a sigh, Maera folded the letter over and joined Aemond at the writing desk. Anxiety swarmed around her about the safety of her family, as well as her wards, the youngest whom would be the next King of the Seven Kingdoms after Aegon. All the while, spies for the Blacks loomed about the Keep, their identities just now coming to light. And given how easily Blood and Cheese had entered and murdered Jaehaerys, who is to say it would not happen again?

The Prince stopped writing, looking up at his wife to see concern painted across her face.

“What is wrong?” He questioned, clearly confused by her sudden dip in mood.

“Luthor is right,” Maera confessed defeatedly. “We are sitting ducks here in Kings Landing. The Blacks will come for us.”

Aemond placed his quill back in its pot of ink to reach across for Maera’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as she spoke on. “Whilst I can justify the adults being caught in the crossfire, it is not fair on the children. Our child may nestle in the safe confines of my womb, but Jaehaera and Maelor are more exposed.”

The Prince sighed thoughtfully and nodded. “What do you suggest?”

After a moment of hesitation, Maera finally came to a conclusion. “The children need to be in a place of safety. Outside of Kings Landing.”

Notes: Let’s be honest, this chapter was a filler, which is why I was struggling to finish it. What finally got me to post it was the reminder that in these chapters there’s still key information in these chapters that will be important later on.

Tags: @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @shesjustanothergeek @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Sixty-Eight

Maera’s steps echoed softly in the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep as she made her way towards the beach. Her hair, expertly braided by Thena, cascaded down her back in a neat arrangement of plaits, the strands of brown and silver interwoven with small golden clasps that caught the light as she moved.

Her riding leathers hugged her form snugly, the sleek black material accentuated by the intricate golden embellishments that traced sinuous patterns across the fabric. Beneath the layers of leather, a subtle bump protruded from Maera’s abdomen, evidence of the new life growing within her. Though barely noticeable beneath her riding attire, the swell of her pregnancy served as a silent reminder of the stakes involved in her quest, a concern for her if she failed to accomplish her task.

In her hand, Maera clutched the thick rope tightly, the coarse fibers digging into her palm as she gripped it with determination. Around her waist, the heavy chain hung like a burden, its metallic links clinking softly with her movements. Amidst the shadows of the secret corridors, Maera’s expression remained resolute, her features etched with determination and resolve. Though anger and confusion churned within her, she refused to let them deter her from her path. Instead, she channeled her emotions into each purposeful step, her singular focus driving her forward with unwavering determination.

The beach lay shrouded in pre-dawn hues, painted in soft shades of indigo and violet as the first light of morning began to filter through the horizon. The sky bore a surreal quality, a delicate canvas of pastel shades that stretched endlessly above, casting an eerie glow over the landscape below. Waves crashed against the shore with a rhythmic cadence, their relentless ebb and flow echoing through the stillness of the early morning. The sand beneath Maera's boots was cool and damp, the grains shifting beneath her weight as she made her solitary journey along the shoreline.

Approaching the giant beach cave, Maera was greeted by the flickering light of torches that lined its entrance, casting dancing shadows against the rocky walls. The flames danced with an otherworldly intensity, their warm glow providing a stark contrast to the cool hues of the predawn sky. As Maera drew nearer, she was met by a group of dragon keepers who stood vigil at the cave's entrance, their faces and robes smeared with soot from the fireballs that Ēbrion had been launching from his lair. Their expressions shifted from surprise to apprehension as they beheld the sight of the Princess approaching alone, their whispers of concern mingling with the sound of the crashing waves.

Among them stood Vovnik, the eldest of the keepers, his weathered face betraying his concern as he stepped forward to address her.

“Dārilaros, ao daor sagon kesīr, ziry iksos tolī gīmēdegon. Se dyni iksos hen udrāzmī,” Princess, you should not be here. It is too dangerous. The beast is out of control, Vovnik warned, his voice tinged with urgency as he clutched his staff tightly.

Maera met his gaze with steely determination, her grip firm on the thick rope coiled in her arm and the heavy chain secured around her waist. “Se bona iksos zāeron skoro kesīr,” And that is precisely why I am here, she countered, her voice unwavering.

Vovnik's frown deepened, his concern extending beyond personal worry to the ramifications of any harm befalling the Princess under his watch. “Naejot aōha ȳghāpī se bona hen riñnykeā, nyke līs eptan-“ To ensure your safety and that of your unborn child, I must insist-

“Riñnykeā issa se ānogar hen zaldrīzes, hae nyke,” My child carries the blood of the dragon, as do I, Maera interrupted, her hand instinctively resting on her lower stomach.

She then turned her gaze towards the cavern's entrance, her eyes alight with determination. “Valzȳrys iotāptan konīr iksos nykeā letagon rȳ zaldrīzes, se ziksoso naejot ziry.” My husband suspects there is a bond between me and the dragon, and I intend to confirm it

Though Aemond's recent confessions weighed heavily on her mind, Maera pushed aside her personal feelings, focusing solely on her resolve to prove her connection to the dragon. Vovnik's nerves remained palpable, his voice wavering as he attempted to dissuade her. “Dārilaros, kostilus-“ Princess, please-

Maera locked eyes with Vovnik, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. “Tolī se imastan hen mōrī dorolvie tubissa, Vovnik, nyke epagon ao ȳdra daor sylugon naejot keligon issa, ” After the events of the past few days, Vovnik, I suggest you don't try to stop me, she retorted, her gaze unwavering. “Ao emagon nykeā sȳrkta kelinītsos hen drīve rūsīr se dyni than rūsīr issa paktot sir.” You have a better chance of reasoning with the beast than with me at the moment.

With determined steps, Maera pushed past the dragon keeper, his startled protests fading into the background as she seized a lit torch and plunged into the depths of the dragon's lair. Her heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, fueled by the urgency of her mission and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

The sea cave loomed before her, vast and foreboding, its gaping maw swallowing the flickering light of her torch as she ventured deeper into its depths. The air grew colder and damp, clinging to her skin like a heavy shroud as the sounds of stones falling and trickling water echoed off the cavern walls. Shadows danced and flickered across the rocks, casting eerie shapes and shifting patterns that seemed to come alive in the dim light.

Despite the chill that permeated the air, Maera pressed onward, her resolve unwavering as she sought out the source of the haunting cries that had drawn her to this desolate place. With each passing moment, her determination grew, fuelled by the memory of Aemond's treachery and the need to find solace in the presence of the gigantic deep blue beast.

"Ēbrion!" she called out, her voice tinged with urgency and longing as it bounced off the cold stone walls, but the only response was the eerie silence that enveloped her. Maera lifted her torch high, straining her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the majestic dragon amidst the darkness that seemed to swallow everything whole. Yet, despite her efforts, the cavern remained shrouded in obscurity, revealing no sign of the creature she sought.

Disheartened, Maera turned to begin her retreat, her footsteps echoing softly against the rocky floor as she moved back toward the cavern's entrance. But just as she took her first few steps, a deep, guttural growl resonated through the chamber, the sound vibrating through the very core of the cave. The ground beneath her trembled in response, causing Maera to stumble backward, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for what lay ahead.

From the depths of the cavern, a shadowy figure emerged, its form looming large against the dimly lit backdrop. Slowly, deliberately, Ēbrion stalked forward, his massive frame moving with a predatory grace as he closed the distance between himself and Maera. As the dragon drew nearer, his fearsome visage came into clearer view, illuminated by the flickering light of Maera's torch. His scales shimmered with a dark sheen, a mesmerizing blend of deep blue and jet black that seemed to absorb the surrounding darkness. Sharp spines protruded from his back, glinting menacingly in the torchlight, while his glowing orange eyes burned brightly with an otherworldly intensity.

Maera raised her torch higher, casting its light upon the magnificent creature before her. She marveled at his sheer size and power, feeling a mixture of awe and trepidation at his imposing presence. Despite the fear that gnawed at her insides, she stood her ground, her gaze meeting Ēbrion's as he drew closer.

Setting aside her torch, its flickering flame casting a warm glow against the cavern walls, Maera felt a surge of determination coursing through her veins. With the rope still clutched tightly in her left hand, she outstretched her right palm towards Ēbrion, watching in awe as he leaned forward, his massive head coming closer until his snout gently brushed against her outstretched hand. The dragon's pupils expanded as he made contact, emitting a soft trilling sound from his throat that resonated through the cave.

In that moment, a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over Maera. Here she was, standing face to face with a dragon, solidifying a connection that defied all logic and reason. The dragon had harmed others who had attempted to approach him, but with Maera, there was a sense of trust and understanding that seemed to transcend words. Just as Aemond said it would be.

At the thought of her husband, tears streamed down Maera's face as she leaned against Ēbrion, feeling the warmth of his head against her skin. The chain around her waist clinked softly as she pressed closer, finding solace in the presence of the dragon. Despite all the challenges she had faced recently, Ēbrion's presence brought her a sense of solace and comfort that she desperately needed. Now came the difficult part, and Maera hoped the bond she shared with the beast would grant her the strength to go through with it.

“Rȳbās, Ēbrion,” Listen, she whispered to the gigantic being before her. “Jorrāelagon ao gaomagon mirros syt issa.” I need you to do something for me.

The dragon responded to her voice with a low, rumbling growl, his orange eyes narrowing in concentration. Her palm glided over the dragon's scales, feeling their rough texture, each scale slightly raised and hot to the touch. The sensation brought back memories of their first encounter, the scar on her palm a reminder of their bond forged in blood.

“Kostilus,” Please, she muttered, before pressing her face against his snout, taking in a moment to breathe in his scent, a mixture of smoke and sea salt. “Dohaerās, Ēbrion.” Serve me.

Focussed, she pulled away and moved around to his side, where his massive wing extended outward. Gripping the rope tightly in her hand, she mentally prepared herself, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Throughout it all, Ēbrion remained steadfast, his unwavering orange gaze fixed upon her.

Adrenaline coursed through her as Maera placed her foot on Ēbrion's wing, feeling the rough texture of his scales beneath her boot. She paused for a moment, allowing both herself and the dragon to become accustomed to the sensation. It was a daring move, one that had never been attempted before, but Maera was determined to succeed. Once she felt confident enough, Maera placed both hands flat on Ēbrion's scaly wing, using the leverage to push herself up and place her other foot beside the first. As she balanced precariously on the dragon's wing, she could feel the power and strength of the creature beneath her.

Suddenly, Ēbrion whipped his head around, snarling and baring his teeth at Maera. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down. With a soothing voice, she reassured him. “Lykirī.” Be calm. Gradually, Ēbrion's snarls subsided, and his orange eyes softened as he continued to observe her.

Maera began her ascent up Ēbrion's wing, noting the variations of the blue and black scales, in texture and hardness. Some were raised and tougher, providing better grip for her hands and feet. With this in mind, she placed her feet strategically between the scales, using the harder ones as leverage to pull herself upward. As she climbed, memories of scaling the Keep’s garden walls with Aemond flashed through her mind.

However, her concentration was shattered when Ēbrion suddenly shifted beneath her, causing Maera to panic. The thought of falling at this height sent a wave of fear through her, knowing that not only could she be injured, but also her unborn child. With her nails digging into the scales, Maera closed her eyes and held on tight, bracing herself against Ēbrion's movements. When she cautiously opened them, she was relieved to find that Ēbrion wasn't intending to harm her but was instead assisting her endeavour. He had raised his wing and flexed it closer to his body, reducing the distance Maera had to climb.

With a smile of gratitude, Maera continued her climb, finding purchase on the tougher scales as she pulled herself up onto the dragon's back. She settled herself between two of his black spines, ensuring she maintained her balance. Once positioned, she secured herself by tying the chain around her waist to the spine behind her and looping the rope onto the spine in front for added support. As she double-checked her knots and ensured her safety, Maera took a shaky breath and settled into her position. She clutched onto Ēbrion's raised scales for reassurance, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins.

“Soves.” Fly.

At her command Ēbrion turned, the shift of his mighty scaled body causing her to sway slightly from side to side. She clung to his spines with a tight grip, her fingers digging into the tough scales for purchase. Amidst the dragon's movement, the echoes of rocks falling reverberated through the cavern, adding to the already tense atmosphere. With each step he took, the torch Maera had left on a nearby rock flickered and went out, leaving them engulfed in pitch black darkness. Panic seized Maera's chest, her heart racing as she pressed herself against the dragon back, the only source of stability in the swirling darkness. Her breaths came in rapid gasps as she struggled to maintain her composure, her fingers gripping Ēbrion's scales with white-knuckled intensity.

Straining her eyes, Maera caught sight of the faint glimmer of dawn filtering in from the mouth of the cave. With a sudden deafening roar, Ēbrion charged forward, his powerful strides propelling them towards the exit. As they burst out into the open air, the dragon keepers outside watched in shock as the beast spread his mighty wings and launched himself into the sky.

They ascended higher into the sky, Maera feeling the rush of wind against her face, whipping her hair wildly around her, as the dragon's powerful wings propelled them upwards. With each beat of his wings, Maera prayed that the rope securing her to the dragon would hold firm, her heart pounding in her chest with each passing moment.

Eventually, Ēbrion leveled out, his powerful wings stilling as the wind carried them through the open sky. A sense of triumph washed over Maera as she looked out at the horizon, the first peak of the sun casting its golden light across the landscape. The sky began to change colors, from deep indigo to hues of pink, orange, and gold, painting a breathtaking tableau against the canvas of dawn.

Below them, Kings Landing spread out like a sprawling tapestry, its streets and buildings coming to life as the city awakened. Maera could see the Red Keep standing proudly amidst the sea of buildings, its towering spires reaching towards the heavens. As they soared past the ancient castle, one of Ēbrion's wings clipped the top of a turret, sending stone crumbling down in its wake. The sound of the impact echoed through the air, a testament to his sheer power and size.

With a sense of exhilaration and confidence, Maera released her grip on the dragon's spines, trusting in the secure bonds that tethered her to his mighty form. Stretching her arms out wide, she embraced the rush of air against her skin, feeling as though she had sprouted wings of her own. A joyous laugh escaped her lips, carried away by the wind as they soared through the sky. In that moment, Maera felt invincible, as if she had transcended the limitations of mortal existence and tapped into something truly extraordinary. The worries and doubts that had plagued her before melted away in the wake of this newfound freedom and power.

Yet a wave of nostalgia washed over Maera. She couldn't help but wish that her mother could witness this moment, to see her daughter soaring through the sky as a dragon rider. She knew that her mother would be proud of her, her heart swelling with love and longing. As Maera glanced down at her small pregnancy bump, a sense of hope and anticipation filled her heart. She imagined a future where her child would be a dragon rider, and form an incredible bond with a beast just like their mother had with Ēbrion. Or their father had Vhagar. Aemond…

“Māzīs. Ninkiot rāenion,” Come. Land on the Beach. Maera called down to the dragon’s head, hoping he would hear her. Thankfully, Ēbrion obeyed immediately, swooping to the left and making his way back to his lair.

Ēbrion circled back towards the shoreline as Maera took in the breathtaking scenery below. The coastline stretched out before them, bathed in the soft hues of dawn. The shimmering waters lapped against the sandy shores, while clusters of rugged cliffs rose majestically from the earth, their jagged edges silhouetted against the emerging light of day.

Amidst this natural splendor, Maera's gaze was drawn to the figures below, the dragon keepers resembling tiny ants from their lofty vantage point. But one figure stood out among them, taller and more imposing than the rest. Dressed in black with long silver hair cascading around his shoulders, he exuded an aura of quiet authority and strength. Just as he always did.

With a sharp thud, they touched down on the soft sand, sending ripples through the shoreline. Maera glanced triumphantly at those gathered below, including her husband Aemond, whose single violet eye sparkled with a mixture of wonder and pride as he beheld his wife atop the mighty beast. In that moment, Maera felt a sense of accomplishment unlike any other, knowing that she had achieved something truly extraordinary on her own. She was the blood of House Targaryen, a fierce Princess, a soon-to-be mother and now, a dragon rider.

With careful precision, Maera untied the bindings of rope and chains that had kept her securely fastened to Ēbrion's massive form. Each knot came undone with practiced ease, her fingers deftly working despite the lingering adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she loosened the last of the restraints, Ēbrion lifted his wing once again, granting her freedom to slide down his bumpy scales and onto the soft sand below. Maera descended slowly, her movements deliberate as she navigated the dragon's immense form.

Once her feet touched solid ground, Maera couldn't help but feel a slight wobble in her walk, a residual effect of her airborne adventure. Ignoring the sensation, she made her way towards Ēbrion's colossal head. Standing before him, she pressed her forehead against his snout, closing her eyes as she offered a silent thanks, grateful to share this experience and bond with him.

Breaking away from Ēbrion, the majestic dragon took to the air once again, his powerful wings beating against the morning breeze as he soared effortlessly into the sky. With a sense of admiration, Maera watched him disappear into the distance, no doubt on the hunt for his next meal. Turning her attention back to the group of dragon keepers a few feet away, Maera made her way towards them, her husband standing amongst them. Despite the rush of triumph and exhilaration coursing through her veins, she couldn't shake the lingering weight of the previous day's revelations.

If it were any other time, Maera would have yearned for Aemond to scoop her into his arms, to share in this moment of triumph together. But now, the memories of his deceptions and entanglements with the witch cast a shadow over the milestone. Avoiding direct eye contact with the Prince, Maera focused her attention on the dragon keepers, her voice steady as she informed them of her progress with Ēbrion. She spoke with authority and confidence as she unclipped the chain around her waist, her words echoing with the newfound sense of purpose that came with her newfound role as a dragon rider.

“Nyke jorrāelagon dōrenka aderī, se belma hubon letagon zirȳla ziry. Vēdroso zȳhon, nyke dohaeragon rūsīr giez.” I need a saddle crafted immediately, and chains and ropes to bind him to it. Given his bad temper, I shall help with its installation.

“Kessa, Dārilaros,” Yes, Princess, Vovnik agreed, a prideful smile on his face. He turned to his acolytes and relayed some orders in High Valyrian before a few of them retreated, no doubt to the dragon pit to make their preparations.

With her heart still racing from the exciting ride and her face flushed from the wind, Maera made her way toward Aemond, her footsteps resolute and purposeful. Despite the lingering anger that simmered within her, it was momentarily overshadowed by the empowerment she felt. Reaching Aemond, Maera thrust the rope and chain that had tethered her to the dragon into his chest with a forceful shove, causing him to stagger backward slightly. Instinctively, Aemond reached up to grab hold of the items, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

“Gōntan līve ūndan bona?” Did your whore foresee that? Maera asked him in a mocking tone, the words spilling off her tongue with sweet satisfaction. Before Aemond could utter a word in response, Maera merely clicked her tongue dismissively and turned on her heel, sauntering away from him and back toward the Red Keep.

Returning to her chambers, she wasted no time in shedding her boots and riding gear, unbuttoning her leather tunic and slipping it off, leaving her clad in a loose-fitted cotton shirt and trousers. Despite the practicality of her leathers, she found herself craving the comfort of something lighter and more freeing, especially given her pregnancy’s continued growth.

However, her moment of respite was shattered by the sudden clamor of her chamber doors swinging open and slamming shut. Startled, Maera turned to see Aemond standing there, his presence commanding attention. His long silver hair, usually neatly kept, was now disheveled, strands falling across his forehead in a wild manner. Ragged breaths escaped his lips, indicating the haste with which he had arrived. Beneath his eye patch, a faint blush betrayed the emotions swirling within him. But it was his single violet eye that captured Maera’s attention the most, conveying a complex mixture of determination, anger, and a subtle hint of lust that she was able to identify immediately.

She met Aemond's intense gaze with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. Despite her resolve to stand firm in her anger and resentment, her breathing involuntarily synced with his, and her heart pounded rapidly against her chest. Maera hadn't forgiven him, not by a long shot, but amidst the tumult of emotions brought on by her recent triumph, the sleepless night preceding it, and the swirling cocktail of anger and adrenaline, she couldn't deny the pull she felt towards him.

As Aemond rushed towards her, determination etched into every line of his face, Maera stood her ground defiantly. But his urgency was palpable, and before she could react, she found herself ensnared in a bruising, harsh kiss. His lips pressed forcefully against hers, igniting a fire within her that she couldn't extinguish. His touches were possessive as he pushed her back against the stone wall, conveying a raw desire and longing for her that matched her own tumultuous feelings.

His teeth nibbled the sensitive flesh of her bottom lip until she winced from the sting, the familiar coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. Aemond wasted no time in brushing his tongue against hers, savouring the flavour with a passionate frenzy. Cupping her jaw roughly, he yanked her head to the side and began licking and sucking down her jawline before landing on her neck. Maera instinctively tilted her head back, allowing her husband more access as one of her hands reached for the nape of his neck, tangling in his silvery locks. When she tugged it at the roots, a deep groan from him sent a rush of heat down to her core, causing her to press her legs together instinctively.

Aemond suddenly bit harshly at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, the pleasurable pain eliciting a hiss from Maera’s mouth. The Prince ran his tongue across the sensitive area, allowing a cooling sensation to follow as he began undo the laces of Maera’s leather trousers. The feeling of his hands near her core had her hips canting up towards him and panting in desperation, soft moans and sighs leaving her mouth.

Dropping to his knees, he tore down her trousers and smallclothes in one, and she assisted him in stepping out of the clothing before he tossed it across the room. The sight of him on the floor, his single eye looking at her with such intensity made her breath catch in her throat, and a warmth spread in her core. Without a word, he hiked her left leg over his shoulder, a groan leaving his mouth at the sight of her glistening cunt, licking his lips eagerly. Not breaking eye contact, he began to relentlessly lap at her, her back arching off the wall as he hands flew to his silver locks, hanging on for stability.

“I knew you could do it,” Aemond cooed in a low voice, bringing his fingers to her slit, moving them up and down before plunging one inside her. “My fierce wife; a dragon rider. Such a clever girl.”

“Fuck,” Maera whimpered, throwing her head back against the stone. He watched her with a piercing gaze, curling his fingers upwards inside of her, grazing over the sweet spot over and over again, pleasure building in the pit of her stomach. He placed his mouth on her clit, his tongue swirling against it and the vibrations of his satisfied grunts sending waves of ecstasy through her entire body.

Maera attempted to press her thighs together as she approached her peak, yet her husband kept them firmly pried apart, adding another finger to deliciously stretch her as she continued to pump in and out of her. She writhed above him, unsure how she was still standing. With a final suck on her clit, she came undone, spilling on his tongue and fingers, crying out his name as pleasure coursed through her veins.

Aemond did not give her a minute to collect herself before he jumped to his feet, quickly unlacing his breeches and freeing his long and throbbing cock. Without warning, he wrapped both of her legs around his waist, pinning her against the wall with his hips and plunging himself deeply into her, filling her to the hilt. A primal growl left his throat at the feeling of Maera clenching around him as he began an animalistic pace, slamming into her with reckless abandon, his cock bullying her cervix.

Her mind went blank with pleasure, not being able to focus on anything in this moment apart from the relentless sound of their shared moans and gasping echoing in their rooms, accompanied by wet slapping of their contact. She attempted to grab him, to touch him, to find some way to ground herself, yet he was still clothed. As Maera dug her nails into his shoulders, the feeling of leather was not enough hang onto. Instead, she opted to grab onto his locks once again, fisting at this roots before pulling his face to hers for a sloppy and heated kiss. This was short lived however as with another tug of his hair and a low groan, it appeared Aemond could no longer take it. He used one of the hands that was on her hips to pin both of her wrists above her head before burying his face in the crook of her neck, licking a long stripe up the sweaty skin.

Not being able to touch him and the fact that her husband’s thrusting showed no sign of slowing or faltering, pleasure bloomed in Maera’s gut once again, her core clenching around him and her legs squeezing his waist to bring him closer, if even possible. When his cock brushed against that spongey spot inside of her, she lost it, closing her eyes tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks as the pleasure threatened to tear her apart, approaching another orgasm.

“Aemond,” she moaned in a warning tone, prompting him to look up at her, his eye half-lidded with lust and a blush painted across his cheeks.

“Let me feel you cum around my cock, issa daria,” he whispered against her lips, swallowing her whimpering breaths as his thrusts grew sloppier, chasing his own high simultaneously. As the Prince gripped her wrists tightly, his entire body tensed, clenching his violet eye shut and filling her with his seed, a guttural groan leaving his throat. The godly sight of him unravelling sent Maera over the edge, her walls clamping down on him as she reached her second peak with a whimper.

As their breathing slowed, Aemond pressed his forehead against hers, releasing the wrists above her head so she could finally touch him. Maera’s fingers instantly went to his face, moving the strands of hair that were stuck to him, before pressing her cheek to his scarred skin with a sigh. His cock continued to twitch inside of her as they remained joined together, the memories of the last few days seeming of less importance. They would need to be addressed, that was certain, but not right now. Not whilst they held each other in a desperate embrace, the feeling reminding them both why they had entered this union.

She felt his sharp nose press into her braided brown and silver hair, inhaling her scent before whispering into her locks.

“Avy jorrāelan.”

I love you.

Notes: She did it 💙 Also, we haven’t had a bit of smut in a while, and those two need to release some tension 🤣 I don’t think I’m very good at writing smut so any feedback is helpful. Enjoy!

Tags: @blue-serendipity @manipulatixe @marvelescvpe @saltedcaramelpretzel @abecerra611 @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy @0eessirk8

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Sixty-Seven

“Shortly after what happened with Lucerys, I was sent to patrol other territories. I think my mother could not stand the sight of me after what had happened,” Aemond began, his tone tinged with bitterness. He poured himself a goblet of Dornish wine, the crimson liquid swirling within the golden vessel as he spoke. Maera, her green eyes narrowed in disdain, rolled them at his self-deprecating remark, her empathy for him all but extinguished.

“Once the Reach was deemed less of a threat, Daeron took over, and my focus shifted solely to preventing rebellions north of Kings Landing,” Aemond continued, his gaze fixated on the wine in his goblet, as if seeking solace in its depths. “The council decided that Harrenhal should be our first target. We believed they would align with Rhaenyra's cause, given the unofficial relation of her bastards to House Strong, and that the castle could serve as a rallying point for other Houses in the Riverlands.”

Maera's anger simmered beneath the surface as she listened to Aemond's explanation. Though she yearned for the truth, hearing it spoken aloud only served to fuel the flames of her resentment. She kept her dinner knife raised, its sharp edge pointed accusingly in Aemond's direction, her gaze piercing through him.

“I arrived at Harrenhal, and as expected, Lord Simon Strong proved to be stubborn,” Aemond continued, his voice tinged with frustration. “He refused to acknowledge Aegon as the rightful King, citing my father's proclamation in favor of Rhaenyra. We executed every treasonous Lord within the castle walls. And then... I met her.”

Maera's grip on the knife tightened harshly at his words, her knuckles turning white with the force of her rage. “Lust at first sight, was it?” she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Aemond scowled in response, his expression darkening with resentment at her jab.

“Her head was on the block, ready to be taken…But then she said your name,” Aemond revealed, his voice tinged with a mix of astonishment and uncertainty.

The revelation sent a chill down Maera's spine, her mind struggling to process the implications of what he had just disclosed. The witch, Alys, knew of her, spoke her name, and it was enough to convince Aemond to halt her execution. It was a notion both unsettling and inexplicable, leaving Maera grappling with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

“My name?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to acknowledge the significance of the witch's knowledge.

Aemond nodded solemnly. “And that you would be returning to King's Landing. At first, I dismissed it as a desperate attempt to prolong her life,” he explained, his tone tinged with a hint of skepticism. “But then she began divulging details about us—things that only someone privy to our lives could know.”

As Aemond set aside his goblet, rose from his seat and approached the hearth, Maera observed him closely, his profile illuminated by the flickering flames. “Once she started telling me details of battle strategies we were going to implement, decisions we had only made a few days before in King's Landing, I knew she had a gift.”

Maera couldn't suppress a scoff at the notion, her skepticism evident in her demeanor. Twirling the knife in her hand, she met Aemond's gaze with a mixture of incredulity and resignation. “You once warned me not to be charmed by pretty words,” she reminded him, her tone tinged with bitterness. “It seems that advice doesn't apply to you.”

Aemond turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “She told me to return home, promising that if her predictions proved false, I could take her head as planned,” he revealed, his voice tinged with remorse. “But I returned, and there you were, in the gardens. Where she said you would be.”

A pang of sadness washed over Maera as memories of that fateful encounter flooded her mind. She recalled the tumult of emotions she had felt upon seeing him again, the bitterness of their past grievances mingling with the flicker of hope reignited by his presence. She placed her dinner knife back into the table, her gaze filled with uncertainty as she rose from her seat and began to pace the room, her footsteps echoing softly against the chamber's stone walls.

“You believe her? That Alys has foresight?” Maera's voice quivered with a mixture of disbelief and frustration, her eyes fixated on the open window as she struggled to comprehend the implications of Aemond's revelation.

The Prince’s gaze bore into her, his violet eye piercing through her defenses with unnerving intensity. “We believe Helaena to be a dreamer. Why should this be any different?”

Maera flinched slightly at his response, her fingers picking nervously at the skin of her palms as she struggled to process his words.

“Thus far she has never been wrong,” Aemond continued, his voice tinged with conviction. “Some successes in this war are owed to her sight. Advances on territories, army placements, lords that would turn cloak.”

Maera's jaw clenched with renewed tension, her frustration boiling over as she lashed out at her husband. “So you bedded her?!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of accusation and betrayal.

Aemond's response was immediate, his own frustration evident as he walked slowly toward her. “She knew I wanted you!” he growled, his words echoing in the tense silence of the chamber. “She knew you were what I craved most. Even more than a dragon when I was younger.”

Maera's breath caught in her throat at his admission, her heart pounding erratically as she met his gaze with a mixture of disbelief and vulnerability.

Aemond’s expression mirrored her own turmoil, his apprehension palpable as he stood before her. His eye, usually so steely and resolute, now held a hint of vulnerability as it met hers. When he reached for her hand, Maera hesitated for a moment before allowing him to take it, feeling the reassuring weight of the ring he had given her, made from the remnants of her mother’s necklace. His thumb rubbed gently across her knuckles, eliciting a flicker of vulnerability in his expression as he gazed into her eyes.

For a moment, they stood locked in a silent tableau, the tension palpable between them. Then, with a soft exhale, Aemond cleared his throat, his voice interrupting the peace in the room.

“She said that as well as seeing things, she could also sway things. To my advantage if I wished it. But it would come at a price,” he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Maera furrowed her brow, her confusion deepening at her husband's revelation. “And you were willing to pay it?”

“I would have set this world ablaze if it meant I could have you,” Aemond declared, his resolve unwavering as he met Maera's gaze with unwavering determination, causing a faint smile to tug at the corners of her lips.

“She knew that Penrose twat lied, about your maidenhood,” he continued, the memory of past injustices stirring a twinge of anger within Maera.

“To find the evidence to clear your name, she asked for some of my blood, to mix into some tea before consuming it,” Aemond revealed, his tone solemn as he recounted the events that had unfolded. A soft laugh escaped Maera's lips, incredulous at the thought. Aemond's grip tightened on her hand, his touch offering a sense of reassurance amidst the tumult of emotions swirling between them.

The Prince tore his gaze away from Maera, his eyes focusing intently on their joined hands. “Larys confirmed Alys’s predictions. And your name was cleared. It backfired for me though. To even picture you with someone else… it was as if I was having a sword driven through my stomach every time the thought crossed my mind.”

As Maera stood before Aemond, emotions fought within her. Anger still burned hot within her, fueled by the betrayal she felt at his involvement with the witch. Yet beneath the rage, there was a flicker of something else—a begrudging acknowledgment of his unwavering devotion to her. She knew, just by looking upon his contoured face that he was speaking the truth.

In that moment of tension, Maera couldn’t help but reflect on the tumultuous journey their relationship had taken. Despite the trials and tribulations they had faced, it was plain to see the depth of their connection, a bond forged through shared experiences and unspoken understanding. They cared for each other deeply, almost desperately so.

“Alys knew that the daughter of a minor Lord would not be enough for a Prince, that you needed something the crown could use in order for an alliance to be forged,” Aemond revealed, his voice laced with a hint of remorse.

Maera subconsciously agreed that she had thought the same when her marriage arrangement was made with Aemond. After all, she was not the daughter of a powerful overlord like a Baratheon. Nor was the blood she shared with her mother Targaryen enough to strike up the match. The only thing that was truly used as a bartering tool to secure it was the inheritance she unexpectedly came upon.

“…the Straits. The fleet of Morne,” Maera muttered with a confused furrow of her brows. Did Alys foresee the tragedy would befall her distant family in order to secure the marriage?

Aemond’s gaze bore into hers, his expression fraught with guilt as he continued, “In return for a more powerful spell, to ensure it would be yours, she asked me for something else, something of greater value.”

Maera’s breath caught in her throat as she braced herself for his next words, her mind reeling with apprehension. The revelation that followed struck her with a profound sense of disbelief and betrayal.

“My seed. Through lying with her. Just once. And the spell was done,” Aemond admitted, his shame evident in the tension that gripped his features as he tightened his grip on her hand.

Maera attempted to construct the puzzle of revelations in her mind. Whilst her heart sank at Aemond admitting to not revealing the truth to her, she acknowledged that he said it was just the once. And since it was before she inherited Morne, it was before she and him were even betrothed. Before they had even shared their first kiss in Aemond’s chambers. A thought of hope began to bloom in her mind at the realisation that he had not betrayed her in that way. Yet as she looked upon his face once more, shame and apprehension was still painted across it, leaving her confused.

“It was the only way,” he murmured.

Maera blinked at his words before a thought occurred, causing the colour to drain from her face. Alys did not her predict Maera’s inheritance. She had caused it. The spell. The sudden outbreak of Consumption that had killed her mother’s twin, her aunt Viserra, her uncle Lord Byron, and all of their children and grandchildren. Gone, within an instant, due to a mysterious outbreak that came from seemingly nowhere. Maera’s inheritance was not a coincidence, nor was her marriage to Aemond. It had been caused by a spell of dark magic.

A shiver of dread coursed through Maera as she grappled with the weight of this revelation. The foundation of her marriage, the child in her womb, had been built upon deception and manipulation. And now, standing on the precipice of truth, she couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach.

Maera recoiled as if his touch were searing her skin, her hand instinctively pulling away from his as if burned. The revelation left her stunned and disbelieving, her mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of his actions. How could he have made a deal with a witch, consorting with her in a way that would lead to the deaths of her kin?

Feeling overwhelmed by the weight of betrayal and disbelief, Maera retreated to a nearby open window, seeking solace in the cool embrace of the night air. Leaning against the windowsill, she closed her eyes, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. In the distance, Maera could hear the distinctive sound of Ẽbrion on the beach, his thunderous roaring akin to the chaos swirling within her mind.

“Gods be damned, I do not believe this,” she managed to choke out, her voice trembling with disbelief and anguish.

As Maera turned to face him, she found Aemond rooted in place, his gaze unwavering. Fury surged through her veins, igniting like an uncontrolled wildfire as she unleashed her pent-up rage. “My Aunt and Uncle, my cousins, died in agony. All because of you!” Her accusation cut through the air like a blade, slicing through the tense silence between them.

Aemond’s voice matched hers in intensity, his anger burning as brightly as hers. “You had that trout hanging off of your arm!” His words dripped with contempt, a reminder of the past that only fueled Maera’s fury further. She shook her head at Aemond’s disdain for Lord Warren, the man who had once courted her, whose proposal she might have accepted if not for Alys’s intervention.

“Alys knew our union needed to happen. The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon,” Aemond asserted, his tone unyielding as he defended his actions. The familiarity of his words made her blood run cold. They were the same words Helaena had told her, after she found out Aemond had interfered with Maera’s proposal from Lord Warren.

“That Tully cunt was just as power-hungry as the rest of them, even with his charming words,” Aemond spat, his disdain evident. “After I saw him courting you, I offered him information that would ensure his succession to Riverrun. A prediction Alys had made about a weakness in Ser Elmo’s encampment. But I only would divulge it if he agreed to stop pursuing you. Of course, he accepted the terms.”

The revelation struck Maera like a blow to the chest, leaving her reeling with disbelief and betrayal. Everything had been orchestrated by Aemond, with the help of his witch of a whore. Frustration boiled within her, and with a cry of anguish, Maera’s fist collided with the stone wall beside her, the pain of the impact providing a momentary distraction from the turmoil raging within her.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, her voice raw with emotion as she struggled to process the enormity of the deception that had been woven around her. Confusion gnawed at her insides, mingling with a seething anger that threatened to consume her. She felt adrift, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, unsure of which way to turn. At his hand, and with the aid of his witch, everything had been orchestrated by Aemond, shattering her trust and leaving her torn between the desire to embrace him and the urge to push him away.

The open window allowed the sounds from outside to fill the room. As well as Ěbrion’s screeches of anguish, now the deep bellow of Vhagar’s vocalisations also filled the air, each dragon’s roaring harmonising with each other, both growing louder and louder, as if they were both desperately vying to be heard by the other.

Stalking towards her once again, Aemond snapped at her, “You can stand there and tell me that you didn’t want this, but I know you did. And that you still do.” When he reached her side, he seized her by the tops of her arms and spun her around to face him, his sudden movement leaving her breathless and off balance.

His gaze bore into hers with an intensity that made her heart race, yet there was a softness in his single violet eye that belied the turmoil within him. “It’s us, Maera. It was always meant to be us, and our bloodlines. United.”

“You are fucking delusional,” Maera hissed, her voice dripping with contempt as she met his gaze head-on.

“And whose fault do you think that is, hmm?” Aemond's voice was laced with frustration, his fingers digging into her arms with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You think I wanted this? It sickens me, how you unravel my control, how you make me abandon reason and succumb to the fire you stoke within me.”

Maera looked on helplessly as he continued his rant, his words cutting through the tension in the air. “You are my blood and my bane, a tempest that both weakens and empowers me. You are the storm that drowns me, and the breath that sustains my existence. You challenge me, provoke me, and test me in every way imaginable.”

His grip on her arms faltered, and a rare vulnerability flashed in his eye. “You have changed me, issa daria, twisted me into something unfamiliar, and I am torn between resentment and begrudging admiration.”

Maera’s breath caught in her throat as tears welled in her eyes, her lip trembling with the weight of her emotions. She gazed up at him, her heart swelling with a mixture of longing and apprehension. A hand travelled to Maera’s face, cupping her cheek with tenderness. “Every day, you continue to torment me, as you have done since the day we met as children of nine years old, and I am torn between loathing you and longing for you.”

Aemond’s thumb traced gentle circles against the soft skin on her face. His piercing violet gaze held her captive, locking her in place as his head leaned down slowly to meet hers, bringing their faces mere inches apart.

“You are my curse and my salvation, my greatest weakness and my only desire.” His voice lowered, the words barely audible in the silence of the room. His sharp nose brushed against hers, sending a shiver down her spine as anticipation hung heavy in the air as he whispered against her lips, “And I hate myself for it.”

When Aemond’s lips finally met hers, it was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a flood of longing and desire that had been building between them for far too long. Their kiss was passionate and consuming, each movement of their lips synchronized in a dance of unspoken emotions. Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, their bodies pressed together in a fervent embrace. Maera melted into his touch, her hands finding their way to his long silver hair, fingers curling into the locks as if trying to anchor herself to him.

Maera’s mind wandered as she felt the Prince’s hands press into her desperately. He loved her, of that she had no doubt, yet the word itself had never passed his lips. She wasn’t even sure if Aemond truly understood the concept of love, but the intensity of his feelings for her was undeniable. He had been willing to forsake reason and logic, delving into dark magic to bind her to him, and every word he spoke now resonated with sincerity. And yet, he had still lied to her, betraying her trust in the most profound way possible, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal that lingered in the back of her mind.

As they broke apart, breathless and flushed with desire, Maera's gaze met Aemond's once more, her eyes reflecting the confusing maelstrom of emotions raging within her. There were no longer agonising sounds of dragons filling the air, just the gentle rustle of the wind and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Aemond's hand, which had lingered on Maera's waist, ventured lower, finding its way to the subtle curve of her abdomen beneath the fabric of her black and gold dress. With the back of his hand, he stroked her growing stomach, his touch gentle, reverent almost, as if he were seeking solace in the presence of the tiny life growing within her. Yet, for Maera, the sensation was anything but comforting. Despite the warmth of his hand against her skin, she felt a cold knot of uncertainty coiling in the pit of her stomach.

Stepping back from his touch, Maera let out a weary sigh, her gaze fixed on the floor as she struggled to make sense of all she had been told. Aemond's violet eye pleaded with her, silently begging for understanding and forgiveness.

“Maera, I-“

“This… is a lot to process. I need some time to think,” Maera interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of her own arms. She looked up at her husband, who had not torn his gaze away from her. Despite the love she still held for him, in this moment, she was not sure if she could stand to be around him. “Alone.”

Aemond’s expression flickered with a brief flash of hurt before settling into a sad determination. With a respectful nod, he gathered his belongings from the shelf, the weight of his footsteps echoing in the now empty room as he departed without a word. Alone, Maera stood in a heavy silence, her emotions drained to the point of numbness. No tears came to her eyes now, only a hollow ache in her chest as she contemplated what to do next. The silence was broken only by the mournful roaring of Ēbrion echoing from the beach once again, a solitary cry in the night.

As the evening wore on, Thena tended to Maera, preparing her for rest. The room, once a sanctuary shared between husband and wife, now felt cold and unfamiliar. Maera sat on the edge of the bed in her white nightdress, her hair cascading in loose curls. Behind her, Thena stood, her gentle hands weaving through her mistress’s locks as she combed out the tangled strands, offering a small semblance of solace in the midst of turmoil. Maera’s mind continued to race with questions, doubts, and fears, and she found herself seeking refuge in Thena's gentle presence.

“He said he did not betray me,” Maera confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to give voice to her doubts.

Thena continued her task with a gentle touch, her fingers moving through Maera’s hair with practiced ease. “Do you believe him, Princess?” she asked, her tone gentle yet probing.

“I do not know… I want to,” Maera confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen, where the faint sign of new life served as a reminder of the tangled web of Aemond’s interfering. “In my heart, I know he would never do anything to hurt me like this on purpose.”

Thena paused, setting the comb aside as she finished her task. Maera turned to look at her trusted maid as Thena sighed. “I know Ser Arryk is not fond of him. And I have my own reservations about his character,” Thena said, her kind brown eyes meeting Maera’s. “But the Prince loves you,” she proclaimed, before letting out a lighthearted chuckle. “And I hardly believed he was capable of such a thing.”

Maera managed a small, grateful smile, touched by Thena’s unwavering support. It was a comfort to have someone to confide in, someone who offered a listening ear and a compassionate heart in her time of need. Yet, even as she found solace in Thena's words, she knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and uncertainties.

Her pondering was interrupted by a deafening roar that echoed through the open window. Startled, Maera knelt up from her seated position on her bed to get a better view of the world outside. Her green eyes widened as she watched a fiery projectile being launched across the darkened shoreline, the flames casting an eerie glow against the night sky. A gasp escaped her lips as she witnessed the spectacle unfolding before her.

Thena groaned with annoyance at the disturbance, swiftly moving to shut the window, cutting off the flow of cool air from the shoreline. The room immediately felt stifling in comparison, the sound of the blue dragon’s distress muffled by the closed window. Maera watched her maid with a furrowed brow, concern etched into her features.

“Gods help us, that beast has been out of control today,” Thena exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration as she rubbed at her temples in stress. Returning to Maera’s side, she sighed deeply before preparing the bed for the night.

As Maera rose to allow Thena to ready her sheets, she cast a worried glance towards the window. “He certainly seems unsettled,” she remarked, her tone reflecting her concern for the agitated dragon.

Thena scoffed as she pulled back the sheets, revealing the freshly prepared bed. “That is certainly a word for it, Princess,” she replied sarcastically, her irritation evident in her voice. “I believe it’s eaten two of the dragon keepers today.”

Maera’s eyes widened in shock at the news, a pang of sympathy coursing through her for the unfortunate dragon keepers who had fallen victim to the dragon’s unpredictable temper. With a furrowed brow, Maera couldn’t help but wonder what could be causing Ēbrion such distress. It had been weeks since she had last seen the dragon, as she had been advised by others, including her protective husband, to keep her distance from the unpredictable creature as her pregnancy developed. Despite the warnings, Maera couldn’t shake the feeling of longing for the majestic beast, and now, seeing him in such turmoil, she yearned even more to be by his side.

After Thena tucked her into bed and left the room, Maera lay in bed, the only sound the faint rustle of the bedcovers as she shifted restlessly. Beside her on the bedside table, the bell sat, a silent promise of assistance if needed, though Maera doubted it would bring her the solace she sought.

She tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around her restless form as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Aemond's absence in their bed only served to exacerbate Maera's frustration and anger. She couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that lingered in her heart, nor could she ignore the emptiness that seemed to permeate the space where her husband should have been.

The anguished cries of Ēbrion outside only added to Maera’s inner turmoil, the dragon’s sorrowful wails mirroring her own unrest. With each roar, it felt as though a piece of her own anguish was reflected back to her, amplifying her sense of unease. In the darkness of her room, Maera could almost envision the dragon, his giant form haunting her thoughts as she struggled to find peace.

After hours and hours of no sleep, Maera finally sat up. The sky outside of her window, previously jet black, has lightened, striped with hues of lilac and clear blue, indicating dawn was approaching. With a groan of acceptance, she reached across to her bedside table and rang the small bell. Ser Arryk entered and at Maera’s command, left the room to retrieve Thena so the maid could dress her. Looking it the window, Maera heard the faint noise of Ēbrion’s howling. She knew what she needed to do.

Notes: And thus concludes my hyperfixation for this week 🤣 it’s been a rollercoaster and I’ve absolutely LOVED seeing how you’ve all reacted to the start of the drama ☕️ keep asking questions, sending me messages and leaving your feedback, it genuinely makes my day!

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Sixty-Six

With each step down the dimly lit corridors, accompanied by Ser Arryk’s solemn presence at her side, Maera felt the fiery tendrils of rage coiled and simmered within her. It was a tempestuous storm brewing beneath her skin, fueled by a primal instinct to protect what was hers, to confront the source of her anguish head-on. Her fists clenched, and her jaw set, she moved with a purpose that spoke of impending confrontation.

As she neared Lord Larys's chambers, the distant roar of Ēbrion on the beach echoed her inner turmoil. The dragon's bellow seemed to resonate with the anger she felt, a manifestation of her own fierce determination to uncover the truth. Despite the knowledge that information from Larys would come at a price, Maera's anger blazed unchecked, a fierce determination driving her forward even as uncertainty and fear gnawed at the edges of her resolve.

The guard stationed outside the Master of Whispers’ door immediately protested their entry, only to be forcibly shoved aside by Ser Arryk, the clink of his armour hitting the wall. With a triumphant smirk, the sworn sword opened the door for Maera, allowing her to step into the unexpected tableau within.

The sight that greeted Maera was nothing short of peculiar. Lord Larys, seated at the dining table, looked like a startled cat caught in the act. His cane, adorned with the golden firefly, leant on the edge of his chair for support. On the opposite side of the table, Queen Alicent reclined with an air of nonchalance, her legs elevated on the chair between them. Her shoes and stockings were cast aside, and her bare feet touched the cool metal of the chair.

Maera arched an eyebrow at the oddity before her, prompting Lord Larys to almost leap out of his chair, clutching his cane for stability. The unexpected intrusion disrupted the unusual camaraderie between the Master of Whispers and the Queen.

Queen Alicent, her mouth agape in shock, hastily withdrew her bare feet from the metal chair. In a swift motion, she adorned her legs with stockings and shoes, her green dress cascading to the floor to conceal what had been exposed just moments before.

"Princess, I was not expecting you," Lord Larys began, his tone tinged with surprise as he leaned heavily on his cane, his fingers tightening around its handle in annoyance.

"Evidently not," Maera replied, her voice laced with sarcasm as she glanced pointedly at Queen Alicent, whose cheeks flushed with embarrassment under Maera's gaze. She made a mental note of the compromising position between Alicent and Larys, filing it away for potential future use.

Resisting the urge to delve further into the inappropriate nature of their arrangement, Maera quickly redirected her attention to Lord Larys. "Ser Arryk, would you kindly escort the dowager Queen back to her chambers while I speak with Lord Larys?" she requested, before turning her gaze back to her mother-in-law to address her. "That is, of course, if your…business here has concluded, your Grace?"

Alicent offered no resistance, hastily scurrying out of the room with a sheepish glance in Maera's direction. Ser Arryk nodded in understanding, flashing Maera a knowing smile before following the dowager Queen.

As the doors closed behind them, Maera turned her focus back to Lord Larys, who gestured for her to take a seat at the dining table. However, the sight of her mother-in-law's improper behavior left Maera feeling unsettled, prompting her to opt for a nearby chaise instead.

"I am sure your husband has informed you of his request to send spies to look after the well-being of your sister, Lady Wynni," Lord Larys began, his tone measured as he addressed her. "However, I have not yet managed to send the raven, and-"

Maera wasted no time in cutting him off, her voice firm and commanding. "Who is the witch at Harrenhal?" she demanded, her gaze piercing as she sought answers.

Sitting across from Maera, Lord Larys' facade of innocence faltered for a moment, a fleeting smirk betraying his attempt at feigned confusion. "Witch? I am not sure what you are referring to, Princess," he replied smoothly, though Maera saw through the facade with ease.

Maintaining her composed demeanor, Maera smiled sweetly at him, her patience wearing thin. "Are you suggesting, Lord Larys, that a man of your esteemed stature and keen intellect is unaware of the happenings within his own castle?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm as she tensed her jaw.

The grip on Lord Larys' cane tightened subtly, a sign of his growing frustration. "I am the Master of Whispers, Princess. Rest assured, nothing escapes my notice in the Seven Kingdoms," he retorted gruffly, his tone defensive.

Maera seized upon the moment, her resolve strengthening as she pressed on. "And yet, you claim ignorance to my inquiry?" she countered, her gaze unwavering as she locked eyes with the Lord.

An awkward pause ensued, during which Maera could practically hear the gears turning in Lord Larys' mind as he weighed his next words carefully. Finally, he spoke again, attempting to divert the conversation. "Given your delicate condition-" he began, alluding to Maera's pregnancy.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Maera rose abruptly from the chaise, her patience wearing thin. "Oh, spare me your excuses, my Lord. If you cannot provide the information I seek, then do not waste my time with feeble justifications," she retorted, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.

With a determined stride, Maera made her way toward the chamber doors, a smirk on her face as she knew it was only a matter of time before the Lord broke. The game of politics was a delicate one, and Maera knew that if the Lord did not want the news of his precarious relationship with the dowager Queen to become to public knowledge, he would have to play by Maera’s rules.

As her hand grasped the handle of the door, Maera heard a resigned sigh from behind her, signaling Lord Larys' reluctant acquiescence. "Her name is Alys," he finally admitted, the words carrying a weight of significance that Maera could not ignore.

Alys. Her husband’s whore, a witch, was called Alys. Somehow hearing her name made it seem all the more real. Maera attempted to conjure an image of the woman who could be a potential adversary for her husband’s affection, yet she was only met with more questions.

What was she like? Was she a great beauty, or wise beyond her years? What was so special about her that she had turned the one-eyed Prince’s head? What could she possibly give him that Maera couldn’t? Was she skilled at bedding men? Did she know the art of seduction? Could she fuck Aemond like Maera could, his moans and sounds of pleasure filling her room?

At the latter questions, Maera’s hand gripped the door handle firmly, the metal digging into her palm. The pain brought her back to reality and caused her to steady herself in that moment. She could not show weakness, especially not in front of Lord Larys.

Maera's sly smile widened at the revelation, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she regarded Lord Larys. "That's better," she remarked, her tone laced with triumph as she settled back onto the chaise where she had previously sat, her demeanor regaining its composed facade.

Pushing aside the tumult of emotions churning within her, Maera pressed on with her inquiries, her voice betraying none of the turmoil beneath the surface. "And pray tell, my Lord, what relation does this witch bear to you? An aunt, perhaps? Or a distant cousin?" she inquired, her tone deceptively casual.

Lord Larys chuckled at her question, his amusement evident in the twinkle of his eyes. "Neither, Princess. She is a bastard of one of the kitchen maids, and once served as a wet nurse for my House," he revealed, his tone tinged with amusement.

Maera hummed thoughtfully at the response, the irony of her husband's liaison with a bastard of House Strong not lost on her. Suppressing the surge of anger threatening to consume her, she forced herself to maintain her composed facade. "A witch and a wet nurse seem to be quite disparate professions," she remarked with a wry chuckle, masking her inner turmoil behind a veil of feigned nonchalance.

Lord Larys nodded in agreement, his grin taking on a devilish edge as he continued. "Indeed. Nevertheless, it appears the Prince placed great faith in her purported abilities, granting her ample time in his bedchambers and at his side for counsel," he divulged, his words like a dagger to Maera's heart.

Maera's cunning smile faltered momentarily at the revelation, a flicker of pain crossing her features. Lord Larys, ever perceptive, feigned sympathy at her apparent distress. "Are you quite alright, Princess? I can only imagine the shock of such revelations," he offered, his tone dripping with false concern.

Clearing her throat to regain her composure, Maera quickly masked her saddened face with a veneer of indifference, waving off his feigned solicitude with a dismissive gesture. "Men are weak creatures when it comes to the allure of women's flesh," she remarked coolly, her tone betraying none of the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. "Why should my husband be any different?"

And yet even in this moment, Maera’s mind screamed at her that she thought Aemond was different. Even now, with all the evidence presented before her, she hoped in her gut that this was wrong. That was all part of some elaborate plot created by their enemies, or even those disguised as allies close to them, created to tear down the House of the Dragon from within its very own walls.

Feeling tears beginning to form in her eyes, she tore her attention away from the thoughts in her head before they threatening to spill out. Maera smiled once again at the Master of Whispers, another reassurance that she was unaffected by Aenond’s actions.

“I know you remain unmarried, Lord Larys, but I can assure you that it is quite normal for a husband to lay with whores as well as his wife,” Maera commented with a shrug of her shoulders, a sign of indifference.

Yet the Lord did not seem satisfied with her reaction and wanted to elicit more of an emotional reaction from her with fake words of kindness. “Even so, I’m sure no wife wishes this to be the norm, Princess,” he offered with a sad smile. It took all of Maera’s resilience not to punch the Lord in the face, so she resolved to leave the room before she lost control.

Standing from the chaise, she grinned appreciatively at the Master of Whispers. “Thank you for your information, my Lord. Perhaps you are right, you have proven somewhat that you can be a great ally to the crown,” Maera professed as she made her way towards the chamber doors, the Lord politely escorting her with his limping walk.

She approached the chamber doors with purpose, the elegant sweep of her black dress with golden embroidery accentuating her regal bearing. Despite the slight swell of her pregnancy bump beneath her skirts, Maera exuded an air of confidence and authority. She placed her hand on the handle before hesitating, her green eyes falling on the Master of Whispers once more. “Oh. And I will be asking my husband about her. Just to clarify a few things. Rest assured, your name will not be mentioned.”

“I appreciate that, Princess Maera,” Lord Larys replied, a keen smile on his face which made her skin crawl. Somehow through all of this, the Master of Whispers still believed he was the best player in this game, and Maera resolved to remind him that this was not the case.

“Of course, my Lord. We both know that my husband’s wrath knows no bounds,” she affirmed with a twist of the handle, opening the door. Maera then smiled at him once again before crossing the threshold, her expression now tinged with a hint of menace. “Especially if he knew what you were doing with his mother.”

Not even turning to get a last glance at the Lords face, Maera made her way back to her chambers, a sense of triumph and confidence surged through her. Yet, beneath the facade of strength, a wave of sadness washed over her, threatening to engulf her in its depths. By the time she reached her chambers, the weight of her emotions became too much to bear, and Maera sank into a chair by the hearth, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly to herself for hours. Despite her resolve, the reality of the situation was a heavy burden to bear, and Maera allowed herself a moment of vulnerability amidst the storm of her emotions.

However, amidst the turmoil, Maera remained steadfast in her determination to take control of the situation. She knew that confronting Aemond in a fit of rage would achieve nothing, and so she devised a plan to confront him calmly and methodically. Instead of allowing her emotions to dictate her actions, Maera decided to take a more strategic approach, using dinner as an opportunity to confront her husband and demand the truth.

With that in mind, Maera instructed the kitchen maids to prepare a special meal for her and Aemond. The table was adorned with fine linens and lit candles, casting a warm glow over the room. The meal itself was an array of exquisite dishes, carefully prepared to tantalize the senses and set the stage for the impending confrontation. As Maera took her seat at the table, her demeanor was calm and composed, her resolve unwavering. She knew that this would be a pivotal moment in their relationship, and she was prepared to face whatever truths awaited her.

As expected, Aemond arrived on time, ever the punctual dutiful Prince. Maera sat poised at the dining table, her demeanor calm and composed as she observed Aemond moving about their shared chambers. She watched as he meticulously tidied away his scrolls and maps, a habitual routine that seemed to bring him a sense of order amidst the chaos of courtly affairs.

As he settled down opposite her to join her for their evening meal, Maera maintained her outwardly serene facade, her mind racing with the weight of her newfound knowledge. She knew she needed to approach the impending confrontation with caution, biding her time until the opportune moment presented itself.

With practiced nonchalance, Maera engaged Aemond in casual conversation, her tone light and unaffected as she inquired about his day. “Productive day, husband?” she asked, her gaze fixed on her plate as she delicately sliced into the tender roast lamb before her.

Aemond nodded in affirmation, his expression reflecting a mixture of satisfaction and weariness. “Indeed. Aegon has seen sense and reinstated our grandfather onto the Small Council. In a diminished capacity as Master of Coin, but every ally counts in times like these,” Aemond replied, his words carrying a weight of responsibility.

Seizing the opportunity for a subtle probe, Maera continued her inquiry with a well-calculated neutrality, her voice betraying no hint of the tumultuous thoughts swirling within her. “Any updates on the war front?” she asked, her gaze fixed on her husband as she delicately speared a piece of roasted potato with her fork.

Aemond paused for a moment, his expression clouded with a mixture of weariness and resolve. “Cole departs tomorrow for Duskendale. Hopefully Lord Darklyn sees sense and bends the knee, preventing bloodshed,” he replied, his tone clipped and businesslike as he took a measured bite from his fork.

Maera nodded thoughtfully, her facade nearly cracking under the weight of her next question. “Should it come to a battle, will some of the troops from Harrenhal be moved to the frontline?” she inquired, her voice carefully modulated to convey a sense of casual concern.

Aemond's gaze faltered slightly, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features as he avoided meeting her eyes. “Yes, but I hope it does not come to that,” he replied tersely, his jaw clenched with tension.

Maera hummed in response, masking the turmoil roiling within her with a composed facade. “Of course, but we should be prepared. Maybe draft a letter just in case it needs to be sent quickly,” she suggested smoothly, her fingers tracing the rim of her goblet as she took a sip of wine, the crimson liquid cooling her parched throat and fortifying her resolve for the impending confrontation.

Then, with a steely glint in her eye, Maera continued, her voice carrying a subtle edge as she addressed her husband with pointed precision. “Whilst you’re at it, you should probably write one to your whore,” she remarked coolly, her words hanging in the air like a tangible weight as she met Aemond's gaze with unwavering resolve.

Aemond's head snapped up from his plate, his stoic facade momentarily shattered as he met Maera's accusatory stare with a mixture of surprise and apprehension, his jaw tensing with a silent intensity that spoke volumes of the unspoken tension between them. Silence stretched between them like a taut bowstring, the weight of Maera's words hanging heavily in the air as Aemond struggled to formulate a response. His jaw clenched with barely restrained tension, the air crackling with unspoken turmoil.

Maera's voice cut through the stillness like a dagger, her tone laced with feigned innocence that thinly veiled her simmering anger. “Tell me, how is the Lady Alys?” she inquired, her words dripping with venom as she baited her husband with cruel precision. “Oh silly me, I forgot, she is no noblewoman. She’s a bastard, isn’t she? A Strong Bastard. Now, that is most amusing.”

Aemond's mask of composure faltered for a fleeting moment, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of apprehension as he struggled to maintain his facade. “What is it you think you know?” he countered, his voice strained with suppressed emotion as he sought to deflect her accusations.

Maera's patience wore thin, her frustration boiling beneath the surface as she pressed on with relentless determination. “What I know to be true is that a month ago, I asked you about what was at Harrenhal, and you dismissed me as if I was asking a ridiculous question. And yet half the court knows of your…indiscretions,” she spat, her words laced with righteous indignation.

Once again, the chamber fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the sound of Maera's labored breaths and the distant echoes of their shared turmoil. Aemond met her gaze with a steely resolve, his features carved from stone as he prepared to face the storm of Maera's wrath.

But Maera refused to relent, her resolve hardened with each passing moment as she confronted her husband head-on. “Well, Aemond, is it true? Is she your whore? Have you bedded her?” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fury and hurt.

Aemond's silence spoke volumes, his reluctance to answer a damning admission in itself. And then, with a heavy sigh, he finally spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of his confession. “It’s true,” he admitted, his words landing like a hammer blow, shattering the fragile illusion of their marriage, their relationship, their friendship.

Maera's grip tightened on her cutlery, her knuckles turning white with the force of her anger as she struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to consume her. But before she could respond, Aemond spoke once more, his voice tinged with desperation as he sought to salvage what remained of their broken bond. “But it is not what you think. I have not betrayed you,” he insisted, his words hanging in the air like a fragile lifeline amidst the wreckage of their shattered trust.

Maera's laughter, brittle and tinged with incredulity, sliced through the air like a shard of glass, fracturing the tense silence that had settled between them. Each chuckle seemed to chip away at the facade Aemond had carefully crafted, exposing the raw truth of his deception.

“And why should I trust you? A lie by omission is still a lie,” she declared, her voice a whip crack of accusation as she leveled a piercing gaze at her husband. In that moment, the weight of her words hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the chamber. Aemond faltered, his mask of composure slipping as he struggled to find a retort, a defense against the damning accusation. But faced with Maera's unwavering scrutiny, his resolve crumbled like sand slipping through trembling fingers.

Maera's laughter persisted, a bitter symphony of scorn and betrayal echoing off the walls of the chamber. “You know it’s funny,” she continued, her tone laced with disdain. “You have spent all these years criticizing Aegon, and yet this has demonstrated that you are truly cut from the same cloth.”

The words struck like a physical blow, leaving Aemond reeling in their wake, his anger simmering beneath the surface like molten lava ready to erupt. With clenched fists, he pounded them against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a thunderclap, a testament to the tempest raging within him.

But Maera remained steadfast, her gaze unyielding, her stance unwavering as she stood before him like a pillar of defiance. Rising from her seat defiantly, the sound of the chair scraping against the stone floor echoing through the chambers, she loomed over him, a force to be reckoned with, her hand tightening around the hilt of her knife with a dangerous intent.

“No!” she declared, her voice a low growl of warning, her eyes ablaze with a fierce determination. “You do not get to sit there and be angry at me. Don’t you even dare.”

Aemond's breaths came quick and shallow, his chest rising and falling in tumultuous cadence, mirroring the turbulent storm of emotions raging within him. And yet, in the face of Maera's unwavering resolve, he found himself powerless to defy her.

Taking a deep breath, Maera reclaimed her seat, the knife still clutched tightly in her grasp, a silent reminder of the stakes at hand. “I suggest you start talking,” she demanded, her voice a cold blade slicing through the tension-laden atmosphere. “Right now.”

Notes: Decided to release this early because it ended up being an absolutely huge chapter and I couldn’t get rid of any of the drama☕️ Also writers opinion: anyone else notice when they’re ovulating that their writing is a hell of a lot quicker and somehow better? Or is it just me? 🤣

Tags: @blue-serendipity @0eessirk8 @manipulatixe @marvelescvpe @abecerra611 @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy

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

[blue-serendipity]

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 Sixty-Five

“Don’t upset yourself, Princess. It will not be good for the baby,” Thena's gentle voice broke through the silence, her tone filled with concern as she diligently brewed tea for her mistress, stirring the leaves and boiled water in a golden metal teapot.

Maera's thoughts swirled in her mind like a tempestuous storm, her anxiety mounting with each passing moment whilst she sat in her chair at her dining table. The Princess sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her worry. "And yet my baby might already be in danger," she murmured, her voice tinged with a note of desperation as she looked across the room at her protector.

Ser Arryk's gaze never wavered from the window, his stoic expression betraying nothing of the concern that undoubtedly lurked beneath the surface. His presence was a reassuring anchor amidst the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm Maera. She met his hazel eyes briefly, finding solace in the silent understanding that passed between them.

“You don’t know that,” the maid replied softly, her voice a soothing balm in the midst of Maera's turmoil. She poured the steaming liquid into the delicate tea cup and added a spoonful of honey, stirring it gently until it dissolved into the tea.

Ever attentive to her mistress's needs, Thena moved gracefully across the room, her movements fluid and purposeful, before handing the tea to Maera. She accepted the cup with a shaky hand, her fingers trembling as she brought it to her lips. The warmth of the tea spread through her body, but even the soothing brew could not quiet the storm raging within her mind.

Anxiety gnawed at her, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed in the face of the unknown. She felt a heavy weight of guilt pressing down on her heart for the altercation with Helaena, her dearest friend and good-sister. The memory of grasping Helaena’s wrists in desperation haunted her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of remorse for allowing her fear to overpower her reason.

Yet, amidst the guilt, there was also a primal instinct driving Maera’s actions—the instinct to protect the child growing within her. It was a fierce, unwavering force that blinded her to everything else, compelling her to cling to the Queen in a desperate attempt to find answers and reassurance. But amidst the storm of her emotions, another thought loomed large in Maera's mind: Helaena's ominous prophecy. The words lingered in the air, their meaning shrouded in uncertainty, yet bearing a weighty significance that sent a shiver down Maera's spine.

She tried to pick apart what Helaena could possibly have meant. “…the castle of the old Kings Curse. What in the Seven Hells…?” Maera muttered to herself, somehow knowing the meaning of the words, yet the exact context escaped her.

Ser Arryk’s voice broke through her reverie, his words drawing her attention back to the present. “Harrenhal, Princess? At least that is what it sounds like you are referring to,” the knight’s voice was calm and measured. Maera looked up at her sworn sword, his armour gleaming in the soft light, a silent sentinel keeping watch over his charge. Sensing her gaze, he turned to face her. “It is well known to be cursed, as many who enter there tend to meet gruesome ends.”

Maera’s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Harrenhal. The ancient castle had long been a source of superstition and fear, its dark history steeped in tragedy and bloodshed. The mere mention of it sent a chill down her spine, stirring memories of ghostly whispers and shadowy corridors.

“I did not take you for a superstitious man, Ser,” Maera remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice. But her amusement quickly faded as she realized the gravity of the situation. She furrowed her brows in frustration, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on the rim of her teacup as this was now the second time she had heard about the cursed castle within the space of a day.

“Yet it seems the place has not been far from my ears of late,” she added, her tone somber. She took another sip of tea, the warmth of the liquid offering a brief respite from the chill that had settled over her. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

With a steely resolve, Maera decided it was futile to dwell on her worries at that moment. Rising from her chair, she dismissed her maid and her sworn sword, craving some time alone to gather her thoughts. Once she was alone in the quiet solitude of her chambers, Maera retrieved her painting equipment and a fresh canvas, determined to channel her emotions into something productive. As she set up her easel near the window, the soft light filtering through the curtains cast a gentle glow over the room, creating an atmosphere of tranquility.

Using steady brushstrokes, Maera began to paint, her mind fully focused on the task at hand. She chose to create something for Helaena, hoping to bridge the gap that had formed between them during their tense encounter earlier. Maera's brush moved with purpose, depicting bess beetles amidst a backdrop of vibrant flowers. Each stroke of her brush was deliberate, as she carefully crafted the scene, infusing it with depth and detail. The beetles crawled amongst the petals, their iridescent shells gleaming in the dappled sunlight, while the flowers swayed gently in an imaginary breeze.

As she used a sponge to smooth out the colours on the flowers, her mind couldn't help but wander back to Harrenhal, a place that had suddenly become a focal point in her life. Why had Helaena issued such a cryptic warning about it? And what did Aegon mean by suggesting Aemond missed Harrenhal during the Small Council meeting? The enigmatic smile on Lord Larys's face only added to her confusion.

Lost in her thoughts, Maera continued to paint, the rhythmic motion of her brushstrokes providing a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty. But as the hours passed, fatigue began to set in once again, prompting Maera to finally acknowledge her body's need for rest. Setting aside her painting supplies, Maera removed her apron and training leathers, exchanging them for the comfort of her nightdress and robe. With a sigh of relief, she made her way to the chaise near the bookcase, sinking into its soft cushions with a sense of relief. As she lay there, the weariness of the day catching up to her, Maera closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift into a peaceful doze.

A few hours later, she was jolted awake by the creak of her chamber doors, blinking sleepily as she tried to adjust to the sudden intrusion. Her eyes fell upon her husband, Aemond, striding into the room with a sense of urgency, concern etched into the furrow of his brow. He moved swiftly, setting down tomes and scrolls on the table before hastening towards her. Aemond’s appearance was as striking as ever, his Valyrian features chiseled and defined. His single violet eye bore a depth of emotion, reflecting both worry and determination as he sat beside her on the chaise.

He spoke with a voice laden with worry, "I would have come sooner; I have just been told what happened with Helaena."

Maera struggled to fully register his concern, her thoughts still muddled from the abrupt awakening. As she focused on his words, the memories of earlier that day flooded back, clouding her expression with a furrowed brow. Aemond continued his inquiries, "Are you alright? Is the babe-"

"What is at Harrenhal?" Maera cut him off mid-sentence, her gaze locking onto him with an intensity that sought answers. The Prince was visibly taken aback, his single eyebrow raised, and his shoulders tensed in response.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Aemond replied with a question, evoking a hint of frustration from Maera.

Huffing, Maera rose from her seat, the fabric of her night dress billowing softly around her as she moved gracefully across the room to the dining table. There, she found a jug of orange and ginger juice left for her by her maid, a small gesture of care amidst the tumultuous events of the day. Pouring herself a goblet, she couldn't help but offer a wry comment to her husband as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Because it seems to be a popular topic at the moment," she remarked, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words. Aemond's gaze followed her movements, his expression unreadable as he watched her sip from the goblet, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat. “Your sister alluded to it today," Maera continued, her voice tinged with urgency. "Linking it to potential danger to our child."

Aemond sighed, a weary expression crossing his features as pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maera-" he began, but she cut him off once more, her determination unyielding.

"And your brother... what did he mean? Why would you have missed it?" she pressed, her tone demanding answers.

The One-Eyed Prince's frustration was evident as he stood to join her at the table, gathering his parchments from earlier. "He is trying to get under my skin, and in the process, getting under yours. That is all," he explained tersely, his voice tinged with irritation.

But Maera was not satisfied with his explanation. The cryptic words from both Aegon and Helaena lingered in her mind, fueling her determination to uncover the truth. "But I-" she started, only to be silenced by Aemond's firm voice.

"Enough, Maera," he interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. Maera's breath caught in her throat at the reprimand, a sense of unease settling over her. This dismissiveness was unlike him, a sign that there was more to the situation than met the eye.

She swallowed her protest, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. Watching as Aemond carefully stowed away his parchments, Maera resigned herself to silence, knowing that pressing further would only lead to more frustration.

"...As you wish, husband," she conceded quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Seemingly sensing her unease, Aemond approached her with a softened gaze, his touch gentle as he placed a chaste kiss on her hand. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes of his concern for her well-being.

Forcing a smile, Maera resolved to play the role of dutiful wife, Princess of the Realm, and soon-to-be mother of Aemond's child. As they sat together for dinner that evening, she made a conscious effort to set aside her questions, knowing that the truth would reveal itself in due time.

A moon passed since the incident with Helaena and the stern talk with Aemond, yet life for Maera settled into a rhythm of routine and contentment. Since taking them to ward, each afternoon was spent with Jaehaera and Maelor, playing and teaching them, cherishing their innocence amid the conflict of the realm. Maera shared the news of their impending cousin with them, though Jaehaera met it with apprehension, fearing for their safety in the wake of Jaehaerys' murder. Despite her own concerns, Maera shielded the young princess from the full weight of her worries

Amidst the day-to-day responsibilities, Maera received an outpouring of congratulations from noble lords and ladies, their well-wishes arriving in various forms, from formal letters to personal visits. Queen Alicent's congratulations, however, carried a somber undertone, a reflection of her own grief and uncertainty in the wake of Jaehaerys' tragic death. Despite the external displays of support, Maera couldn't shake the lingering sense of foreboding that permeated the air, a constant reminder of the dangers lurking beyond the safety of the castle walls. Prayers were said frequently to the Mother for Maera's health and the safety of her unborn child, a sentiment echoed throughout the Realm.

Through it all, Maera's pregnancy became more evident, a small bump gradually forming beneath her skin and growing with each passing day. Since her encounter with Helaena, Maera felt a deeper connection to the life growing inside her, embracing the fierce maternal instincts that accompanied it. After the initial shock and turmoil, Maera found herself grateful for the experience, as it solidified her resolve and affirmed her desire for this child, despite the uncertain times ahead.

Meanwhile, Maera's spy network proved to be a valuable asset in keeping her informed about the ongoing battles and political developments. She carefully curated the information gleaned from her sources, supplementing the fragments shared by Aemond. Maera did not wish to pry too much into political affairs with her husband as he spent all day discussing them as Hand of the King. Instead, she ensured the limited time they had together was just for them.

One key revelation from the squire in her network was the disruption of trade routes by House Velaryon, whose fleet patrolled the Gullet and prevented trade from reaching Kings Landing. Instead, the merchants ships from Essos to reroute through Broad Arch Bay in the Stormlands, under the guard of ships from the Straits of Tarth, Maera's inheritance. Despite the efficiency of Morne's fleet, significant losses of food, livestock, and weapons occurred before reaching King's Landing via horse. While the temporary solution sufficed for the moment, the Crown would have to review the arrangement at some point as it was not sustainable in the long-term.

Despite their disagreement a month ago, it seemed like a distant memory as Aemond became increasingly attentive to Maera's needs throughout her pregnancy. He diligently ensured she took her prescribed medication from the Maester daily, and carefully avoided foods that triggered her sensitive stomach. Aemond's gestures of care extended to physical support as well, always placing a reassuring hand on the small of her back when they walked together or assisting her out of chairs, despite her protests.

There was also a possessive streak that emerged, evident in his reluctance to let anyone else touch her growing stomach, emitting a low growl if any courtiers dared to approach too closely. Despite this protective demeanor, Aemond continued to regard Maera with pride, adoration, and an underlying sense of something deeper, which filled her with warmth and affection.

Yet the Gods were not known for allowing peace to last for too long. One afternoon, after playing in the gardens with the children, Ser Arryk rushed to her to inform her there was an incident that required her attention in her chambers. Confused, Maera allowed herself to be escorted back to her rooms, unsure of what could possibly be so important to interrupt her time with Jaehaera and Maelor.

Walking into her room, she recognised the son of the stablehand, a boy who she had enlisted as part of her spy network, standing beside Thena, his youthful countenance betraying a palpable nervousness. His eyes remained fixed on the ground, fingers nervously toying with the frayed hem of his tunic, a telltale sign of the weight of the information he carried.

The maid placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and with a sad smile, encouraged him to open up. “Just tell the Princess what you told me, boy.”

Slowly, tentatively, the boy lifted his gaze to meet Maera’s, his eyes wide with apprehension yet brimming with a sense of urgency. Sensing the boy’s trepidation, Maera softened her gaze and nodded, offering a silent reassurance that he was safe in her presence. After all, he was but a child caught in the web of courtly intrigue.

"I was preparing some of the soldiers' horses before they depart to Duskendale with the Lord Commander," the boy started, his voice trembling slightly. Ser Criston's mission to execute those aligned with Rhaenyra in the nearby Houses was underway, a grim reminder of the ongoing conflict.

"Nearby, I heard one of the Kingsguard and another soldier talking about Harrenhal," the boy continued, his words awakening dormant frustrations within Maera. She tensed at the mention of the accursed castle, the memories of her disagreement with Aemond resurfacing.

"They were speaking about plans to move soldiers to different parts of King's Landing in case Princess Rhaenyra attacks," the boy shared, unaware that Maera had already been privy to such discussions in the Small Council meeting after little Jaehaerys’ funeral. Aemond's reluctance to relocate the Harrenhal forces was etched in her memory.

"The Kingsguard said not to worry, as surely Prince Aemond would be sent there," the boy squeaked, his anxiety palpable. As he fiddled with his tunic, hesitant to reveal more, Maera gently nodded, silently urging him to continue.

Swallowing nervously, the boy pressed on, "The soldier laughed, stating he was previously stationed at Harrenhal and said the Prince would enjoy being back there because of the witch."

Maera's brows furrowed at the unexpected revelation. A witch at Harrenhal? The notion struck her as unfamiliar and perplexing. Her mind raced with questions. What purpose did this mysterious woman serve at the cursed castle? And why did the soldiers associate her with Aemond?

The boy’s voice snapped her back to reality as he continued relaying the information to Maera. “The Kingsguard said that the Prince would not leave as you are, well…” he hesitated, gesturing awkwardly towards Maera's swelling abdomen, which she instinctively cradled. A tender smile gracing her lips at the acknowledgment amongst the courtiers of Aemond's loyalty to their growing family.

However, the boy's next revelation shattered the fragile tranquility. His words pierced through the air, injecting the atmosphere with a venomous sting. "But the soldier stated that men need respite from their pregnant wives and often seek it within their whores, and no doubt the Prince would do the same."

Time seemed to freeze as shock rippled through Maera's veins, her heart pounding against her chest as if seeking escape from the betrayal that threatened to consume her. Anguish and indignation surged within her, a tempest of emotions roiling beneath a façade of composed poise. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening with a suffocating weight as the reality of Aemond's alleged infidelity bore down upon her. The sting of betrayal gnawed at her soul, leaving her gasping for air amidst a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Thena's weary sigh and the sound of Ser Arryk's armour shifting served as distant echoes in Maera's swirling consciousness. With a stubborn effort, she fought to regain her composure, to wrestle back control from the tumultuous storm raging within her. Clenching her fists, she refused to let her feelings towards the news consume her.

Summoning every ounce of resolve, Maera cleared her throat, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. "Who else knows about this?" Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with a sense of urgency and apprehension.

The young boy shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between Maera and the ground beneath his feet. "I'm not sure, Princess, but I've told no one but Thena and you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maera's mind raced as she weighed her next course of action. With measured deliberation, she approached the bookshelf, retrieving a small silk purse and withdrawing three silver coins. Pressing them into the boy's hand, she imparted a solemn warning. "This does not leave this room. Understood?"

The boy nodded solemnly, his eyes wide with apprehension, before bowing hastily and scurrying out of the room. As the doors closed behind him, Maera felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her. In the blink of an eye, Ser Arryk was by her side, his strong arm offering support as her tears flowed freely, the floodgates of emotion finally released.

She stood in stunned silence, her mind reeling from the revelation that shook the very foundation of her marriage. Her heart ached with a piercing pain, each beat echoing the shattered fragments of trust that lay scattered within. Her husband, her Aemond. The only man she had ever been with. The only man she had ever loved, had lain with a whore. It did not make sense. For years, Aemond criticised Aegon for his whoring in Flea Bottom, and yet Aemond was laying with one at Harrenhall? Maera’s mind raced, wrestling with itself and trying to rationalise the justification for his actions. There had to be more to it.

Beside her, Ser Arryk's voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade, his frustration palpable in the air. "That fucker. I knew he couldn’t be trusted."

Thena, ever the voice of reason, interjected gently, her arm linking with Maera's in a gesture of solace. "Your slander against the Prince won’t help things," she cautioned, her kind eyes offering a glimmer of comfort amidst the turmoil. "It cannot be true, Princess. Surely it is just a rumour. A jest amongst soldiers. Anyone can see how devoted the Prince is to you."

Maera remained silent, her thoughts swirling in a maelstrom of disbelief and anguish. Ser Arryk's scoff echoed through the chamber, drawing a sharp glare from Thena before she continued. "For the entirety of your marriage, he has never left King's Landing."

"I hate to say it, but she’s right, Princess," Ser Arryk conceded.

Sniffles punctuated the air as Maera tried to compose herself, the sleeve of her regal black and golden dress serving as an impromptu tissue. "That may be so, but if this woman truly is a witch, maybe she found other ways to reach him," Maera murmured, her voice filled with sadness, mirroring the feeling of sorrow within her chest.

Yet amidst the confusion and betrayal, ignition of determination began to stir within Maera. She knew she could not afford to succumb to despair, not when the safety of her child and herself hung in the balance. The need to regain control, to protect herself and her unborn child, surged to the forefront of her thoughts. A resolve, steelier than before, began to take hold.

Maera turned to Ser Arryk, her protector and confidant, with a sense of purpose. "Did Lord Larys ever deliver information on your brother to you?" she inquired, her voice tinged with a note of urgency.

The knight nodded solemnly in response. "He did, Princess. And apparently, my brother is well, serving as a personal guard to Princess Rhaenyra. Why do you ask?" he questioned, his curiosity piqued by Maera's sudden inquiry.

"It is time to call in that favor from the Master of Whispers," Maera declared, her voice tinged with a sense of resignation. Despite her reluctance to entangle herself in the web of political intrigue, she knew that desperate times called for desperate measures. And if there was even a chance of uncovering the truth behind Aemond's betrayal, she was willing to seize it with both hands.

Notes: Ok we’ve entered our drama era ☕️ also whoever thinks marriage means happily ever after is sorely fucking mistaken 🙃 I’ve had to split this again into two chapters because there’s just so much to uncover.

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @manipulatixe @marvelescvpe @0eessirk8 @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy

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

[blue-serendipity]

Thinking of Gojo who keeps you company while you make dinner. You said he could stay and watch, but he wouldn’t be able to help after the last time he offered to help. This man dropped every ingredient you had prepped for this new dinner idea you wanted to try out, all in one full force swing of his elbow. He’s been fired as your kitchen assistant since then.

You let him observe, but sometimes he just sits at the dinner table and watches you from there. It makes you nervous because he gives you bedroom eyes and you have no choice but to ignore him or you’ll never get anything done. It’s not his fault you look hot in an apron.

Once everything is cooking, you lean against the counter and take your reward for all the hard work you’ve done— your glass of wine that’s been sitting in front of you as motivation to get dinner finished. Gojo gets up from the table and walks over to you after a couple minutes of just watching you savor the drink.

“That looks good. Can I try some?”

He doesn’t drink alcohol, says bitterness is the worst taste a human can endure, but you make it look so appetizing, the way you sip on it. You don’t question it, though. You offer him the glass, but he pushes it back towards you gently and shakes his head.

“You know I don’t like bitterness.” He grins at the confused look on your face. You’re thinking about how else he would get to try the drink while he admires how pretty you look. Your cheeks are pink from the heat surrounding the kitchen, your hair is pulled into his favorite type of bun—the one that has loose locks around the sphere that makes it look like blades, and to top it all off, you’re wearing an apron.

“You can’t have any, then.”

“Sure I can. Do you give up?”

You give it one last thought before shrugging in defeat. He takes the glass out of your hand, putting it up to your lips for you to take another sip. He puts it down on the counter afterward, taking the whole step it took to be pressed against you. You look up at him, left with no time to wonder what his next move would be. He puts his hands on your lower back, where your apron is secured in a knot, and leans in to kiss you. The way his tongue invaded your mouth was as if he wanted to take all the flavor out of it. Then he broke the kiss, only to go back and kiss every inch of your lips, his tongue poking out occasionally to absorb the flavor on them as well.

You looked genuinely stunned once he finished, meanwhile, he looked satisfied.

“That was pretty good, but I wouldn’t have it on its own.”

“What was that?” You ask, cheeks burning as you try to hold his gaze.

He chuckles, pulling you close again. Your chin rests on his chest as you look up at him. “Your lips are a natural sweetener. I would never drink that on its own so I figured I could taste it off your lips instead.”

“There’s no wine flavor in my mouth anymore, ‘toru.”

He grabs the glass again, shaking it in front of you. You swallow, wondering if he’ll do it again if you have some more.

“Thirsty?”

Your heart drops, but you reach for the glass anyway. You have another sip, holding eye contact with Gojo as you do. He repeats the same process afterwards, this time leaving you even more breathless. Maybe it was the wine working its magic on you, or the heated tension between you and Gojo, but you felt incredibly light.

“Do you like it?” You mumble, holding his bicep.

“It’s the literal definition of getting drunk off your kisses. What’s not to like?”

Your timer went off, pulling you out of the trance Gojo lured you into. “Shit,” you mutter, pushing past him. “Dinner’s ready,” you say, turning off the oven.

“It needs to cool down,” Gojo mumbles, kissing the nape of your neck as you stand up to shut the oven door.

“Don’t you want fresh food?”

“Mm… maybe in a little bit. Once I don’t have to fear burning my tongue off.” He wraps his arms around your waist, still kissing your neck and shoulders. “Just want some more of those drunken kisses, right now.” He loosens his hold on you and grabs the bottle of wine and your hand, dragging you to the room with him.

“I’m sure we’ll be starving once this is tapped out,” he says. With the weight the bottle held, it seemed like Gojo grew addicted to the taste of your lips lathered with that burgundy colored liquid. It would be a while until you both devoured anything that wasn’t each other because the bottle was brand new, and you had only poured a single glass of it.

[blue-serendipity]

Gojo NSFW alphabet? Pretty please.

GOJO SATORU NSFW ALPHABETS

A/n: Thank you anon for this request, I hope you like it 🥹❤️‍🔥.

Warnings 🔞⚠️: SMUT NSFW MDNI

Note : If your request isn't posted yet it's because I'm still working on them, thank you for your understanding and patience 🤍.

A= Aftercare ( How is he like after sex?)

After a rough session Gojo would treat you right. He'll spoil you. He'll get you whatever you want, snacks, water, chocolate, takeouts? Literally anything you crave. He's a giant so he will cuddle you, and you can't escape his arms.

B= Body part: ( His favorite part of your body?)

He loves every part of your body, but your thighs are his favorite. He likes to burry his head between them. He likes to pinch them, squeeze them and bite your inner thighs a lot. Your thighs both calm him and excite him depending on his mood.

C= Cum: (Where he would prefer to cum?)

Definitely your face! He finds it extremely hot and attractive. It would turn him on more and gets him hard again at the spot. Just the sight of you under him while your face drips with his cum makes him go crazy, especially if there's some on your lips and you lick it, damn he would definitely go for another session, a harder and more rough one.

D= Dirty talk:

He's so into dirty talk, like he won't shut up while you're both fucking the shit out of each other. He's very playful, so exepct a lot of teasing. He's a confident man but dirty talk boosts his confidence even more, and it makes him feel very dominant. He's rough so he would give commands and makes you do as he says.

“Oh you think you can handle me? Okay then but don't say I didn't warn you”

“Oh you're enjoying that? my little slut”

“Come on turn around now, face down”

“Feel me fucking pound it”

E= Experience: ( Is he experienced? )

He's a busy man, he works often so he doesn't have time to get into shallow relationships or even one night stands so I don't think he's very experienced, but he's rather naturally good at it. Maybe because he's confident in his body and abilities and he follows his flow so everything turns out to be perfect for him. So when he gets into a serious relationship he'll give you the best sex of your life.

F= Favorite Position:

Oh Gojo got many favorite positions and he's good at each one of them. No matter what position it is, he'll reach your G-spot and make you scream from pleasure. But if I had to mention some positions, I'd say Against the wall?! He likes it when your back hits the hard wall from how rough he's pushing his length inside you while your legs are wrapped around his torso. Also I would say missionary! He likes being on top of you while he looks at how flustered expressions and the fuck faces you make.

G= Goofy: ( Is he goofy during sex? )

Goofy like playful but definitely not vanilla. He's rough, but at the same time chill. Idk if you get it, but like he's rough in a teasing way and not the very serious way. The type that makes you both smirk.

H= Hygiene:

This man is very hygienic, he cares a lot about his appearance and cleanliness and down there as well. He makes sure he's well groomed / shaved. Also his body smells really nice, like you'd be sniffing him the whole time when he's on top of you. His scent is sweetly intoxicating. In return he prefers his partner to shave/ wax as well.

I= Intimacy:

He can be sweet if you want him to be. But most of the time he's rough. He's a man with a lot of responsibilities hanging on his shoulders, so he'd like some tough relief you know, to take everything out. And he does, when he fucks you hard. Would ask for consent first of course.

J= Jerk off:

He would masturbate very often at the thought of you. Since he's always at work, both of you won't be having a regular sex life so to relieve himself when he misses you, he sneaks somewhere and pleasures himself imagining that you're the one giving him a hand job.

K= Kink:

Moaning? your moans turn him on more and more and encourages him to fasten his pace. Your whimpers / screams / panting boosts his confidence, proving that he's fucking you right. Also he's into praise words ( receiving ), oh man just tell him that you like the way his dick slide in and out of you, just tell him how good he makes you feel, tell him that you want only his dick inside of you and see how he's gonna make you see stars.

L= Location: (His fav place to have sex)

Anywhere! But his favorites are in the shower room, pounding you against the cold wall or in the backseat of the car, he loves how the windows turn foggy after literally destroying you.

M= Motivation : (What turns him on?)

When you bend in front of him to get something. Intentional or not, it would get him instantly hard. He just loves your body so much and wants to appreciate in every way including sex

N= No: ( Something he wouldn't do)

Threesome or more are a big no no for him. He would never share you with anyone. He believes that you're his and he's yours. End of discussion.

O= Oral sex:

Of course Gojo enjoys giving head and pleasuring you but not as much as when he's the one getting it. He's a bit greedy and very egoistic so yeah he'd care a lot about his own pleasure and you have to do a great job and suck the cum out of his dick. He likes the feeling of your hands and lips around his length, while he throws his head back in satisfaction while his orgasm builds up. He likes to challenge himself, so he give you the green light till he reaches his breaking point that gets him begging for you to stop.

P= Pace:

Starts slow but then turns fast real quick. He's not worried about making you cum fast, because he'd go for many rounds and makes you cum over and over again.

Q= Quickies:

As I said Gojo is a busy man so you don't have a regular sex life, so he'd grasp the chance whenever you see each other. Even if he's seeing you for a few minutes, both of you would sneak somewhere and have a quick sex. Of course he'll make it up for you with a long ass passionate night when you have time for yourselves.

R= Risks:

I feel like Gojo is open to try new things with you, anything except involving another individual in your sex life. So by risks I mean like he might try public sex, pleasuring you under the table during an important meeting.

S= Stamina:

This man doesn't sleep, he's got a lot of energy, so he can go as long as you can handle. Does he ever get tired? no. So you better prepare yourself for a long night.

T= Toy:

I can't see him using any toys on himself or on you. When he's pleasuring you he prefers using his mouth, tongue and fingers and not toys, nothing else can fuck you expect for him. He believes that a piece of plastic won't get the job done.

U= Unfair:

Satoru is the biggest tease ever. He likes to annoy you. Sometimes, he might edge you till you start begging and pleading for him to make you cum. He's so damn good at it. And he knows how to use his teasing into making you more horny and needy for him.

V= Volume: (Is he loud?)

Satoru is so damn loud. He'd moan, groan, growl, whimper... anything. He likes how your moans harmonize together, it's like music to his ears and it pushes him to his limits. He's not shy or embarrassed, nah he wants you to hear his moans, he knows very well how it turns you on. He'd moan into your ear, also breathes heavily which is so fucking attractive. Even if you're not making love he'd occasionally moan in your ear to make you all flustered.

W= Wildcard:

Despite being a confident man, not easily offended and no one can compare to him, he's still a pretty jealous type. Even though he knows no one can get near you or compete with him or steal you away, whenever someone looks at you in a not very likable way he'd get pissed off and turns on his protective mode. If you dare to tease him and make him jealous on purpose, you already know what's waiting for you. Yep, definitely jealous sex, and if he can't contain himself till you get home then he would literally make out with you in public while everyone is watching. Gojo doesn't really give a single fuck, he'll devoure you, slip tongue, steal your breath away while he's kissing you hungry kisses.

X= X-rays:

He's a big guy so you know what to expect. Your eyes would be wide open the first time you saw him. It is indeed huge and thick, got you nervous and wondering how it would fit inside of you but it did.

Y= Yearning:

He's always ready for you to take him. Always ready for sex with you when you're in the mood of course. Due to his schedule he won't be able to be with you everyday so that accumulation of a long ass week of missing you and wanting to be inside you got him all ready and horny for when he sees you.

Z= Zzz:

Nah he won't fall asleep immediately after that. He'll pamper you first, take care of you and make sure you're comfortable and not hurt after being a total freak in bed. He'll put you to sleep and watches over you then he'll fall asleep if he managed to.

[blue-serendipity]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader summary: you make out with gojo genre: suggestive, short and sweet fluff notes: this was originally an akaashi fic but i rewrote it, petnames, gojo calls reader sweetheart and pretty, wc: ~1.8k

the day that gojo satoru asked you out was the day that you were sure your heart would give out. if you were to ask anyone else, it had been a long time coming, and everyone had sighed in relief when he had finally approached you with a confident smile and his pretty, blue eyes.

of course, you were wrong. sitting on the couch, tucked into gojo's side with his arm slung around your shoulders, you realize that this might actually be the moment where your heart gives out. you glance up at him sneakily, your eyes tracing every feature of his face as he remains engrossed in whatever movie the two of you had put on.

you don't even notice the small sigh that escapes your lips as you gaze at him, the soft sound drawing his attention to you. your cheeks flood with heat as he turns his head to face you, his lips raising at the corners as he smiles at you.

"see something you like?" he asks, his smile growing when you nod. he tightens his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him as he presses a kiss to your forehead. you breathe in deeply at the contact, and you can't help the way your eyes wander towards his lips. a breathy laughs leaves him as he notices, and he ducks his head down slightly, his lips mere centimeters from yours when he pauses.

"can i kiss you?" he whispers, watching you closely as he waits for your response. you nod softly, your eyes never straying from his lips as you lean forwards the slightest bit. he pulls back when he feels your lips brush his, shaking his head lightly when you give him a frustrated look. "i need to hear you say it, sweetheart."

"just kiss me already, satoru," you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut when he finally leans down all the way to press his lips against yours. his lips are soft against yours, and you lean up slightly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. your hands find purchase in his jacket, balling up the fabric in your grip as his lips begin to move against yours slowly, parting them with every move. you respond enthusiastically, your neck craning upwards as you melt into his touch.

seconds pass as the two of you remain exchange lazy kisses, a muffled squeak leaving your lips when you feel gojo's large hands travel to your waist. it doesn't take much effort for him to pull you onto his lap, hands slipping down to the curve of your ass in an attempt to steady you as you straddle him.

you break the kiss first, pulling back slightly and chuckling when he chases your lips with his. you indulge him with a quick peck before pushing him back, releasing his jacket to let your hands trail up towards his face. gojo tenses underneath your touch as your fingers reach around his head, softly tugging at his blindfold before slipping it off.

his eyelashes flutter as he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his gaze burning into you as he smiles. you toss the blindfold to the side, placing your hands on his shoulders as he squeezes your butt.

"getting bold now, aren't we?" you tease, a pretty smile on your face as he stares at you with bright eyes.

"maybe just a little," he says, giving you a crooked grin. you laugh breathlessly before leaning forward and capturing his lips with yours once again. a soft gasp escapes your mouth when you feel one of his hands slide up your back, resting in between your shoulder blades as he presses you closer against him.

he takes the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your ass sliding up to grab your hip when you let out a soft whimper. one of your hands remains on his shoulder, the other sliding up to tangle in his soft hair as you arch into him. your skin feels hot underneath his touch, and you feel yourself jolt when the hand that had been resting on your hip slips underneath your shirt, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin.

"is this okay?" gojo asks, his voice nothing but a husky whisper against you. his eyes remain closed as he waits for you to speak, peppering feathery kisses along your chin and cheeks but choosing to avoid your lips.

"yes," you murmur quickly, tilting your head to capture his lips. gojo chuckles at your eagerness, and you find yourself pulling back when your fingers brush against the collar of his jacket. you waste no time before bringing your hands back to his chest, your fingers working swiftly as you make quick work of the buttons. gojo makes no complaint as he watches, letting go of you when you begin to slide the fabric off of his shoulders.

he quickly slips his arms out of the sleeves, tossing his jacket to the side before quickly wrapping his arms around you once more. your position somehow feels more intimate now that there's less layers between the two of you, and you feel your head spin as he pulls you into another dizzying kiss. you throw your arms around his neck, tangling both hands in his hair and tugging lightly as he moans into your mouth.

gojo's eyes fly open when you move away from his mouth, pressing fleeting kisses to the corner of his mouth, cheek, and jawline before peppering kisses all along the column of his throat. his lets his eyes flutter shut as your lips ghost over his skin, his breath stuttering when they brush over the sensitive spot below his ear.

"fuck!" he hisses, tilting his head further back as chuckle breathily against his skin. you can feel him shiver underneath your touch, his fingers slipping underneath your shirt and digging into your skin. "that feels good."

you suck on his skin lightly, drawing a low moan from gojo's lips before you soothe the spot with your tongue. you repeat the process a few more times, basking in the soft sounds coming from gojo's mouth as you make sure his neck is littered with small, pretty, red marks.

you only stop when gojo tucks two fingers under your chin, turning your face towards him to kiss you. his tongue slips easily into your mouth, and you whimper lightly when you feel it slide against yours. the hand underneath your chin come down to wrap around your waist, the other sliding down to grip your thigh tightly as he shifts in his spot.

you feel the world around you tilt, and your eyes widen when you feel your back hit the couch. you're pliant underneath gojo as he presses himself down against you, moving your legs so that they're wrapped tightly around his waist. he holds himself up on his elbows, pulling away to admire the shocked expression on your face.

"look at you," gojo murmurs, sharp eyes taking in your disheveled appearance. "looking so pretty underneath me."

you can feel yourself squirm at his words, and you tilt your head back when he leans in to press a kiss to the side of your jaw. he laughs lowly at how easily you give in to him, and the thought of you trusting him so wholeheartedly makes him feel like he has butterflies fluttering about in his stomach.

"all mine, aren't you?" he whispers against your neck, desperate to hear your answer. he freezes momentarily when you giggle, his heart dropping the moment you push him away and brush his hair back from his forehead. it doesn't last long, and gojo feels his heart swell when you look up at him with a goofy smile, your nose scrunched and eyes crinkled half-shut as you hold his hair back in a haphazard ponytail.

"of course i am," you finally say, your voice low but sure as you mutter the words gojo never knew he wanted to hear. he can't help the pout that forms on his lips, and he gives you a hurt look before looking away.

"then why'd you laugh?"

another giggle slips out from your lips, and you lightly tug at his hair in order to draw his attention back to you. "because your hair was tickling my neck, dummy."

gojo's face flushes in embarrassment, and he quickly schools his expression into a smug smile as he lifts a hand to trace your jawline. "i knew that."

"sure you did," you snort. gojo chooses to shut you up with a kiss, this one hungrier than the previous ones as he rolls his hips against yours. your soft moans are music to his ears, and he can't help but bite down on your bottom lip, causing you to gasp before you pull him in even more to kiss him harder.

a whine escapes from his lips as you pull back, your hands cradling his face as you study him from below. his cheeks are flushed a brilliant pink, lips swollen and shiny with spit as he looks at you in confusion. you admire the way he looks at you, eyes half-lidded and darkened with want as his eyelashes cast light shadows against his cheeks.

"you're so beautiful, satoru" you murmur, causing the pink on his cheeks to darken. your thumbs run along his cheekbones absentmindedly, and gojo almost feels tempted to hide from your piercing gaze. "i can't believe i get to be with you and kiss you whenever i want."

you punctuate your sentence with a kiss, pausing briefly when gojo hums in delight.

"you're so fucking pretty," he mumbles, pulling back slightly. "i've been thinking about kissing you all night and i just love having you in my arms and fuck—,"

he trails off as your fingers get caught in his hair, tugging at the silky strands as he buries his face into your neck. your fingers skim along the back of his neck, making him shiver as he breathes softly against you.

"you're all i need," he murmurs. "i'm sure of it."

he rolls over onto his back, pulling you onto his chest before intertwining his legs with yours. you cuddle into him eagerly, resting your hands on his chest before he grabs one and pulls it up to his lips. you melt when he presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles, keeping your hand in his as he smiles down at you.

"that was cheesy," you say teasingly, ignoring the half-hearted glare he shoots you. "but i hope you know you're all i need too, satoru. i love you."

he lights up at your words, feeling lighter than he has in years as you stare up at him.

"I love you too."

the two of you stay in that position for the rest of the night, the movie long forgotten as you lay in each other's arms.

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[blue-serendipity]

"do you like me?" "nope."

gojo satoru x reader summary: even yuuji realizes that gojo has a crush on you, but you're oblivious as ever w/c: 1.1k tags/warnings: ft. yuuji and megumi. fluff. super light angst. lots of banter. a lil mutual pining. yuuji and gojo being chaotic. gender neutral reader. a/n: not sure how this turned out, but it was fun to write! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

"(l/n)-sensei!!"

you're trying to relax and really, fifteen minutes is all you want, but these days that seems impossible.

you turn your head toward the sparring field just in time to see yuuji fly into a tree about 30 yards away. megumi is already on the ground struggling to get up.

meanwhile gojo is prancing, literally prancing, in the opposite direction. you walk toward the group with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment playing across your features, all your hope for some peace and quiet crushed.

"that was awesome!" the pink haired boy shouts from amid a mess of leaves and branches.

gojo gushes over the praise, his hands pressing against his cheeks. "thank you, yuuji! it's nice to know someone around here appreciates my unmatched strength."

"i don't remember offering to be a part of the demonstration," megumi grumbles, finally rising to his feet.

his demeanor is less than pleased and you glance at him sympathetically before turning to gojo. "you do know that you're an adult, right? like, as in, a fully grown man."

"(y/n)-chaaaaan, you're always so mean to me," he whines, grabbing your hands dramatically. "what have i done to deserve such cruel treatment?"

"today or in general?" you pretend to think for a second. "i seem to remember you waking me up at seven this morning so that you didn't have to go to your meeting with masamichi-san alone-"

"he was mad at me for skipping the last one i had!"

"-and then you hid my phone for almost an hour because i wouldn't give you my last candy bar-"

"i was starving, (y/n)-chan! it wasn't my fault, you know that!"

"-and then you destroyed that tree, which i really happened to like by the way."

his gaze flickers toward that direction, the splintered wood a sad remnant of what it used to be, then throws his arms in the air. "this is so unfair!"

"(l/n)-sensei! did you see?" yuuji calls out, already fully recovered and bounding toward you.

"i sure did." you chuckle at his tattered clothes and unfazed attitude.

"what'd ya think?"

you really can't bring yourself to scold him, not with all the excitement in his voice. "oh, it was certainly something."

"did you hear that, gojo-sensei?" yuuji lights up.

megumi disguises his laugh with a cough. "i don't think that was a compliment."

the boy visibly deflates so you ruffle his hair. "it was pretty cool, i just don't want you getting hurt." that earns a grin, to your relief.

"so i get yelled at, but you're nice to him?" gojo pouts indignantly.

"yes."

"ugh! this is killing me, (y/n)-chan!" he announces before promptly knocking you to the ground, the action something between a hug and a tackle.

"gojo, get off of me!" you yell, though there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

"i can't! not until you forgive me!"

your giggles ring through the air, music to gojo's ears, and your hands push him away as he tries to tickle your sides. you look like two kids, rolling around in the grass and shouting at one another.

yuuji leans in toward megumi, his voice hushed as if he's about to reveal the world's biggest secret. "i'm starting to think there's something going on between those two."

his friend looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "you're just now noticing?"

~~~

you're making dinner in your apartment while gojo sits on the kitchen floor, his legs splayed out and taking up nearly half of the small room. his blindfold had been discarded at one point or another, something he made a habit of doing when it was just the two of you.

"what are we having tonight, chef?"

"me? i'm having braised chicken thighs. i'm not sure about you though," you tease.

you didn't invite him to dinner, he just kind of followed you back to your place after sparring practice. you don't really mind, you never do, not that you'd ever admit it out loud.

"you wouldn't give me your candy bar and now you won't have dinner with me either? today is the worst! is this still about the tree? i told you i was sorry-"

"geez i was just kidding!" you cut him off. "of course you can have some, but only if you get the flour off the top shelf for me."

"i guess that's a fair trade," he reasons, rising to his feet lazily.

the cabinet is just to your left, so his body presses into yours as he reaches up, the contact making your heart flutter.

"thanks," you exhale when he sets it down within your reach.

he doesn't return to his sitting position, just leans against the counter and watches you carefully stir the ingredients in the pan.

"do you like me?" he inquires suddenly.

"nope."

"hm, do you like like me?" he suggests, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"gojo, that's honestly defamatory."

he rolls his eyes playfully. "c'mon, be serious."

"you be serious," you challenge the usually facetious man.

"i am."

resting your spoon on the pan, you turn to face him, unsure if he's just messing with you like always. the room is silent, save for the faint popping of oil, as he waits for you to say something.

"why do you wanna know?"

"'cause i like you, why else?"

your hands gather the fabric of your apron nervously, crumpling it between your fingers while you avoid his gaze. his words strike you as entirely implausible. after all, he's gojo and you're, well, you.

"you... you shouldn't joke about stuff like that."

he laughs at you and it breaks your heart a little, but then you feel two lithe hands on either side of your face. "(y/n), look at me."

you do, albeit apprehensively, and his eyes bore into your own with an intensity you aren't familiar with. it makes your knees feel weak. a smile tugs at his lips before they capture your own, the movement slow and soft.

your fingers reach up to wrap around his wrist, an attempt to steady yourself against him, before one of his hands travels down to your hip and gives it a light squeeze.

you taste so sweet, feel so perfect in his hands, that gojo kicks himself for waiting so long to kiss you. his lips move to the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, then begin to work their way up your jaw. he hums against your skin, satisfied with the breathy noises he's pulling from your throat.

then, the smell of burning invades your senses and you pull away from each other with wide eyes, exclaiming in unison. "the food!"

[blue-serendipity]

— 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐊⠀ⴕ

— 𝑱𝑼𝑱𝑼𝑻𝑺𝑼 𝑲𝑨𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑵 𝑴𝑬𝑵 𝒙 𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑬𝑴 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

ִ ♱⠀ׂ ִ 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘮𝘦 ?

𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 ⠀ׂ ♡ ִ

He saw her from across the room, And in an instant, his heart consumed. Her beauty and grace, like a shining light, He fell in love at first sight.

But she pushed him away, time and again, Her walls were high, her heart filled with pain. Under her tattoos, she hid her scars, And behind her cold face, she buried her fears.

He could see past her mask, to the real her, He saw the pain that she tried to blur. He loved her flaws, and all her imperfections, To him, she was his perfect reflection.

She loved him too, but was afraid, That her heart would once again be betrayed. She couldn't let her walls come down, For fear of being hurt, like before, she had drowned.

But he didn't care, he held her close, In his arms, she felt the love she chose. He kissed away her tears in the dark of night, And held her tight, until the morning light.

Their love was bittersweet, a constant tug of war, But it was a love that they both adored. In the chaos of life, they found solace, In each other's arms, they found their true palace.

She was his perfect girl, scars and all, In his eyes, she stood tall. And in the end, their love prevailed, Their hearts mended, all fears unveiled.

Hand in hand, they faced life's trials, Through ups and downs, their love never compiled. For in each other, they found true love, A bittersweet journey, with a sweet ending, thereof.

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐲 @blue-serendipity

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

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