summerposie

[summerposie]

Claimant

summary: you've been betrothed to jace and aemond simply can't have that

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, reader is described as looking like alicent (coppery hair, wide eyes) but no other descriptors are used, dark!aemond, targcest, incest, knife play (aemond has a thing for knives idk), knife fucking? she fucks the handle idk, no blood/injury, slight coercion, slight degradation, a very viserys (GoT) coded aemond, slight dubcon but the reader is here for it, fingering, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i genuinely don't know what to say about this. i got inspiration from this last night and became a woman possessed. thank you to @officerbrowneyes for entertaining my delusions.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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creds to @tomblythsgf for the gif!

Your skin prickles, the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end as you feel his gaze on you yet again, making your heart hammer in your chest as you nod along to whatever Lord Tyland is saying, your lips stretched into a polite grin while he drones on and on about something or other. The sweet, heady taste of Dornish wine fills your mouth as you sip from your cup and your eyes flick up as you chance a quick glance to the other end of the great hall. 

A small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes meet his, one lilac and one veiled sapphire, both filled with barely contained rage as he sulks in a darkened corner by the doors. 

“Are you feeling well, princess?” Tyland questions and it’s only then you realize how hard you’re breathing, chest heaving as you pant.  

“Of course,” you manage a tight-lipped, courteous smile, “The excitement of the day must be getting to me, if you’ll excuse me.” Quickly, you make your way back to the main table in the center of the room, smiling gratefully as you lay your eyes on your husband-to-be.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you smile, setting your cup down on the long wooden table, “Would you do me the honor of joining me for another dance?”

His dark eyes light up as you approach and he quickly nods, “How am I meant to say no to my future bride?” He chuckles, standing and offering you a hand, which you gladly accept. 

You try your best to focus on the music, the crowd, the loud hum of the conversations that fill the hall – anything but your older brother’s gaze that still bores into you. You can practically feel his rage multiply tenfold as the brunettes wraps an arm around your waist, your throat dry as you grasp his shoulder, fingers digging into the fine silk tunic he wears. 

“Are you enjoying the feast, princess?” Jace asks as the two of you move gracefully across the floor, the steps of the dance thankfully long-since committed to memory. 

“How could I not?” You smile as he twirls you, your long auburn locks swaying against the satin of the cloak that flows down your back before they settle across your shoulders once more, “This is a most joyous day for both of our families.”

“Of course,” the prince nods thoughtfully, though you can’t help but notice his tawny eyes are clouded with a certain sadness, “What I mean to say is, are you happy to be marrying me?” 

Your lips part to answer, though you don’t manage to get a word out before a strong hand clasps your shoulder, your steps halting immediately. You don’t need to turn your head to see who it is, although the sour look on Jace’s face clears any lingering doubt you may have had in an instant. 

“Nephew,” Aemond speaks lowly over your shoulder, standing so close to you that your back is nearly pressed against his chest, “Could I borrow my sister for a dance?”

The prince steps back with an annoyed sigh, shooting you an apologetic look before nodding at your brother, “Of course, uncle,” his voice is monotone as he speaks, though his eyes brighten once more as they land on you yet again, “Until later, princess.” He whispers, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss against the back of your hand; Aemond all but growls behind you.

Your older brother sweeps in as soon as Jace’s back is turned, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you continue the dance from where you’d left off. “You know I hate seeing you with him,” Aemond rasps, threading the fingers of one of his hands together with yours, “You belong to me, sweet sister, no one else.”

Your heart twists in your chest and you know deep within yourself that his words are true, not that it matters. “There is nothing I can do, brother,” you whisper, your eyes flitting over to where your mother and grandsire sit, “I had no choice in the matter, you know this.”

Aemond hums lowly in his throat as the two of you sway to the soft orchestral music, his hand untangling itself from yours to grasp your chin, tilting your head up to face him. His lilac eye all but burns with fire as he gazes down at you, “You should be mine, you are mine,” he seethes, words hissed through clenched teeth, “Our fool of a mother should’ve known better than to shackle you to some bast–”

“Do not speak ill of mother,” you admonish, shaking your head free of his grasp, “You know she had as little say in the matter as I did.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh out through his nose, teeth gleaming dangerously as he smiles ruefully, the hand at the small of your back tightening still. “You don’t actually want the Strong bastard,” he whispers, careful to hardly breathe the treacherous words in the crowded hall, “Do you, little one?”

Little one. You shiver at the name, one he had called you since childhood, blushing as he smiles knowingly. “Of course not–!”

“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” He whispers hoarsely, eye flitting to your lips before he can stop himself, “Of where your true loyalty shall always lie?”

Before you can answer, he’s leading you from the hall and you willingly follow, his dutiful shadow as always, grasping tightly to his arm as he leads you through the familiar winding corridors of the keep until you come to his chambers at last. 

You gasp as he all but pushes you through the entryway before slamming the heavy wooden door closed behind you. Your wide eyes follow him as he circles you like a shark circles its prey, smirking as he looks you up and down, his intense gaze igniting a fire within your belly. 

“Tell me, sweet sister,” Aemond rasps as he comes to a stop before you, one hand grasping your jaw as his lips skirt over your neck, “Does the Strong bastard still believe you to be a maiden?” 

You whimper softly, the feel of his soft lips against your skin sending you into a tailspin as they have so many times before, “Yes, brother.” You answer simply through a gasp, shivering as his teeth graze against you. 

Aemond chuckles lowly in his throat as his hands make quick work of your gown, his deft fingers undoing various buttons and ties until the fine silks sink to a pool at your feet, leaving you bare before him. 

He takes a second to appreciate you, his eye roaming over the soft curves of you he hasn’t seen in so long — ever since your mother had gotten wind of the maids quietly bringing moon tea to your chambers. 

Without a word, he leaves you and saunters over to his bed. You watch him curiously as you stand on the soft rug spread over the floor in front of the fireplace, a cold shiver running down your spine as he pulls his dagger from his belt and traces the long, silver blade of it as he turns back to you. 

“I cannot be so bold tonight as to claim you with my cock, little one,” he whispers, grinning at the blush blooming over your cheeks, “But I will have a piece of you even still.” 

“Aemond,” you start, voice shaking even as you feel slick beginning to coat the insides of your thighs as puzzle pieces snap together in your mind; you haven’t played this game with him in a very long time, “Pl—“

Your words are cut off with a shriek when the sound of fabric ripping echoes throughout his chamber as Aemond pierces his plush mattress with the dagger, leaving the dark leather hilt protruding from the fabric. 

“Come,” he beckons you over with an outstretched hand, “Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl.” 

Your lower lip wobbles slightly at the double meaning of his words, the fire within you burning bright as you move to him without a second thought, determined to show your brother where your loyalty still lies. 

Aemond laughs softly as he helps you onto the bed, always stunned at how easily you give into him. He holds you steady, his warm hands on your bare hips as you kneel over the knife’s hilt. “You have always been mine,” he murmurs, one hand trailing up your body until it’s cupping one of your breasts, “After tonight I’ll make sure it remains that way.” 

Before you have time to question him, he presses you lower and a whimper leaves your lips as your center brushes against the handle of his blade, the smooth leather gliding seamlessly against your slick folds as you move your hips over it. 

“Oh, Aemond,” you squeak out, eyes fluttering shut as your pearl moves against the hilt, a whine leaving you as you move your hips, trying to position it at your entrance despite yourself, “Please, brother.” You whimper, growing desperate to be filled, even with this part of him. 

Aemond shushes you softly and abandones your breast to grasp at your hip again, pressing soft kisses to your neck as takes heed of your pleas and helps you lower yourself down. His cock stirs within the leather of his trousers, already straining against the fabric as he watches your sweet cunt swallow the hilt of his precious dagger. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes, guiding your hips with one hand as the other snakes up to your throat, smirking as he feels your moan vibrate against his palm, “There’s my strong girl.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you lower yourself down fully, sheathing the dagger within you. The smooth leather of the hilt presses against your walls deliciously, the various curves and bumps pressing into each sweet spot within you with dizzying precision. 

You cannot help the whimper that tumbles from your lips at Aemond’s words, your walls clench at the leather shaft as you begin to move, impaling yourself on the stem again and again as your brother’s lilac she watches you with awe, his own chest heaving as he notices the way your slick shines against the leather, glowing in the soft candlelight of his chambers. 

“Our sweet nephew will never have you,” he says, shaking his head as his eye once again meets yours, “I’m the only one who should see you this way, writhing and wanting.” 

You nod your head as you lean against him, fingers bunched in the fabric of the black tunic he wears. “Only you, brother,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a frantic kiss as your movements grow quicker, “I don’t want anyone else.” 

Aemond gasps against your lips as you grasp his length through his trousers, rubbing over the bulge before desperately pulling at the laces of his breeches. He helps you, taking pity on your shaking hands, and groans lowly into your mouth when your hand wraps around his length, quickly stroking him from root to tip. 

One of the decorative curves of the handle brushes perfectly over the sensitive spot within you each time you buck against the dagger and you melt against his chest as you swirl your hips, grinding yourself on it. 

Aemond is all but animalistic as he groans and growls and licks into your mouth desperately before pulling away from you with a sigh, only to press hot kisses to the column of your throat; one hand once again cups your breast, his thumb teasing over your pert nipple, as the other leaves your neck to tap over your aching pearl. 

“Gods!” You gasp loudly, stroking over his thick, pulsing cock with one hand, keeping time with your hips as you sink over and over onto the handle of his dagger, your other hand weaves into hair at the nape of his neck, eager for something to anchor yourself with. 

“I would sooner gouge my eye out than let him take you,” Aemond groans, his own hips rutting into your touch as the head of his cock leaks steadily between your bodies, “You are mine, I will not stop until it is so.” 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you as your brother’s fingers firmly circle your bud, “Aemond, I—“ 

“Let me have it,” he grunts, determined not to finish until he sees you breaking apart in his arms, “Give yourself to me, little one, let me have it.” He coaxes, doubling his efforts on your sensitive pearl. 

All at once, your high washes over you and go limp against him, a high keening sound escaping from your lips as your walls pulse over the hilt of his blade, pleasure zapping you like lightning as you coat the leather with your release, your slick dripping onto the mattress below you. 

You’re so lost in the fog of your own pleasure that you hardly hear Aemond grunt against your throat, muting his own sounds of pleasure as he bites into your soft skin. His cock twitches between you, his thick seed coating both of you as it drips down your hand. 

The two of you remain still for a moment, your brother holding you protectively against him as he smoothes a hand up and down your back. His kisses you softly as he helps you pull yourself off of his dagger before he lays you on his bed, his fingers combing through your coppery hair as it splays around your head like a halo on his pillow. 

“Stay,” he commands softly, rising from you and plucking his knife from his mattress, groaning appreciatively at the way your juices still shine on the handle, still warm against his palm from where it had been so deeply pressed within you, “I will be back shortly.” 

“Where are you going?” You question, watching as he sheaths the dagger once more into the small scabbard hanging from his belt before he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers, agile fingers quickly re-tying the laces. 

“To make you mine.”

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#summerposie #summerposie rereads

[summerposie]

A Song of Flames & Fury

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse struggles to adjust to the changes in the realm post-civil war.

Warnings: 18+ fic, mentions of blood

note: ohmygoodness. can you believe it's been a year since I started this? I know I took a bit of a break but I had some inspiration and returned to them!

series masterlist

Chapter 19: Happiness

King’s Landing is colder than the Reach. Aemond pulls Elyse close as they ride in the wheelhouse to the castle. The ride is bumpy against the old cobblestones and Elyse clings to her husband like he is the only thing anchoring her to this realm. 

They had flown on Vhagar for the majority of the journey home but as they got closer to the walls of King’s Landing they had to leave her. Vhagar does not fit inside these walls. Elyse wonders if she does anymore either. 

Elyse buries her face against Aemond’s neck, and his arms tighten around her. 

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, lips against her cheek.

She wonders if she’ll ever be able to be parted from him again. Since being reunited she’d not strayed far from his side. Elyse had awoken to him missing from bed in the middle of the night and nearly lost her mind in a moment of madness. He’d returned moments later to her collapsed on the floor, choked with sobs.

“Do not do that,” she demanded through her tears as he consoled her on the stone floor.

She’d followed him since. Hypervigilant and constantly aware, fingers twitching to Elenei strapped at her side. She’d forgone the thigh strap, preferring it to hang against her waist. More accessible that way. 

The wheelhouse stops and Elyse opens her eyes. 

“Home,” Aemond murmurs, “We’re home issa jorrāelagon.”

READ THE REST ON AO3

[summerposie]

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!OC

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Read more on AO3

fic summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.

chapter summary: Elyse flees to Oldtown. Lovers are reunited.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ mentions of death, light smut, language

Ch. 18: Reunion

Elyse’s thighs ached from the journey; Her mouth was dry, fingers cracking from holding the leather reigns of her horse.

“A little longer, my lady!”

Her companion Gareth had said that ages ago before her head became too heavy for her neck to hold upright. Before the beautiful blue river appeared.

The Honeywine. 

They had been following it for ages. It was surely endless. Churning and rippling as though filled with thousands of sapphires catching the light. Elyse had never seen Oldtown, she did not know what to expect. The Reach was foreign ground. 

Highgarden. Her sister. All in the past now. Oldtown was her future. Daeron.

Aemond. 

Elyse opened her eyes, lifting her head from its rest against her horse’s mane. She had to make it. She needed to make it to him. 

The journey feels endless, even when Elyse falls from her horse, her body slamming against the cool earth. She digs her hands into the soft green grass. 

“My lady!” her companion calls, rushing to her aid. 

Get up, Elyse says to herself. You cannot give up now. Not now. 

The trampling of hooves can be heard when her companion reaches her. Only a moment of the roaring sounds of hooves, dust flying around them obscuring their vision. The yelling of soldiers, the neighing of horses. 

Elyse coughs through the dust, shielding her face with her arms. 

“Stop!” a voice calls, and the soldiers move, clearing a path.

Someone dismounts their horse, the sound of rattling chainmail echoing in Elyse’s ears. Gareth is trembling beside her, hands held above his head. Elyse lifts her head, looking up at the men surrounding them, noticing the emblem of a three-headed dragon on their flags. The green flags.

A boy with silver hair pushed forward, clad in armor. His eyes were violet, warm like Helaena’s. His nose was that of Alicent’s and his chin bore an awful resemblance to that of Aegon. A familiar face, Elyse had not seen in many moons.

Elyse rises from the ground on shaky legs. Gareth pulls at her skirts, begging her to remain kneeling in fear of what the soldiers want.

“Daeron,” she said, collapsing into his arms.

“Maester!” Daeron called, scooping Elyse up into his arms, “my brother’s wife, she requires assistance!”

Daeron looked down at Elyse, holding her tightly.

“Where is Aemond?” Elyse murmurs. 

“He shall be here soon, sweet sister,” Daeron promised.

Elyse slept for a long time. The journey, the tragedy of Highgarden was all too much. When she wakes, the sun is warming her face. 

Daeron is there when she wakes, seated at the foot of her bed. He holds water out to her. 

“Drink, sister,” he encourages, and she takes the glass.

Elyse greedily gulps down the liquid.

“I feel I play the part of the fool,” she says once her thirst is quenched, “it is as though I have been asleep a long time.”

Daeron chuckles.

“Not many fools threaten handmaids,” Daeron comments.

“How did you know about that?” Elyse questions.

“Lord Maceon sent word from Highgarden,” he tells her, “soon after your departure.”

“Is he terribly angry with Floris?”

“I do not believe so,” Daeron assures her, “I do not think he blamed her.”

“She helped me,” Elyse admits, “but it was my doing. I wanted to leave.”

“Of course you did,” Daeron says, patting her leg, “Aemond was furious.”

A shiver rolls through Elyse. 

“Where is he?” she asks once more.

“He shall be here soon, I sent a raven as soon as we found you,” Daeron tells her, “he nearly destroyed half the realm.”

“What has happened?” Elyse asked, “I know nothing of the war-”

“It is hardly a war anymore,” Daeron assures, “the North is being pushed back, the Riverlands destroyed…” Daeron pauses, “Rhaenyra is dead.”

His lip quivers when he says it. Elyse wonders what it must feel like to lose a sister. It is something she has wondered about before, something that has plagued her darkest nightmares. She hopes the Stranger is merciful and does not let her experience that pain for many years.

“Daeron…” Elyse begins, almost at a loss for words.

She takes his hand in hers. Daeron smiles tightly, lavender eyes watery. 

“It is my understanding the Jacearys intend to flee to Winterfell, along with Prince Lucerys,” Daeron continues, “Rhaena remains in the Vale, while Baela resides on Driftmark.”

“What shall become of them?” Elyse wonders aloud.

“Aegon needs to make peace,” Daeron concludes, “Hold a council of some kind. Bring peace to the realm.”

“That is wise,” Elyse says nodding, “surely your mother shall advise such peace.”

Daeron nods, though his gaze looks through Elyse. Though he has grown, he still looks so young. So young to see so much death, and violence. 

“Surely,” Daeron says, sniffling.

Elyse takes his hands in hers, holding them tightly. As they sit, the room begins to tremble, the jug of water shaking so violently on the side table, Elyse is sure it shall smash onto the floor. The very foundations of Oldtown seem to be shivering, as though it is a giant waking from a long sleep. 

Until the call of dragonsong is heard. 

Barely a song, a roar. A growl so ferocious it can only belong to a queen of dragons.

Vhagar’s call sends every hair on Elyse’s body standing at attention.

Daeron looks toward the ceiling and Elyse does the same.

“Let me call for some maids,” he begins, “to help you dress-”

But Elyse is already up, clad only in a silk nightgown, her feet bare. She doesn’t even know where she is going as she opens the door, running down the corridors. Just out, just toward the sun, just toward him.

She finds the outside rather quickly, the castle is not as large as Highgarden, not the Red Keep. Elyse sees Vhagar in the distance, forced to land a terribly far distance from the castle. Elyse growls in frustration. The distance between her and Aemond is still too far. She continues, feet freezing, teeth chattering, running through the grass. 

She doesn’t make it all the way to Vhagar before she spots him. Tears welled in her eyes because it's him, it’s him. 

Silver-haired, dressed in his riding leathers, eyepatch forgotten. His sapphire is on full display, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“Aemond,” she breathed. 

The prince stood watching her, eye wide before closing the distance between them and embracing her. 

“Oh my darling,” he murmured, face pressed into her hair, “oh my sweet girl.”

Elyse wrapped her arms tightly around him, tears soaking the fabric of his shirt. 

“I thought I would never see you again.” 

Elyse clings to him as he ushers her back to the castle, into her room, and in front of the fire, wrapping her in furs as her lips have begun to turn blue. The furs are short-lived as she begins to kiss him. There are other ways to warm up. 

There’s no time, as they shed the clothes that separate them fully. Never has Elyse felt more desperate, more greedy as she tears through the fabric of his shirt, sending buttons scattering to different corners of the room.

His mouth is hot and eager against her skin, followed by his hands leaving trails of fire all over her bare skin. Her shift is torn and the edge of the bed bends her legs at the knee, Aemond tumbling on top of her. 

A peel of laughter escapes her, swallowed by Aemond’s mouth. His lips form a smile against her as he holds her close, kissing her, hands squeezing so hard they’re bound to leave bruises. Elyse cannot find a thought in her head that cares. 

Bruise me, she thinks, leave reminders of your touch again and again and again. Never leave me again. 

Tears stream freely down her cheeks, especially when she feels his cock split her in two, finally fully connecting them. She’s crying and laughing all at once, with soft moans of pleasure interrupting the joyous noises as Aemond thrusts deep inside of her. 

He is here. He is alive. 

Another laugh, another rake of her nails down his back.

Aemond is alive. 

Her fingers stroke his face, down the sharp angles of his jaw, the ridges of his scar and he lifts her thigh to allow deeper access. 

“Never leave me again,” Elyse begs, her voice having an edge of hysteria in it.

“I shan’t,” Aemond promises, “they shall have to kill me first.”

Elyse is alone when she wakes and her body cannot shake the memory of being captured. Her heart speeds up, her stomach lurching as though she may be sick. She leaps from bed, pressing a hand over her chest, trying to remind herself where she is.

I am in Oldtown, she says to herself, breathing deeply. I am in Oldtown with Aemond and we are alright. 

The chambers are quiet, aside from the sounds outside. Elsye dons a dressing robe, making her way outside, and down the stairs.

People are bustling, there is commotion everywhere. She spots Daeron’s silver head. 

“Daeron!” she calls, rushing toward him.

He smiles brightly at her, clasping her arm. 

“We are going home, back to King’s Landing,” he begins, “Aegon has declared the war is over.”

NOTE: I've been neglecting my first baby! Hope this reunion makes up for it ily all!

ASOFAF taglist: @minttea07@tssf-imagines, @queenofshinigamis, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @hangmanscoming, @watercolorskyy, @btsarmy2014

[summerposie]

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!OC

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Read more on AO3

fic summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.

chapter summary: A fortnight in Highgarden. Elyse struggles to find joy in her time away from the ones she loves most.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none for this chapter

Ch. 17: Highgarden

“You’ve not left your chambers,” the small voice of Floris enters the room. 

Elyse faces the window, watching the afternoon sun bleed through the satin curtains. Floris walks across the floor, the sound of her slippers growing louder the closer she gets. The bed dips as she sits beside her sister. 

Floris brings a hand to Elyse’s head, caressing the dark hair that matches her own. 

“Let us go outside,” Floris begs, “get you some fresh air.”

Elyse does not answer, she continues to stare. Her dark hair is matted from sleeping all hours of the day. She does not know how long she has slept, the light bleeds through the window and then it fades. And then she closes her eyes again. 

As Elyse sleeps, the realm descends into war. 

“I am happy to see you have risen,” Lord Maceon says, greeting her as she enters the gardens. 

Elyse looks toward the sky, as though hoping the familiar call of Vhagar will soon be heard. The call does not come. Nor does that of Vermax.

“Has Prince Jacaerys departed?” Elyse asks.

Her voice catches in her throat as though she has not spoken in a long while. She wets her chapped lips. Elyse has not had much appetite and has only consumed small pieces of bread and meat. Floris abandons her duties as the lady of Highgarden several times a day to hold water to her sister’s lips. 

The gardens open up to a spacious grove of twisting ivory vines and white lilies that decorate them. The air is heavily perfumed with the scent of flowers, much reminding Elyse of her room at the Red Keep after Lord Maceon had bestowed her with gifts.

How different would it have been if the late King Viserys had lived through the night? If Elyse had made it to Highgarden and married Lord Maceon. The gods are mysterious indeed, in the way they work.

“He was needed on Dragonstone,” Maceon tells her, joining her in her stride.

Elyse is barely dressed. A simple shift and a thick wool cloak to keep the cool air from her skin. The Reach has begun to grow cold, another sign that winter was well on its way. Her black curls have been pulled from her face, as she finally allowed the lady’s maid to comb through her hair with expensive oils from the Free Cities.

And she has finally left her chambers. This pleases Lord Maceon.

“I see,” Elyse says, voice breaking. 

He did not say goodbye, Elyse thinks to herself. 

Though she supposes Jace must hate her now. The true wife of his enemy. 

“Your sister requested those,” Lord Maceon says, attempting small talk by pointing to the ivy vines that swirl up an archway. 

Elyse cracks a small smile at this, at memories of Floris knee-deep in her garden at Storm’s End. How she would trudge mud through the halls causing the Septa to scold her. Floris was always too bright a flower to keep in the Stormlands.

“We would never have made a good match,” Elyse tells him. 

Lord Maceon looks at her, parts his lips to speak, but thinks twice before doing so. He watches Elyse, the melancholic look on her face as the wind blows through her. Maceon shivers in the breeze but Elyse does not tremble. 

“Your sister is lovely,” Maceon tells her, “I do hope she shall be happy here.”

“How long have I been here?” she asks.

“A fortnight.”

Too long. Too long without Aemond’s embrace. Too long without Helaena. Too long without the children. Even the absence of Aegon’s jests leaves a hole in her heart. 

“What goes on in the world?”

Maceon glances toward the ground as though debating whether or not to tell her.

“Your husband has eviscerated what was left of the Riverlands. From what I hear we are fighting a losing battle.”

A smile tugs at Elyse’s lips almost unconsciously. Maceon’s cheeks redden, surprised by her bloodlust. 

“This pleases you?”

“News of my husband’s victories does please me, lord,” Elyse tells him.

“You consider massacre a victory,” Maceon snaps.

“You fault him though this was a war you started.”

“Mine?” he scoffs, “imagine my surprise when Prince Jacaerys landed at my gates.”

Elyse looks at him, a sneer on her pretty lips.

“You could have refused him,” she tells him.

“If I had refused him Prince Daemon would arrive next,” Maceon tells her, “and I doubt his offer would be as generous, nor as kind.”

“What was Prince Jacaerys’ offer?” Elyse questions.

“Avenging a slight,” Maceon tells her, causing Elyse to scoff.

“A slight,” she murmurs, walking away from him, “you wished for a Baratheon bride and you were afforded one. Your actions are those of a spoiled child.”

Maceon flushes at her words, the sharp tongue she hides. He had known nothing but her sweetness when he visited the capital. But long gone was the sweet summer girl who awarded him her favor at the Tourney of Fire. The girl who danced with him at the Harvest Feast. 

“You are upset,” Maceon says, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I have been taken from my home,” Elyse snaps, “kept from my husband. What did you expect from me?”

Maceon meets her eyes.

“Gratitude,” he answers.

Elyse does not answer.

“I thought you wanted to marry me,” he tells her, honestly. 

Elyse breaks away from his gaze.

“It does not matter what I wanted,” Elyse tells him, trying to avoid the discussion.

“Did you?” he presses.

Elyse does not look at him.

“No,” he answers her, “no I supposed that much upon your arrival here.”

Maceon turns to leave, walking a few strides away from her before pausing. 

“You are a guest here, my lady,” Maceon tells her, “though I do hope not to see you again, outside of formal mealtimes.”

“You need not worry,” Elyse tells him, back facing him. 

“Then I shall bid you a good day,” he tells her, disappearing back toward the castle.

Elyse stays out in the cold far longer than she should until her teeth are rattling in her skull and the tips of her fingers have turned blue. A lady’s maid comes to get her as the sun sinks lower into the sky, plops her in a steaming bath, and scolds her for her carelessness. 

The water is nearly boiling, but Elyse barely feels it. Perhaps she herself has turned into a dragon at last, made to withstand the flames that lick against her. 

Food is brought to her room, they know she shall not join them in the great hall while they sup. Tonight, Elyse feels her stomach rumble, the deep ache of hunger echoing throughout her frame. Aemond would want me to eat, she tells herself, dipping a piece of bread into the steaming stew. She chews slowly, the action feeling almost foreign to her. 

Elyse sits like that for some time, until her lady’s maid clears her plate. She watches Elyse with sad eyes as she sinks into the mattress. Perhaps she shall sleep more. Perhaps that shall help.

The door to her chambers creaks open at the hour of the wolf. 

“Elyse,” a voice calls from the darkness.

She sits up in bed and Floris closes the door behind her. She comes over to the bed and lays down some clothes. Her blue eyes are fearful as they meet Elyse’s.

“We do not have much time,” she tells her elder sister, “quickly now.”

Elyse doesn’t ask questions, she simply changes into the rough wool pants, and the shirt, and presses the cloak around her shoulders. She quickly laces up her boots as Floris sticks her head out the door, looking out into the corridor. 

As Elyse gets up to join her, she slips her hand into hers. Floris guides her down the hall, and Elyse can feel her heart in her throat. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, as Floris stops suddenly.

A few knights walk by, the sisters hidden behind a stone beam. Floris pressed her hand to her lips, motioning for Elyse to stay quiet. As the soft patter of their armor grows fainter, Floris begins to move once more, tugging Elyse along. 

They continue through stone passageways until reaching the stables. A young squire stands with two horses, a sword strapped at his hip. Elyse looks at her sister.

“You ride southwest,” Floris whispers, pressing into Elyse her sheathed blade. Elenei. Aemond’s gift. 

“Ride straight until you reach the river Honeywine,” she continued, “follow it then, until you reach Oldtown. It shan’t take but a day or two.”

“Oldtown?” Elyse asks, and Floris nods. 

“Daeron is there,” Floris says, “your kin, he shall accept you.”

Daeron. Daeron is there. Elyse feels her heart beating hard in her ribs. 

“They shall send someone after me,” Elyse says.

“I shall delay them as long as I am able,” Floris promises, “Gareth here shall accompany you.”

Elyse grabs her sister’s face in both hands, causing Floris’ eyes to widen. The soft flower of the Stormlands uprooted to flourish in the Reach. Perhaps she was tougher than Elyse anticipated. The blood of the storm kings flows through Floris as well, after all. 

“Thank you,” Elyse says, kissing her sister’s forehead. 

“Perhaps it can be stopped,” Floris says, kissing her sister’s cheeks, “before more bloodshed.”

Gareth holds his hands out to assist Elyse on her horse. She steps into his hand, looping her leg over the steed. As Gareth mounts his own ride, Elyse looks at her sister once more. 

“I shall not soon forget this sister,” Elyse tells her. 

Floris smiles at her, teeth glowing in the moonlight. 

“Send word when you arrive,” Floris tells her, “and send word to your husband.”

Aemond, Elyse thinks, I am going to see Aemond again. 

“I shall,” Elyse promises. 

“Take care of her Gareth,” Floris tells the squire.

“With my life, my lady,” Gareth promises, ears turning pink.

“Go,” she tells them both, “go now!”

The horses are off the sounds of their hooves, the only noise in the darkness of night. The gates open and Elyse does not look back. She must not look back, only ahead, only towards Oldtown. Only toward Daeron. 

Only toward the greens. 

Only toward her way back to him. 

note: hope you enjoyed it 💚 sorry for the wait/short chapter, as this one winds down I've been really focused on my other fics.

taglist: @minttea07@tssf-imagines, @queenofshinigamis, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @hangmanscoming, @watercolorskyy, @btsarmy2014

[summerposie]

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!OC

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Read more on AO3

fic summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.

chapter summary: Elyse awakes to a devastating realization.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none for this chapter, posted early happy valentines loves!

Chapter 16: Betrayed

Elyse dreamt of dragons. 

That she was on Vhagar’s back, Aemond’s hands around her waist, face tucked into the crook of her neck. It was so real, she could feel the strands of his silver hair slipping through her fingers like quicksilver, feel his lips caress her neck. 

When she awoke, she was in a soft feather bed. 

Her hands tangled in the silk sheets. Eyes heavy, mouth dry as cotton. Elyse’s head pounded, the remainder of Dreamwine a lingering ache within her skull. She pressed her palm against her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Light flooded through the room, so bright she could see it through her eyelids. So bright she could not see where she was. Elyse blinked several times attempting to adjust to the harsh light.

She was in a room. A fire roared in the great fireplace, the crackling of the burning logs the only sound in the room. Elyse grits her teeth together, forcing herself up on her elbows. 

A cup sits beside the bed, full to the brim with wine. Elyse grabs it, greedily sucking down the warm liquid, beads of red escaping the corners of her lips as she drinks. She tosses the cup when she is done. Aemond would call her foolish for drinking it. 

“Mayhaps it was poison, what then?” she could hear him say, as though he was whispering in her ear now, causing a shiver to roll through her. 

Someone had changed her. Elyse now wore a silk nightgown. How long had she been asleep? She notices a chamber pot and moves on shaky legs to relieve herself. 

Elyse released a shallow breath, her entire body beginning to tremble. The room is large, and grand, with silk tapestries decorating the walls. Pinks, purples, and lavish are the silks blowing gently in the breeze an open veranda lets in. 

Where is she?

Elyse feels tears in her eyes as panic courses through her veins, twisting up her throat begging to be released. She feels her legs fail her, dropping to the wooden floor. She clutches at her throat as though to contain the scream that bubbles there. 

Swallow your fear, Aemond had told her once. 

Elyse pushes against the ground, forcing herself to rise. She scans the room, landing on a table in front of the fire. Her blade, Elenei lays there, unsheathed, reflecting the flames in the blade. They have left her weapon. Not a threat then. How could she be? Just a silly little girl. 

Let them think me foolish when I shove my blade between their ribs, she thinks solemnly. 

Elyse pads over on bare feet, snatching the blade between her fingers as the door to her room creaks open. 

Elyse crouches by the side of the table as a maid enters. She is a young girl, holding fresh towels and linens in her arms. She looks at the bed in confusion with the ruffled blankets and missing Elyse. 

Elyse springs forward, grabbing the girl by her hair, pressing her blade against the skin of her throat. The maid gasps, a fearful noise leaving her as she drops what she holds to the floor. 

“Don’t scream,” Elyse hisses, grabbing a fistful of the girl's mousy brown hair. Tears flow freely down the maid’s cheeks as she struggles to catch her breath. Elyse keeps her grip hard, pressing Elenei hard enough to draw blood. 

“M-my lady, p-p-please,” the girl says, causing Elyse’s grip on her hair to tighten. 

“Don’t speak,” Elyse snarls, before shoving her through the door into the hall.

The girl is openly weeping as Elyse holds her in front. 

“Take me to your lord,” Elyse demands. Her hands shake the entire time, but she keeps her blade pressed against the maid’s throat. 

Swallow your fear. 

The maid shifts her feet, slowly dragging herself and Elyse down the corridor. The hallway is lit with torches but gives away nothing about where Elyse is. 

Elyse feels her mouth downturn into a frustrated frown as she continues down the hall. Her feet are freezing on the stone floor and her nightgown clings to her with fearful sweat. 

The maid begins to sob, the sounds echoing throughout the corridor. Surely someone shall hear them. Elyse can taste bile in her throat.  

Someone is going to find me and then someone is going to kill me, or worse, Elyse thinks to herself, causing her stomach to churn. What point was there, keeping her alive if not some unspeakable horror soon to befall her? 

Elyse feels something inside of her harden with the realization. 

No, I shall turn my blade on myself before I let that happen. 

Tears fill her eyes, and her heart lurches.  

Aemond shall understand. Aemond will forgive me. 

The maid reaches to touch a great door, much like that of the throne room doors in the Red Keep. Elyse changes positions, making the maid standing in front of her completely before pushing her through the doors.

“M-m-my lord, please,” the maid sobs, before Elyse pushes her to the ground in a shrieking crumbling heap. 

Elyse holds her blade high in front of her, as she looks upon her captors.

She meets the deep brown eyes of Jacaerys Velaryon.

Elyse drops her dagger to the floor, the sapphire hilt catching the light. Her jaw slacks and she feels as though the walls of her chest have begun to cave in. Silent tears roll down her cheeks, their saltiness stinging her chapped lips. 

It was Jace. 

Of course, it was Jace. 

The boy who saved her from monsters comes to her aid once more. 

The boy who wrote to her. 

The boy who waited outside her door. 

“What have you done?” Elyse hissed, her voice a strained whisper, her eyes wide. 

Jace looked at her eyes wide, hands held outstretched before him. A surrender, a plea.

“What have you done!?” Elyse screamed running towards him. 

She slaps him then, an angry red mark scathing his cheek. She struck him again, tears streaming down her face. Jace did not move to stop her or block the blows that struck his face as she continued her assault, his mouth a tight line. He said nothing as she beat her fists upon his chest. 

“Please, Elyse stop!” a voice begged, thin arms throwing themselves around her back, tearing her from Jace. 

Floris Baratheon had rushed to her sister’s side, entrapping her in a firm hug.

Elyse wept, sinking to the floor, still constricted in Floris’ grasp. Floris held her tightly, her head buried in her shoulder. Their dark hair tangled together, and two daughters of House Baratheon reunited at last. 

“What have you done?” she repeated again, through her sobs. 

A knight glanced towards Jacaerys, who waved him off. Jace knelt next to Elyse then, his eyes kind, cheeks red. His gaze held no anger, just solemn acceptance. 

“I had to get you out,” he said softly and Elyse shook her head.

“You’ve killed us all,” she whispered, feeling Floris’ arms tighten around her. 

“It was not right-,” Jace continued but Elyse cut him off.

“He is my husband!” she yelled. 

Jace took his tongue between his teeth, as though remembering his own bride. 

“Is that what troubles you?” he asked. “We can get the marriage annulled, it was against your will.”

Elyse stared at the man before her incredulously.

“Against my will?” she said, phrased as a question. “You believe he forced me?”

Jace continued to stare. 

“You believe he ruined me?” she continued, a mad laugh escaping her lips. 

In Jace’s eyes, she realizes he sees her as still the small child in need of protection. A maiden kept prisoner by a monster. Elyse’s body slacked, causing Floris to release her grip. 

“Oh Jace,” Elyse breathed, fear replacing her anger, “what have you done?”

She stares at the boy she has known all her life, as though she does not recognize him now. His dark eyes are unfamiliar; he is a stranger to her, to the wife of Aemond Targaryen. 

Elyse supposed they were different people now, an heir to the Iron Throne and a princess. 

“Come,” Floris says, rising from the floor. 

She keeps her arms around Elyse, attempting to pull her upwards. Elyse can feel them shaking. 

“Let us get you a warm bath, and have you changed,” Floris says, as Elyse finds her footing. 

She hadn’t noticed another presence enter the room, until looking up and meeting the brown eyes of Maceon Tyrell. His expression was pained, lips parted. She must look an awful fright to him now, no longer the summer maiden at the harvest feast. 

Elyse kept her gaze low as Floris escorted her from the room.

She did not return to the chamber she had awoken in, Floris had her brought to her own chambers. A similar room, though much larger, bursting with flowers in every corner. A steaming tub was prepared in the center of the room, which Elyse continued to stare at. A handmaid dropped some rose petals in the smooth water before Floris dismissed her. 

Floris had grown into a little lady, a head smaller than Elyse, though only slightly younger, with a willowy figure inherited from her mother’s side. Her blue eyes were dreamlike, dark hair was pulled off of her face in an elaborate braid. Her expression was familiar, and Elyse felt an ache in her heart as she thought of Helaena. 

She moved toward Elyse, nimble fingers helping her undress. Elyse felt as though she were outside of her body, watching the scene from above. Floris’ eyes searched her sister’s face, and she began to worry. She removed the gown, collecting it in her palms.

“Oh, Elyse,” she said suddenly, “your monthly blood.”

Elyse looked down at the silk nightgown, the red patch that spread like spilled wine. An ache filled her womb. No child then. Nothing, no one to remind her of Aemond if he…if he…

She could not finish the thought, her throat constricted, with tears prickling at the back of her eyes. Floris helped her into the tub, and Elyse sank into the scalding water, relishing the feeling of the heat on her skin. 

Floris stayed next to her and began to stroke her hair. Even when Elyse began to cry, Floris wrapped her thin fingers around her arm and sat beside her. Sobs wracked through her body, causing the water to ripple around her. Elyse began to calm as the water turned cold, her fingers pruning. 

“What was he like?” Floris asked suddenly, as though unable to help herself. 

Elyse turned her head, the water rippling with the movement. 

“Aemond cares for me,” she tells her sister, “he loves me, truly.”

“Do you not love Jacaerys?” Floris asked, eyes wide.

“Of course I do,” Elyse tells her, “but not as a husband, not in the way I love Aemond.”

Floris nods, thoughts flickering to Lord Maceon, Elyse presumed. 

“There is to be a war over this,” Elyse tells her, watching Floris’ cheeks redden. 

“Aemond shall not take kindly to the snatching of his wife.”

Floris purses her lips, casting her eyes toward the floor. 

“I told them not to,” she whispers suddenly, “when Jacaerys arrived. I told them you were happy, for them to read your letters and see.”

“They would not?” Elyse asked, already knowing the answer.

Floris nodded. 

“Jacaerys was convinced. He was half mad when he arrived when he learned the news of your marriage and the broken betrothal,” Floris continued, “I do not believe he expected my presence, I think he wanted to offer your hand to Lord Maceon once more, avenging the slight.”

“Jace has always been hard-headed,” Elyse says solemnly, “what of Rhaenyra? She could not have agreed to this foolishness.”

Floris frowns, pretty mouth downturned. 

“Prince Daemon assisted,” she whispers, “your ladies-maid, Tasha. It is he she is loyal to.”

Elyse feels a chill run down her spine, gooseflesh blossoming on her exposed skin. 

“Lord Maceon agreed regardless,” Floris told her, “agreed that my kin should not be left in dangerous hands.”

“He’s not dangerous,” Elsye argued, “not to me, Aemond would never.”

The sisters are silent for a moment, the soft sound of the rippling water moving against the tub the only sound in the room. 

“What do you believe he shall do?” Floris asks. 

Elyse let the question sink in for a moment. She remembered on the eve of their betrothal, the night of Aegon’s coronation feast, asking Aemond a similar question of what he would do if Lord Maceon called his banners for her hand. 

“I think Jacaerys has made a terrible mistake,” Elyse says, staring off into the distance, “and the realm is going to burn for it.” 

~

“Aemond, calm yourself,” Alicent begged, not for the first time that evening. 

Her second son paces in her chambers, as he has been for the majority of the evening. Alicent’s face is concerned, her eyes rimmed red from the events of the evening. She presses a hand to her heart as though it may stop the pain she feels there watching her son’s fury.

The war of ravens had ended and Princess Rhaenyra’s time had run out. War was upon them. 

Aemond had returned to the Red Keep in a rage, soaked to the bone from his journey from Storm’s End. He had nearly not returned, bent on returning to the Riverlands and scorching the earth to ruins. 

His trip there was uneventful, save deterring his uncle from laying claim to the Riverlands. Daemon remained at Harrenhal, and Aemond had promised to return with an army at his back. But first, he would join his wife at her ancestral seat. 

Aemond was blinded by rage ever since entering the Round Hall of Storm’s End. 

The seat of House Baratheon had been in a panic when he arrived. His lady was missing, along with the maid who accompanied her on the journey. When Lord Borros received him, his voice shook delivering the news to the one-eyed dragon prince.

His lady, his Elyse. 

Vhagar lamented the entire journey back to King’s Landing, the sound of her cries heard from every corner of the Stormlands. 

“Aemond,” Helaena begged, her face tear-stained, tearing him from his thoughts.

Helaena stood, shaking like a leaf, her silver hair hanging limply around her face. Her eyes were wide, shining with tears. 

“Please,” Helaena hisses, holding an arm out toward him. 

“We need to move, to plan now,” Aemond growls, continuing to pace around the room.

“Aegon has declared war against Rhaenyra, this is madness,” Helaena tells him.

“Who do you think took her?” Aemond shouts, “They have stolen my wife, and you suppose we do nothing?”

Helaena’s eyes widened, this time with anger. 

“Do you think I am not distraught?” Helaena asked, her voice a shrill shriek, “she was mine first, Aemond. Before she was ever yours. I loved her first.”

Aemond’s mouth remained a tight line, but Helaena could see his chin tremble. Helaena had only seen Aemond cry a handful of times in her life. It sent a chill down her spine, seeing the cracks of his armored heart split open. 

“I love her too,” Helaena said, kinder this time.

She moves toward her brother, holding onto him. Aemond slacks at her touch, leaning into her.

“I do not know where she is,” Aemond says quietly, desperately.

Helaena holds him against her, stroking his silver hair as tears stream down her face.

“We shall find her,” Helaena promises.

“I will burn it to ash,” Aemond whispers a promise of his own.

Helaena’s mouth is set in a tight line, though her lower lip begins to tremble, as she begins to grow colder hugging Aemond’s soaked form, the warmth being leached from her skin. 

Alicent moves toward her children, reaching her hand out to stroke Helaena’s hair. Her eyes are sad, and a tear falls down her cheek.

note: thanks for being patient, hope you enjoy it! 💚

taglist: @minttea07 @tssf-imagines, @queenofshinigamis

[summerposie]

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!OC

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Read more on AO3

fic summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.

chapter summary: Elyse journeys home to the Stormlands. Old wounds are opened as she reunites with her family.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: none for this chapter

The rain begins to fall from the sky as Elyse crosses into the Stormlands welcoming her home. She looks up from her horse as the fat, wet drops fall onto her face. 

“We shall arrive soon, my lady,” Ser Errol calls to her, from where he rides ahead. Elyse had spent the majority of the journey in the wheelhouse but had taken to horseback for the final leg of the journey, desperate for some fresh air. 

Elyse closes her eyes as the rain continues to caress her face. She hopes for a moment the rain will cease, stopped by Vhagar’s wings as she flies over her announcing Aemond’s return. 

It has been several days since their separation, and the pain of being separated cuts her heart deeply. Elyse tries to distract herself but has been alone with her thoughts for the majority of the trip. Thankfully, Helaena allowed Tasha to attend and Elyse was grateful for the company. 

As they arrived at Storm’s End, the rain began to die down. The horses' hooves clattered against the stones of the front courtyard. Elyse looked up and saw the domed building in front of her. It seemed so foreign, a hazy memory slipping through her fingers. The guards stood silently appraising her arrival as Tasha appeared from the wheelhouse, holding a stool.

“Here, my lady,” she said smiling, reaching out her hand to help Elyse from her steed. Elyse smiled graciously as she slid off her horse. 

Suddenly, the doors to the round hall flew open. A girl stood, only a year or so her elder, blue eyes wide. Her hair was dark, the same as Elyse’s. The maiden squeaked before running toward her. 

“Sister!” she said, before throwing her arms around Elyse. She smelt of spiced cider. 

“Ellyn,” Elyse said, clutching her sister tightly, laughter bubbling from her lips. Ellyn squeezed her fiercely, her grip vice-like.

“I have missed you so,” she told Elyse, eyes glistening with happy tears, “it has been too long!” 

Ellyn released her, and clasped her hands in Elyse’s, leading her toward the inside of the hall. 

“When father sent you away, I wept for days,” Ellyn told her, blue eyes still wide. Elyse knew this already, as she received the most letters from her sister Ellyn. She had always thought it was because they were so close in age. The guards held the doors open and the sisters entered the round hall. 

What Elyse had remembered about the round hall was dreary and damp. She remembered how it looked the day she left, how she clung to her father’s leg, how she cried. 

The castle of her childhood was a memory bathed in tears.

It was not a dreary place tonight. Tables line the room, filled with food and guests. Candles and torches lit the room, so every dark corner was bathed in warm light. The banners of House Targaryen and House Baratheon hung at the front of the room, honoring the union.  

“Sister!” another voice called, and Elyse met with the face of her eldest sister, Cassandra.

“Cass,” she said, throwing her arms around her sister. Cassandra’s hug was more polite, but she still held Elyse tightly in her embrace. 

“How you’ve grown!” Cassandra exclaimed, releasing her and stroking Elyse’s jaw. Elyse smiled shyly at the compliment.  

“As have you,” Elyse complimented her. It was true. Cassandra had grown into a tall beauty. Her eyes were the same fierce blue as all the daughters of House Baratheon. Her dark hair spiraled down her back, neatly braided. 

“Has King Aegon asked about me?” Cassandra inquired, as if unable to stop herself. Elyse’s brow furrowed. 

“No, why should he?” she asked, curiously. Cassandra shook her head, causing her midnight curls to bounce around her face. 

“We write, tis all,” Cassandra told her, a pink blush forming on her cheeks.

“Ah,” Elyse said, feeling her stomach turn. This was the first she was hearing of this. Her lip twitched slightly as her thoughts began to race. 

“No matter,” Cassandra said, taking her arm, “this night is about you.”

Elyse looked around the room, eyes hunting for another familiar face. 

“Where is Maris?” she questioned, and Cassandra sighed. 

“You’ve missed her I am afraid,” she began, “she left for the Silent Sisters a little over a fortnight ago.”

Elyse felt her heart sink. She had hoped to see Maris again. She could scarcely remember her elder sister, only quick flashes of a witty remark, a cunning smile.  

“And Floris?” Elyse asked, noticing the absence of her youngest sibling. 

“In Highgarden,” Ellyn said before Cassandra could continue, “father made her leave right away. She writes to us though, she quite enjoys the gardens.”

“Surely because they are the most beautiful in the realm,” Cassandra quips, causing Ellyn’s smile to falter. 

“Queen Helaena has gardens,” Elyse told her sisters, “I’d wager them against that of Highgarden any day.”

Ellyn smiles at Elyse’s remark. 

“Mother is resting still,” Cassandra informs, “the child is expected any day now. I suppose you would like to see her.”

“Yes of course,” Elyse said, heart, seizing in her chest. 

“It should wait until morning,” Cassandra said, her tone as though she had decided it already. Elyse frowned at this but did not challenge her eldest sister’s wishes. Ellyn grabbed onto her arm. 

“Come,” she said, tugging her free of Cassandra’s grasp, “come see father.”

Lord Borros sat at the head table, engaging in conversation with a lord to his left. He looked as Elyse remembered him as a little girl, though several streaks of gray ran through his dark hair now; his beard was almost completely peppered gray. His blue eyes were icy, a gift he bestowed on all his children. 

“Father,” Elyse said as she approached him. Lord Borros’ face lit up as he addressed her. 

“Elyse!” he said, clasping his hands together before standing. He moved from his seat, coming to embrace her. Elyse froze in surprise, before throwing her arms around him, the smell of the woods filling her nostrils. She couldn’t remember the last time she had embraced her father, or if she ever had at all.  

When Lord Borros pulled away, a proud smile was on his face. 

“My daughter,” he boasted, cupping her cheek, “a princess!”

Elyse felt her smile falter.

Yes, she thought to herself, what a dutiful daughter she was. A dutiful princess. That was what delighted him, not the return of his kin. 

The return of a princess. 

Be sweet, be kind, her mind taunts. She wants to stick out her chin, and give a clever remark with the sharp tongue of hers that Aemond adores so. But under her father’s gaze, she feels like a silly little girl.  

Elyse forced a smile on her face at her father’s praise. 

“Prince Aemond shall be joining us shortly?” Lord Borros asked.

“Yes, he shall.”

“Good. I have hunts and feasts prepared for his arrival.”

Elyse’s smile was tight, she could feel her cheek muscles straining to hold it in place. 

“He shall be delighted, father,” Elyse tells him, as Lord Borros pats her arm affectionately. Aemond would call the entire affair trivial. 

“I have brought livestock for his beast, as well,” Lord Borros continued, “cows, sheep.”

At least Vhagar would be happy. 

“Eat, drink!” he commanded, gesturing to the display of food, “dance, and be merry, dear daughter.” 

Elyse nodded, and with a final touch to her chin, Lord Borros returned his attention to the lords and vassals he wished to dine with. 

Over a decade apart. 

An eternity, truly. Yet he was off, leaving Elyse forgotten yet again. It had been easier to bear in the capital, several hundred miles away. But the short distance between them now cut through her like a knife. 

Elyse wished Helaena was there. She wished Aemond was there.

Suddenly, the warmth of the Round Hall was leached from the room, and Elyse felt herself grow terribly cold. Ellyn beckoned to her, and she kept a smile on her face, making her way to her sister. 

The night was spent catching up, discussing the throws of girlhood, and how Aemond and her came to be. What life was like in King’s Landing, what it was like to ride a dragon. This caused Cassandra to prickle with jealousy. 

As Elyse headed to her chambers, she somehow found sleep without Aemond beside her. It had been different while traveling, as she was uncomfortable enough on the road. But sleeping in her feather bed alone, felt terribly lonesome. 

With the first light of morning, Elyse crept to her mother’s chambers. As she walked through the halls of Storm’s End, she let her fingers trace the patterns on the stones.

There is magic in these walls. She remembered the stories of her childhood. 

“Enter,” a soft voice called and Elyse crept inside. As soon as the warmth of the room hit her, the smell of lily of the valley, Elyse suddenly felt very small again. 

She walked into the room slowly, her mother coming into view from where she lay propped in her bed. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, a thin coat of sweat on her brow. Her hazel eyes warmed, a smile breaking out across her face at the sight of her daughter. 

“Elyse,” she said softly, pressing a hand to her mouth, “oh my girl.”

Elyse rushed over to her then, gently putting her arms over her mother’s shoulders, conscious of her belly, largely swollen with child. Elyse could feel the shoulder of her nightgown grow wet with her mother’s tears as they embraced; her mother cradling her as though she were still the babe she held in her arms those many years ago.

As she pulled away, Elenda Baratheon kept her hands on her daughter’s cheeks, stroking away the tears that fell from Elyse’s eyes. 

“My, how you’ve grown,” Elenda said, laughing through her tears, “what a horrid thing to let you go to the capital. It has felt as though a limb of myself has been missing these past years.”

Elyse’s throat constricts as her tears threaten to consume her. She hadn’t realized how much she had longed to be held by her mother all these years. 

“I have missed you terribly,” Elyse admits, and Elenda’s smile turns sad.

“You are here now,” she consoles her daughter, “right where you need to be.”

Her eyes flicker behind her daughter. 

“Is your husband here?” she asks, searching for the prince’s presence. Elyse shakes her head, ebony curls bouncing. 

“A few days' time, he shall join us,” Elyse assured her mother, “he had business to attend to.”

“I hear the realm is on the verge of war,” she says, a steely look in her fierce eyes. Elyse nodded gently at her mother’s words.

“I have faith in Princess Rhaenyra,” Elyse says, moving to clasp her mother’s hand, “I know her sons well. I do not think the princess wishes to wage war on the realm”

“You believe she shall resign her birthright?”

“Aegon is our king,” Elyse says, the words tasting strange in her mouth. Elenda searches her daughter's face, trying to catch up with all the years she had missed; trying to recognize the strange woman in front of her. 

“How is your husband?” she asks, squeezing Elyse’s hand tightly, “Is he kind to you?”

Elyse smiles at her mother’s concern, feeling her body grow warm at the thought of Aemond.

“He is very good to me, mother,” she tells her, causing Elenda to smile with relief. 

“Then I look forward to meeting him,” she says before motioning to her birthing bed, “you shall be in this bed soon enough.” 

Elyse had been thinking similar things recently. Though Aemond and her had not been married long, they had spent most of their time together firmly intertwined. Aemond enjoyed beginning and ending the day by filling her with his seed. 

The thought of swelling with Aemond’s child sent a shiver down her spine. Her monthly blood was due soon, perhaps this month would not come. Elyse felt her cheeks flush. 

“What troubles you, daughter?” Elenda asked suddenly, sensing her daughter’s racing thoughts. 

Elyse smiled weakly. Even though they had been separated for many years, her mother could still tell when something was wrong by the simple furrowing of her brow. 

“Nothing important,” she said, causing her mother to scoff.

“Nonsense,” she argued, “tell me.”

“I find myself in a difficult position,” Elyse said, struggling to explain her conflicted feelings, “it is quite strange I suppose. Becoming a princess. And a wife. So many changes.”

Elenda nodded, rubbing her daughter’s hand in her own. 

“Us women are very magical creatures,” she began, looking into Elyse’s eyes, “a lot is demanded of us. We shift and change our shape several times within our lives.”

Elyse felt the tears break free, spilling down her cheeks, as the emotions of the past weeks flooded through her at once. 

“Oh my girl,” Elenda whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. 

“I wish to stay the same,” Elyse admitted.

She wished to stay a small child, but also be a woman grown. She felt so painfully selfish. She wanted to grow up at Storm’s End with her sisters. She wanted to grow up beside Helaena in King’s Landing. She wanted to be friends with Jace, with Luke. She wanted Aemond. 

She wished she could go back in time, and wind back her experiences like the thread of a loom.

Elyse Baratheon wanted it all. The future she was promised, and the past that had been chosen for her. The past she never experienced. 

“You do stay the same,” Elenda told her, pressing her hand to Elyse’s heart, “you shall grow but you are still you. In here.”

Elyse nodded at her mother’s comforting words. 

“You have been so brave, my sweet girl,” Elenda whispered to her, “so much was demanded of you, so young.”

Elyse felt a weight lift from her shoulders at her mother’s words, at the acknowledgment of the pain that lingered in the back of her mind. She found herself for most of the morning curled against her mother’s chest, listening to the beating of her heart, and allowing her hair to be stroked. 

For a moment, Elyse Baratheon allowed herself to be a girl, safe and warm in her mother’s embrace. 

But only for a moment. 

The day had brightened considerably as Elyse rode her horse to the edge of the forest. Wildflowers bloomed brightly, forming a barrier into the woods. 

Grateful for the air, Elyse slid off her horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. She knelt into the flowers, picking some. A gift for her mother’s bedside, she decided. 

Tasha had accompanied her, gazing at the vast waters of shipwrecker bay. Elyse smiled.

“It is quite beautiful,” she told her friend, who smiled nodding. 

“Are you enjoying the country, my lady?” Tasha asked, turning back to Elyse. 

“Quite a lot,” Elyse admitted, the cool breeze causing gooseflesh to appear on the back of her neck. “It is quieter than the capital, it feels freer.”

Tasha smiled at this. 

“Freedom is enjoyable, my lady,” she agreed, peering towards the trees, “I did not know winter roses bloomed in the Stormlands.” 

Elyse looked up, confusion was evident on her face. She looked toward where Tasha was gazing, before standing up. 

“Where do you see that?” she asks, causing Tasha to point. Elyse steps over some shrubbery, disappearing within the tree lines. 

The sun shines like fingers of golden light through the trees, decorating several paths through the mossy green floor of the forest. Elyse treads carefully, feet sinking into the soft, green floor. Tasha follows her lady close behind. 

“I see it there!” Tasha says, pointing again, brow furrowed. Elyse wipes some sweat from her brow, as they continue forward, her mouth becoming dry. The day had warmed considerably, the layers of Elyse’s weighing her down. Tasha takes notice. 

“Here, my lady, you must be parched,” she says, unscrewing the wineskin she holds at her waist, and holding out to Elyse. Elyse graciously accepts, taking a swig, the bitter taste quenching her thirst. She returns it to Tasha.

“Thank you,” she says, craning her neck in the direction Tasha had pointed in. And then she spots it. 

“Seven hells,” Elyse murmurs as she creeps closer. A winter rose, bright blue, sticks out from a crevice in a tree trunk. Elyse reaches forward pulling the flower from the tree, before examining it. It is truly beautiful, a sapphire blue that makes her think of Aemond, of the hilt of Elenei faithfully strapped to her thigh. 

“Did someone plant it there, my lady?” Tasha asked, her tone curious. Elyse pressed the flower to her nose, the sweet smell making her head spin. 

“No,” Elyse murmured, “someone must have put it here. They do not thrive in this climate.”

Elyse blinked several times, nose still filled with the cloying scent of the flower. 

“How peculiar, my lady,” Tasha says, as Elyse turns back to her. The light that brushes through the forest is beginning to dim as the sun begins to sink below the horizon. Dinner shall be prepared soon. 

“Let us return to the horses, Tasha,” Elyse tells her friend, shaking her head as though to rid herself of the flower’s scent. She must bring it back to her sister, what a strange story it shall be. Perhaps one of them has a lover, taken with leaving strange gifts. 

“Just a moment, my lady,” Tasha says, unscrewing the wineskin again, before turning it upside down letting the contents stain the forest floor. Elyse tilts her head to the side, watching the ruby liquid spill.

“What are you doing?” she asks, a half smile on her face at Tasha’s foolishness. Tasha returns her grin.

“We shan’t be needing it anymore,” Tasha tells her, “I imagine you drank enough.”

Elyse’s smile falters, as a chill runs down her spine. Tasha tosses the wineskin towards the trees, forgotten. 

“What?” Elyse says, head spinning, “what did you say?”

“Shh it is alright, my lady,” Tasha says, coming towards her, taking hold of Elyse’s shaking hands. When had they begun to shake? Elyse cannot remember. 

Panic slices through her as her vision blurs. The bitter taste. 

Dreamwine. 

“You shall simply sleep, my lady,” Tasha croons, as Elyse feels her knees begin to buckle. 

“Why are you doing this?” Elyse hissed, feeling as though the weight of the world was pushing against her shoulders toward the ground. 

“It shall be alright, my lady,” Tasha tells her, ignoring her question, “sleep for now.” 

Elyse reaches toward her skirts, desperate to unsheath Elenei. Tasha watches as she struggles to do so, before realizing her plot. 

If Elyse had been fully functioning, she might have caught Tasha by surprise. She might have been able to drive the blade straight between her ribs. But the drink made her slow and sluggish, and Tasha twisted her wrist with ease.

“Careful now,” Tasha said, through her teeth, “I like you, lady, but not that much.” 

Elenei drops to the forest floor. Elyse’s vision is swimming as she collapses to the ground as well, the image of Tasha’s red hair moving like the flame of a candle. Elyse digs her hands into the moss of the forest floor, desperately trying to will her eyes to stay open. But with each breath she releases, her eyelids feel heavier and heavier. 

“Sleep, my lady,” Tasha says, her voice sounding very far away. There is something else that accompanies it, a sound in the distance. A sound that Elyse had grown used to. Softer than usual, from something not as large. Prettier. A sound she recognized, as she slipped into darkness, the effects of the wine consuming her. 

Dragonsong.

note: DON'T HATE ME AHHHHH 🫶🏻

taglist: @minttea07 @tssf-imagines

[summerposie]

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!OC

previous chapter ~ next chapter

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fic summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.

chapter summary: Decisions are made about what to do about Daemon in the Riverlands. Elyse and Aemond quarrel.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: minors DNI, language, smut, possessiveness, jealousy, slapping

“They have not left their chambers,” Helaena told her mother as they broke their fast. The newlyweds were not expected to join the royal family, but it surprised Queen Alicent that she had yet to see them.

Alicent flushed scarlet nearly choking on her food. 

“Surely, that is not true,” Alicent said, nimble fingers drifting towards the star of the seven that lay against the hollow of her throat. The wedding between Prince Aemond and Lady Elyse had been well over a week prior. 

Helaena continued breaking her fast, nonchalantly. She did not read her mother’s distress as she smeared some jam onto a slice of bread. 

“I suppose they must leave, but they return rather quickly,” Helaena mused, taking a bite of bread. She was happy for her friend, and for her brother. 

“Well,” Alicent said, waving for the place settings to be removed, “a happy marriage it will be I suppose.”

Helaena nodded in agreement, as Aegon entered the room. Helaena’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as Alicent rose from the table to greet him, a delighted smile on her face. 

“You rarely join us,” she noted as Aegon sat down, grabbing a plate from a servant who had begun to clear off the table. He shoves bread into his mouth, chewing harshly. 

“That is because the last time I joined a family meal, I found a centipede in my wine glass,” he said between chews, glaring at his sister wife. Helaena’s eyes narrowed in return. 

 “We are always pleased by your presence, Aegon,” Alicent said, stroking her eldest son's silver hair. Aegon glanced up at his mother as he continued chewing, as though this was the first he heard of it. 

“Where are the little ones?” Aegon asked, noting the absence of his children. 

“With Tasha,” Helaena told him. Jaehara and Jaehaerys had grown from toddling babes to gangly children, filling the Red Keep with laughter. Jaehaera was still a quiet girl, and she clung to her twin brother everywhere he went. Aegon tapped the cup that sat in front of him with his fingers. 

“I intend to send Tasha with Elyse when she journeys to Storm’s End,” Helaena tells Aegon who groans. 

“When is that happening?” he asks, spearing a piece of meat with his knife. 

“Within the fortnight,” Helaena continues, “Elyse is rather fond of her, I thought the company would be enjoyable.”

“Who shall look after the children?” Aegon questions.

“There are others, Aegon,” Helaena assures him, though he has never inquired about the children’s caregivers before. She wonders if Aegon has taken Tasha as a lover as well, and is worried about missing her. 

Her brother’s paramours were of no concern to Helaena. She cared little about her brother’s doing unless they were aggressive in nature. Helaena and Aegon had done their duties to produce heirs and that was all. They enjoyed each other much more as siblings, than as husband and wife. 

“Is Aemond to travel with her?” Aegon asked, eyebrows coming together.

“I would assume so, he is her husband after all,” Helaena said, mouth turning to a frown at his question.  

Aegon shakes his head as he continues chewing. Alicent gives him a scolding motherly look, as though he is still a small child learning table manners. 

“That will not do, I need him here.”

“They shan’t be long,” Alicent says, sighing. 

“Daemon is terrorizing the Riverlands,” Aegon says, glaring at his mother, “he resides at Harrenhal and makes a mockery of the crown. I wish to send Aemond to see about him.”

Alicent bites her tongue so hard she tastes copper in her mouth. 

“Sending Aemond is unwise,” she advises, “Daemon is hardly terrorizing anyone, he is a guest of Lord Strong. Rhaenyra has all but accepted your terms.”

Aegon leans back in his chair. 

“And how long shall I wait to hear from my sweet sister?” he questions, “Until half the realm comes to her aid?”

“The realm knows its true king,” Alicent assures, “Rhaenyra shall kneel.”

Aegon gives his mother an incredulous look. Helaena is silent, staring at her plate. She does not argue with her mother about Rhaenyra. It is always fruitless. 

“You hold too much hope in your heart for her, mother,” Aegon says in a quiet voice. 

Alicent inhales, a pink blush appearing on the top of her cheeks. Sometimes when Aegon talks he sounds so much like Otto it frightens her. 

She stares back at her son, into the violet eyes of the boy she birthed when she was little more than a child. They hold each other’s gaze as though they are quarreling siblings, not mother and son. 

Aegon looks away first, continuing to eat. 

“Aemond shall journey to Haranhall first,” he insists, “then he may join his bride.”

Alicent watches her eldest son eat. She glances towards Helaena who has begun humming to herself. 

“Storms end, storms begin,” she murmurs and Alicent leaves the table. 

~~~

Aemond had met with his brother and the small council, which agreed with Aegon on sending Aemond to the Riverlands. Otto Hightower was growing increasingly impatient with Rhaenyra’s antics and reports of her sons flying throughout the realm. 

Always a man of duty, Aemond reluctantly agreed, knowing the change in plans would upset his new wife. Elyse would understand, though he knew she would be disappointed. 

Aemond waited in their shared chambers for Elyse to return from her afternoon stroll with Helaena in the gardens. They had hardly left their chambers since their wedding, and Aemond had encouraged her to spend time with her oldest friend. 

Aemond was reading by the fire when a knock came on the door. Jeyne entered, a wooden box in her grip. 

“Pardon me, you grace,” she said, curtseying, “I came to deliver this for Lady Elyse, it seems to have gotten lost in the transition.”

Aemond studied the handmaiden, watching as her eyes refused to meet his. 

“Thank you, Jeyne,” he said, forcing a tight smile.

“I should give it to her directly, your grace,” Jeyne insisted, cheeks reddening. 

Aemond studied her expression, confused by her statement. His eye flickered to the box then back to Jeyne’s fearful face. 

“You shall leave it here,” he told her, waving his hand towards the desk. Jeyne wet her lips, shifting from one foot to the other. She did not move. The prince raised a brow at her. 

“I shall not ask again,” he told her, voice cold. Jeyne released a shaky breath.

“Of course, your grace,” she mumbled, walking past him and leaving the box reluctantly on the desk. As she placed it down she did not remove her hands from it for a long moment. Finally, she removed her hands and gave Aemond a hasty bow before leaving the room. 

Aemond stood immediately, walking over to the desk. The box was a simple thing, and he unlatched it with ease revealing several scrolls of parchment, red wax seals split open. He picked one up, placing the seal together forming the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. 

He felt his stomach turn as his face twisted with displeasure. Aemond opened the letter he held, glancing over the words. The name that signed it. 

Jacaerys Velaryon.

Aemond pawed through the letters, seemingly hundreds of them that his wife had exchanged with his nephew throughout the years. 

Aemond’s jaw clenched, jealousy swimming through him, as he saw the signature was the same for each one. All from his nephew. All started and signed the same. 

My dearest. Ever yours.

The door opened and Elyse entered, looking lovely as ever, cheeks rosy from the cool air. She wore a green gown that accentuated her sapphire blue eyes. 

She smiled lovingly at her husband before her eyes fell to the chest on the table in front of him. The letter he currently had clenched within his fist. The veins of his hands were prominent with how tightly he held them. 

Elyse’s smile faltered, her forehead wrinkling with displeasure. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She hurried over to Aemond, tearing the parchment from his grip.

“Those are private,” she hissed, shoving the scattered pages back into the wooden box. Aemond watched her, eerily calm. Elyse slammed the lid shut, throwing the latch, the sound echoing throughout the room.

Her breathing came quickly, her chest rising and falling with anger. She glanced at her husband then. Aemond’s face hardened. 

“I always knew the bastard was infatuated with you-”

“He was not!” Elyse said, cheeks aflame. Embarrassment coursed through her. She had wondered where the chest had disappeared and had hoped to find it before something like this happened. 

Aemond tilted his head to the side at his beautiful, stubborn wife. 

“Do not lie to me,” he said, voice dangerously level, his words a sword held at her throat. 

“We are friends Aemond,” she assures him, face aflame with embarrassment, “we have always been friends, you are well aware of that.”

Aemond bites his tongue, his lips beginning to curl into a snarl. Jealousy was not a new emotion for Aemond to experience, though it was one he greatly detested. Especially when it came in regards to his wife. 

“Always friends?” he challenges, and Elyse feels her heart pounding.

“Yes.”

“Do you kiss all your friends?” he accuses bitterly, arms crossed.

Elyse’s mouth falls open at his jealousy. She is sure her face cannot be any more flushed, but she feels the heat creeping down her neck, humiliation dripping down her spine. 

“I was just a girl,” she hisses, looking away from him, “I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“I am your husband.”

“And I have not dishonored you!” Elyse shouts, feeling angry tears prickling behind her eyes, “Aemond, this was well before we were anything.”

She sees the hurt flash across his face before his expression quickly hardens. He knows she is right, and that he has no reason for his jealousy. But Aemond feels as though she has always belonged to him, she has always been his. 

He has watched them kiss, the day Jacaerys came to court for the council of Driftmark’s succession. Aemond had watched as Elyse froze as Jace pressed his lips against hers, how she pulled away first. Though he was mad with jealousy, he knew at that moment his nephew was not who she wanted.

Still, the thought of his nephew being infatuated with his wife, even after all these years, and you entertaining him through your letters, set his entire being aflame with jealousy. 

“You may be a married woman,” Aemond begins, walking closer to his wife, “but the bastard is still obsessed with you.”

Elyse furrows her brow, and her lips form a tight line as anger courses through her. She is beautiful like this, full of fury. Aemond brings a hand to her cheek, the other to her waist.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Aemond purrs, lifting her onto the desk. She looks down, confused at the shift in his mood. He has a possessive look in his eye as his fingers work the laces of her dress. His mouth finds her throat, sucking harshly on the smooth skin.

“My perfect girl,” Aemond murmurs, the vibration dancing across her skin. Elyse feels a thrill run through her as she reaches for him. 

“Aemond-” Elyse whimpered, still angry though her eyes flutter shut as his mouth caresses her.

“I’d be fucking infuriated as well. My poor nephew, who gets none of this,” he growled, moving his mouth towards her lips, barely kissing her. Elyse finds herself leaning into him, desperate for his mouth atop hers. 

Who does, my lady?” he asked, sneering, hands gripping her thighs, pulling them apart so he can stand between them. Aemond runs his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirts up. Elyse’s breathing turns to pants. 

“Who worships this body?” he asks, fingers digging into her hips. 

Aemond brings a hand to her face, gripping her jaw painfully as he moves to nip her throat. There will be love bites adorning her neck tomorrow, noticeable ones. 

“You, my prince.” Elyse breathes causing Aemond to hum with pleasure.

“Who does this cunt belong to?”

Elyse’s face scrunches at his crude remark. She pushes against him suddenly, and he looks at her with a wild gleam in his lavender eye.  

“You’re being wretched.”

“Strike me then, go on.”

Elyse’s eyes widened at his request. She did slap him once, on her own accord when he was being particularly cruel. She remembered the look in his eye, the words he spoke after. That is not the slight you intend it to be. Elyse waits a moment before he nods at her in encouragement. She brings her hand to slap him on the cheek.

His face breaks into the grin of a man gone mad. He wraps his hand in her hair, tugging her head backward, almost painfully so, causing Elyse to cry out.  

“Who does this cunt belong to?” he repeats, his voice a growl. 

“Aemond, you,” she whimpers. Aemond pulls her hair harshly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Only me.”

“Only you.”

“Fuck,” he says, panting, “you’re so sweet, my darling Elyse.” His fingers tear at the lace front of her dress, ripping the fabric open. Elyse gasps in surprise.

“That was a gift from your mother,” she scolds. 

“I’ll buy you another.” he snarled, springing her breasts free, continuing to split the fabric of her dress down the middle. Elyse was desperate for him, so much so it frightened her, as her hands found his breeches pulling them downwards. 

His cock, now freed, slapped against his stomach, the tip weeping. 

“Take me, take me now,” Elyse begged, knowing Aemond liked to take his time with her. She couldn’t stand it right now. She needed him now. Elyse raised herself on her palms as Aemond tore away her small clothes. 

He captured her lips in a heated kiss, as her hand reached down to help his own guide his cock to her throbbing center. Once sheathed within her, the couple both let out a groan as he begins fucking her relentlessly, her dress a mess of tattered ribbons around her.

 “Aemond, please I-” Elyse began with tears in her eyes. Aemond smiled as Elyse cried out, her walls clenching around him. He held her hips firmly, snapping his own against her. 

“Oh Aemond please,” she begged. 

“What does my sweet girl want?” he purred, and Elyse felt her toes curl from pleasure. 

“Please I need-” Elyse said, unsure what she needed. All she could feel was Aemond, just Aemond slamming into her again and again. A coil of pressure built in her lower stomach ready to snap. 

“Anything,” Aemond said breathlessly. “I’ll give you anything.” He reached between her legs towards the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Using her slick his long fingers worked the sensitive nub and Elyse fell apart against him with a scream. As her walls fluttered around him, he found his release, emptying himself into her. 

They lay against each other in comfortable silence. Aemond places kisses up her chest, toward her neck before meeting her lips. 

“I am sorry,” he mumbles against her lips. Elyse tangles her hands in his hair.

“I know,” she assures him as he nuzzles against her, as she feels his cock soften within her. Her friendship with Jacaerys was not something that would be easily maintained as Aemond’s wife. This she was sure of. 

“I wish you did not have to go,” Elyse admitted, fingers tracing mindless patterns on his shoulders. 

“I shall be with you in Storm’s End before you know it,” he assured, lacing his fingers through hers and pressing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. 

“You shall be careful?”

“The small council does not wish for war,” he tells her, “they still have hope Rhaenyra will concede peacefully.”

“And Prince Daemon?”

“A simple mission to see what his business in the Riverlands is about. I shan’t linger there.”

She tries to hide her disappointment at the thought of returning to Storm’s End without him. Elyse met his eye. 

“I shall miss you,” she tells him and he hums in agreement. 

“When my sister bends the knee, we need never be parted again,” Aemond assures her, causing Elyse to smile. 

She wishes they could stay like this, limbs intertwined. Connected together in the safety of their chambers. Here, in these chambers, nothing bad can touch them.

Aemond leaves at first light for Harrenhal. Elyse does not wake up when he kisses her goodbye. When she does finally wake, Aemond’s side of the bed is cold.

[summerposie]

Read more on AO3

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse & Aemond are wed.

Warnings: language, smut at the end of chapter, mentions of blood, losing v-card, f-receiving 🥵

Word count: 4316

previous chapter ~~ next chapter

A wedding was surely a sign that the realm was headed toward prosperity. The Dowager Queen Alicent was convinced that three weddings must be a blessing from the Mother and Maiden. 

She journeyed to the Sept often to pray for good fortune to all parties involved, as whispers of Septa Alicent spread throughout the Keep. 

She did not mind. Alicent found comfort through her prayers. The Sept seemed to be the only place she could think freely, without someone grappling for her attention. 

She prayed often for the health and wellness of her children. For the prosperity of the seven kingdoms. For peace throughout the realm. 

She often found herself praying for Princess Rhaenyra.

Within the same moon, Baela Targaryen would wed her cousin Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaena Targaryen would wed her cousin Lucerys Velaryon, and Aemond Targaryen would wed Elyse Baratheon. 

Alicent sat within the Sept, eyes shut, head bowed in prayer. Her auburn curls obscured her face as her lips moved in silent prayer. The light of several hundred candles cast shadows around the room. Alicent’s hands were laced together, the skin around her nails just starting to heal. She rubbed her finger across the jagged healing skin of her opposite hand. 

Tensions were still high between the blacks and the greens. The opponents stood facing each other as though matched against one another on a chess board. Flittering about the realm, waiting for the other to strike first. Alicent had heard rumors of Prince Daemon camping at Harrenhaal, something that would need to be dealt with sooner or later, regardless of Rhaenyra’s answer.

Princess Rhaenyra had complications from her labors and was still contemplating the terms delivered by Otto Hightower, nearly a month prior. Alicent had petitioned for the Princess at court, allowing her all the time she deemed necessary for her health. Another day without an answer was another day without the threat of war. And for now, that was enough. 

Alicent thought often of Rhaenyra.

When Rhaenyra departed King’s Landing Alicent urged her to return. Though Rhaenyra had agreed, something had kept her at Dragonstone. Alicent had not received a raven stating why the Princess had been delayed returning. 

Perhaps she had misunderstood Rhaenyra’s intentions to return. She tried to disguise her hurt feelings. 

Rhaenyra had a habit of breaking Alicent’s heart, whether she understood that was what she was doing so or not. 

Alicent reopened her eyes as she ended her prayer. Glancing up at the statue of the Mother, a soft smile danced across her lovely face. 

Her second son would be marrying and for that she was grateful. Everything was appearing to be going as planned. Aegon was king, and Rhaenyra would accept the terms the crown provided. She had to accept the terms. 

Alicent rose from her knees and turned to leave. She would return to the Sept again asking the gods for their good fortune. 

~

The wedding was a small affair, in the royal Sept. 

Helaena had helped Elyse prepare, along with Jeyne and Tasha. Her dark curls had been pulled from her face, some hanging loosely down her back held by a braided crown. Several silver pins adorned her hair, as though stars in the night sky. 

The wedding gown was lovely, Elyse had seen it nearly a week prior for a fitting. The color of a shimmering pearl, with Myrish lace designs of a forest at the hem. A lonely doe stood out between the lace pine trees that trailed up towards her waist. 

Elyse only wished she had some kin present. She yearned for her mother’s touch, for her father to give her away. Though she was thankful for the Targaryen family she loved, Elyse couldn’t help but feel something missing. It made her happy remembering Aemond’s promise to journey to Storm’s End.

Helaena had kissed both her cheeks, eyes wet with tears as she admired her companion. She now stood next to her mother as the ceremony progressed. 

Aegon had escorted Elyse into the Sept, presenting her to his younger brother. Aemond stood, clad in green so dark it could be mistaken for black. His long hair flowed freely down his shoulders. 

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection,” the Septon announced. 

Elyse stiffened as Aegon removed the gold cloak decorated with a black stag. In normal circumstances, her father would be the one to remove her cloak, but Lord Borros was not in attendance at the small affair. The King was the only suitable other option.  

Elyse felt suddenly cold without the weight of the cloak and she gazed up at Aemond. The Septon ushered her to turn.

Elyse turned her back towards Aemond kneeling slightly, as he draped the green and gold cloak on her shoulders; the emblem of House Targaryen gleamed proudly on her back. She could feel his hands upon her, lingering a moment before pulling away. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Elyse spoke softly, “and take you for my lord and husband.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife,” Aemond said, his eye never leaving Elyse’s face. 

“Let it be known that Lady Elyse, of House Baratheon and Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who dare tear them asunder.” the maester finished. Aemond’s eye met Elyse’s gaze. 

He placed his hands in hers before capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. As he pulled away, a blush crept onto her cheeks. 

The feast afterward was small as well, but lively with dancing and merriment. Aemond and Elyse sat together between members of the royal family.

“I only wish Daeron was able to make it,” Helaena lamented, “you know how fond he is of feasts.”

Elyse smiled, taking a sip from the wine in front of her. She had been slowly sipping her wine all evening and had yet to dance, her nerves getting the best of her. 

“Daeron is fond of everything,” Aegon told his sister, causing her to frown. 

“I do not think he is fond of caterpillars,” Helaena retorted, causing Aegon's eyebrows to raise. Elyse heard Aemond chuckle beside her. 

“You see when we were children,” Helaena began before pressing her lips together, “oh never mind.”

“No no, go on,” Aegon said, curiosity written on his face. It was Elyse’s turn to suppress a chuckle. 

“Well,” Helaena began, cheeks reddening, “I didn’t know he did not like them, and so I thought he would look lovely with some atop his shoulder. They complimented his outfit greatly.”

Aegon’s mouth dropped open as he laughed.  

“Who in this family have you not tormented with your creatures?” he accused, and Helaena laughed. 

“She used to make me reach spiders for her in the garden, I assume that counts,” Aemond said, though his smile was kind. 

Elyse hummed in agreement before a laugh escaped her lips. She felt warm with the conversation, and the unity she felt with officially joining the family. Elyse caught Helaena’s eye then and the girls smiled at one another.

Elyse did not notice Helaena’s smile falter as she turned to converse with Alicent, who informed her there would be no official wedding ceremony. Elyse felt relief course through her.

“Come,” Aegon said suddenly rising from his chair, “honor your king with a dance, my lady.”

Elyse was not sure how her relationship with Aegon would be from here on out. Though sometimes he was vile, sometimes he was kind. And he was her king after all. She glanced at Aemond before taking Aegon’s hand.

“You honor me, your grace,” she said, as he led her to the dance floor. 

Aemond watched every move Aegon made as the dance began, ready to rise from his seat at a moment’s notice. 

“Congratulations, brother,” Helaena spoke softly, Elyse and Aegon in her line of sight. 

“Thank you, sister,” Aemond murmured.

Helaena looked at him then, a small smile on her face. 

“Take care of her,” she told him, causing him to turn. Aemond’s brow furrowed at Helaena’s dreamlike expression.

“Hel?” Aemond said, bringing his hand to hers. 

“As storms end, storms begin,” she told him, returning her gaze to the dancefloor.

~

As the feast wound down, the newlyweds were escorted to their shared apartments. Elyse felt strange about saying goodbye to the chambers she had grown in. 

These new apartments seemed almost too grand. A large antechamber opened up to a grand room, with high ceilings. A great fireplace roared with a recently lit fire, casting a warm glow around the room. Towards the rear was an enormous four-poster bed, big enough to comfortably sleep four or five people. 

A chaise and some other seating were placed near the fire, along with a table full of bread, cheeses, and fruit. A pitcher of wine accompanied the food, with two goblets waiting to be filled. 

Elyse walked around the room, admiring it. She turned to face Aemond, who was watching her carefully, drinking in her flushed expression.

“I once told you, that you would be much happier with Lord Maceon,” he said suddenly, unable to contain himself now that they were in the privacy of their own chambers. 

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace and the beating of Elyse’s heart. Though she hoped Aemond was unable to hear it from where he stood across the room.

“I remember,” she told him, eyes wide.

Aemond’s face softened. He walked towards her, taking her hands in his. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. Elyse felt her chest warm at the comforting gesture. 

“There was truth in that. But I wish to try; to make you happy,” he murmured, eyes downcast. 

Elyse tilted her head to the side. Dropping one of his hands she brought her hand to the scarred side of his face. Aemond suppressed a flinch as she pressed her soft hand to his face. Elyse was silent a moment, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

Aemond felt his heart hammering within his chest, but forced himself to look upon her. Her blue eyes were wide, full of adoration. 

“I just want you,” Elyse breathed, Aemond’s eye closing at her words. She could feel him leaning into her hand, his resistance shattering.

Elyse felt herself smile at his vulnerability. She had never seen Aemond like this before. He opened his eye as though reading her mind. Aemond had an alarming habit of knowing her thoughts. 

He placed a kiss on her hand before walking back to the door. Elyse’s brow furrowed, worried for a moment he was going to leave. He instead moved to throw the lock across the door, before turning back to face her. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” Aemond asked, a dark look in his eye. Elyse swallowed, anticipation tingling beneath her skin. 

Aemond sauntered towards her. Elyse stuck her chin up as he came to face her. He brought his hand up to caress the face of the woman he adored. 

“Aren’t I always?” Elyse teased and Aemond tutted. 

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Aemond asked, his voice dangerously calm. 

Elyse shook her head not trusting her voice. 

“About that night after the coronation. How you knew what you wanted from me,” he said, flexing his long fingers for good measure.

“Have you touched yourself before sweet Elyse?” 

Elyse's breath hitched in her chest. 

“Yes,” she admitted, cheeks darkening.

“Did you think of me?” He asked, violet eye wide. 

Elyse said nothing, confirming what he already assumed to be true. Aemonds face broke out in a ravenous grin. 

“Turn for me,” he commanded and Elyse obeyed. She could feel Aemond’s hands at the laces of her gown, nimble fingers undoing the restraints of her corset. Not a moment later, the gown pooled to the floor, leaving Elyse in her shift. 

Helaena had chosen the shift she wore, smooth silk trimmed with Myish lace. Much fancier than she was used to. 

She could feel her breath turning into pants, her face burning red, as she turned to face her husband once more. Elyse chewed her lip, stomach flipping with nerves. It was as though she was on dragonback yet again.  

Aemond’s eye never left her face as he sunk to his knees before her.

“Which do you prefer?” He asked, beginning to play with the hem of her silk shift. 

“What?” She asked. He had a terrible habit of distracting her. He cocked his head, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on her. 

“I simply wish to know if my lady prefers. My fingers or yours?” he asked her. 

Elyse felt her lips part with the question, gaze dropping to his long, slender fingers. Her toes curled remembering the feeling of those digits inside of her. Pressing against her most secretive place. 

“My lady?” He inquired at her silence.

“Yours. Always yours.” She admitted, face flushed. Aemond hummed in approval. 

“Good girl,” he praised, voice rough, disappearing beneath her skirts. She felt his hands pull down her small clothes, before hitching one of her legs over his shoulder. She wobbled momentarily, regaining her balance with the new position. 

Elyse felt the sharp curve of his nose press against her most intimate spot, and inhale deeply. Elyse blushed furiously, feeling embarrassed at his action.  

“Aemond-” she began, but he only growled.

“Do you have any idea what this does to me?” he purred. Elyse shook her head, forgetting Aemond could not see her. He nipped her inner thigh with his teeth causing her to gasp. 

“No” she breathed and she could feel him humming against her. 

“I think about this cunt always. For years I’ve dreamt only of this.” Elyse whimpered at his confession, feeling herself growing wetter with his words. Aemond’s fingers dug into the meat of her thighs. 

“I am a gentleman. I was forced to restrain myself far too long against your temptation.” He murmured against her. 

 “I’ve dreamt of you,” she said, through her whimpers. Aemond smiled beneath her skirts. “Always of you…oh!” Aemond licked her then, from the bottom of her slit to the top, his tongue exploring every inch of her. His lips circled her clit, the tip of his tongue teasing the sensitive pearl.

“Aemond…oh gods,” Elyse moaned as he thrust his tongue up inside her. He brought a hand to her buttock, spanking it harshly. Elyse yelped at the smack before his hand squeezed relief into her cheek.

“My prince,” Elyse corrected feeling the warmth spread through her at the memory. 

There are no gods here, only me. 

Only him beneath her skirts. Only his tongue, gods that tongue that curled into her in a way that made her forget all sense of dignity as she cried out continuously. 

Elyse felt the hand on her buttock push her more into his face. She worried momentarily about how Aemond was supposed to breathe with her so entangled around his head, but the thought left her mind as the pleasure built within her. 

Her release began to build, a wave creating over her ready to crash against the shore. She cried out as his tongue thrust into her, probing the spot he discovered that first night together. The spot Aemond knew could have her sobbing his name. 

“Aemond!” She cried and he nearly came himself at the sound of his name bubbling from her lips, in a pleasurable cry. 

He removed himself from beneath her skirts, letting her hooked leg slide down to the floor. 

“Bed,” he commanded and Elyse eagerly obliged. Aemond discarded his boots before climbing on top of her, ridding Elyse of her shift. Naked as her nameday, gooseflesh began to blossom on her flesh in the cool air. 

Elyse’s hands found the hem of his shirt and he assisted her in ridding it from his body. Elyse felt her eyes widen as she admired the smooth planes of his chest, the muscles that roped his arms. She brought her hands to the waistband of his trousers, and though they shook with nervous excitement, she was able to undo the ties. 

Aemond’s cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach causing Elyse’s lips to part. She wet her lips then, looking up at Aemond for instructions on what to do next.  

A groan escaped Aemond as he latched his mouth to her breast. Elyse squealed with delight as he circled her nipple with his tongue. He lavished the sizable mound with hot licks of his tongue, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth sure to leave her chest littered with lovebites. Leaving a trail of kisses on her breastbone he made his way to her other breast to give it the same attention. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her, “you have no idea how long I have wanted this.”

“Aemond,” Elyse cried, as her thighs clenched together. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she ached to sheath him inside of her. Aemond simply hummed against her, content with taking his time, as she ran her hand over his silky hair reaching the strap of his eyepatch. Aemond froze then, every muscle in his body at attention. Elyse noticed his shoulders tense.

“Let me see you,” she begged. Aemond’s violet eye met hers before giving Elyse a curt nod. 

Gently, Elyse removed the strap revealing the sapphire underneath. Aemond kept his eye locked on her, reading her reaction. Though he felt his shame course through him, he refused to look away. Elyse traced her fingers over the scar, before feeling the cold gem. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered. 

Aemond kissed her, long and hard, using the hand that did not hold him above her to move her thighs apart. Elyse was slick and dripping from her earlier release and his continued attention, as she felt him press against her center. 

“This may hurt, only briefly,” he warned between kisses and she nodded, pressing her forehead to his. 

“It’s alright,” she told him. Elyse was ready to become a woman. To truly become Aemond’s wife.  

Aemond slowly pushed his length into her, the stretch causing her mouth to fall open. There was a moment of sharp pain causing her to whimper as Aemond split her in two. Aemond brought his mouth to her neck, meaning to distract her from the pain with the pleasure she enjoyed. 

He pressed into her slowly, stretching her out, until he bottomed out in her cunt. He clenched his teeth at the feeling of her tight, wet, heat pulsating around him. 

Elyse dug her fingernails into his shoulders leaving crescent-shaped marks. There was a moment of fire deep within her womb as their bodies fully connected for the first time. 

Aemond allowed her a moment to adjust, before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward sending a wave of pleasure through Elyse's body. She dug her nails harder into his shoulder, gritting her teeth together at the enticing sensation of pleasure and pain. 

Aemond brought his hands around Elyse’s head as he plunged himself into her, their bodies flush against one another. Elyse wrapped her legs around his waist desperate to aid him in his passionate thrusts, as the pain ebbed completely. Elyse moaned beneath him as he placed a kiss on her jaw.

“Aemond,” she whined and the prince smiled into her. 

Aemond swore he could live off of Elyse’s moans and nothing more. 

“Yes, my sweet girl?” he purred, causing Elyse to whimper.

Elyse felt her pleasure creeping up her back once more, the pressure in her abdomen twisting and turning, wound so incredibly tight. A dam soon to burst open. 

Tears leaked from her eyes as Aemond continued his even, long thrusts into her. His teeth scraped her neck and she dug her fingers deeper into his shoulders. 

“Please,” she begged and Aemond’s cock twitched within her. How Aemond adored when she begged. 

“Fuck,” Aemond moaned into her shoulder and he pounded into her, his strokes slow and relentless. “You’re doing so well, so good for me.” 

Elyse could only moan in response as Aemond pulled her pleasure from her. As Aemond stared into her eyes Elyse felt an immense pressure well in her chest. Aemond grinned at her expression. 

“Does this feel good?” he crooned, as she whimpered below him. His voice sent a wave of pleasure rippling down her spine. 

“Yes,” she breathed.

Elyse’s walls began to flutter as the peak of her pleasure washed over her. As Aemond felt her cunt clamp around him his thrusts became sloppier as found his own release, emptying his seed into her warm cunt. 

He stayed seated within her as her cunt milked him for all he was worth. He swore that it was paradise, the feeling of Elyse’s silky walls constructing around him. The two lay together still conjoined, pants turning back into slow breaths. 

As he pulled himself from her warm sheath, he watched as their mingled releases spilled from her opening. The blood of her maidenhead pooled on the sheets below her. 

Elyse tangled her fingers in his hair as he lay beside her, feeling suddenly very tired.

Aemond allowed himself a moment, basking in the post-coital haze, placing kisses on every inch of skin his lips could reach, before he rose from the bed. He placed his arms under Elyse, lifting her from the bed with several furs. 

“What are you doing?” She asked sleepily, as he laid her on the chaise. 

“My lady wife shall not sleep on bloodied sheets,” he told her as he tore the sheets from the marriage bed. Elyse had wondered whether or not she would bleed, she had enjoyed riding horses throughout the years of her youth. 

Elyse sat up and watched him, the dull ache between her legs reminded her that she had become a woman. A wife. Aemond’s wife. She smiled softly as he discarded the sheets. 

Aemond turned to her and Elyse’s lips parted with her gasp. He was so beautiful; lean, taught muscles everywhere, long silver hair, and sharp features. And that blue sapphire eye of his that sparkled in the candlelight, as though winking at her. 

Elyse let herself admire him, even as her face flushed while he watched her. 

Aemond felt himself growing hard again as she gazed at him, her eyes falling toward his waist. 

A hungry look clouded his eyes and Elyse smiled coyly at him. 

“My prince?” she asked him, as he prowled over to her. 

“Fuck the sheets,” he murmured capturing her lips in a kiss. 

“Fuck the bed,” he breathed between his kisses, hands gripping her thighs pulling her towards him once more. 

~~

After several rounds of lovemaking, Elyse lay draped over Aemond’s chest, her fingers entangled in his strands of silver hair. She could feel the tips of his fingers tracing shapes on her upper arms. 

The sky was a startling shade of violet, golden light beginning to bathe the room. Though her mind was foggy with the pleasure she experienced, a question played in her mind. 

“Why a sapphire?” she murmured, feeling Aemond’s head turn at the sound of her voice. She looked up at him between her lashes. 

“Why do you ask?” he said, in a voice rough from the late hour. 

“I once heard it was a ruby,” she told him, causing him to chuckle at the gossip. Elyse smiled at his amused expression. 

“Why not an amethyst?” she questioned, fingers dancing over his pectoral muscle, watching as it flexed beneath her touch. She wondered why he had not chosen the gemstone that matched his eye. Aemond hummed at her question. 

“I’m rather fond of this shade of blue,” he told her, before rolling until he was atop her again, nudging apart her thighs. Elyse let out a soft whine; she could feel his hardness pressing at her entrance, desperate to be buried within her again. She happily obliged.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed it 💚

[summerposie]

Read more on AO3

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse meets the other important lady in Aemond's life

Warnings: none this chapter!

Word count: 4316

previous chapter ~~ next chapter

Chapter 12: Flight

Fear spreads like sickness throughout Flea Bottom. It creeps through doorways and spreads through whispers stating dragons are demons that need to be vanquished lest there be retribution from the gods.

The walls of the Red Keep seemed to vibrate with the promise of civil unrest. Whispers of Rhaenyra coming to claim her throne, arriving any day now atop Syrax to burn the city to ash.

Elyse had received a raven from her father.

The ravens were being watched with care, Maester Orwyle had watched Elyse read the letter, and did not let her keep it.

Lord Borros had only written to Elyse a handful of times during her upbringing at King’s Landing.

Lucerys Velaryon had traveled to Storm’s End for the promise of Lord Borros' alliance with Princess Rhaenyra, should there be a war over the succession of the Iron Throne.

Lord Borros had denied him.

It was said he spoke only of his fourth daughter who resided in the Red Keep. Though this sentiment was not shared in his letter to his fourth daughter, so Elyse wondered about the validity of the statement. Regardless, he would not put his blood in harm’s way for the cause of the Pretender Queen.

The Pretender Queen.

That is what they were calling the princess as she resided on Dragonstone. As she reached out to allies to see what footing she had in the Seven Kingdoms.

The realm had bowed to Aegon. They had accepted him without a second thought. The masses always did seem to bow to the wants of men.

Lord Borros rarely expressed affection for Elyse. He had sent her pelts over the years of hunts he had completed, trophies of furs for her chambers. His letter was brief.

I have not forgotten you, daughter. I shall send word to Highgarden. You are to marry the dragon prince. Your mother is with child. She longs to see you again.

Elyse’s lips had parted at her father’s first sentence. Though she often felt forgotten, a doe alone in the capital, his words struck a chord somewhere deep within her. She suddenly remembered being a young girl, clinging to her father’s leg in the round hall before being hauled off to King’s Landing. If she rubbed her fingers together, she could almost feel the memory of the fabric of the trousers he wore that day. She could almost feel the stones she knelt upon.

Her mother, Lady Elenda, had been pregnant when she left for King’s Landing. That babe did not survive. Lord Borros longed for a son, and the news her mother was pregnant once more was unsurprising. She wondered if her mother had expressed missing her, or if this was her father’s way of saying it was he who yearned to see her. Elyse wondered if Lord Borros had written the letter at all, or perhaps the maester had placed some kind words on the parchment for her.

Elyse felt her heart break for Lucerys. She imagined how cold and frightened he must have been to journey on Arrax to her homeland. How Lord Borros must have berated him. She hoped he did not feel shameful on his return to Dragonstone.

Her heart ached for Jacaerys. The Strong Heir, people were calling him. She wondered where he would fly to, what allies he would try and bring to his mother’s cause. Assuming that was what Princess Rhaenyra wanted.

Otto Hightower had returned from negotiating peaceful terms. He returned with news, the council and members of court awaiting with bated breath.

Rhaenyra had just given birth to her first daughter. She was to be called Visenya.

Rhaenyra had contemplated the terms of peace. She was given time to accept the offer, to welcome the birth of her daughter.

The seven kingdoms seemed to collectively hold its breath, awaiting Princess Rhaenyra’s response.

Ravens arrived hourly, from all across the realm as lords declared themselves for King Aegon, second of his name.

Elyse had been given two personal guards as her envoys. As a lady in waiting she was used to the goldcloaks who fluttered about Helaena but never was she subject to this kind of protection. Ser Errol and Ser Willis had been personally selected by Ser Criston Cole at the command of Prince Aemond.

The men followed her everywhere, trailing behind her in a triangular formation. Eyes on her at all times. Elyse felt her skin crawl with the intrusion of her privacy.

“It is all a precaution,” Helaena had told her as they met for afternoon tea. The air had grown cold, almost uncomfortably so with the approaching winter, but Helaena still preferred to dine outside.

“Is it really necessary?” Elyse had asked, watching as Ser Errol swatted at a drooping flower poking out of a hedge nearby.

“Aemond insisted,” Helaena told her, a smile hinting at the corner of her lips.

Elyse felt her face flush. She had not seen Aemond since the night of the coronation feast. He had been busy with the small council, attending to the wishes of his mother and aiding Ser Criston with potential war plans. The memory of his tongue on her, his fingers inside her, made a fire pool in her lower belly.

Helaena had more goldcloaks surrounding her as well. With her new title as queen came increased threats to her well-being.

“Have you spoken to him about the engagement?” Helaena asked, taking a sip from her cup.

The back of Elyse’s neck grew warmer still. I have always wanted you. His confession played in her mind over and over again. Elyse had awoken to purple kisses littering her thighs, in the shapes of his fingers.

“It appears we shall get along fine as husband and wife,” Elyse told her friend, who smiled over her cup. Elyse felt her face warming as though Helaena could see the bruised flesh hidden beneath her skirts.

“As I had expected. What of Lord Maceon? Is little Floris excited about the betrothal?”

Elyse was thoughtful for a moment. She only assumed it would be Floris who would be offered as her replacement.

Floris was said to be the prettiest of the sisters. She had little memories of her youngest sister, the only other child after herself.

She remembered a small child with dark hair who followed her like a shadow. A girl with large blue eyes, who enjoyed music. Small hands clinging to her skirts. Elyse hoped Floris would enjoy Highgarden. She believed it would suit her more so than herself.

“I do not know,” Elyse admitted, “but from what I recall of Floris I believe she would be happy. Lord Maceon is a kind man.”

Heleana nodded in agreement, casting her gaze away from Elyse.

Elyse sensed her hesitation.

“What is it?” she asked and Helaena shook her head.

“I just cannot help but wonder… what Prince Jacaerys must think,” Helaena said carefully.

Elyse looked away. She tried not to think of it. Of Lucerys returning to Dragonstone with the news of Lord Borros denying allegiance to his mother due to his daughter in King’s Landing. His daughter, who was soon to marry the one-eyed dragon prince.

If Lucerys had journeyed to Storm’s End, Elyse wondered where Jacaerys must be. Somewhere in the realm atop Vermax no doubt petitioning other lords.

Jacaerys had never liked Aemond, even when they were small children. He would likely not be pleased with the match.

“It does not matter what Jace thinks,” Elyse told her and Helaena raised a brow.

“He is one of your dearest friends,” Helaena nudged, noticing Elyse shying away from the topic.

“Then he shall understand the duty we both have,” Elyse told her, a bit of annoyance in her tone.

Duty, he might understand. But duty was not the only reason Elyse wished to marry Prince Aemond.

The fluttering in her heart told her all she needed to know about her feelings for Aemond. And that was something she knew Jace would look down on her for.

She could picture his face, the twisted anguish it would bring him. Not only as a friend. Never just a friend.

“I wonder if his wedding to Lady Baela is still to commence within the next moon,” Helaena pondered.

Elyse nodded, pondering Helaena’s statement. She had been invited to that wedding. She had hoped to attend.

“I look forward to your wedding ceremony,” Helaena said, glancing at a spider that had ducked beneath the table, watching it glide down a single thread to meet the stone floor.

The wedding would come quickly. It would not be a grand affair, a small ceremony in the castle sept. A feast was to be held after vows were exchanged. Elyse smiled at the thought.

“As am I,” she told Helaena, causing the Targaryen queen to smile.

“Do you remember our promise as children?” she asked and Elyse snorted.

“That we would be sister wives, as Visenya and Rhaenys were, as to always be together?” Elyse said, recalling the vow they had made in childhood.

The ladies both giggled at the memory.

“I told you, I would not marry Aegon,” Elyse recalled, but her smile remained.

“I would not expect that of you. You would think me cruel,” Helaena said, “I believe it is only I who can handle him.”

A moment of silence fell between the ladies.

“I know it is selfish of me, but I am grateful Aemond shall be your lord husband,” Helaena admitted and Elyse took her hand.

“Is that awful of me?” Helaena asked, eyes watery.

Elyse’s lips pressed together in a hard smile. She felt her throat tighten with the promise of tears.

“Even if I had left for Highgarden, it would not be the end of our friendship, Helaena,” Elyse declared, causing Helaena to smile.

“I would never leave you,” Elyse promised, the words hanging in the air between them.

Helaena’s violet eyes spilled tears down her cheeks. She looked as though she wanted to tell Elyse something. As if there was imperative information she needed to share with her friend.

Helaena seemed to know more things than most. Helaena inhaled sharply, patting Elyse’s hand and averting her eyes from her companion.

Then a servant girl made her way toward the women in the garden. Though she wore her hair concealed underneath the tan bonnet, Elyse could see strands of red hair that had escaped, blowing in the breeze. Her eyes were wide as she approached the ladies.

“Your grace, my lady,” the girl said, in an accent, Elyse did not recognize, “Prince Aemond requests your presence, Lady Elyse.”

Elyse felt her heartbeat quicken. Helaena flashed her a small smile.

“Where does he reside?” Eyes asked.

“The council chambers, my lady, but he wishes you to meet him at the front gates,” she said as Elyse rose.

“I have come to escort you to your chambers, to dress in your riding leathers; I would recommend a cloak, as well as there, is a chill, my lady,” the handmaid continued.

Elyse smiled, rising from her seat.

“I apologize, I do not think we have been introduced before?” Elyse questioned. She was sure she knew everyone in the Keep by now, and this handmaid did not look familiar.

The girl smiled.

“I am Tasha, my lady. I tend to the princess and princes,” she told Elyse who nodded. Elyse had noted Dyana’s presence missing for some time. Jaehaerys had adored the servant girl and Elyse had wondered where she had disappeared to.

“Tasha is quite lovely,” Helaena told Elyse, “Jaehaera is fond of her already.”

“You flatter me, your grace,” Tasha said a blush blooming on her cheeks, eyes downcast.

After bidding Helaena ado, Elyse made her way to her chambers to change.

“Shall I braid your hair, my lady?” Tasha asked. A task usually reserved for her handmaiden Jeyne, who was not present.

“That would be lovely, thank you, Tasha,” Elyse said, sitting at her desk.

Tasha ran her hands through Elyse’s hair before reaching for her brush.

“Have you resided long in the capital?” Elyse asked, making polite conversation.

“No, my lady, I only just recently arrived. I worked previously under Lady Hollard,” Tasha informed her, beginning the braid, “how long have you resided here, my lady?”

“Forever, it feels,” Elyse said chuckling, “since I was very young.”

“An interesting place to grow into womanhood,” Tasha said and Elyse found herself nodding.

“Indeed.”

~

Aemond stood at the front gates, back turned, hands crossed behind his back. He wore his riding leathers for the occasion. As the footsteps crunched on the gravel behind him, he turned.

Elyse’s cheeks were rosy from the cool air, but they seemed to darken as he met her gaze. Her blue eyes sparkled clear and bright as the sapphire hidden beneath his eyepatch.

“My lady,” Aemond greeted her.

“My prince,” Elyse said, curtsying.

Aemond waved away the guards behind Elyse. Her eyes tracked the movement of his hand. Aemond’s mouth curved into a smile.

“Let us find you a horse, my lady,” Aemond said, beckoning her towards the stables.

“I have someone I would like to introduce you to.”

~

Elyse had met Vhagar before. Never formally, but she had seen the massive she-dragon both at Driftmark and King’s Landing once Aemond had claimed her.

Queen Alicent had been worried sick when her son was recovering due to the maiming that occurred at Lady Laena’s funeral. Though Aemond flew on dragonback home to the Red Keep, Queen Alicent forbade it until he fully recovered from his injury.

Aemond had fallen into a fever soon after the greens returned to the Red Keep.

Vhagar was inconsolable, a dark shadow over King’s Landing. Her screams were constant for a week’s time as she flew lamenting. Even the darkness of night would not calm her. She would not sleep. She would not eat.

She had just lost one rider, another loss this soon would be agonizing.

Vhagar had taken residence on the beach of the Iron Gate. No one dared approach her.

Elyse remembered watching from her window, feeling the breeze from Vhagar’s gigantic wings as she flew above the Keep. Her roars shook the foundations of the castle.

She remembered Aemond, who rose from his bed in his delirium, desperate to fly one last time if he was to die. He had just gotten a taste, and now the Stranger wished to take him.

Queen Alicent had held her second son in her arms, as sweat soaked through his clothes. She had trembled as he cried, as he screamed for his dragon.

Elyse remembered praying to the gods, old and new, that would Aemond live. She prayed for Helaena, for the Queen, and for the dragon outside her window. She prayed for herself. The maester had reopened Aemond’s stitching, drained fluid and pus with leeches, and left the socket open. Then everyone had waited.

The night was long. Queen Alicent stayed by her son’s side the entire time. Elyse stayed in Helaena’s chambers, holding her companion as she wept for her brother.

Only when Aemond’s fever broke the following morning did Vhagar stop her lamenting.

Aemond rose from his bed and looked at his mother.

“Where is she?”

~

Aemond was leading her far outside of the Red Keep, past Dragon’s Gate, and into the grassy hills of the Crownlands. There was tension in the air between them, Elyse was sure if they weren’t on horseback she would throw herself into his arms.

“I received a raven from my father, this morning,” Elyse said, snapping the thread between them.

“What does your lord father say?” Aemond asked as Elyse’s mare brushed against his.

“He intends to write to Highgarden,” Elyse told him, “and my lady mother is with child again.”

Her jaw clenches at the end of her sentence.

“This is good news, yes?” Aemond asked, noticing Elyse’s tone shift. Elyse wet her lips.

“Mother struggles with childbearing. I worry for her health,” Elyse admitted, feeling an ache in her chest. She had scattered memories of her mother, seemingly always in the birthing bed, too sick with exhaustion to rise.

Aemond studied Elyse’s expression.

“We shall visit,” he promised, “after the wedding. You have been away from your home too long.”

Elyse felt as though her heart may burst from his kind words. His kindness shines through when he wants it to; or maybe when he lowers his guard. When his muscles relax, the tension releases from his shoulders, and his jaw. It is a rarity, Elyse believes.

“Aemond, I would love that,” she said softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. Aemond shied away from her gaze, clearing his throat. The intimacy of his proposal weighed heavily between them.

“Here we are,” Aemond said, as they made their way over to a clearing surrounded by several oak trees.

As Elyse dismounted her steed, she was afraid her legs would fail her. The air was cool and crisp, a slight breeze made Elyse inhale a deep breath of fresh air.

If Elyse turned around she could see the red towers of the Keep in the distance stretching towards the sky, like the fingers of some old god reaching towards the heavens.

Aemond had dismounted his horse as well and reached for the reigns of Elyse’s mare before tying them to a tree. Elyse raised an eyebrow.

“Are we to picnic?” she asked and Aemond shook his head.

“Not today,” he told her finishing the knot and patting his horse.

“Come,” he beckoned, and Elyse followed. The pair walked over a nearby hill that lead to a grassy clearing. Elyse felt the ground rumble beneath her boots.

Vhagar lay in the dip of the earth, as though she were a curled-up cat, not the oldest, largest dragon in the world. Her bronze scales shone in the late afternoon sun, green and blue reflections glimmering.

Her eyes were closed, until she breathed in deeply, sensing the pairs’ presence. Her eyes snapped open. A beautiful jade, the color of wildfire. She picked her head up turning it towards her rider.

Aemond had taken several steps ahead of Elyse, his body a barrier between the doe and the dragon.

“Lykeri, Vhagar, ziry iksos issa,” Aemond’s called.

Vhagar roared in response to her rider, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the force of her call. Elyse could feel Vhagar’s call rattle her bones.

Aemond let out a laugh. Elyse tore her eyes from the beast then. She’d never heard him laugh like that; not a chuckle or a polite acknowledgment. A true laugh. She found herself smiling.

“Lykeri,” Aemond teased, patting her snout. His hand was the size of her right nostril, which emitted grey smoke. Aemond turned towards Elyse a grin on his face.

He held his hand out towards her.

Elyse had never braved the underbelly of the dragonpit. She had come face to face with Dreamfyre a handful of times and that was it. This was different. This was the dragon that Visenya rode. The dragon that had seen Dorne. The dragon that had helped conquer the seven kingdoms.

Elyse stepped forward, curling her fingers over Aemond’s.

Vhagar was watching her, green eyes curious. She made a low clicking sound in the back of her throat.

“Lykeri, Vhagar. Bisa iksos issa riñnykeā,” Aemond crooned, the Valyrian dripping from his tongue like honey. This is my lady. Elyse wished to request he speaks it more often.

Elyse swallowed the fear inside her and pushed away the nerves eating away at her insides as she placed her hand in Aemond’s.

The dragon’s chest rumbled, as though a cat purring. Her eyes gleamed as she stared at Elyse. Staring into Elyse’s eyes, Vhagar suddenly let out a sharp chirp, before returning to a purr.

Aemond looked at Elyse, tugging her closer with the hand he held. Reaching up, he placed Elyse’s hand atop Vhagar’s maw.

Elyse had expected she would feel cold, perhaps slimy even like the frogs in the ponds in the gardens of the Keep. But Vhagar was warm, her scales smooth and thick like armor. Elyse released a shaky breath.

Aemond’s eye never left her face as he watched Elyse stroke Vhagar. He wasn’t entirely sure what made him want to introduce them. Something had tugged within him as he prepared to go flying.

“She’s magnificent,” Elyse breathed and Aemond hummed in response.

“Come, my lady,” Aemond said, motioning towards the ropes that dangled from Vhagar’s back. Elyse followed them with her eyes, seeing Aemond’s saddle; a small speck upon her back.

Elyse froze, all her muscles feeling as though they had turned to jelly. Vhagar exhaled suddenly, grey smoke curling towards the sky.

“I- um, I do not-” Elyse began, the words becoming lost in her throat.

“You wish to see the world, yes?” Aemond asked, stepping close to her, “Volantis, the Free Cities?”

Elyse nodded. He had remembered.

“You are to be my lady wife. There is no place you cannot go,” he promised, stepping closer to her.

“I will not deny you anything,” he told her, “anything you wish, any city you desire. You need only climb.”

And so Elyse did.

It took several minutes to climb Vhagar, Aemond climbing below her as though to make sure she would not fall. Though it took much longer due to Elyse’s inexperience, Aemond did not mind.

She held onto the ropes tightly, the material digging into her palms leaving angry red streaks, as she pulled herself upwards. Elyse glanced at the ground briefly but quickly brought her gaze back to the scales in front of her. The ground was very very far away.

“Warrior save me,” Elyse whispered to herself, as she continued her climb. She imagined she was not Elyse, she was Visenya, Targaryen Queen ascending her dragon to conquer the seven kingdoms. Visenya would not have been afraid.

As they reached the top, the wind tore through Elyse’s braid, several strands of hair coming loose around her face. Aemond seated himself on the saddle, straddling his legs as though on a horse. As Elyse stood on Vhagar’s back, she looked at the Red Keep in the far-off distance.

“Sit here,” he motioned and helped Elyse straddle the she-dragon in front of him. Elyse placed herself in front of him, feeling Aemond’s hot breath on her neck. She pressed into him, back flush against his chest, face burning.

“Sōvētēs!” Aemond shouted, and Vhagar began her ascension, large feet pressing the ground, propelling the dragon toward the sky. Her wings flapped, gathering the winds beneath her.

Vhagar took to the skies.

Elyse’s eyes were wide, thighs clenching the saddle, knuckles white against the reigns.

Aemond smiled coyly, pressing the sharp curve of his nose beneath her ear into the spot he already knew was sensitive. Elyse inhaled a sharp breath, a tingle rolling down her spine.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, lips dancing on her skin. Elyse closed her eyes as Aemond brought his hand to hold her waist. He brought his other to hold her stomach, pressing her back flush against him.

“Look,” Aemond said, and Elyse opened her eyes. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled beneath them. Elyse let out a laugh, as Vhagar dove towards the sea. Elyse felt her stomach drop, her bottom lifting from the saddle, thighs still clenched.

Her braid blew wildly behind her as Vhagar suddenly pulled herself up, letting her feet and wings drag in the salty water. Mist sprayed up her back, sizzling into steam with the heat of her body.

Elyse laughed again, before letting loose the reigns she held, throwing her hands over her head. Aemond kept his hands securely around her, holding his lady to his dragon. He could not help the smug smile that crept onto his face at the delight the ride was bringing her.

Elyse swore she was weightless. She felt as though she herself was the dragon beneath her, simply flying of her own accord. How incredibly freeing it must be; to be a Targaryen. To be an unstoppable force of nature, to go anywhere you desire.

She screamed then, high-pitched, a joyful sound. A child running in from the rain. Elyse could not remember the last time she felt so free. As Vhagar continued to fly she craned her neck to look at Aemond.

Aemond was already looking at her, hand tightening around her waist. His lips were parted, a soft smile on his mouth that reached his eye. He leaned forward then, capturing her lips in a kiss. The wind tore around the lovers who stayed locked in their embrace long after Vhagar had landed on the outskirts of King’s Landing.

~

Prince Jacaerys had been flying for too long. The air was warm, the breeze blowing his dark hair from his brow. His legs ached from the journey, as Vermax descended to the courtyard below.

“We send Lucerys North, I shall travel to the Riverlands,” Prince Daemon had instructed days earlier, as Princess Rhaenyra rested in her birthing bed. Her recovery was slow from the intensity of her labors, and she had yet to rise.

“You shall journey south,” Daemon continued, looking towards Jacaerys. Jace had stood tall, a solemn expression on his face. As Lucerys had traveled to Storm’s End, Jace had traveled to the Vale. His trip had meant to extend to the North to request the allegiance of Cregan Stark when a raven arrived at the Eyrie causing Jace to change course and return to Dragonstone.

Three dragons departed the island of Dragonstone, as a newborn babe wailed from within.

Jacaerys eased from his mount of Vermax and the dragon cried out, a loud call towards the guards before him, who backed away at the sound. Jace’s thighs ached as he began walking, the feeling suddenly unfamiliar from his travels.

Jacaerys looked towards the beauty of Highgarden and went inside.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to reblog, or leave a kudos or comment if you want to 💚

[summerposie]

Read more on AO3

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Aemond and Elyse face each other, and discuss their betrothal.

Warnings: smut at the end of chapter

Word count: 5,355

previous chapter ~~ next chapter

Chapter 11: Desire

On Aemond’s thirteenth nameday, Aegon brought him to the Street of Silk. “Time to get it wet,” he had said, clasping his hands on his younger brother’s shoulders and beckoning him towards the doors of the House of Kisses. 

Aemond had donned his eyepatch for the outing. He had taken to wearing it after seeing several ladies of court turn green at the sight of the empty socket where his eye once resided. 

Their faces served as constant reminders of his disfigurement. 

Vhagar was his only comfort. He spent most of his time with her. If he couldn’t be a knight he would be the most revered dragon rider there was. 

Aemond had scrunched his nose at Aegon’s words. His elder brother looked at him incredulously. 

“Your cock, Aemond. I’m talking about your cock,” Aegon had said.

“I know what you’re talking about!” Aemond had growled in response, face burning. 

“Virgins are truly a treat,” Aegon had mused, “you barely have to touch them to have them soaked and mewling like a kitten.” 

Aemond’s lip had curled in disgust at Aegon’s crude remarks. Aegon’s depravity had always bothered him. 

The House of Kisses was one of many brothels on the Street of Silk. The air was thick with humidity, and Aemond’s silver hair clung to the back of his neck from the sweat that pooled there. Though the goldcloaks were nearby the people of King’s Landing pushed by the young princes as though they are commoners themselves. The streets are alive with men seeking pleasure for a purse of coins.

Aemond had been ushered into a perfumed room with several colorful pillows and a bed. Aegon had torn himself from Aemond, promising to return within the hour, helping himself to one of the many rooms. Aemond’s mouth went dry as a lady entered the room. Not a lady, Aemond had to remind himself.

She was older than him, hair a brown copper held off of her face. Her face was soft with her age, but she was still pretty, Aemond had noted. She gave him a smile as she walked towards him. 

“My lady- I mean,” Aemond swallowed as she sat beside him. Her pink skirts danced against his leg, the Myrish lace patterns catching on his trousers. 

“I do not know what to call you,” the prince admitted, eye wide and alert. His heart beat wildly in his chest. The woman smiled. 

“It is Shanna, my prince,” she told him, “it is an honor to be in your presence.”

“Is it?” Aemond asked, mouth tight. He found himself angling away from her, hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

Shanna lowered her gaze, raising a hand to stroke his arm. Aemond flinched at her touch. She moved closer to him, leaning as though to press her lips to his.

“Wait,” he said suddenly and she pulled back.

“Do you not enjoy kissing, my prince? We can start however you like,” she assured him. 

Aemond chewed his lip, feeling ashamed of the nervousness that flowed through him. He couldn’t even bed a whore. How pathetic he must seem. 

“I do not think I wish for this, at the moment,” Aemond admitted and Shanna gave him a small smile.

“That is alright too, my prince.”

Aemond met her gaze, relief washing over him.

“It is?” 

“Your brother has paid, regardless. We need not do anything you are not comfortable with,” she assured him. 

Aemond paused for a moment. 

“Can you tell him we…” Aemond couldn’t finish the sentence, the embarrassment of speaking to a woman in such a lewd way was too much. 

Shanna only smiled at the boy, several years his younger. 

“As you wish, my prince,” she had told him. 

Aemond did not join Shanna in her bed that day. He sat with her for the entire hour she was paid and left without a second glance.

He did not have the pleasure of seeing Shanna again, until that fateful day when he brought Ser Criston to the House of Kisses attempting to find Aegon.

The woman had clearly recognized him, a one-eyed Targaryen prince was not easy to forget. She smiled a knowing smile at him. They shared a secret. 

“How you’ve grown,” she praised, and Aemond shied away from her gaze.

The music from the feast rang in Elyse’s ears. She felt herself blink several times, watching Helaena’s lips move as she spoke swiftly to her. The air in the room seemed thick like honey, everything moved in slow motion. 

“It was grandsire’s idea apparently,” Helaena said and Elyse felt her attention snap back to the room. 

“You know mother adores you, and of course, I do not want you to leave either, so this is good, perhaps?”

Elyse felt her pulse fluttering against her wrist where Helaena’s fingers held her. 

“Aemond cares for you as well, in his own right. And you care for him,” Helaena encouraged, lavender eyes studying her friend's face. Elyse looked at her in disbelief. 

“Helaena, I am to be wed.”

Helaena’s head tilted.

“Yes, to Aemond,” Helaena said, for the second time that evening. 

Elyse stared at her, eyes wide. A hysterical laugh escaped her lips. What the seven hells was going on? Elyse felt as though she was going mad. 

“What of Lord Maceon?” Elyse asked. 

Helaena pursed her lips, glancing around the great hall, before beckoning her friend to a corner of the room. Elyse allowed Helaena to drag her from the dance floor, not trusting her footing.

“Mother says betrothals are easy enough to break, especially with no formal dowry arranged,” Helaena whispered, “your father will not deny you a dragon prince.”

Elyse’s eyes were wide, unblinking as Helaena spoke so nonchalantly. She could not believe what was happening. She wet her lips, looking up momentarily at the ceiling, grasping for a sense of sanity. 

“Perhaps your father shall marry one of you sisters to Lord Maceon,” Helaena assured her.

“Helaena, he does not even like me,” Elyse hissed through clenched teeth, though this was a foolish response. Lords and ladies were rarely thrown into marriages for love. But Lord Maceon could have loved her. Could have grown to love her. 

Helaena raised an eyebrow at her words, unconvinced. Elyse’s eyes were pleading. 

“It is true, I all but demanded him to take me to wife last night.” 

Helaena’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open as a gasp escaped her lips.

“You harlot!” she scolded, with a playful smile on her face, “and on the eve before your departure? How very scandalous.” 

“Yes, I know, I shall beg the Maiden’s forgiveness later,” Elyse said, shaking her head, “but Helaena, listen to me, he does not want me.”

Helaena would not hear it. 

“Aemond shall do his duty regardless,” Helaena insisted, “but you are wrong, sweet sister.”

“And I always thought you’d be a terrible lady of Highgarden,” Helaena told her and Elyse barked out a laugh. 

“I shall make a terrible princess as well!” Elyse said bitterly. 

“You did not love Lord Maceon, you said so yourself-”

“So that is it? To be unloved here or at Highgarden. A pawn moved about the board.”

Elyse regretted her words as she saw the pain that flashed through Helaena’s eyes. Elyse sighed clasping Helaena’s hand in hers.

“I’m sorry, that was cruel,” she told her companion, who gave her a small smile. 

She found her eyes scanning the room, searching for Aemond. She found him, standing next to his mother, deeply engrossed in what she was speaking to him. 

Alicent’s hands made sharp movements, emphasizing whatever she said to him. His face was a mask of stone, lips in a tight line before he nodded sharply. 

Elyse felt a wave of nausea roll through her, as she paled. 

He was upset. 

Elyse felt her mouth go dry as she watched the conversation between mother and son. Alicent looked towards the crowd, catching Elyse’s eyes. Aemond followed her look and Elyse looked away quickly as his lilac eye met hers. 

The drums of the music picked up and Elyse was lost in the crowd again. She was thrust suddenly into a group dance, Helaena joining her. 

Elyse could feel her heartbeat in her ears as she swayed between lords and ladies. A crack of thunder boomed outside, as the sky opened up rain pouring against the windows of the great hall. 

Suddenly, Aegon appeared before her, eyes rimmed with dark circles. His left eye appeared slightly swollen. A new dance began. 

“Courtesy of your betrothed,” he said, nodding upwards. 

“Your Grace,” Elyse said, dropping her eyes from his face. Aegon blew air between his lips. 

“No need to be so formal, you are my sweet sister-to-be,” he told her, linking her arm with his. His steps were off, and Elyse found herself stumbling to keep up with him. 

“I was delighted to approve the match,” Aegon continued, smiling knowingly. “How very fortunate we are to keep you in the capital.” 

Elyse felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

“You honor me, your grace,” Elyse told him, causing him to chuckle. 

“Do I?” Aegon asked, hand tightening on her waist.

“Of course, your grace,” Elyse told him.

“I do enjoy being king, you’re so much sweeter than you were last night,” he crooned. 

Elyse gave him a tight smile. 

~~~~~

“You will do this for me, yes?” Alicent asked her second son, eyes wide as saucers. 

Aemond could hear his heart pounding in his ears. 

His mother looked past him towards Elyse in the crowd. Aemond’s eye followed her, meeting Elye’s blue eyes for a heartbeat before she looked away. 

She would hate him, he was sure of it. If she didn’t already this would be the end of it. 

Aemond turned back towards his mother, her pleading eyes that begged him to save her. 

“Of course mother. Aegon shall have Lord Borros’ oath and I shall have this girl.” 

Alicent smiled shakily, pleased that her son would do as she asked. She clasped her hand on his forearm. Aemond continued to prove he was her anchor in this world. 

“Lady Elyse shall make a good wife,” she encouraged. 

Aemond watched as Aegon captured her in a dance, a deep sense of possessiveness rolled through him. He felt his fists clench as he watched them.

Her green skirts flowed behind her as spun in her dance. The color flattered her. Every time Aemond believed she could not be more beautiful, she seemed to prove him wrong. 

Aemond watched as his brother conversed with her, fingers twitching towards the dagger at his belt. 

~~~~

Elyse’s chambers were cold when she returned from the feast. Her luggage had been delivered to her chambers during the feast, chests, and trunks scattered across the room. How very close she had been to leave the Red Keep. She felt tears prick her eyes. 

Though she was happy to remain in the home she had known, she couldn’t help the feeling that something had been taken from her. A chance. A choice. A life that might have brought her some sense of happiness. 

She swallowed hard as she thought of Aemond, the cold look in his eye. There was one point where she thought Aemond cared for her, but after the previous night, those dreams had scattered from her mind. 

Elyse tossed and turned in bed for ages before she decided she needed to confront Aemond. She could not stand not knowing exactly what was going on in his head. Snatching her dressing robe from the chair at her desk with such speed the chair wobbled on the floor. 

She left her room quietly, sneaking by gold cloaks patrolling the halls. It was unladylike to be wandering the halls at the hour of the owl, nevertheless going to a man’s room. Even if he was her betrothed. Especially if it was her betrothed. 

Elyse stood outside Aemond’s chambers. She had never been inside before, but she knew his door well. Guided by only anger and fear, she knocked on her betrothed’s door. 

He opened the door, in only his trousers, chest bare. His eyepatch seemed tilted on his face, as though he had rushed to put it on. She had never seen him so disheveled. Elyse pushed past him, not waiting for him to invite her in. 

His chambers were sizably larger than that of Elyse. As she entered through the antechamber towards his inner bedchamber this became apparent.

A fire roared in the fireplace, fur rugs lining the floors. A wide chaise lounge and several chairs were positioned around the fire. Elyse could imagine him seated there, reading. The room was cozy. Warm. So unlike the cold exterior, he presented to the rest of the world. 

Her eyes drifted to the large four-poster bed sat at the back of the room, sheets tousled as though he had been waiting for sleep before she arrived. Her body warmed at the thought. 

His desk was full of papers and instruments, several books, empty pots of ink, and scrolls. A large window with a small balcony held several potted plants on the ledge. 

Elyse heard him slowly close the door, the hinges creaking. She suddenly felt like prey. A doe in the dragon’s lair. 

“The hour is late, my lady,” Aemond said as she turned to face him. 

His eye raked over her body, and Elyse became very aware of her hasty decision to rush to his chambers in only her dressing robe and night shift. She pulls her dressing robes closer around the front of her body. 

“I wish to speak with you.”

“And it could not wait until morning?”

“No it could not,” Elyse said, crossing her arms. 

Aemond’s eyebrows rose at her tone.

“If my betrothed desires it, so be it,” he said softly, an amused smirk on his face. 

Elyse’s brows furrowed. 

“Do not belittle me.” 

“Never,” he retorted, eye narrowing.

Elyse, unable to help herself, looked him up and down. She could see the smooth muscles of his chest, his arm muscles flexing. Aemond trained relentlessly even on frigid or stormy days, and his hard work showed. 

Her eyes drifted down his toned stomach, a trail of wispy silvery hair disappearing into his trousers. She swallowed hard, lifting her eyes to meet his. There was no sign of embarrassment on his face, he seemed to know how pleasing his lean frame was. 

“What say you of this arrangement?” she asked. Aemond looked away, walking towards his desk. Elyse’s eyes track his every movement. 

“What is there to say, my lady?” he asked.

“Why agree to this match?”

Aemond wets his lips, turning away from her to face the fire. Elyse watches the muscles in his back tense. She hates the heat that gathers on the back of her neck, the desire that pools in her stomach when she looks at him. It makes her feel weak. 

“Strengthen the unity of our houses. House Baratheon has been loyal to House Targaryen since the conquest,” he told her, dry as if reciting history. 

Elyse rolled her eyes. A very intellectual answer, but not what she was looking for. 

“Yes, but why me?” she demanded, her patience wearing thin.

“I do not understand what you mean.”

“You do not want me!” Elyse snapped, voice echoing in the bedchamber. The pain of the statement was etched in the words she spat at him.

Aemond stilled at her words, back still towards her. Elyse’s chest heaved with anger, her nostrils flaring. 

“You do not want me, and yet you insist on keeping me from some form of happiness I may acquire.” Elyse seethed as Aemond turned to face her. His eye widened, a sea of lavender soon to drown her. 

Her face was twisted with anger, her chin held high as she stared him down. 

“Why did you keep me?” she demanded softly, unable to stop the whimper that follows the question. Her bottom lip trembles and she’s not sure if it is because of anger or the fear of his potential answer. She watches as his tongue traces his bottom teeth within his lips.

“Why not contest your mother’s choice? Fly to Storm’s End, and choose one of my sisters. Perhaps they are better suited.”

Elyse can not keep the bitterness from her voice. Always replaceable, always interchangeable. One of many eligible noble daughters. 

“You are my sister’s companion,” he stated matter of factly.

“You have taken me to wife, all for the benefit of Helaena?”

“It was practical.”

Elyse scoffed, her face flushed with anger. She did not know what else she expected from him, but disappointment coursed through her veins. 

“There is nothing else?” she probed. 

The question lingered between them. Elyse had shown her heart, she would not again. 

“What else would there be?” Aemond asked, his voice like ice. 

Elyse swallowed. She would not cry. She had spilled too many tears for him already. 

“Have it your way then. My prince,” she said, extending her arms too wide in a dramatic curtsey. She moved to leave his chambers before pausing.

Elyse could not help the question that spilled from her lips. 

“What if Lord Maceon calls his banners and decides to come to claim his bride?” Elyse challenged, watching his jaw clench, and his fingers flex. The last effort for him to show his hand. 

Aemond felt her words ignite a fire in his veins, his lips curled at the thought. I’ll kill him, he thought. Let him try. I’ll burn Highgarden to the ground and salt the ashes left behind. 

“You are my bride,” he snarled, his face twisted in anger. Elyse felt something in her stomach flutter. 

He stalked closer to her, unable to control himself. Elyse backed up at his advances colliding with the wall. Aemond put his hands on either side of her head, trapping her against it. She could see the flecks of blue in his violet eye—the deep ridges of the scar that marked his face.  

“You do not desire that,” Elyse snarled, pushing her hands against his chest. He did not move from her shove, but let out a rough breath. 

Elyse could feel the heat radiating off of Aemond, as he lowered his head to her shoulder, his head bowed as though in defeat. He let the weight of his head rest there for a moment, silver hair tickling her cheek. 

Elyse was sure he could hear her heart beating in her chest. He lifted his head, nose trailing along the side of her neck causing her to shiver. 

“Do you really think I would let that flower lord have you?” he spoke, voice low, his mouth caressing the spot where her jaw met her neck. The last of Aemond’s self-restraint was hanging by a thread as he inhaled her familiar scent of lavender and lily of the valley.

Elyse closed her eyes as he spoke, knees growing weak. She felt a tremor roll through her body and worried she would collapse against him. 

“There is no corner of this world that he could take you to that I would not find you,” he whispered against her throat, a threat concealed with a kiss. 

“I would have Vhagar burn the seven kingdoms to ruins and have you atop the ashes.”

Elyse’s eyes opened, half-lidded with desire, his promise sending warmth to the very core of her being. She feels something inside her tighten with need. 

“You do not want me,” she breathed, seeing the chink in his armor. She had gotten a rise out of him. She could hear it in his voice, his words coated in venom.

Jealousy.

Aemond was silent for a moment before giving in to his desire.

“I have always wanted you,” he admitted softly. 

She grabbed him by the scruff of the silver hair of his neck, yanking his lips from her neck. He let out a low whine at her sudden roughness, pupil dilated, lips parted. 

“You want me?” Elyse asked, desperate to hear him say it again. She kept her fingers entangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, blue eyes wide. 

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly. He wants her. He wants her more than he has wanted anything in his life. She is sweeter than the vengeance that flows through his veins. He thought he knew what it was to want, to desire. Never before her. 

Elyse stared at him a moment longer, reveling in the confession of the dragon prince. Aemond watched her carefully. 

“I am yours,” she whispered and Aemond lunged forward, connecting their mouths. The kiss was searing and demanding, a match becoming aflame. His lips were soft, molding against hers the taste of mint and wine on his tongue. 

Aemond took his time prying open her mouth, probing into her with his hot tongue. Elyse let her fingers get lost in his silver hair, holding on for dear life as his mouth explored hers. 

“Elyse,” he murmured against her lips. “What foolish questions you ask.”

Elyse whimpered at his words, desperate to be closer to him. 

“Foolish?” Elyse breathed through his kisses. Aemond captured her bottom lip between his teeth, Elyse’s hands wrapping around his neck, molding his body against hers. 

“I desire you in every way a man can.” 

Aemond roughly pulled at her dressing robe, the material pooling to the floor leaving her in only her night shift. His hands found her waist as he pressed into her, nearly lifting her off the floor pinned between himself and the wall. 

His grip on her waist tightened as all his restraints melted away. The years he had held himself away from her, had stopped him from visiting her chambers in the middle of the night. All the nights he had finished himself in his hand imagining it was her. He let his hands trail to cup her backside, grinding against her.

He roughly pulled her from the wall, his lips not leaving hers. She whined as he maneuvered her towards the chaise lounge, laying her down and crawling on top of her. Aemond deepened the kiss, sending waves of fire throughout Elyse’s body. 

Aemond held himself atop her with one hand, letting the other explore her body. He lazily trailed his fingers down her collarbone, down into the swell of her breast. Aemond took her breast into his hand, squeezing roughly. 

Elyse moaned into his mouth at his touch, at the feeling of his hardness pressed against her through their clothes. Aemond yanked the material of her shift to her waist, allowing his hand underneath. Her skin was hot with desire as he touched her smooth flesh, running his hand over her pebbled nipples. 

Elyse cried out as Aemond moved to suck on the skin of her neck.

“Aemond,” she breathed his name as though it were a prayer, and his cock twitched in his pants. He let his weight rest atop her, leaving her momentarily breathless. Elyse dug her nails into the muscles of his back, desperate to have him closer to her. His teeth scraped against her neck. She could feel her wetness leaving a slick trail on her inner thighs as she clenched for some friction, needing some form of pressure. 

As if reading her thoughts, Aemond’s hand left her breast and began to travel lower, teasing her breastbone, lower stomach, and over her pelvis. His fingers ghosted over her skin, barely touching her. Delirious with want, Elyse cried out to him again. 

“Please,” she softly begged, and she could feel him smile into the crook of her neck. She wanted him everywhere. She wanted him to consume her in his flames. His fingers found the heat of her clothed cunt, pressing against it with his knuckles. The pressure he applied made stars appear in her eyes.

“Say it again,” he murmured a soft command.

“Please,” she repeated. She was sure at that moment she would say anything he demanded of her. 

“Again.”

“Please Aemond.”

His fingers found their way under her small clothes, brushing through her silky, wet folds. He gathered her slick on his fingers and began to rub torturously slow circles on her bundle of nerves. She writhed underneath him with the stimulation as he placed a kiss on her jaw. Her fingers dug into his long silver hair. 

She could feel herself dripping, making a mess of her thighs and most certainly his hand, but was too lost in the pleasure to feel embarrassed. Aemond moved his hand down, a finger teasing at her entrance. 

“I shall not take your maidenhead tonight,” he rasped, voice raw with lust as though he wanted nothing more than to ruin her atop the chaise lounge. She was so needy, so wet for him. 

“That I shall save for our wedding night.” 

Elyse could only whimper below him as he inserted a finger into her tight cunt. Her warm walls clenched around him, aching to be filled. The new sensation was uncomfortable but it sent a current of pleasure through her body. Aemond sat up, waiting a moment, studying her face. 

“Is this alright?” he asked and Elyse nodded frantically. 

“Yesyesyes,” she breathed, earning a dark chuckle. 

Aemond curled his finger inside her, and her mouth fell open in pleasure. She felt he was pulling her apart, surely he must be destroying her in the most delicious way possible. He continued the movement as Elyse writhed on the chaise, his jaw slacking as he watched her. 

Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing came in pants, hard nipples straining through her shift. His finger searched within her until it found a spongy section that made her vision go white. 

“Gods,” she breathed, arching her back and closing her eyes. Aemond grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. 

“There are no gods here,” he told her, “only me.”

Elyse looked into his eye and saw the desire that resided there as he claimed her with his fingers. Her mouth twitched into a blissful smile.

“Yes, my prince,” she said to him, as he slipped a second finger into her heat. She cried out as his fingers curled within her. Aemond bit his lower lip, a hungry expression on his face.

“Again,” he demanded, fingers moving relentlessly inside of her.

A strangled moan escaped Elyse’s lips as pleasure blinded her. Aemond clicked his tongue in disapproval. 

“Say it.”

“My prince,” she moaned and Aemond moved off of the chaise. Kneeling on the floor, he curled his free hand around her thigh, pulling her so her legs hung off the chaise. Aemond’s head dipped between her legs. 

Elyse lifted her head, propping herself on her forearms. 

“What are you-” she began but was quickly silenced as he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves within her mound. A half sob escaped her lips as he sucked, his tongue-gods his tongue-moving hot and wet against her as his fingers curled against her spongy walls. 

The pleasure was so much more intense than when she had touched herself. Elyse felt as though Aemond was discovering parts of her she had no idea existed. The smooth muscle of his tongue worked wonders-seven hells she wondered how she would ever be able to watch him speak again after knowing what that mouth was capable of. 

Her thighs trembled and he squeezed the soft flesh as she squirmed. Lewd, wet noises filled the room as he continued to feast on her, fingers never stopping their magic. He moaned, closing his eye, the sounds vibrating against her mound. 

Tears leaked from her eyes as the pleasure began its crescendo with her. Elyse felt a sensation as though her bladder was about to spasm uncontrollably, the coil within her about to snap.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” she begged him, and he released his mouth from her. 

“Gevie,” he purred, curling his fingers and pressing his hand down on her pelvis. He reattached his lips to her sensitive pearl and Elyse came hard with a sob, cunt clamping down around his fingers. 

Aemond lapped at her juices as she came down from her high, panting hard with a gleam of sweat over her. She inhaled a sharp breath as he removed his fingers from her, feeling strangely empty. He pressed his mouth over her dripping slit, nose brushing her swollen clit, causing Elyse to jerk. 

He sucked greedily, like a man who had not had his thirst quenched in days, the overstimulation making her cry out, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks. When he finally removed himself from between her legs, he was atop her again, mouth molding against hers. She could taste herself on his lips. The erotic nature of the kiss made her groan. 

“Sweet Elyse,” he murmured, a satisfied smile on his face, “you did so well for me.”

Elyse, still trying to catch her breath, grew warm with his praise and brought a hand to cup the side of his face. Her eyes fell toward his breeches, the straining on his manhood. She swallowed, eyes wide. 

“Is there something I should do?” 

Aemond let out a hum, laying against her. The chaise was not big enough for the both of them, they had to be nearly on top of one another. 

“Not tonight,” he told her, and Elyse could not help her crestfallen expression. Aemond took notice. 

“You must hurry to your chambers. There will be a scandal if you are discovered leaving my chambers at this hour. And,” he moved to brush a lock of hair from her face, “if I continue to let you touch me, I cannot promise to keep my word about your maidenhead.” 

Elyse felt a new wave of desire ripple through her at the thought. 

She looked up at him between her lashes, chewing the inside of her lip. 

“You’re certain?”

Aemond clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and hummed, his arms tightening around her. 

“You’re making the decision rather difficult.” 

Elyse sat up, looking around the room. She indeed was in Aemond’s chambers. Her betrothed. She looked down at him, he was still watching her. 

He was truly an ethereal beauty of a man, his long silver hair splayed out, the light from the fire dancing on the sharp edges of his face. He sat up suddenly, uncomfortable with how closely she was examining him. 

“What?” he demanded, but a smile played on his lips.

Elyse sunk her teeth into her lower lip, Aemond’s eye following the motion as though he was desperate to taste those lips again. 

“I should make haste,” she whispered as he brought his hand to the side of her face, bringing their lips together once more. Fire pooled in her belly. 

He kissed her as though he had done it one thousand times before.

Elyse gasped to catch her breath when he released her, his hand still holding the side of her face. 

“Make haste, my lady,” Aemond told her, as she stood, at last, fixing her shift. 

Aemond picked up her dressing gown from its discarded place on the floor, holding it open for her to slip into. 

She turned her back towards him, placing her arms in the sleeves. Elyse felt his breath against her neck, gooseflesh blossoming.

Elyse turned to him as he led her towards the door. 

“Good night, my prince.”

“Good night, my lady.” 

Elyse tore through the halls of the Red Keep, heart pounding and face flushed. When she returned to her chambers she stood, back against the door. She brought her fingers to her lips before sliding down the door to sit in front of it.

A nervous giggle escaped her lips. Aemond wanted her. He desired her. He had made love to her with his mouth. With his hands. Elyse felt a shiver run through her. From her seat on the ground, she noticed a chest beneath her bed, one that would have been forgotten had she left King’s Landing. 

The smile fell from her face as she gazed upon the chest of letters from Jacaerys Velaryon.  

[summerposie]

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: The realm holds it’s breath.

Warnings: None - smut next chapter

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Chapter 10: Succession

Elyse had been brought to the Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s chambers and left there. Maelor was off in another part of the castle with his wet nurse. 

She had tried to get information from the guards, but no one would share anything with her. 

Elyse had been packed and ready to depart King’s Landing, a feeling of nausea in her stomach. She wore a wool-lined riding dress and gloves as winter was steadily approaching and the morning air caused her teeth to chatter. 

She had just finished readying herself with a tearful Jeyne, who would not be joining her on her journey.

“You’ll have a new lady’s maid to terrorize now,” Jeyne had said, laughing through her tears, as she prepared Elyse for the long journey. 

She had barely taken a step outside her chambers when the gold cloaks approached her. 

She now sat playing knights with Jaehaerys, who took a toy horse and smashed it atop her fingers. Elyse had been rubbing relief into them when Helaena entered the quarters. A look of relief washed over her delicate features as she saw Elyse.

“Thank the gods,” she said, helping Elyse to her feet. 

“What has happened?” Elyse asked, a nervous smile dancing on her lips. A habit Elyse had attempted to break, breaking out in a smile when she felt anxious. 

“I should be well on my way to Highgarden, but I was told I was to remain here…”

“Father is dead.”

Elyse’s heart might as well have stopped beating. Helaena cast her eyes towards the floor, the gold earrings she wore jingling with the movement. 

King Viserys had a strange presence in the lives of the four children he sired with Queen Alicent. Though he was there physically, he was distant and detached.

It was noted by people of court that Viserys had an obvious favor for his second daughter. Though an odd child, she reminded him of Rhaenyra. 

“Helaena, I am so sorry,” Elyse began, stroking her companion's arm. She wished she had known. She wished she had heard the bells.

Elyse felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. The city bells had not rung. There would have been no avoiding them. And yet the day had been silent.

The king was dead, and Elyse suddenly suspected she was one of the only people in the realm who knew. 

“Aegon is to be crowned king,” Helaena said suddenly. 

Elyse stopped her movements. The thought of Aegon atop the Iron Throne did not make sense in her mind. She blinked rapidly, trying to form coherent thoughts. 

“Aegon?” she said, and the corners of Helaena's mouth dipped into a frown. Panic flooded through her. 

“Helaena, what of Princess Rhaenyra?”

What of Jacaerys, she had wanted to ask. 

What of the boy we played with as children? What of your nephew? The boy who was always kind to you. 

What of Rhaenyra’s heir?

“The princess was your father’s heir,” Elyse continued, but Helaena shook her head. 

“Mother says he wished for Aegon to be king.” 

Unease settled in Elyse’s gut. Something felt terribly wrong. Helaena met her gaze as though reading her thoughts. 

“You are to remain here, at least until after the coronation. No one is to leave the capital,” Helaena told her. 

This was not the delay Elyse had wished for her engagement. She swallowed hard attempting to rid herself of the lump that had formed in her throat. 

“Helaena-” 

“Stay here, with the children, and I shall find you after,” Helaena told her, placing a kiss on her cheek, and stroking the silver heads of her children before going to take her to leave. 

She stopped at the door, turning to look at her companion. Helaena’s eyes were pleading. 

“Promise me.”

Elyse nodded in response. 

Elyse was left to play nursemaid. She brought her gaze back to the twins. Jaehaerys giggled as his horse trampled a princess. Jaehaera stared at Elyse from the desk she was at, unblinking. 

Elyse could not have left the apartment if she had desired to. She had opened the door moments after Helaena’s departure to be faced with two gold cloaks. They had been polite as they ushered her back inside, but when Elyse tried the door a second time, she found it locked. 

Elyse had been locked in her chambers several times as a child for her disobedience. Septa Marla held a grudge against her, she had been convinced. One day in particular the septa had found herself and Helaena crouched within Balerion’s skull, hiding from their lessons. 

Helaena had been convinced the small ladies would be able to fit inside his gigantic maw. Elyse remembered laying next to Helaena, counting the teeth that were longer than her the length of her arms. 

Aemond had come searching for his sister. 

“You are going to get the princess in trouble,” he scolded, as Elyse gazed at him upside down through the spaces between Balerion’s teeth. 

“We are simply studying history, my prince,” Elyse had teased, and the tips of Aemond’s ears had turned pink. With a roll of his eyes, he stayed with the girls, seated in front of Balerion’s maw, reading his book in the candlelight. 

He would rather look over his sister anyways, while the other young princes were at the Dragonpit.

“You shall be Visenya, and I shall be Rhaenys,” Helaena had whispered.

“You shall ride Vhagar,” Helaena insisted, lilac eyes lost in thought. Elyse only laughed. 

“Lady Laena rides Vhagar,” she reminded her companion.

Helaena looked at her, a bemused expression on her face. She shook her head, smiling.

“Just for the game,” she insisted, “and Visenya rode her first. You shall ride her as well.” 

Helaena spoke as though Elyse truly would sit atop the fierce she-dragon. Elyse wrinkled her nose.

“Must Aegon be the Conqueror?” Elyse had asked, revolted by the thought of marrying him, even if it was simply pretending. 

Helaena took this into consideration, humming softly. Aemond turned a page of his book. 

“Aemond can be Aegon the Conquerer,” Helaena decided, and though she could not see his face, she sensed his smile. 

The girls’ giggling had given away their hiding place. Septa Marla had nearly dragged Elyse from Balerion by the braids in her hair. Elyse was restricted to her quarters for the remainder of the day, a punishment for both herself and Helaena.

Jacaerys had come looking for her when the sun began to set. Elyse’s absence was always noticed by Rhaenyra’s eldest son. She sat against the cool metal frame, whispering to him through the door. 

“I’ll get you out,” he had promised, “you must be recused from this imprisonment.” 

“I am being punished, for my indelicate behavior,” Elyse had snickered. 

“Nonsense, you’re the most delicate lady I know.”

“Liar.”

The children had laughed until their stomachs ached. Jacaerys had stuck his fingers towards her under the door. Elyse caressed them with the tips of her small fingers, smiling down at their interconnected hands. 

“I shan’t leave you,” Jace had promised. And he had stayed with her.

Meals for the children were brought into the chambers as the sun began to sink lower into the sky. Elyse wondered if she had been forgotten. 

She began to grow distraught as golden light flooded through the windows painting the walls yellow. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys had fallen into slumber, Elyse perched on the windowsill with a children’s story resting on her lap. She had been distracted, watching Sunfyre fly around King’s Landing singing sweetly, her eyelids beginning to grow heavy. 

Just as Elyse was going to give in to feelings of sleep, Jeyne entered the room with several gowns in her hands. 

“My lady,” she said curtseying. “The Queen sent me to fetch you, for tonight’s festivities.” 

Elyse’s lips parted, her brows knit together with her confusion. 

“Queen Alicent is aware I am supposed to be leaving for Highgarden. In fact, I should have departed hours ago.”

“The Dowager Queen, my lady. Queen Helaena sent me,” Jeyne said with an earnest look on her face.

Queen Helaena. A shiver went down her spine. This was truly happening. Aegon was king, and Helaena was his queen. 

“You are to dress and join the festivities.”

Desperate to leave the confinements of the children’s chambers, Elyse dressed with little complaint. She had chosen a green dress, though all the choices Jeyne had presented were similar shades of green with trimmings of gold. 

Elyse had her hair intricately braided for the long journey to the Reach. Jeyne had brushed the braids out with her crafty fingers and attempted to create a suitable hairstyle for the feast with the limited time that was provided. 

As she was escorted to the great hall, Elyse felt her stomach drop. Though she typically enjoyed feasts, the air felt heavy and uncomfortable around her. The feeling intensified as she entered the throne room. 

Aegon sat on the iron throne, a glass of wine dangling from his fingers, a half smile on his face. His eyes were glassy, with dark circles underneath as though he had not slept. The crown of the conqueror sat atop his silver head. It looked out of place, as though he was a child playing dress-up. The rubies winked in the candlelight. 

The tables for the feast had been set up in a way that they seemed to circle him in a half-moon shape. It was as though all eyes needed to be on him at all times. 

Look at me, the room seemed to whisper through the music. Look at the man you have made king. 

People had already begun dancing in the middle of the room as music was being played loudly. Lords and ladies dressed in expensive silks and gemstones glittered like stars throughout the room. 

Helaena was seated to Aegon’s right, a demure expression on her lovely face. Her lavender eyes lit up when she spotted Elyse. She rose from her seat and moved to meet Elyse in the middle of the floor. 

“Elyse,” she said, taking Elyse’s hands in hers.

“Your grace,” Elyse said, remembering formality.

Helaena rolled her eyes, but the golden crown atop her head gleamed in the candlelight. 

“The coronation was such a dreadful affair. You should be glad you were not required to be in attendance,” Helaena told her. 

“Yes, instead I was kept prisoner in the nursery,” Elyse mused, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. Helaena pursed her lips at Elyse’s displeasure. 

“I told them to let you out for some air, to walk the gardens at least. You are not our prisoner.”

“Yet I cannot leave?”

Helaena chewed her lip, pondering her next sentence. 

“There are several plans in motion, I am told. It is better this way,” Helaena said.

“Plans?” Elyse questioned. 

She did not think of her station often. But she suddenly felt her surname burning on her face. A Baratheon maiden, her features screamed. There was no hiding the nobility of her bloodline. The mingled blood of Storm kings and Old Valyria. 

“Alliances,” Helaena said softly. 

If there is to be war. We are living in dangerous times, Aemond had told her. She looked around the room suddenly for the one-eyed prince. She did not spot him.

Jacaerys. He did not know what was coming for them. The rest of the royal family slept soundly on Dragonstone as the realm welcomed a new king. 

“Helaena, I must return to my chambers,” Elyse found herself saying. 

Helaena looked at her questioningly.

“I have not been able to return since the early morning, and I fear this dress was the wrong choice. It digs into me most terribly.”

Helaena could sense the lie. Ever since they were children. There were no secrets between them. 

“I shall make haste,” Elyse promised, sensing her friend’s suspicion. 

“Be sure to, friend,” Helaena told her, but allowed her to depart.

Elyse sped through the castle. She did not apologize as she bumped into the arms of several nobles in her path. Reaching her chambers she threw open the door not bothering to shut it as she scribbled a note on a piece of parchment. 

A few words. Brief and concise. Condolences. She would only share her condolences lest her message is intercepted. Jacaerys would understand. The message ended with her loyalties. 

Long live the king. 

Elyse rolled the parchment tightly and turned to leave. 

Aemond stood in her doorway. His tall frame encompassed the entryway. There would be no passing him.

The memories of the previous night danced through her mind, gooseflesh blossoming as her body remembered the feeling of him on her. 

Aemond’s jaw twitched, as though he too was remembering. 

“Are you hiding?” he asked softly, walking towards her. 

Elyse swallowed, but her gaze did not falter. His eye dropped to the parchment she clutched in her hand, his head turning to its side. 

“A valiant effort, for my nephew I presume?”

The thought of Elyse risking her life for his bastard nephew set every nerve ending in his body on fire as though he burned from within.  

“To what do you refer to, my prince?” Elyse said, voice dripping with innocence.

Aemond clicked his tongue with disapproval, but a smile danced on his mouth.

“You wicked woman,” he said and Elyse felt her thighs clench. She cursed her traitorous body.

“The rookery is closely guarded,” he began, still inching closer. His movements were slow and calculated as if he meant to trap her. 

“I am armed,” she said, fingers dancing by her skirts. 

Aemond breathed a laugh, but a sharp sense of pride cut through him for the fierce lady before him. 

“A fair match it shall be, a maiden against the goldcloaks.”

Elyse’s blood boiled with rage. Her mouth was downturned in a frown. She wanted to cry out with frustration, to hold her blade to Aemond and force him to let her pass. She wondered if he would let her if she drew Elenei from her sheath. If she held the blade to the smooth skin of his throat, teeth bared. 

“They need to know.”

“And they shall. My grandsire sails for Dragonstone at first light.”

To deliver solemn news. The death of a King, the taking of a throne. Otto Hightower would descend on Dragonstone with generous terms for Rhaenyra to remain a princess. 

Elyse clutched the scroll so hard she thought it would dissolve to dust between her fingers. Aemond’s eye flickered towards her hand again.  

“What lies in that hand is treason.”

Every word he spoke brought him closer to her. 

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

A wicked woman indeed, Aemond thought to himself. Her loyalty knew no bounds. She could be that devoted to him if he allowed her. He had spent his life watching her stand by Helaena. By his nephew. She had held that promise out on a silver tray for his taking and yet he had denied her. 

“Give it to me, Elyse.”

As Aemond said the words he wrapped his hand around her fist. Elyse’s jaw was clenched so tightly she was sure her teeth would crack within her skull. His hand was warm as he uncurled her fingers, the paper slipping into his hands. 

Aemond opened it, violet eye scanning the words. He did not let his anger register on his face at her attempt to warn his bastard nephew of the change in succession. 

“Hmm,” he murmured, before tearing the pieces to shreds. 

Elyse attempted to hide her frustration, as the pieces of paper scattered to the floor like Jahaera’s flower petals. She looked up at him.

Aemond drank in the image of the woman before him. Gods she was beautiful. Fury seemed to become her. 

“You would truly risk your pretty head for a man who refused you?” He couldn’t help himself. 

Elyse glared at him, fire in her belly.  

“For my friend. My friend who lost his grandsire this day.”

Aemond’s lilac eye narrowed. 

“Clever,” he murmured. Elyse wanted to slap him again. “I lost someone too today.”

Elyse’s face seemed to soften.

“I am sorry for your loss, my prince,” she told him, and though she was furious she meant it.

Aemond stared back at her. He wondered if she truly meant it. If she empathized with the cruel man before her. 

“Shall I escort you back to the festivities, my lady?”

He offered his arm. Elyse glanced at her desk, the extra parchment, the fresh ink. Aemond pursed his lips as he observed her. Relentless, this lady was. Her loyalty knew no bounds. 

“Don’t be difficult,” he snapped.

Her eyes met his once more.

Elyse took his arm. 

“Good girl,” he praised, delighted at the blush that crept up her cheeks.

When they reached the doors to the great hall Elyse pulled her arm from Aemond’s. The prince said nothing as she hurried away into the crowd. He watched her green skirts disappear between other lords and ladies, her dark curls bouncing down her back. She did not look back. 

Elyse looked towards the head table. Alicent had joined the festivities as had her father. She went to turn to see if Aemond had followed her into the crowd when a hand clasped her arm. 

She looked up to meet the lilac eyes of Helaena. She did not question why Elyse wore the same gown she departed in. Her eyes were wide. 

“Something has happened,” were the first words she spoke to Elyse. 

~~

“I shall sail for Dragonstone at first light,” Otto Hightower announced. “I shall send King Aegon’s terms to Rheanyra.” 

Otto Hightower circled the table of the small council, and the eyes in the room seemed to follow him. The newly crowned Aegon has already made his way to the feast. 

“Our alliances are of the utmost importance now,” Otto Hightower had spoken to the council as the coronation feast began.

Aegon’s coronation in itself had been quite a success. 

The war of the ravens was beginning, and it was imperative the Greens strike first. 

“Word must be sent to Daeron to secure the Reach,” Otto said, more to himself than the council before him. 

“We hold the Westerlands, we should advance to the Riverlands, send a raven to Riverrun to petition,” Larys Strong spoke, clutching his cane, eyes towards the Dowager Queen.

“The Vale must be secured as well, perhaps we remind them of the untimely demise of Prince Daemon’s first wife, she hailed from their lands,” Lord Wylde said, Otto, nodding in agreement.

“What of the Stormlands?”

“The Baratheons have long been supporters of Rheanys’ claim,” Otto continued. 

“There is no doubt they will be keen to side with Rheanyra if she moves to take a stance against Aegon.” 

The room was deathly silent. Alicent sat quietly, hair tousled, nails bitten raw. A terrible habit she carried with her from her childhood. 

She concealed it well as an adult, but the stress of the times seemed too much. 

Otto made a face of disgust at his daughter. 

Alicent squeezed her fingers into her palms, the sensation causing the ruined flesh to sting. She did not mind the pain. 

“Lord Borros has a daughter here at court,” Alicent began, “he shan’t align with Rhaenyra if it puts his blood in danger.” 

Otto’s brow furrowed as though he had forgotten about Helaena’s companion. 

“I have heard Lady Elyse is to take leave for Highgarden,” Otto questioned. 

“I had her departure delayed,” Alicent told him. She rubbed a hand over her face. 

“She is to remain at court given these unprecedented circumstances.”

“As a hostage?”

Alicent sighed heavily. The day had taken its toll. 

“As a precaution. As a way to procure the support of Storm’s End,” she told him. 

Otto released a frustrated breath. 

“Lord Borros is a proud man, he won’t take kindly to the threat.”

“It shall not be a threat. The girl has resided here all her life, she is in no danger.”

Otto was thoughtful, tapping his fingers against the table of the small council.

The rest of the members sat quietly as father and daughter argued. 

“It would be wise to propose an offer to Lord Borros,” he told his daughter, who scoffed at his words. 

“The girl is meant to be married.” 

“What is a lord compared to a prince?”

Alicent stared at her father. She did not see any evidence of herself in his face. The muddied image of her mother’s face floated in her mind. Every day she seemed to forget her more and yet, she had become her all the same. She wanted to be held by her, to curl up in her mother’s lap and escape. 

“What are you saying?”

“Marriages are the realm's greatest currency,” Otto told her. Alicent felt an ache deep in her womb at her father’s words. Her eyes glanced towards the table. She did not want her father to see the tears that made her eyes glassy. She was so tired. 

“Allow Aemond to take her to wife. Solidify an alliance between House Baratheon and that of the crown.”

Alicent waited for a heartbeat before answering, composing herself. 

“You are proposing we make an enemy of Highgarden?” 

“Lord Borros can wed another daughter to Lord Tyrell if he so desires.” 

“Or another to Aemond.” 

Otto let out a frustrated breath but Alicent remained oppositional. 

“Lady Elyse is the fourth daughter of Lord Borros. She will inherit nothing. What value is she when her eldest sister remains unwed?” 

“That is superfluous reasoning. Lady Elyse’s hand is priceless at this very moment.”  

Alicent held her breath. Father and daughter locked eyes.

“We do not have the time nor the convenience for Aemond to fly to Storm’s End. Enough of this nonsense. We have a prince, we have a Baratheon,” Otto said, effectively ending the conversation. Alicent placed her thumb between her teeth, tearing at the skin. 

“Aemond shall take her to wife.” 

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[summerposie]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse receives an invitation and must decide what it is she wants most in this world.

Warnings: Aegon being Aegon 😬

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Chapter 9: The Invitation

My dearest, Elyse,

The days grow colder here on Dragonstone. The nights seem endless, it seems winter is truly coming at last. It makes me think of you and our summer childhood. How lucky were we to grow up under the warm summer sun? Lady Baela and I are to wed a moon from now. If you are still frequenting King’s Landing during that time, I would be honored to have you visit Dragonstone to attend. I have missed your presence in all earnest. I understand you have a suitor in Lord Maceon Tyrell. A fine choice, should you accept. Highgarden would greatly suit you. 

Lucerys and Joffrey send their love, as do Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena.

I do hope to see your face soon.

Ever yours,

Jacaerys Velaryon

The last of the dragon’s breath had withered and wilted, ruby kisses pressed against the stone floor of Jaehaera’s bedchamber. 

The young princess had taken to collecting the petals and pressing them between the pages of the books Elyse had read to her. If Elyse had thought she enjoyed the flowers in full bloom, it appeared Jaehaera was even more impressed as they began to decay. 

She held her hand out, a scarlet petal presented to Elyse, who smiled at her over her letter from Jace.  

“It is lovely,” she told her and Jaehaera closed her small fingers around it, crushing the petal.

Helaena sat across the room, rocking Maelor’s cradle with her foot. She smiled as she heard Elyse talking to her daughter. 

Elyse sat on the floor, cross-legged, with another scroll atop her lap, that was sealed with a golden rose. Helaena’s eyes flickered from the scroll to her friend’s face. 

Grand Maester Orwyle had delivered the letter personally, a knowing smile on his face. The Red Keep had been abuzz with chatter about Elyse Baratheon’s suitor. 

She had heard several stories from the other ladies of court, whispers of gossip about Lord Maceon Tyrell. What a romantic man he was, how he enjoyed singing. How the Baratheon and the Tyrell would not only be a great alliance but a pleasing match together at that. 

“What says my nephew?” Helaena asked. She had always been fond of Jace. 

Elyse smiled.

“He wishes my attendance at his wedding if you can believe that,” Elyse said to her friend. 

Helaena only smiled, returning to Maelor. 

“Ever the gentlemen, Jacaerys Velaryon,” she mused. Elyse chuckled in agreement, folding the letter and placing it in the pocket of her skirt, not moving the second letter. 

“You’ll have to open it sooner or later,” Helaena called to her. 

Elyse looked at her friend, swallowing the lump that began to form in her throat. Helaena cocked an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps if I do not, nothing shall change.”

Elyse wished desperately this could be true. She wanted nothing more than to sit on the floor with Jaehara, listen to Helaena’s soft coos to baby Maelor, and wait for winter to come. 

“So many thorns,” Helaena murmured, staring at her baby in the cradle.

Elyse looked down at the scroll on her skirt. 

She did not want to cry, but she felt a terrible pain in her chest over her heart. She tore the letter open. 

My lady, Elyse,

Receiving your letter has brought me a tremendous feeling of joy. Though I feared it was too extravagant, it pleases me that you enjoyed the array of flowers. You deserve nothing less. I wish to be forward with you, as I am planning to send word to your father proposing a betrothal between us. With his blessing, I shall unite our houses and invite you to journey swiftly to Highgarden where we will become one before the gods. I look forward to your presence among the blossoms. I feel the Reach will suit you elegantly. 

Yours,

Lord Maceon Tyrell

Elyse felt her heart drop. Jaehaera dropped several dragon’s breath petals on the parchment, obscuring the words. The small Targaryen child stared at Elyse as though she knew exactly what the letter had said and what it meant. 

“Well?” Helaena asked, as though she already knew. 

“He wishes me to join him at Highgarden,” Elyse began, “he intends on writing to my father for his blessing.”

Helaena stopped rocking the cradle. She rose from her seat and joined her companion on the floor, taking Elyse’s wrists into her hands. Her violet eyes were wide.

“And what do you wish for?” she asked, lavender eyes staring intently at Elyse. 

A raven from Highgarden to Storm’s End. A few days at most and it would arrive. Lord Borros was not one to frequently check his mail, which would give her a few more days if she were lucky. A few more days to do what, she did not know. Ponder the idea of becoming the lady of Highgarden? A feat eligible maidens would happily grapple for. 

Elyse wished Helaena would take her on Dreamfyre. She wished she could brave the blue she-dragon and fly across the narrow sea to feast on lemon cakes and wine. To lay in the sun of the free cities. To gorge herself on history, art, and any other pleasures the known world had to offer. She wanted-

“It does not matter what I wish,” Elyse said before her thoughts could run completely wild, breaking eye contact with Helaena. 

“It does,” Helaena insisted, knowing her friend. 

“What else am I to do?” Elyse said desperately. 

Helaena released Elyse’s wrists, sitting back atop her heels. 

Queen Alicent entered the chambers suddenly, green skirts sending a wave of red petals scattering in different directions. Jaehaera clapped but remained unsmiling. 

“Mother,” Helaena said as Alicent assessed the two ladies on the floor. 

“What are you doing, my loves?” Alicent asked, approaching them.

Helaena looked towards Elyse. 

“I have been invited to Highgarden,” Elyse told the Queen.

Alicent’s eyebrows shot up and she brought a hand to her chest, fingers grazing the star of the Seven that lay against the hollow of her throat. She stretched her other hand out towards Elyse who took it, standing. Elyse passed the scroll into Alicent’s hand. 

“Oh my darling,” Alicent said, a look of happiness on her face as she read, “such wonderful news.” 

Elyse forced a smile for her adopted mother. 

“We shall celebrate tomorrow night, while we sup,” Alicent assured her and Elyse felt her eyes widen. 

“Truly there is no need-”

“Nonsense,” Alicent said, her tone insistent. “This is a blessing from the Maiden and we shall treat it as such.”

Elyse swallowed her nerves. 

Alicent’s eyes were kind. 

“You have been a second daughter to me. It pains me greatly to think of you leaving. Though I want nothing but happiness for you, my dove.” Alicent told her, a sad smile on her face. Elyse’s heart ached. 

Alicent watched the tearful lady in front of her, seeing so much of herself in the dark-haired beauty. 

“My family hails from the Reach as you know, and Daeron still resides in Oldtown. We must visit Highgarden when you are wed,” Alicent promised, brushing the hair out of Elyse’s face. 

Elyse felt her tears about to spill over her cheeks. 

“Will father be joining us?” Helaena asked, causing Alicent to cast her gaze toward the floor. King Viserys had not risen from his bed since the departure of Princess Rhaenyra several moons ago. Elyse had helped Helaena bring the twins and baby Maelor to see him recently and his condition seemed to have worsened.

“He is not well, my love,” Alicent told her, and Helaena’s mouth formed a tight pout. 

Dinner was a quiet affair in the Queen’s chambers. The table was intimately small, full of plates of meat, fruits, and bread. The room was aglow with hundreds of candles. Even Aegon had joined to see her off apparently. 

Elyse was to be shipped off to the Reach on the morrow. Queen Alicent had a carriage arranged to escort her there, along with several gold cloaks. The journey would take her around eighteen days to complete. It was all but confirmed that Lord Borros would accept the betrothal, and when he did his daughter would already be in Highgarden awaiting to be wed. 

Aemond did not look at her. The entirety of dinner she tried to catch his eye. The avoidance of his gaze was unforgiving. 

Though his face revealed nothing, Aemond was seething under the surface. The blood of the dragon boiled in his veins at the thought of that pathetic flower lord taking Elyse to his wife. Jealousy seared through him at the thought of them together. The whispers he had heard throughout court. Such a handsome pair they would make, lords and ladies had crooned. The doe and the rose. 

Elyse started at the side of his head, hoping Aemond could feel her eyes on him. 

Part of her was thankful Aemond would not meet her eyes, lest it reminds her of the pleasure she claimed at the thought of him several nights past. Her cheeks reddened as she remembered. 

Queen Alicent later excused herself though dinner was not yet finished. A servant had brought word that King Viserys had been asking for her in his delirium. She excused herself with haste.

“I shall make sure to see you off personally, at dawn,” she had told Elyse, stroking her hair.

It was just the four of them left. What an odd bunch they were, three silver-crowned royals and a midnight lady. It felt odd to Elyse, that they were all grown. She wished to retreat into her childhood and rest there for the night. 

“I will say,” Aegon said, breaking the silence, a cheeky grin on his face. His face was red from the Arbor gold in his cup. One of several he had consumed over the course of the evening.

“I shall miss that pretty face among the hens of the Keep.”

Elyse shifted her jaw, biting her tongue. She missed the days when Aegon’s jests were easier to stomach. He seemed braver when his mother was out of the room as well. 

Aemond’s fingers tapped the table incessantly, eyepatch towards Elyse. 

Aegon downed the remainder of his chalice, letting the cup land on the table, wobbling slightly with the force of his release. He leaned forward on his elbows, resting his face on his fingers. Helaena examined a spoon closely, peering into the distorted mirror image of herself. 

“I wonder if you’ll accept a parting gift from a young prince?” he asked, eyes glassy.

Elyse’s eyes flickered toward Aemond. The one-eyed prince said nothing. Helaena stared deeply into her spoon. 

“There is a dragon caught in a storm,” she murmured under her breath. 

“A gift, my prince?” Elyse answered, determined to not let her voice shake. Something about Aegon’s leering had always gotten under her skin. Aegon smiled at her. 

“What sort of gift?”

“Flowers wilt in the rain, ruined by gnashing teeth,” Helaena whispered.

“Take me to your chambers and I’ll happily show you.”

Elyse's heartbeat quickened, and her hands curled into fists in her lap. Do not offend him, she begged herself. Elyse could feel her blood boiling but she would not lose her temper. He would not get that satisfaction from her. 

She was angry and embarrassed and clearly very alone. Helaena was in her own world mumbling about dragons in storms, and Aemond wanted nothing to do with her. She forced a tight smile. 

“That is a very generous offer, my prince. But the hour is late. I must rest before the long journey.”

Aegon chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair causing the wood to creak. 

“My cock works better than dreamwine, tastes better too.”

“Careful, brother,” Aemond spoke harshly for the first time that evening. 

“You are speaking to a noble lady.”

Elyse felt her heart sing with his words. Aegon’s eyes flickered between Aemond and Elyse. His smile only grew, as though he had uncovered a secret. He began to giggle and clapped his hands together, leaning back in his chair. 

“Has she already had a taste of Targaryen cock, then?” 

Aemond pushed back his chair and stood with impressive speed. He grabbed Aegon by the collar, yanking him out of his seat. 

“You always were selfish brother, no matter how generous I was with my wh-” Aegon was cut off as Aemond lifted him into the air before slamming him down onto the table on his back. 

Helaena cried out, placing her hands over her ears, spoon forgotten. Elyse had pushed herself backward in her seat, eyes wide. Both ladies shouted Aemond’s name. Aegon’s maniacal laughter continued. 

“You are a swine,” Aemond said through his teeth, anger rolling off his tensed shoulders. 

Aegon responded with a noise that sounded uncannily like the squealing of a pig. 

“Brother,” Helaena begged, and Aemond released him, backing away from the table and rubbing his hand over his jaw. His only regret was upsetting his sweet sister. 

Aegon laughed some more, rolling on the table until he slipped off the edge, cups, and cutlery spilling to the floor, clanging off the stones. 

“You always were a gentleman,” Aegon mused from the floor. Aemond glared at his brother, a murderous expression on his face. 

“I doubt you fucked her, even if she spread her le-” it was Elyse who cut him off this time, though Aemond released a roar ready to attack his elder brother again.

“That’s enough, Aegon!” she shouted, unsure if her face was red from embarrassment or anger. 

Aemond looked at her for the first time that evening. She had risen from her seat. Elyse’s chest and face were flushed, brow furrowed in anger, teeth bared looking more so the role of a predator than prey. Storm clouds seemed to gather in her blue eyes. Her small hands were clenched into fists by her sides. 

Aemond wondered if Elenei was under her skirts, waiting for the chance to be unsheathed. Princeslayer, she could become. Aemond would kneel before her to clean her blade with his tongue.  

Aegon clashed his teeth together, the sound of an empty bite filling the room. Helaena shook her head, putting a hand to her mouth and chewing the skin around her thumb. 

“Such fury,” Aegon mocked, and Elyse started towards him. It was as if they were children again. Elyse lost all sense of status. Aegon was simply a bully. 

“I see why you enjoy her, brother,” he continued as Elyse brought her foot down upon his forearm. Aegon cried out at the pressure she applied, but the smile never left his face. 

“I said, enough,” Elyse hissed, and the prince moved to grab her ankle. Aemond was quicker, sending a swift kick to his ribs. Only then did Aegon’s smile fade as he groaned with the impact of the blow. 

“It was all in good fun,” he groaned, clutching his side and writhing on the floor.  

“I wish you would hold your tongue,” Helaena spoke, moving to embrace Elyse.

“Such vulgar remarks, and on her last night here,” Helaena had tears in her eyes, her lower lip wobbling. Elyse consoled her companion, as Aegon coughed from the floor attempting to return to his feet.  

“You’re the ones who got so upset,” Aegon sneered, reaching for another cup. He raised the glass towards Elyse, scarlet liquid sloshing over the sides and onto the floor.

“Do not hesitate to call on me, Lady Elyse,” Aegon said, flinching as Aemond made a move to lunge at him. Aegon giggled maniacally and exited the room. Elyse’s stomach twisted as she could hear his laughter echoing throughout the corridor. 

Aemond waited a moment before huffing and following his brother’s leave. He did not say goodbye, nor did he spare Elyse a second glance. 

As Elyse left the Queen’s chambers to return to her quarters she felt that familiar hollow pain throb in her chest. 

She walked down the hall, feet leaving soft footsteps to echo throughout. She let her hand wander towards the wall to lazily trail over the rough stones. The walls she had walked all her life. Perhaps she could mesmerize the feeling of them in her fingertips. She feared she would forget the feeling, the scent of the wet stones. 

As she progressed further down the corridor she found herself wandering past the door of her bedchamber. She decided she was not ready for sleep. She didn’t want to dream. She didn’t want to lay in her bed, to claim her pleasure once again for a man who was not her betrothed. Her betrothed. 

Maceon Tyrell would soon be her lord husband. She didn’t know why her heart ached with the thought. He was kind, he had been sweet to her. He would be a good, gentle husband. She would be a beautiful lady among the flowers. Poets may write songs about her.

Her fingers hit wood. The door to the library. The altar she worshiped at, though she would never say that aloud as Septa Marla would scold her for her sacrilege. She opened the door and crept inside. 

Not a candle in sight. The library was lit by moonbeams that rained through the arched windows, the soft sound of parchment rustling in the cool night’s breeze. Elyse felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, gooseflesh beginning to blossom with the chill. 

What was wrong with her? Why could she not be excited to journey to Highgarden? She felt as though she was failing at being a lady. She let her fingers dance over the spines of the books that lined the shelves. 

A heartbeat later the door behind her clicked open once more and Aemond Targaryen entered the library. She turned as he pressed the door closed. She could just make out the shape of him before he stepped towards her into the moonlight.

My prince,” she said, nodding towards the floor. He said nothing, standing in the moonlight. 

“The hour is late, I must retire to my chambers,” she told him when he did not speak. Aemond continued to be silent. 

“My prince?” she asked in a desperate plea. Aemond’s jaw twitched at her words, and his fingers flexed. 

“You are to be married soon, yet you still call so prettily to me,” he murmured and Elyse felt her mouth go dry. Even now, he would not cease his torment.

“What would your betrothed flower lord say?”

Elyse felt tears prick in her eyes and bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

“He is not my betrothed,” Elyse whispered, but Aemond clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Can’t say that anymore.” 

“It is true,” Elyse insisted, but she felt foolish. Like a small child demanding to get her way. She could see Aemond’s tongue moving over his teeth. 

“The ravens fly for Storm’s End. Nothing to be done now,” Aemond said, reaching out to touch the fabric of her dress. 

“Unless of course, you plan to take my brother up on his offer.”

Elyse slapped him before she realized. Her eyes were wide, palm stinging. Aemond had barely moved from the blow. He turned his face back to her and his pupil was blown, nearly encompassing the violet entirely. He smiled lazily at her. 

“That is not the slight you intend it to be.”

Elyse raised her hand to strike him again. He caught her wrist, fingers wrapping around it entirely. Elyse scrunched her face in anger as she raised her other hand, only to be trapped again. Aemond pressed into her then, pushing her against the bookshelves. Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks. 

“Let me go.”

“No,” he said, face inches away from hers. He watched the tears roll down her cheeks, her chest rising and falling with her panting breath. He wished to lick the salty streams from her cheeks. 

“What do you want?” Elyse demanded, Aemond’s eye finding its way to her lips. “It is about time we stopped this dalliance.”

“I do not know what dalliance you speak of,” he answered. 

“You’re impossible,” Elyse told him, at her wit's end. 

Aemond flexed his fingers around her wrists, head cocking to the side. 

“You speak nonsense.”

Elyse cocked an eyebrow at him, an incredulous half-smile sliding on her face. She felt as though she had nothing to lose. 

“Do I? Perhaps I should invite Prince Aegon to my chambers after all then,” she goaded, causing Aemond’s grip on her wrists tightens, a growl rumbling low in his chest. Elyse was startled at his reaction, the primal rage in his eye. As though she belonged to him. As though she was his.

“Stop this game,” Elyse demanded, fearful of the passion in his eye. Of the way he looked at her even though she was destined to leave the capital at the break of day. 

“You talk as though you’ve played no part.”

Elyse’s cheeks darkened as she avoided his gaze. Aemond reveled in her reaction claiming a victory, his breeches feeling suddenly excruciatingly constricting. 

Aemond released the grip on her left wrist, letting his hand fall to her shoulder. His fingers dug painfully into her collarbone causing Elyse to release a breathy moan. Aemond felt his jaw slack at the sound. He leaned forward into her. 

“Have you not enjoyed it?” he taunted, his voice a seductive whisper. She could feel the sharp curve of his nose pressing into a sensitive spot below her ear. Elyse struggled to keep her composure, digging her fingers into his bicep. The hard muscle rippled under her touch.

The feeling of his thumb pressing into the dip of her throat made her head spin. She could feel his breath on her face and her hand that was still entrapped above her head curled into a fist. His teasing words made something deep within her flutter. 

“It is over then?” Elyse asked through her teeth. 

Aemond hummed, letting his hand ghost down the side of her breast following her ribs, down the curve of her waist until he reached her outer thigh. It took every ounce of self-control not to let her eyes roll into the back of her head. 

His large hand pressed into the meat of her thigh, she could feel the cool metal of Elenei’s handle dig into her. 

Aemond let out a breathless laugh as he felt the blade, before curling his fingers into her thigh hoisting her leg up against him, allowing himself more room to press himself closer to her. Ours is the fury indeed. 

Elyse choked out a breath with Aemond’s movement as he held her open against the shelves. Elyse bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he pressed his leg against her center, warmth pooling between her legs. Seven hells. 

“Unless you’d prefer to continue,” Aemond said, voice low and reverberating through his chest.

“Take me then,” Elyse challenged, unsure of where her sudden bravery had come from. Aemond met her gaze. 

“Take me to wife,” Elyse begged, her heart on display for him. Aemond watched her carefully, eye searching her face for any sense of falsehood in the statement. Aemond could sense ill intentions like a hound catches a scent. He found none in her pleading eyes. 

Suddenly, he released his grip on her, peeling his body from hers. Aemond took a step back and shook his head sharply as if waking himself from a dream. Elyse was trembling.

He had gone too far if she was speaking of leaving her flower lord. He looked at her and she was beautiful. Her hair was darker than the midnight sky and disheveled around her face. 

Doe-eyed and lips plush, waiting for him to kiss her. To ruin her. And he wanted to. Seven hells did he want to give himself to her. Aemond’s mind clawed to its last bit of sanity. 

“He shall make you happier than I ever could,” he told her, though it pained him to do so.

The silence between them lay heavy. 

“I do not believe that.”

He could have kissed her. Aemond instead bit his tongue. 

“Then you are a foolish girl.” 

Elyse flinched at the insult, his words slicing through her. She was suddenly a child again, reaching towards him as he pulled away yet again.

“Stop it.”

“A foolish child then.”

“And you are a coward.”

Aemond bared his teeth with rage but Elyse did not care. She was seething with anger. Never had she felt so used, so tormented to the point of exhaustion. She hated him. She despised him at the moment. He closed the space between them once more, nostrils flared with anger. Elyse kept her chin held high. 

“You’re a coward, Aemond Targaryen,” she hissed, hoping the words wounded him as much as he had hurt her. 

Aemond could see the pain behind the anger in her eyes. He did not deserve the affection she offered him. He swallowed a lump beginning to form in his throat. He would do her this kindness. 

“Go to the Reach, Elyse,” Aemond growled, his breath wafting over her face making her head spin once more. 

“I shall.” 

“Become another flower for his collection.”

“Better his flower than your….,” she said through her teeth, not finishing her sentence. She did not know what she was to him.

The dragon and the doe held each other’s gaze. 

“Then go,” he hissed, and Elyse pushed past him leaving the library. 

Aemond stood in the moonlight for several moments after Elyse had fled. 

Hot tears flowed down Elyse’s face as she blindly threw herself into her chambers. 

She grabbed the chair at her desk for some stability and reached for the scroll on her desk. She tore it wildly, eviscerating any evidence that Lord Maceon had written to her at all. 

Aemond did not want her. Not in any way that mattered. The rejection stung Elyse’s heart, it felt more painful and rawer than when Jace became betrothed. 

Elyse found sleep deep into the dead of night when it seemed she was unable to cry any longer. 

Somewhere across King’s Landing, the mournful lament of a dragon filled the starry sky.

As the hour of the wolf came, the Red Keep was silent with the promise of many changes hanging in the air. 

Queen Alicent had just left her husband to return to her own chambers when with a final breath, King Viserys I departed the known world with the Stranger. 

Read more on AO3

[summerposie]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Aemond has been away from the Red Keep. He returns with a gift. Elyse discovers pleasure

Warnings: descriptions of self-pleasure

previous chapter --- next chapter

Chapter 8: Elenei

Elyse and Aemond had not spoken since their interaction in the courtyard. Over a week had passed and she had yet to see him. It was as though he had disappeared from King’s Landing entirely.

It was on the second day of his absence, Elyse attempted to catch him. The doe had begun to hunt the dragon, a change from their usual game.

Shamelessly she strolled through the training yard, and the library, eyes searching for the silver-haired prince. Elyse had even visited the Sept several times, trying to catch him in prayer.

Septa Marla had raised an eyebrow at her when she had made a third trip to the royal Sept in one day. Elyse bid her a good day with a tight smile on her face. Septa Marla’s eyes had narrowed, always sensing when Elyse was up to something ever since she was a little girl.

Her smile faded at Septa Marla’s glare. If Elyse remembered correctly, she had always been the perfect picture of a lady. Her smile returned, dripping with false sincerity. Septa Marla huffed, leaving Elyse to her prayers.

Elyse was beginning to grow frustrated with the prince’s disappearance.

Aemond was not present at mealtimes as well; it had been a quiet affair the past few weeks with simply Queen Alicent, Helaena, and the children. Aegon had stopped joining his family long ago, but it was unusual for Aemond to be absent.

Hence, Alicent kept a seat for him, making his absence glaringly obvious. She had questioned Helaena about his whereabouts several times, disheartened by her second son’s uncommon behavior.

“He did not say anything to me,” Helaena had said, causing Elyse to bite her tongue to hold back a curse.

“Though I have not seen Vhagar in quite some time, he must be off somewhere with her,” Helaena added, spooning some porridge to baby Maelor and giving him a smile. Was it possible to be envious of a dragon? Elyse pushed away the thought, slouching over her plate.

“Vhamar,” Jaehaerys babbled, his twin following suit.

If he was not frequenting the Keep, he had to be with Vhagar. The skies were somewhere Elyse wouldn’t be able to find him.

How very childish of him.

Much to her dismay, Elyse’s days felt rather empty without Aemond present. She hadn’t realized how often she would search a room for his face, how her body would flush with excitement at the thought of seeing him. As she had entered for supper one night her face had lit up with excitement at the sight of long, silver hair.

Helaena took notice.

“It is only me, the last Targaryen in the Keep I’m afraid,” she teased and Elyse forced a laugh to hide her embarrassment.

She felt mad for acting this way but she couldn’t help it. She attempted to fill her days with other distractions. She walked the gardens with Helaena and the children, and spent mornings entertaining them with various dolls and toys.

She had finished her book Ruined Cities, Stolen Gods and was unable to choose another, spending hours in the library tearing through shelves. She had meant to discuss the text with Aemond, and use it as a way into a conversation with him.

Elyse had even attempted to learn the lute, much to Helaena’s dismay. Helaena, ever the good friend, forced a smile of encouragement as she struggled to complete her needlework at the shrill pangs of the chords.

Elyse wasn’t particularly gifted in the musical instrument. Though Helaena had complimented her delicate hands, she was rather harsh at plucking the instrument. Aegon had even entered Helaena’s chambers at one point as Elyse had been practicing and demanded she stop.

“Has someone been skinning a cat?” Aegon had asked her, eyes wide.

She had ceased trying to learn.

Elyse had written to Lord Maceon in her anger and expressed great interest in visiting Highgarden.

She was losing patience, and it wasn’t as though anyone intended to marry her.

Least of all, Aemond. He only gained pleasure from teasing her. She should not allow herself to be as vexed by him as she was. It was unbecoming for a lady.

And besides, the distance of Highgarden may allow Aemond to lose interest in her.

That would be the end of it. She would become the lady of Highgarden and these foolish games could be put to rest.

Parchment clutched in her hands, she made her way towards the rookery for a raven to send. She climbed the steps with purpose, holding her skirts so she would not trip.

“My lady,” a sensual voice called, causing Elyse’s heart to skip a beat.

Elyse turned to face him, a look of annoyance on her face. Dressed in his riding leathers, Aemond stood before her, hair disheveled from his recent journey atop Vhagar.

He stood several steps below her, Elyse towering above him. The space between them gave Elyse confidence as she looked down at him.

“My Prince,” Elyse said curtly.

Aemond’s eye flickered to the letter in her hands causing Elyse’s fingers to tighten. Aemond’s look might as well have snatched the letter from her grasp.

“For your betrothed?”

“He is not my betrothed.”

Aemond let out a breath, cursing the relief he felt in his bones.

“I have something for you.”

Elyse felt her chest constrict at the unexpected statement, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

“For me?”

“Have I been speaking to someone else?”

Elyse scowled at his jest, and Aemond’s eye sparkled.

“It is rather unusual for you to offer gifts. Should I be expecting dragon dung?”

Aemond walked up a step, slowly creeping closer. Elyse kept her chin held high.

“Do you think me so unkind?” His voice is sweeter than honey.

“I think of you as childish.”

Anger flashed across his face. Elyse’s heart dropped into her stomach. It was dangerous territory she was entering, unapologetically provoking him.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, voice calm but with a wild look in his violet eye.

“It appears you have been avoiding me.”

A smile twitched on his lips as she spoke. His eye drank in her expression, the fluttering of her lashes. How she shifted nervously from one foot to the other and bit the skin of the inside of her cheek.

“Have you been missing my presence, sweet Elyse?”

A scarlet blush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, but she refused to look away. She would not give him the satisfaction of vexing her.

“The Queen worried about you.”

Aemond hummed, pursing his lips. Elyse felt her body grow hotter with the way he looked at her.

Aemond looked at her as though he could see into her mind. She felt her thoughts were not safe from his piercing gaze.

“You said you had a gift?”

“Is my being here not enough of a gift?”

Elyse sighed, attempting to suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. Gods, he never let up, did he?

“Is that it then?”

“No.”

Aemond reached into the pocket of the leather coat he wore rummaging for something. Elyse watched him, her curiosity getting the better of her. Suddenly he revealed a sheathed dagger and held it atop his palms.

“We are living in dangerous times,” he began, watching her as she assessed the gift.

“I only wish you to be prepared.”

Elyse studied the blade. The dark leather sheath revealed nothing but a delicate silver handle, with a small sapphire embedded at the base. The gemstone Aemond had chosen as his emblem. Aemond watched her carefully, before unsheathing it. Elyse’s eyes widened.

“Valyrian steel?” she gasped.

“Yes.”

Elyse looked up at his face in shock, meeting his gaze.

“Seven hells. Where did you get it?”

Aemond smiled slightly.

“It is yours,” he said, ignoring her question, causing Elyse to roll her eyes. Ever so mysterious he was, disappearing for several days and returning with a Valyrian steel dagger.

“Hold it,” he told her, nodding for her to take the blade. Elyse picked it up off of his hands, bringing it towards her. It was light to hold, weighing next to nothing. The blade was sharp and delicate, sapphire gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

“You’ll have to name it, of course,” Aemond said, still watching her as she stared in awe.

“I don’t know how to use it,” Elyse admitted.

“I pray you will not need to.”

“I fear I shall cut myself.”

“Swallow your fear, it shall do you no good.”

Elyse looked at him, blue eyes meeting violet.

“Why now?”

“I simply believe a lady should be prepared. You yearned to train with a blade as a child if I recall correctly. You never did receive one of your own,” he told her, relishing in her reaction to the present.

Elyse cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Is this your form of apology?”

“What would I be apologizing for, praytell?”

Elyse pursed her lips and let her eyes fall to the dagger in her hands. She felt the tendrils of her hair tickle the front of her face as her chin dipped toward her chest. Aemond’s mouth formed a smirk as she shied away from the intensity of his gaze.

“You truly did miss me.”

Elyse scoffed, clicking her teeth together.

“I was rather concerned, tis all.”

Aemond waited a moment, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

“About?”

Elyse wondered if she should answer, worried if she broached the subject he would flee again. She thought about reaching out and grabbing the front of his riding jacket, clutching the leather between her fingers, and rooting him to the spot in front of her.

“You seemed to be suffering,” she said softly, eyes peering up between her lashes. She watched his jaw tense, the muscle rippling.

Elyse felt the tips of her fingers tingle with nervousness.

“Does it pain you often?” she probed.

Aemond’s lips parted slightly as he inhaled. He did not look away.

“Yes,” he told her. Elyse felt as though he was sharing a secret with her, a part of himself others did not often see.

Aemond wet his lips. The eyepatch on his face suddenly became noticeable, the smooth leather tickling his cheek. His scar began to itch and he began to become aware of the weight of his hidden sapphire within his skull.

“Can nothing be done?” she asked, voice low.

“It has always been this way.”

Elyse felt her heart break for him. For the poor boy who sat in the chair with his nails digging into the wooden arms as the maester had sewn his eye shut. For his loss. No, she thought to herself. It had not always been that way.

“I did not know.”

“No one does.”

She tried to keep her composure, hyperaware of the intimacy his confession had created around them. He was so close to her she could smell him, an enticing mixture of smoke and cedar. It made her mouth water. There was a tension inside her that felt about to snap, something fluttering in her belly that made her want to reach out and caress his sharp jaw.

Elyse then handed the blade back to him. His fingers brushed against hers as she transferred the blade. Aemond put it in its sheath and reached into his pocket yet again. He pulled out some leather straps. Elyse eyed them curiously.

“You’ll hold it here,” Aemond said, reaching forward and pressing the sheathed blade against her thigh. Elyse felt her face must be aflame. The dagger measured the length of her thigh.

“Under your gown,” he murmured, fingering the fabric of her dress, looking up at her.

“Strap it to your thigh,” he continued, fingers curling around the outside of her thigh.

Elyse felt the muscles in her leg tense, desire pooled in her abdomen.

“It shall be hidden. A secret to all but you.”

Elyse stayed silent for a moment, relishing the feeling of his hands on her. Again she thought about pulling him closer, molding his lean body against hers. The imagined feel of him against her made her eyelids feel heavy. He had shared a secret with her, and he was taking one in exchange.

“And you,” she told him, “You’ll know.”

Aemond had a curious expression on his face, his pupil dilated. His fingers were still pressed into her leg over the skirts of her dress.

“And me,” he agreed.

Neither of them moved, Elyse could feel Aemond’s fingers against her thigh. She looked down at them and he pulled away leaving a trail of fire behind. Elyse wished he would never let go.

“Don’t tell your flower lord, either,” he said to her, sneering slightly. The tension in the space between them seemed to break. Elyse cocked her head to the side.

“It is not something I would think to write to him about.”

Aemond hummed in response.

“And what do you write to him about?” Aemond asked her.

Elyse felt her heartbeat quicken as they began to play their familiar game.

“Nothing important.”

“I do not believe that.”

“He won’t know,” Elyse told him, blue eyes locking onto him.

Aemond’s eye searched her face, and he knew she spoke truthfully.

“Good,” Aemond said, slipping the blade and leathers back into his pocket.

“I shall deliver it to your chambers.”

“Can’t I take her now?”

“Her?” Aemond said, an amused smile forming on his face.

“Have a name in mind already?”

Elyse blushed scarlet.

“Elenei,” she told him, “she was the daughter of a sea god and the goddess of the wind. She married the first Storm King.”

Elyse was thoughtful for a moment, reminiscing the stories she had heard in childhood.

“The gods were angry with her, but she did not care. She loved him,” Elyse told him.

“A clever name,” Aemond concluded. “But no, I shall need to have it sharpened and delivered to your chambers.”

Aemond backed down a step to take his leave.

“Keep it close to you,” he told her, hand reaching out almost touching her thigh where the blade was previously pressed.

Elyse nodded.

Aemond left her alone as he retreated down the stairs, silver hair the last part of him to disappear from her sight.

She inhaled a shaky breath as she climbed the remainder of the twisting steps toward the rookery. She could not keep the smile from her face knowing the one-eyed prince had returned.

Later, as Elyse prepared for bed, a question entered her mind. Jeyne stroked her hair, massaging sweet-smelling oil into her scalp. The enticing scent of lavender and lily of the valley wafted throughout the room. She brought a brush to Elyse’s hair and began gently brushing through her curls.

Elyse eyed the blade that rested on her desk, the sapphire winking at her in the low candlelight. She had found it there after she returned to her chambers after supper with Helaena.

“Jeyne..may I ask you a question?” Elyse asked hesitantly. “Of course, my lady.”

Elyse pursed her lips.

“May I be quite blunt?”

Jeyne stopped her movements, positioning herself so she was face to face with Elyse, a concerned look on her face.

“Is something the matter, my lady?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“Not at all! No, no I am just, quite curious about something,” Elyse told her, struggling to find the words.

Jeyne raised an eyebrow at her.

“You are married Jeyne, are you not?”

Jeyne nodded, but her confusion with Elyse’s question was evident.

Elyse wet her lips, trying to structure her next sentence, and her face began to burn with embarrassment.

“I am trying to understand, for when I am a lady wife of course, how one seeks pleasure within a marriage.”

Jeyne’s brow softened as she began to understand Elyse’s question.

“It is just, I have sisters you see but I cannot write to them about these things, and Queen Alicent though a mother to me, I can barely imagine attempting to ask her about the pleasures of a marriage bed without her clutching the star of the Seven and beginning to weep hysterically! I simply wish to be more knowledgeable of course, for the sake of my lord husband and my-,” Elyse began to rant, but Jeyne brought a hand to her arm to stop her nervous chatter.

“You do not owe me an explanation, my lady,” Jeyne assured her.

Elyse sighed, sinking into her chair and groaning, placing her hands over her eyes, causing Jeyne to chuckle.

“What is it you wish to know?”

“The marriage bed is a place where men seek pleasure. I simply wish to know if it is the same for a woman as well.”

“Pleasure can be found within the marriage bed for a woman, this is true my lady. I suppose it depends on the man you wed,” Jeyne told her.

Elyse frowned as she contemplated this.

“But pleasure can be found outside the marriage bed as well,” Jeyne continued.

Elyse felt the back of her neck grow warm. She often heard of men’s journeys to the pleasure houses of the Streets of Silk. Pleasure seemed to be easily accessible to a man, a sweet fruit plucked from a low-hanging branch.

“A woman should learn what she enjoys.”

A delicious shiver rolled down Elyse’s spine. What pleasure would she enjoy? Eyes wide she met Jeyne’s gaze.

“How does one learn that?” Elyse asked.

“At night, when you are alone in your chambers, you can pleasure yourself. Find what touches you like,” Jeyne said, as Elyse’s breath caught in her throat.

“Let your mind drift to something you find pleasurable. Or someone,” Jeyne said, eyebrows waggling.

“Your flower lord perhaps?”

Elyse was thoughtful for a moment. Lord Maceon was not the man her thoughts seemed to cling to.

“Where do I touch?” Elyse asked, eager for more knowledge.

“Anywhere that feels nice. But there is a special place between your legs,” Jeyne told her as she began to braid Elyse’s hair.

“When you find something that feels nice, just keep doing that until…” Jeyne trailed off, and Elyse turned her head.

“Until what?” she asked desperately.

“You’ll reach an end of sorts,” Jeyne told her, motioning for Elyse to put on her slippers.

“And when you are married,” Jeyne murmured, running her fingers through Elyse’s curls to separate them at the end of her braid. “Your husband can help you reach this end as well.”

Jeyne placed her hands on Elyse’s shoulders.

“Already fantasizing about when you wed your flower lord?” she jested and Elyse smiled timidly, thankful that Jeyne was not Helaena at that moment. Helaena would know her smile lied.

Elyse lay in bed that night and allowed her thoughts to wander. She brought her hand up towards her neck, trailing down the curve of her collarbone. She giggled to herself at the tickling feeling of her fingers. Was she being foolish?

Her opposite hand danced on the outside of her thigh before dipping inwards, under the softness of her night shift. Gently, her fingers pressed against the apex of her thighs, and a bolt of electricity shot through her. Oh. Surprised by her body’s response, she continued the motion with her fingers as waves of pleasure lapped at her. A soft moan escaped her lips.

She found her mind wandering to the training yard, the image of the one-eyed prince sparring in her brain. The muscles that had flexed in his arms as he held the sword to Ser Criston’s throat. His long, dexterous fingers gripping her thigh, the feel of his lips on her neck. Her fingers quickened and Elyse became braver, dipping into the wet heat between her thighs.

The wetness she found there only encouraged her nimble fingers and she brought the hand from her thigh and up to squeeze her right breast. She felt a pressure begin to build in her abdomen, a wave of pleasure beginning to crest.

All she could think of was Aemond, his intense gaze fixed on her, the sharpness of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. How she wanted those lips everywhere. Teasing her, calling her sweet, kissing her lips. Her mouth fell open, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure reached its peak causing her to cry out. Warmth flooded through her body, a tingling sensation entered her limbs.

Dazed, Elyse came down from her high, legs shaking. Her skin shone with sweat, her braid had turned into a mess of hair on the pillows.

Running a hand over her face she let out a small laugh at her success.

Elyse found sleep easily that night.

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[summerposie]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: An insight into Aemond's feelings. Elyse receives gifts from a suitor. Aemond and Elyse connect over literature.

Warnings: none – eventually smut

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Chapter 7: Chivalry

Aemond Targaryen loathed the idea of falling in love.

Love destroyed people, love had brought kings to their knees.

His father was a weak, foolish king. Blinded by the love he had for his eldest daughter, ignoring her treachery. Ignoring his other children. Ignoring his wife.

Love was what haunted King Viserys. It was the ever-present ghost in the room, breathed into life with the name Aemma .

Aemond had heard how his father spoke of his first wife, how he searched for her in his firstborn’s face. Rhaenyra must have been the spitting image of her mother.

Aemond often thought about how he would make a better monarch than his father. Better than his half-sister. Better than his brother.

In another life, Aemond might have been a knight, beloved and cheered for at tourneys.

He might have enjoyed it, basked in the love of the common folk. He might have had his pick of beautiful women who enjoyed a Targaryen prince with a handsome face. He might have been kind, he might have sung songs.

Aemma Arryn was not the only ghost that haunted the halls of the Red Keep.

Aemond could taste copper in his mouth as he remembered the events of Driftmark. Though the wound had healed a scar remained, jagged and aching.

That was the day he claimed Vhagar, the oldest and largest dragon in the world. It was the day his eye was taken from him. It was the day he truly realized his father had never cared for him much at all.

The pain had been as though a red hot poker was thrust into his eye socket, as though Luke had split his face entirely in two. Lucerys Velaryon had done more than take an eye. He had murdered the dragon knight that Aemond might have been.

Aemond remembered that his justice was denied. Denied due to the love his father had for Rhaenyra. A love he never shared with his other children.

It infuriated Aemond and left a hollow feeling in his chest as blood dripped onto the floor. As he laid his head against his mother’s chest to comfort her. His mother was the only person who cared. The only person who spilled blood on behalf of Aemond’s loss.

When he was a boy, he had felt the stirrings of childhood enchantment when Elyse Baratheon arrived from Storm���s End. It was hard not to be mesmerized by her.

She was unlike anything Aemond had seen before. A mess of dark curls and wide blue eyes, a wicked toothy grin always on her face when she was with Helaena.

He remembered as a child seeing her burst into tears when a caterpillar was trampled beneath her foot. She was an interesting creature. Her softness surprised him.

Fiercely loyal and headstrong, Elyse had protected Helaena from any jests of court. Aemond enjoyed the way her brows furrowed when she was angry, the way her nose would scrunch.

He had even asked his mother if they would someday be wed.

Queen Alicent had smiled at him, a kind look on her face for her second son.

“You shall marry someone, someday a long time from now. Whomever duty requires of you,” Alicent had told him, stroking his hair.

Aemond ached to make his mother happy. His mother was the only person who mourned for him. The only person who desired justice for the wrongs against him.

His mother had suffered due to love. Aemond had watched as she had suffered. Watched as his father became weaker and weaker. Watched as his brother drowned himself in depravity.

If that was what love was, Aemond desired no part of it.

He desired to be a calculating man of duty, knowledge, and the sword, and that was solidified within him after the taking of his eye. He was content to deny himself of other carnal desires in exchange.

That was until he saw Maceon Tyrell’s hands on her waist. The laugh he had stolen from her lips.

It had ignited a burning rage within Aemond he didn’t know resided.

Aemond had felt like a true dragon that night, fire made flesh.

His eye had followed her as she danced, gazing over the cup of wine he held to his lips.

He became a man possessed, rising from his seat; a hunter stalking its prey.

Aemond thought of the Tourney of Fire, and how easy it would have been to cut Lord Tyrell down then. His fingers twitched as though he had a blade strapped at his waist.

He should have leaped from the balcony then when Lord Maceon had asked her favor and cut him from his horse, presenting Elyse with his severed head. He wanted him dead, pieces of him scattered across the Seven kingdoms so that even the gods wouldn’t be able to put him back together again.

The closer he crept toward Elyse, he could see her happiness and the look of ease that disappeared when he stood in front of her. The fire in her eyes, the parting of her lips. Ours is the fury, were her words.

It reminded him of the night he claimed Vhagar.

A mere boy presenting himself before divinity.

Though Rhaena had accused Aemond of stealing Vhagar, he knew that was not true. If Vhagar did not find him worthy, she would have incinerated him that night in the dunes. She had claimed him as much as he had claimed her. They had taken to the skies as equals that night.

Standing before Elyse Baratheon made him feel like he was taking his first flight again.

Seven hells, he couldn’t stand it. The warmth of her palms against his, the feeling of holding her body against him.

The intoxicating scent of lavender on her skin as he moved his mouth against her neck, whispering to her, taunting her.

How easy it would have been for him to sink his teeth into her soft flesh, to slide his hand up the bodice of her dress.

To claim her, and make her his in the middle of their dance.

Aemond imagined the sounds he could coax out of her pretty mouth.

But that was love; that was lust.

Aemond Targaryen was not a lustful man.

Aemond Targaryen was not a loving man.

~

Autumn crept slowly, a cool breeze here and there. Autumn took ages to arrive and pave the way for winter. It would be a long while before summer breathed its last breath.

Elyse had returned to her room that night frustrated after the ball, sitting in the bath until her fingers turned pruney and the water turned cold. She had sat, teeth chattering, for a long time trying to remove the feeling of fire from her skin.

No matter how hard she scrubbed she couldn’t get rid of the feeling of Aemond’s lips on her neck, his hands on her body as they danced.

She had never felt this way before, and she tossed and turned the entire night in her bed, something deep within her awoken with desire.

She had little knowledge of the romances between men and women. Though she had talked to Helaena several times about her experiences with Aegon. Nothing seemed truly pleasurable for a woman in the marriage bed.

This was discouraging for Elyse. She felt as though there was an itch inside of her that was unable to be scratched.

Elyse stayed true to her promise to Lord Maceon Tyrell. She had sent a raven to Highgarden upon his departure from the Harvest Feast.

She had begun to write to him again at the hour of the wolf, and now golden light flowed into her chambers. Her desk was neat. Letters from Jacaerys had been packed away tightly and placed under the bed.

She was trying to move on. This was the direction she must focus on. Sooner or later marriage would be thrust upon her. It was better she get ahead of it now while she still had some agency. Elyse found herself feeling momentarily grateful her father was less than preoccupied with her.

This was how it should be, she told herself. Write to Lord Maceon, and be happy.

The quill in her hand steadied, the parchment blank before her.

She could write of her childhood with Helaena, their adventures in the gardens, and exploring the Red Keep.

Or maybe of the books she enjoyed, and how she yearned to visit the Free Cities and devour different music and arts outside of King’s Landing. Things she would want a future lord husband to know about her.

Suddenly, it all seemed very foolish to write about, though she had written to Jace about it several times over the years.

She frowned at the page.

Later, perhaps.

Lord Maceon had not written to Elyse since his departure, but he did call on her in other ways.

Several days after the Harvest Feast, several deliveries of flower arrangements had been delivered to the Red Keep.

Each day a new bouquet, full of golden roses, blood-blooms, dragon's breath, goldencups, and moonblooms.

The flowers had overtaken Elyse’s chambers, perfuming the room so much it was nearly inhabitable.

Jahaera enjoyed the deliveries the most. The stoic Targaryan child stared up in wonder at the knights who delivered them, lilac eyes wide. She enjoyed picking the petals off of the golden roses and watching them scatter on the stone floor. Helaena had scolded her, but Elyse did not mind.

“You’ll be a terrible lady of Highgarden,” Helaena had teased, “allowing your children to pick the flowers clean.”

Elyse had gifted most of the dragon’s breath to Jaehaera, as the dark red flower complimented her silvery complexion.

Most of the residents of the Red Keep thought the gifts were excessive, including Queen Alicent.

“Another?” she would say, an exasperated expression on her face, but she stroked Elyse’s dark hair with affection.

“He is taken with you, my love.”

One bouquet contained fire-plums which Aegon had helped himself to without asking. “Sweeter than a Lyseni whore,” he had said between bites, out of earshot to anyone but Elyse. Aegon had winked at her, causing her stomach to lurch.

Elyse found herself wandering the Red Keep early this morning, unable to write and having not slept well yet again. She had taken to wearing a cloak most mornings, as the air had started to have a slight chill with the promise of autumn.

Partially due to the abundance of flowers. That was what Elyse had decided must be the problem. Certainly, not the one-eyed dragon prince.

It seemed sleep was impossible for her to find these days. She had decided she may need the maester to brew her some dreamwine if this continued.

Though she appreciated the romantic gesture, it was becoming a tad ridiculous. Soon she wouldn’t have room to sleep, and the perfumed air seemed to suffocate her. So she found herself breathing in the cool morning air of the training yard, perched on an overlooking balcony.

Some servants were walking past, likely beginning their mornings before the rest of the castle awoke.

The sound of clashing steel surprised her this early.

Peering over the edge of the balcony, she draped her arms across the wooden ledge leaning forward to see.

Ser Criston stood clad in armor, sword in hand, sweat pouring down the front of his face. He shook his head, moving his dark hair from his eyes and causing sweat to fall from his brow.

Elyse’s eyes moved towards his opponent.

Aemond crouched before him in training leathers, sword in hand. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, his good eye wide and alert.

He spun expertly when Ser Criston struck, defending himself and maneuvering out of harm’s way, long silver hair fanning out behind him.

He was lithe and agile, his movements smooth and calculated.

Elyse had never seen him like this. Here in the training yard, Aemond Targaryen was a true predator.

And it excited something inside of her, a feeling of nervousness curled in her belly.

Aemond’s tongue darted out, tasting the sweat on his upper lip. Elyse felt her pulse quicken, the memory of his lips near her neck causing a blush to bloom on her cheeks. She sucked in a sharp breath.

Suddenly, his blade was aimed toward Ser Criston’s neck.

“Well done, My Prince,” Ser Criston said, breathless from the fight.

Elyse regained her composure, standing upright. Aemond’s eye caught her movement. Ser Criston followed his gaze.

“My lady,” he called politely.

Elyse nodded, cheeks darkening as Aemond watched her.

“Good morrow Ser Criston,” she called down, “My Prince.”

Criston turned back to Aemond.

“Another round, My Prince?” he asked, but Aemond had already sheathed his sword.

“Later,” Aemond said, leaving the training yard.

Elyse knew he would find her before he did, as she headed back into the castle. The knowledge caused her heart to pound and her cheeks to stay flushed. She looked down, smiling, as she increased her pace, the anticipation of being caught by him tingling through her. This was a new game they seemed to play, the doe being chased by the dragon.

“I do not see you in the training yard often, my lady,” he called, suddenly in her stride.

“I could not find sleep,” Elyse told him, attempting to remain composed.

Elyse could see Ameond nod from the corner of her eye as he continued to walk with her. They made their way past the great hall and towards a courtyard. Elyse nodded to some lords and ladies they passed.

“I have been desperate for something new to read,” she found herself saying suddenly, filling the silence.

“Have you visited the library?”

“Not today, my prince. Is there something you recommend?”

Aemond paused for a moment.

“What do you enjoy reading about?” he asked, and Elyse was touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Anything,” she answered, earning a small chuckle from him.

“Anything in particular?”

Elyse pursed her lips, taking a moment to think before answering.

“I enjoy reading philosophy, and of the Free Cities. Of anywhere, truly. I have not known much life outside of these walls,” she confessed.

“Have you read Ruined Cities, Stolen Gods?” he asked and Elyse shook her head.

“It details the Fall of Sarnor. Fascinating, truly,” Aemond mused.

“I shall make it my next read then,” Elyse assured him.

The two were silent for a moment.

“Any news from your betrothed?”

Elyse looked down, trying to hide the smile on her face. Aemond had begun to make a point of always asking about Lord Maceon. It was a point of contention between them. And though he tried to hide it, she could sense his desperation to know what was going on between them.

“He is not my betrothed as of yet, my prince,” she told him, hoping he would find pleasure in this.

“Are several hundred flowers not enough of a marriage proposal?”

“They are generous gifts,” Elyse insisted.

“He intends to claim you,” Aemond said, as a fact and Elyse scoffed.

“I am not a dragon.”

“Yet his intentions are the same. He wishes to marry you.”

“Perhaps. I suppose we shall see what he intends,” Elyse told him, as they walked towards the gardens. Elyse glanced at him sideways. Aemond stood tall, his face giving away nothing.

It was a tedious game they played, but Elyse continued to play nonetheless. She found the days Aemond recently plagued her to be the most pleasurable ones.

“Does your father wish you to marry?” Aemond asked her.

Elyse blinked. She hadn’t written to her father as of late, and when he replied to her it was often in very short, hasty sentences. It was said her father longed for a son, a true heir for House Baratheon.

Surely, Lord Borros would want her to marry at some point. Elyse knew she had a dowry put away for when the time came. Lord Borros was prepared, but he did not express his love and wants for his estranged daughter with the written word. Panic sliced through her momentarily at the thought of Lord Maceon writing to her father about a betrothal.

“I have elder sisters, my prince, who have flowered and remain unwed,” she told him, “they are of priority before myself I am afraid, lest someone goes out of their way to approach my father.”

Elyse felt the statement was more reassurance to herself than to the prince.

Aemond simply hummed in response.

“And you think this flower lord will do so?”

“I cannot say, my prince. Though, the other ladies of the court agree he is seemingly taken with me.”

“It is rather obvious.”

Elyse stopped and turned towards him, suppressing a smile. Aemond’s lips were pursed in an expression of annoyance.

“It is kind of him to make such a grand gesture.”

“It is madness.”

A laugh bubbled from Elyse’s lips, and Aemond’s eye widened with surprise. The sound rang in his ears like music. He had never made her laugh before.

“He may have gotten a bit carried away-”

“A bit?”

Elyse turned her face from him, her hand reaching up to cover her smile. Aemond’s face seemed to soften for a moment.

“I enjoy hearing you laugh,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress.

Elyse looked up at him, surprised by his confession.

“It is a rare sound around me.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

The dragon and the doe held each other’s gaze a moment more. Aemond cleared his throat, the hardness returning to his features when suddenly he grimaced.

He cried out softly, hand going towards his eye, as pain slashed across the left side of his face. Stars blossomed behind his good eye as a red-hot, deep throbbing settled behind his sapphire-filled socket.

Elyse’s surprise turned to concern as she watched Aemond’s body tense.

“My Prince,” she said, bringing a hand to his arm, but he shook her off.

“It is nothing,” he said through his teeth, shame washing over him. Pathetic, he was pathetic.

“I shall get the maester.”

“No!”

Elyse froze. Aemond shook his head, the pained expression still on his face. The humiliation began to settle in his bones, the taste of copper filling his mouth.

“It shall fade,” he told her.

“Surely some milk of the poppy-”

“I shall be fine.”

His tone was harsh and Elyse clamped her mouth shut. She wanted to continue fighting him, but she knew her efforts would be fruitless.

“Shall I walk you to your chambers?” she asked and Aemond scoffed.

“I am not some maiden in need of an escort,” he snapped, but he could taste how pathetic the words sounded.

Elyse ground her teeth together but did not object.

“As you wish,” she told him and Aemond swiftly departed leaving her standing alone.

Nearly fully blind as tears filled his good eye, Aemond made his way to his chambers collapsing onto the feather bed.

His limbs twisted into himself as he cried out again as pain sliced through the left side of his face.

Tears spilled down his cheek as he tore the eyepatch from his face. Dexterous fingers massaged the scarred tissue, occasionally bumping the cold sapphire eye.

He ground his teeth together as he massaged relief into the wound, head ringing.

Aemond had taken milk of the poppy the night his eye was taken from him. He had dreamt that his mother had carved out her eyes in her fury, presenting them to him on a bed of coals as though they were dragon eggs. Aemond had woken up covered in sweat, screaming.

He had never drunk it again.

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[summerposie]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: A distraction comes in the form of the Harvest Feast. Lady Elyse has an interested suitor.

Warnings: none – eventually smut

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Chapter 6: Thorns

Some time in childhood…

“Hands on her waist, Jacaerys,” Septa Marla directed, as the dancing lesson began. Helaena stood a foot taller than the young Velaryon prince.

Dancing lessons were one of Elyse’s favorite teachings of the day, much more enjoyable than needle-pointing. Dancing lessons took place mid-morning, usually only young ladies present.

The Queen Alicent would join occasionally, sitting on the steps to watch her daughter and companion, enjoying the soft music, and the peace it brought her.

Today, Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys joined. Lucerys grumbled the whole time, complaining of his sweaty palms that kept slipping from Elyse’s waist. But even princes must learn to dance.

“Why must we be here?” he had cried, causing Elyse to frown.

“What if someday, you see a pretty maiden at a feast and cannot ask her to dance, because you don’t know how?” Elyse told him, hands on his small shoulders. Luke pondered the question.

“I shall simply offer to show her Arrax, he will be the perfect distraction,” Luke said grinning.

Elyse laughed. “And what if I need someone to dance with?”

Luke frowned. “You’ll have to find someone else to dance with!” Luke told her and she opened her mouth, feigning having taken offense to the remark.

Lucerys giggled, small hands clutching onto the fabric of her dress at her waist, trying to keep his hands from slipping. Elyse stepped on his foot as he forgot his next step. Lucerys yelped, releasing her.

“I yield!” Luke cried, running from the great hall.

“Luke!” Septa Marla and his elder brother Jacaerys called after him, but the young prince had vanished.

Septa Marla’s mouth contorted into a frown as the ladies began to giggle.

“Well, now we need a partner for Lady Elyse,” she said, looking about the room.

Jace’s eyes lit up, hands still placed on Helaena’s waist. Before he could speak, Septa Marla continued.

“Ah, Prince Aemond! Would you care to join us?” she called to the Prince who had entered the hall on his way to the training yard, silver hair disheveled. Septa Marla motioned for him to join Elyse.

Aemond approached her, looking unsure of himself, violet eyes anxiously scanning the room. The children suddenly were face to face.

Elyse placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling them rise and fall with his breath.

“You’re to put your hands on my waist,” Elyse whispered when Aemond failed to do so.

Aemond cleared his throat, placing them gently on her waist.

Elyse could barely feel his hands resting there. She lifted her chin, looking straight ahead.

A moment passed, neither child moving.

“Now what?” Aemond whispered, catching her eye again. Elyse’s eyes were wide and knowing. Aemond held her gaze for guidance.

“You lead,” she told him, “and I follow.”

Aemond frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair, you know the steps, not I,” he told her as the music began to play.

She smiled and Aemond felt his heart skip a beat.

“I shall show you,” Elyse said, taking the first step.

*

Princess Rhaenyra could not stay long in King’s Landing, this much was evident from the ending of the royal family’s dinner. Though Elyse had not been in attendance, much to Helaena’s dismay, she had heard of the commotion that occurred. She couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for the tension between Prince Jacaerys and Prince Aemond.

Elyse had waited in the front courtyard to see Princess Rhaenyra and her sons off. As the family prepared to take their leave, Jace made his way to her.

He wore his riding leathers, prepared to ride Vermax home to Dragonstone. His face was full of regret.

“I wish we had more time,” he told her softly.

Elyse felt a pain in her chest, a deep ache that throbbed within her. She forced a smile on her face. She would not let him see how much his departure pained her.

“We shall do better next time,” Elyse assured him and he smiled softly.

“I am afraid the next time we meet, we shall be different people,” he said honestly, causing Elyse to blink rapidly to stop the tears that were threatening to spill onto her cheeks.

“I think we already are,” Elyse whispered. Jace brought his hand to her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. She reached for him, clasping her hand on his forearm. Her friend. Her lifeline at one point in time.

Jace’s eyes flickered somewhere behind her, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, meeting her gaze once again. Elyse frowned at his words of caution.

“I fear King’s Landing is becoming a dangerous place,” Jace continued

“I am always careful,” Elyse told him.

Jacaerys left with a promise to write to her on his lips.

She had hugged Lucerys tightly, still a small, gangly boy just beginning to grow into a man. And little Joffrey as well, who squeezed the breath out of her lungs. Elyse did not shed any tears.

The days were long after the Velaryons’ departure.

Elyse spent her days doting on Helaena and the twins. Little Jaehaerys walked first, towering above his sister, a grin on his face.

Jaehaera would sit, staring at Elyse and Helaena, violet eyes unblinking. She did not smile often, nor did she cry.

As Jaehaerys began to babble, Jaehaera did not. She seemed contemplative, as though she was waiting for the perfect word to say.

She was an odd child, but Helaena adored her all the same. As the girl grew, Elyse couldn’t help but see the similarities between mother and daughter.

As soon as the babes were toddling, Helaena found herself with the child again. The grand maester said she was well into the pregnancy and faring admirably.

A much-needed distraction came in the form of a feast. The maesters of Oldtown had spoken, and the beginning of autumn was on the horizon.

Elyse knew of nothing but summer and spring. She had been born during the summer and had spent the early years of her childhood drenched in the cool summer showers of Storm’s End. The news that winter was approaching wrapped an icy fist around her heart.

But with the promise of autumn, came the Harvest Feast. A time in Westeros when lords throughout the seven kingdoms celebrate the harvest, inviting lords and vassals to indulge and prepare for the upcoming winter. King’s Landing’s Harvest feast was a grand affair, full of mummer's shows, feasts, and a masked ball.

Elyse enjoyed the celebrations. She loved the energy around her, the excitement in the room that crackled like lightning. Elyse had always felt more like a storm than a girl, at ease amidst the chaos. Helaena was thrilled the children would be able to attend.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera had custom-made masks for their small faces, Jaehaerys constantly removing his from his face and snickering. Jaehaera wore hers as handmaidens measured the silk around her skull, perfectly still and unbothered. She was patient and still, her brother was the antithesis.

The great hall vibrated with energy as the feast began. Music played loudly, echoing throughout the entire Red Keep. Green, red, and gold fabric adorned the hall with arrangements of fruit and vegetables. The hall was perfumed with cinnamon and other spices.

Elyse wore a gown with the colors of her house. It was a daring choice, the dress she had decided on, causing Jeyne to raise an eyebrow at her. The familiar black and gold dawned a striking pattern down the skirt of the dress.

The bodice was tight, holding Elyse’s curves with a corset leaving her shoulders and collarbones bare. The gown had sleeves, but the cool air on her upper chest made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

She had left most of her curls hanging freely down her back, using golden pins to hold the front portion off of her face.

She looked at herself in the mirror. “You look beautiful, my lady” Jeyne had whispered, never so serious. Elyse swallowed the lump in her throat, nervously playing with the sleeves. She was beautiful. Clearly a lady now. She wondered how long she could play as Helaena’s companion before some lord whisked her away for her hand.

Elyse wanted to marry someday of course, but The Red Keep was her home. Helaena was the only true family she had ever known. She was just a girl when she landed here, even memories of Storm’s End held no weight against those in King’s Landing.

Elyse did not sit with the royal family during the feast, instead being seated with other ladies in waiting and other nobles of the court. She kept her eye on Helaena, who sat next to her mother Queen Alicent. Several different courses were served, each being offered to the royal family first. Hot meats and pies, with several rounds of wine and mead by the barrel.

Aegon was already causing mischief around the hall, throwing his arms around servant girls and whispering things into their ears that made them turn crimson. Elyse rolled her eyes as he sauntered by her table, grabbing an unclaimed cup of wine and grinning maniacally. He wore a golden mask over his eyes that bore a striking resemblance to Sunfyre.

That had been the theme among the Targaryen royal family; masks that resembled their dragons. Helaena’s was a pearly shade of blue to match Dreamfyre’s scales.

Aemond sat at the end of the table, facing toward the center of the room, good eye always searching as though he would need to draw his sword at a moment’s notice. He had not donned his mask yet, though dancing had just begun to commence.

“Lady Elyse,” Lord Maceon Tyrell said appearing before her, a kind smile on his lips, hand outstretched, “may I have the pleasure of a dance?”

Elyse felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Her own mask was made of a simple black lace, matching the stitching on her gown. She had tied it upon her face moments before Lord Maceon appeared before her.

He was as handsome as ever, his brown curls haloed around his head. He wore an extravagant outfit colored a pale blue decorated with golden roses. The mask on his face appeared to be woven of golden vines. His brown eyes were warm and kind as he smiled at Elyse.

Smiling, she took his hand, rising from her seat. Maceon Tyrell led her to the dance floor, between other lords and ladies.

He placed his hand on the small of her back as the dance began.

“You have made quite the journey, my lord,” Elyse said, attempting to make casual conversation.

“In truth, I have not been home in quite some time.”

“Do you miss it terribly?”

“I do enjoy the comforts of home, but coming to court is an exciting fair as well. Have you visited your home recently?”

“I have not been to the Stormlands since I was a girl, I’m afraid. Though I do miss it occasionally.”

The two continued their dance, palms now touching.

“I must say, you look exceptionally radiant tonight, Lady Elyse,” Maceon told her as they danced.

“You flatter me, my lord,” Elyse said, skirts brushing against his legs.

“I believe you looked just as lovely on the eve of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena’s wedding,” he continued, Elyse smiling at the memory.

“Though you denied me a dance then,” he said.

“I believe you said something along the lines of entertaining the Princess only,” Maceon continued, tsking disapprovingly.

He flashed her a smile, to acknowledge his joke.

Elyse laughed then. Several lords had attempted to dance with her during the wedding feast, each of whom she declined. She went as far as to run from one side of the room to the other to escape Tyland Lannister.

Helaena had doubled over with laughter as she watched her friend evade the lord’s advantages.

She hadn’t worried about looking foolish, it had made Helaena smile.

“The duties of a lady-in-waiting never cease, even during a ball. It was vital I attend to the wants of the princess,” Elyse assured him, causing Maceon’s smile to grow, nodding in agreement.

The couple continued their dance.

“Have you ever been to Highgarden, my lady?” Maceon asked, and Elyse shook her head.

“You must visit, a beautiful castle needs the presence of a beautiful lady,” Maceon said, as the song ended.

“Thank you, my lord, it would be an honor,” Elyse said, Maceon nodding, “and thank you for the dance.”

Maceon bowed to her. “The pleasure was all mine, my lady,” he said before turning to leave the dance floor.

He paused for a moment, turning back.

“May I call on you, Lady Elyse?” he asked, brown eyes sparkling.

“I return to Highgarden on the morrow, but knowing I will be awaiting a raven from you may ease the pain of the journey.”

Elyse took a breath before answering. “You may, my lord,” she told him. Maceon smiled.

“I shall wait in agony then,” he told her, mischief in his eyes. Elyse laughed once more. She enjoyed laughing with him. It felt as easy as breathing.

As soon as Maceon Tyrell disappeared his spot was replaced by Aemond Targaryen. His eye patch was now missing, replaced by a mask.

The mask was bronze in color and seemed to shimmer with green scales. A beautiful homage to the terrifying beauty that was Vhagar.

Elyse could just make out the blue sapphire behind the fabric of the mask, the light from the candles dancing in it. Music started once again and the crowd began to move in the next dance.

For a moment, Aemond and Elyse said nothing. Palms barely touching each other, they began to circle one another. It was then, with their closeness, Aemond spoke.

“Have you moved on so quickly since my nephew’s rejection?” Aemond asked, his voice cold. Elyse’s head whipped to look at him.

“I find my choice of dance partners hardly of any concern to you,” Elyse countered. The dance continued.

“A dance is never just a dance,” Aemond retorted, the irony not lost to Elyse.

“Is that so, my prince?”

“What were you laughing about?” Aemond asked suddenly, the question spilling from his lips.

“Though the man does bear quite the resemblance to a fool,” he told her.

“Again, my prince, I question why you have such interest in my affairs?” Elyse asked, spinning as the other ladies in their dances.

“I try to make it my business affairs that will affect my family,” Aemond stated.

Elyse looked at him questioningly. His face revealed nothing.

Aemond was well-trained at hiding his true emotions.

Elyse continued to dance with him.

“And my betrothal would affect your family terribly?” Elyse questioned, Aemond’s eye meeting hers.

“You are entering a betrothal then?” Aemond asked, voice tense.

Elyse could not quite decipher the emotion behind it.

“Not yet, but so what if I do? My father would find the firstborn son of Lord Tyrell a fine match,” Elyse boasted, feeling sweat beginning to bead on her forehead from the dance, the room, and the emotions of the music.

Aemond laughed sharply, his mouth breaking into a smile. He twirled Elyse expertly, pulling her back towards his chest. His large hand covered her stomach, the pressure causing Elyse’s breath to catch in her throat.

Elyse could feel his breath on her neck, gooseflesh beginning to blossom. Aemond spoke in High Valyrian, his voice a low whisper.

"A man like that would bore you to tears."

He was so close she practically felt his mouth moving against her as he spoke, and though she did not fully understand she felt something stirring in her belly, eyelids fluttering shut.

“A man of flowers is not for you,” he said, spinning her away from himself.

Her eyes snapped open.

“And you know what is for me?” she challenged, her voice hoarse as she desperately awaited his answer.

The song ended, and Aemond bowed to her; Elyse curtseyed.

“Thank you for the dance, my lady,” Aemond said, avoiding her eyes.

“Aemond,” she called, formality forgotten.

But he was off, to the other side of the hall leaving Elyse alone with the other lords and ladies.

Elyse attempted to find him, demanding to know what it was he wanted from her, what pleasure he gained from this constant torment, but was interrupted by Helaena.

“Having fun?” Elyse asked and Helaena sighed, hand rubbing her stomach, affectionately.

“The little one tires of feasts, and so do I,” Helaena said smiling softly, “but you should stay. I saw you conversing with Lord Maceon.”

Elyse smiled sadly. “Are you cross with me?”

“I only wish for your happiness,” Helaena told her, taking Elyse’s hand in her own. “Would he make you happy?”

Elyse let herself imagine being the lady of Highgarden. Sitting amongst the flowers, birthing babes with chocolate curls and doe brown eyes.

She could not have Jace, that was certain. And in truth, she wasn’t sure if that was something she wanted anymore.

Surely, Highgarden would have a library as well for her to get lost in when the days were long. Endless gardens to stroll. Every maiden’s dream. Surely, that was all she needed. Surely that would be enough. Helaena’s question rang in her ears.

Would that make her happy?

She found herself looking towards the head table where Aemond had returned to. As her eye caught the silver-haired prince she felt a shiver roll down her spine.

Elyse suddenly felt thrust into womanhood, unsure of what it was she truly desired.

“There is no need to fret,” Helaena told her, pulling her from her thoughts as if sensing her distress.

“A decision need not be made tonight,” Helaena assured, squeezing Elyse’s hand.

Elyse let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding.

“You’re right,” Elyse said, smiling. “We have all the time in the world.”

“No, my friend,” Helaena said, amethyst eyes shifting somewhere far away, her voice sad.

“We do not.”

Read more on AO3

[summerposie]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Rhaenyra and her children arrive from Dragonstone. Jacaerys and Elyse are reunited.

Warnings: none – eventually smut

previous chapter ----- next chapter

Chapter 5: Oathbreaker

It had been years since Princess Rheanyra had stepped foot on King’s Landing. The greens and blacks had not seen each other since their children were very young, on that fateful day at Driftmark. 

Now and then Elyse would stare out across Blackwater Bay, seeing the small dot of Dragonstone in the distance, and think of Jacearys Velaryon. 

What life must be for him, these several years later. She didn’t like to allow herself to daydream about him. 

Elyse, herself a grown woman, felt a nervousness grow in her belly as the days drew closer to the Velaryon arrival. Now Jace would be a man, ready to fulfill his duty as Rheanyra’s heir.

She wondered if he remembered the promise he had made to her when they were children. Would this be the day she rode on dragonback at last, hands laced around Jace’s waist, on her way for him to ask her father for her hand? Terrifying, surely, but less so knowing Jace would be holding her. Elyse sighed, lost in her thoughts. 

She did not want to get her hopes up, for it had been years. Perhaps he had forgotten his promise. Elyse smoothed her gown and exited her chambers. She passed a handmaiden on her walk down the corridor. 

“Have you seen Princess Helaena?” she asked and the handmaiden nodded. “She is in godswood my lady,” she answered. 

“Many thanks,” Elyse said hurrying off to find her friend. She found Helaena in the Godswood underneath the ancient Weirwood tree, watching the leaves fall around her. 

“Helaena,” Elyse called, and Helaena raised an arm to wave at her. 

Elyse looked around as she approached her friend. “Where are the twins?” she asked, settling on the ground next to her companion. 

“With the wet nurse,” Helaena said softly. Helaena loved her children dearly, it was rare to see them apart though they were still toddling. 

“Your sister arrives soon, perhaps she has already,” Elyse said, anticipation evident in her voice. Helaena hummed softly. 

“Perhaps she has,” she answered. “I have a strong feeling this will be a very interesting visit,” Elyse stated, and Helaena nodded. 

“I have to agree, friend,” she said, closing her eyes as the branches moved with the wind causing the sunlight to catch her eyes. Elyse looked up, basking in the warmth of the mid-morning sun. 

She wasn’t sure how she would feel seeing Jacaerys again. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel a certain way. It had been so long, and they were no longer children. 

“I can hear your thoughts,” Helaena murmured, eyes still closed. Elyse looked at her friend, smiling slightly. “Can you?” she asked, amused. Helaena hummed in response. 

“You and I are cut from the same cloth,” Helaena said, violet eyes reopening to the world. 

“Come,” she said standing. “Let us go see if my nephews are here,” she said, linking arms with Elyse. 

The two women left the Godswood, off to find the Verlayons. 

__________________________

The tension in the throne room was palpable. Elyse released Helaena’s arm as she walked to the side to join the other noble ladies and Helaena went to join the rest of the royal family. She saw Jacaerys before he saw her. 

He stood taller than her now, when they had parted ways on Driftmark Elyse had been almost a head taller. His shoulders were broad, and dark hair cascaded down his next. 

He looked like a knight. Like a true prince right out of the songs Helaena and her read in childhood. But his smile was still Jace, still the boy she played with. 

Jace caught her eye then as he smiled, drinking in her form. Her eyes were large, covered with thick brows and lashes. Blue and sparkling like the waters of the sapphire isle. Jace couldn’t stop smiling, almost forgetting himself as his grandfather entered the throne room. He tore his eyes from Elyse then.

She had barely had a chance to take in Jace’s form when the king had entered the throne room. 

King Viserys made his way towards the Iron Throne, helped by his brother Daemon. Elyse could not contain her grin, ignoring the buzz of the different voices speaking all around her. There was only Jacaerys. 

Until Princess Rhaenys announced the betrothals of her granddaughters. 

Elyse’s eyes flickered then to Baela Targaryen. She was strikingly beautiful, with Valyrian coloring and smooth, dark skin. She stood tall and proud next to her grandmother. 

Baela smiled at Jace, who gave her a small smile back. Elyse could feel her heart breaking,  a sharpness splintering through her chest. Her lips parted in shock. Jace pleaded with his eyes, an apology for such an ambush. 

“Her children are bastards!” Vaemond Velaryon suddenly yelled, echoing in the throne room. Elyse’s mouth completely opened, and attention turned back to the center of the throne room. “And she,” Vaemond continued, “Is a whore.” The throne room erupted in gasps. 

“I will have your tongue for that,” King Viserys said, with venom in his voice. 

No sooner had he spoken, the top half of Vaemond Velaryon’s head was on the ground, body falling behind him. Elyse shrieked, as did several members of the court. A lady beside her collapsed to the ground. 

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon Targaryen said, cleaning his sword. Chaos erupted in the throne room and Elyse lost sight of Jace. 

Glancing at where the green royal family stood she saw Helaena. The princess had her face turned and was covering her ears, shaking her head back and forth. 

“Helaena!” Elyse called and rushed towards her friend, up several steps. Helena stood, shaking her head, not removing her hands. 

“Heleana it's alright,” Elyse cooed, rubbing her friend's arms. She looked down towards the corpse of Vaemond. “Let us leave,” Elyse said, and Helaena nodded. 

Arms around Helaena, Elyse escorted the Princess from the throne room. “Elyse!” She heard a voice call behind her, but she kept walking, turning briefly to look. 

Jacaerys made his way towards her. “Not now,” Elyse called, motioning to the distraught princess. Jace nodded, a pained look on his face. Elyse turned away, leading Helaena toward her chambers. 

__________________________

Helaena wanted to rest until the evening. Elyse had stayed with her for a while, tucked Helaena into bed as she murmured to herself, eyes far away. She stroked Helaena’s hair, placing a kiss on her forehead before departing to her chambers. 

As she rounded the corner of the hall that led toward her room, she noticed a piece of parchment sticking out from underneath her door. Bending down, Elyse grabbed it and unraveled it. 

Meet me where the monsters chase maidens, it read, causing Elyse to smile. 

She abandoned her chambers, heading instead to the sunken courtyard. Down serpentine staircases, Elyse flew, long hair trailing behind her a curtain of a midnight sky. She passed several gold cloaks on her way to the courtyard.

Elyse was alone when she entered, the smell of moss and wet stones filling her nose. She smiled, taking in the playing grounds of her childhood. A small, square pool lay in the center of the courtyard, and Elyse walked over to it admiring the small fish that swam. She had once sat in this very spot with Lucerys Velaryon, as he had practiced his Valyrian counting. 

“Mēre, lanta, hāre…” Lucerys said trailing off as he pointed at the small fish. Elyse waited a moment as the prince paused. “I don’t know it,” he said sadly, head hanging low. Elyse pursed her lips. “You’re already getting better,” she consoled him. “Think hard, Luke. Mēre, lanta, hāre,” Elyse spoke softly and the prince furrowed his brow. “Izula!” he said, breaking into a grin. Elyse squealed with glee. “Yes! Keep going!” she had encouraged him. 

“Elyse,” a voice called softly. Elyse turned, the memory fading. Jacaerys smiled.

 “Jace,” she breathed, with a sigh of relief. She raced towards him, hugging him tightly. She could tell he had been on dragonback recently. He smelled of smoke, leather, and the sea. 

Elyse held him tightly, closing her eyes for a moment allowing herself the fantasy of having him.  

She pulled away. “I have missed you,” she said, eyes tearing up. It felt as though a piece of her childhood had returned and she suddenly felt much younger. “I have missed you as well,” Jace said earnestly, his smile wide. 

“There is so much I wish to tell you,” Elyse said, the words bubbling from her lips. Jace’s smile faltered. Elyse noticed and paused.

“I had hoped to be the one to tell you,” Jace began, referring to the news of his betrothal. “I was held up in the training yard. I wished you heard it from me first,” he said, eyes sad. 

But something inside Elyse had known, even though she felt her heart sink. Something deep in her heart knew her dreams of marrying Jace were too good to be true. Elyse found herself forcing a smile.

 “Baela is quite beautiful,” she told him, and she was being truthful. From the scattered few moments they had interacted, Baela seemed fierce and kind as well. A fitting match for a prince. 

“She is not you,” Jace said, eyes searching her face. Elyse’s smile turned sad. “Ours is a love of children,” Elyse stated and Jace shook his head. “Stop it,” he whispered.

“It makes sense, Baela is a worthy match-” Elyse began but Jace cut her off.

“A lady of house Baratheon is more than worthy-” he interjected. 

“Jace,” Elyse said, shaking her head. 

Jace couldn’t help himself. He pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. Elyse’s heart stopped for a moment. But it was different this time. 

Her body felt calm, her heart steadying. Fire did not course through her veins. She pulled away from him. Jace’s face was sad, lips reddened from their kiss. 

Elyse backed away, releasing herself from his grasp and smoothing her gown. “Perhaps our time has come and gone,” she said and Jace found himself nodding. 

“But it is awfully good to see you,” Elyse said, taking his hands in hers. “I have missed you, truly,” Elyse told him, smiling with happiness yet again. Jace forced a smile. “As I have missed you,” Jace stated. 

“Nephew,” a voice drolled, causing Jace and Elyse to startle. Aemond Targaryen stood under the stone archway, eye locked on Jacaery’s and Elyse’s interlocked hands. His eye flickered to Elyse’s blushing face, then back to his nephew. 

“Uncle,” Jacaerys said, quickly dropping Elyse’s hands and turning towards his elder. Elyse’s hands felt cold. Aemond’s good eye seemed to narrow.

“I’ve been charged with informing you of tonight's festivities,” Aemond told his nephew. Jacaerys stood, waiting. “The King is requesting that both families dine together tonight in the Queen’s ballroom,” he finished, unblinking. 

“I shall be present shortly,” Jacaerys told him, but Aemond stayed put.

“My sister will be missing your presence, Lady Elyse,” Aemond said, eyeing the Baratheon. Elyse wondered how long he had been standing there. If he had witnessed the kiss.

“I was just taking my leave, My Prince,” Elyse said, curtseying slightly to Jacaerys, beginning to exit the courtyard. Aemond hummed at her response, a smile twitching on his lips. 

“Hear how sweetly she calls to me, nephew?” he taunted, as Elyse brushed by him causing her to stop in her tracks. Eyes widening, she looked back at Jace who stood, hands balled into fists. 

Aemond turned to her then, bringing his hand to her chin. He let his fingers caress the smooth skin of her jaw, leaving a trail of fire behind. His thumb stopped on her bottom lip, softly tugging it. 

“Run along, sweet Elyse,” he purred, and Elyse felt her breath hitch. The back of her neck grew hot, and a wave of desire rolled down her spine. Aemond smiled then, and Elyse caught her breath.

She brought her hand up, striking Aemond’s away. “Enough,” she hissed, looking back at Jace, feeling mortified. 

But she heeded Aemond’s advice, not meeting Jace’s eyes, leaving the courtyard. She heard a scuffle of shoes, and with a glance behind her, watched Aemond leave in the opposite direction. Jacaerys did not follow him. 

Switching her footing, she hurried after Aemond. His strides were long and it took her several moments to catch up. 

“Is this a new pastime of yours, causing me torment?” Elyse called towards the Targaryen prince. Aemond stopped walking and turned to face her, an amused smirk on his handsome face. 

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked, “tormenting you?”

“It appears so,” Elyse accused, anger beginning to course through her veins. 

“You know, I could have your hand taken for that,” he said casually, ignoring her remark. Elyse swallowed. “Hands have been taken for much less,” he continued. Elyse’s anger brushed off the threat. 

“Maim me then,” she challenged, unwavering. Aemond watched her carefully, pausing a moment before taking his bottom lip between his teeth. “It would be such a shame to lose a hand. They are very versatile,” he told her and she blushed scarlet. She wasn’t completely sure what he was on about, but something about his tone made the sentence sound filthy. 

“Don’t be crude,” she snapped, and he chuckled slightly. 

“I only meant in prayer, my lady,” he told her, cocking his head. “What were you thinking?”

Elyse was fuming. “What is it you want?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

They stayed like that for a moment, neither backing down. 

“A trip to the sept might be needed, after all, My Prince. Prayer is indeed so very healing,” she told him, forcing a tight smile on her face. Aemond nodded at her sudden retreat. 

Elyse turned on her heel. Suddenly, a wave of emotion wracked through her. It was all too much for Elyse to bear. She didn’t know if it was Jacaerys, Aemond's teasing, or the events from earlier to cause her cheeks to flush and her breath to quicken. 

And even though Elyse knew in her bones that Jacerys Verlaryon was not hers to love, she found her way to the royal sept while the Targaryens gathered for supper and cried. 

Sobs wracked through her body, and she was grateful for the privacy.

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[summerposie]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Helaena gives birth to the twins. Aemond and Elyse share a moment.

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of birth – eventually smut

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Chapter 4: Lemon Cakes

Helaena’s labor was not an easy one. Elyse had feared that would be the case since the Maester announced she was pregnant with twins. It was suspected for some time, as petite Helaena seemed to be close to falling over due to the size of her stomach.

Helaena was overjoyed by the news, twins were a blessing from the Mother. Queen Alicent attempted to force a smile, but her eyes were fearful. She had met Elyse’s gaze that day, the Baratheon’s face a reflection of her own.

Helaena’s labor lasted five days, Jaehaerys coming first. Helaena had clutched her mother’s hand desperately during the labors, the other hand reserved for Elyse’s. Elyse swore she would bear scars for the rest of her life from where Helaena’s fingernails dug into her wrist. Not that she minded, she only hoped it took some of Helaena’s pain away.

Helaena was not nervous about the labor. Days before, she strolled in the garden the same as any other day despite the midwives, her mother, and Elyse begging her to take to her bed. Helaena would merely shake her head.

“Everything shall be fine,” Helaena assured the pestering women.

Jaehaerys was a round, healthy baby, who bore six fingers on his left hand and six toes on each foot, causing the midwife to screech. Queen Alicent had her removed from the birthing suite. Jaehaera followed soon after her twin, smaller and thinner than her elder brother, whispers of silver hair atop her head. She did not cry when she was born, striking fear into the hearts of the women in the room.

“Why does she not cry?” Helaena sobbed, covered in sweat and blood, tears trailing down her face. Jaehaerys suckled at her teat as Helaena reached for her daughter. “Is she alright?” she asked desperately as Alicent stroked her damp hair. The maester placed the baby girl into Helaena’s arms nodding. “She is alive and well princess, a quiet soul,” he assured her, and Helaena threw her head back with relief.

Elyse had fallen to her knees beside her childhood companion and watched as the twins fed, fingers laced in Helaena’s. She did not leave her side. Queen Alicent had two beds made up so Elyse and herself could stay with Helaena. Aemond waited patiently outside the door throughout the five days, eager to meet his niece and nephew. He would pace the corridor, anxiously awaiting updates on his sister’s health.

Aegon came a day after the birth to meet the twins, he had been spending his nights somewhere in the Streets of Silk, avoiding the screams that echoed from the birthing chamber. Though he was not present at the birth, Aegon seemed taken with the twins and pleased with his sister wife. He patted Helaena’s head as she slept, and placed a kiss atop her left hand. __________________________

“Put them back!” Septa Marla had scolded after she had entered Elsye’s bedchamber looking for her. Usually, Elyse was very sneaky with the books she collected from the palace library. Her floor was littered with them, multiple stacks around her bed as if they were stairs. Elyse knew she could access the library whenever she pleased, there was truly no need for her to hoard the books. But she enjoyed the easy access.

Septa Marla once had called Elyse a challenge sent directly from the Crone to teach her more wisdom and guidance. She spent most of her days chasing Elyse and Helaena around the Red Keep and considered tying them to their chairs on more than one occasion.

Elyse found solace in books as a child. When she lived at Storm’s End her elder sister Maris read to her stories of the Storm Queens. In childhood, Elyse idolized Princess Nymeria of Dorne, along with Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya. Legend says there is magically woven into the stones that make Storm’s End, allowing it to weather any storm, and Elyse would swear she could hear the magic pulsating throughout the castle.

Septa Marla had entered her chamber and suddenly Elyse felt a girl of ten again, eyes widening as the septa's face turned red with anger. “You may be a woman grown,” Septa Marla had growled, “but that will not stop me from striking you as a child!”

Elyse had spent most of the morning choosing which books she could part with, and which could be hidden underneath her bed, as she knew Septa Marla did not jest. Elyse had taken many whackings in her childhood for a variety of mischievous activities.

Elyse now carried them towards the library, opening the heavy door and pushing inside. The several books she held nearly tumbled to the floor as the door gave way. “Seven hells,” Elyse groaned, dropping to the floor to place the books down in a neat stack. She picked up Dragons, Wyrms, & Wyverns: An Unnatural History, holding it in her hands for a moment.

The book made her think of Jacaerys and her childhood. Elyse would sit at the top of the dragonpit reading whilst Jace and Luke visited their dragons housed below. Elyse felt too nervous as a child to venture deep into the dungeons of the dragonpit, preferring to wait for her friends to return.

Smiling down at the book, she picked it up carefully, sliding it into place on a shelf. Deeper in the library, somebody cleared their throat. Elyse’s head turned at the noise; she had assumed she was alone beforehand. Creeping deeper into the library, Elyse peered between the shelves, eyes searching for the source of the noise.

Suddenly, as she came to an opening in the shelves, she saw the long, silver hair of Aemond Targaryen. His head was bowed, the leather strap of his eye patch missing from his skull. He let out a groan, hand massaging his face. The groan was familiar, Elyse realized. He was in pain. Elyse felt her mouth go dry, suddenly very aware of her intrusion. Aemond’s eye patch lay on the table next to a book he had opened before him. Elyse had never seen his eye since that fateful day on Driftmark. A memory flashed in her mind, a raw, red wound. A small boy whimpers in pain. Elyse shook the memory from her mind.

Aemond groaned again, long fingers massaging the meat of his temples, seeking relief. Elyse backed up slowly, almost back between the stack before her shoulder brushed some loose parchment, scattering them to the ground. Elyse’s eyes widened as Aemond turned in his seat at the noise, a scowl on his face. Elyse just caught his eyes, violet and….blue.

A sapphire then, Elyse thought to herself. Not a ruby or a diamond as rumored.

Her body was completely flushed with the embarrassment of being caught and she ran, not looking back. She pushed through the door and abandoned her book pile on the floor and continued down the corridor. Elyse didn’t stop until she reached the gardens, breathless. She grabbed a chair for support, trying to catch her breath.

A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped. It was Helaena. “Elyse, you look a fright,” Helaena said laughing, servants following her with trays of food and cups. Helaena looped her arm in Elyse’s walking towards the table set up. “I was making haste,” Elyse said, still recovering and trying to catch her breath.

“Did you think I was going to eat all the lemon cakes?” Helaena teased and Elyse laughed, beginning to calm down. “I have been late before and suffered those consequences,” Elsye teased back, Helaena chuckling. When Helaena was pregnant with Princess Jaehaera and Prince Jaehaerys, she had a constant craving for lemon cakes and occasionally sweet meat pies. The girls sat down, preparing to gossip and chat. Perhaps, Elyse thought to herself, she had avoided any embarrassment. Perhaps Aemond would let it be.

“Ah, brother!” Helaena called and Elyse’s heart dropped. Aemond sauntered down the gravel path toward their spot. His strides were long and his face held an amused smirk, eyepatch back securely on his face. “You never join us,” Helaena scolded her favorite sibling. Aemond stood head held high, not a hint of embarrassment in any inch of his tall frame. Elyse felt hot, afraid she would suddenly burst into flames.

She looked up and made eye contact with the prince. His smirk remained as he held her gaze, finally sitting down. “I had a sudden hunger,” Aemond said, reaching for a cake. He bit into it, moaning with satisfaction, his good eye closing. Elyse’s mouth opened slightly. Aemond’s eye opened. “Delicious, just what I needed,” he said, smiling coyly.

Helaena grabbed a cake as well. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, “this is my favorite part of the afternoon.” Aemond hummed in response. “It is a lovely time of day, don’t you agree, Lady Elyse?” he asked her directly. Helaena looked at her friend. “Yes, My Prince,” Elyse answered, somehow finding her voice. Helaena frowned. “Elyse eat! You rushed here so fast for your cake!” Helaena scolded.

Aemond raised a brow. “My sister is right, eat my lady,” he said, teasingly. “You did make such haste,” Aemond said, with emphasis on the final word. Elyse knew he was torturing her, relishing in her embarrassment. Smiling sheepishly, Elyse grabbed a lemon cake and took a bite. “You left this in your haste,” Aemond said, placing a book before her. The Glory of Volantis. A recent favorite.

Elyse looked up at Aemond after inspecting the book. His violet eye sparkled. Helaena peered at the book, the tension between her friend and sibling lost to her. “Volantis,” she mused, reaching for another treat. Elyse bit the inside of her cheek, looking away. Aemond was watching her carefully. “It is enjoyable to read about,” Elyse murmured, feeling embarrassed.

Aemond pursed his lips. Elyse looked up at him. “What?” she asked, causing the prince to shrug. “I didn’t know Baratheons could read,” he told her and her face contorted with anger. Aemond’s smile was tight, enjoying the rise he was getting out of her. “Aemond,” Helaena scolded, side-eying her brother. “That was cruel.”

Aemond kept his gaze on Elyse a moment longer. “You’re right, sister. My apologies, my lady,” he said, nodding to Elyse. Elyse felt an angry blush creep up her neck and onto her cheeks. “No,” she said and Aemond blinked. Helaena looked at her friend. “You are not forgiven,” Elyse finished, taking a bite of her lemon cake.

Aemond cocked his head. “Pardon?” he asked softly and Elyse looked at him quizzically. “Shall I repeat myself? Was it hard for you to understand the first time?” she challenged, and Aemond’s eyes were aflame, something behind them Elyse could not place. Helaena looked at Elyse and then back at her brother. “Not good,” Helaena murmured and Aemond clicked his tongue.

“Why is that?” he asked his sister, who then chuckled. “It is not wise to be on Elyse’s bad side,” Helaena said grinning at her friend mischievously. “She’s all sorts of trouble,” Helaena finished, reaching for another cake.

“She doesn’t seem too dangerous,” Aemond mused, entertaining Helaena’s comment. Helaena merely sighed. “Then you don’t know Elyse very well at all,” Helaena told him.

Aemond hummed, gaze flickering back towards Elyse who was smiling at Helaena. “And what must I do then, to earn the lady’s forgiveness?” Aemond asked, causing Elyse to shrug. “I’m sure you’ll think of something clever,” she told him, meeting his eye.

“I can think of several,” he told her, holding her gaze. Elyse’s heart hammered against her chest. Aemond suddenly looked away, as if remembering the setting. “I shall take my leave,” he said, rising from his seat. “Sister,” he said, placing a kiss on Helaena’s cheek. “Elyse,” he said, dropping his usual formality.

Elyse nodded a goodbye as he headed back towards the castle. “Well that was odd,” Helaena said, watching her brother depart, eyes beginning to drift. “What?” Elyse said, tearing her gaze from the silver prince’s back.

“Thorns pierce flesh, pricking those who wish to steal the blossom away,” Helaena murmured, amethyst eyes glassy. Elyse reached out and touched the Targaryen’s arm. “Helaena,” she called softly, urging her friend out of her thoughts.

Helaena only shrugged. “Shall we explore the gardens? There is a particular moth I have been reading about that only emerges during the hour of the bat,” Helaena said, standing and brushing her hands on her skirts.

Elyse smiled at the thought. “Yes, let's,” she said, taking Helaena’s arm in hers and heading into the castle gardens. The two ladies walked as the sun began to sink below the horizon, bathing the Red Keep in a warm, golden glow. As they made their way back towards the castle, a handmaiden approached them.

“A raven, for you my lady,” the handmaiden said, placing a letter in Elyse’s hands. Elyse examined the sigil on the wax seal and tore it open without a second thought.

My dearest, Elyse,

I should find myself in King’s Landing by week’s end. Lord Vaemond of House Velaryon has challenged the line of succession of Driftmark, declaring himself to be Lord of the Tides upon the death of Lord Corlys.

This insult cuts deeply, and my mother will not stand for the allegations my uncle proclaims. While the purpose of the trip is grim, I am overjoyed with being able to be in your presence once more. The years have been long, and lonely without your light.

The sun rises as I write to you, and I can hear Vermax singing. It is as though he knows we are to see you soon. I anxiously await our arrival and our reunion.

Lucerys and Joffrey send their love.

Yours,

Jacaerys Velaryon

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