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jaimeslanisters · 1 year

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the pawn in every lover's game (part five)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you're ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6k notes: slightly tipsy while posting this so forgive any mistakes! hope you enjoy!

The library is blessedly quiet as you enter. With the official welcoming feast for the wedding set to begin in a few hours, the Lannister apartments that typically only housed you and your uncle had been transformed into a verifiable disaster zone. Your cousins were scrambling about to get dressed and ready, blurs of shining golds and deep reds, with their servants scuttling behind them. Your father had long since slipped out and even your Uncle Tyland had vanished, eager to escape the mess. After your third time crashing right into a harried handmaid, you had followed their example and had left the apartments with haste, wishing that your extended family could all just disappear so the Red Keep apartments that had become your home could once again become the tranquil space you were used to. The halls are hardly any different with servants and noblemen alike buzzing about and, desperate for peace and quiet, you had headed directly for the library.

When you first enter, only the usual maester is seated by the entrance. He doesn’t look up when you come in, keeping his head bowed as he scribbles away, and you silently move past him, heading to the table in the back that you and Aemond share. As you head deeper into the library, you realize with a flush of embarrassment that your gown, an opulent golden dress covered in hundreds of mini jewels that cinches at your waist and flares out from there, is too big to fit through the narrow rows of books that hide your childhood meeting spot and that you’ll have to turn sideways and pull it up at the sides to squeeze through. For the first time in your life, you pray to the gods that Aemond is not there to see how ridiculous you look as you shimmy through the aisles, cursing under your breath as you take care to not catch the jewels on your dress on any of the books.

Predictably, however, the gods do not take your side and, when you tumble out of the aisle, nearly falling, Aemond is there to watch you with barely repressed laughter.

As usual, he’s surrounded by books and scrolls, some of which you know must come from the Lord Hand’s desk as he usually helps his grandfather with some of the day-to-day tasks. He’s dressed for the occasion with his black tunic encrusted with shining emeralds that form dragon heads on his chest, some of his hair braided back rather than simply pulled back as he usually did.

You don’t pause to admire how handsome he looks, however, instead frowning at him. “I would love to see you, Prince Aemond, attempt to navigate small aisles in a gown like the one I’m wearing right now. Perhaps you wouldn’t be laughing then.”

He shakes his head, biting back a smile. “I don’t think you would enjoy that, my lady. I’m afraid I wouldn’t look nearly as captivating as you do in that dress.”

“I’m glad you thought I looked lovely as I played the fool for you,” you shoot back even as your cheeks blaze at the compliment. You slide into your usual seat, crossing your arms. “Perhaps you can demand the aisles be made larger to accommodate women’s fashions so I don’t look quite so ridiculous the next time.”

“I can’t see most women wearing gowns fit for a royal wedding feast to the library but I’ll be sure to bring it up with the Lord Hand next chance I get,” he says as he turns back to his work, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

You roll your eyes, reaching for one of his papers to skim. “More’s the pity,” you reply as your eyes scan over the carefully written out summary of proposed tax increases for the lords of the Crownlands. “I heard from the Queen that Princess Rhaenys is here. You might wish to discuss these increases with her to ensure that the other lords don’t complain. The Crown rules the region but many of them tend to fall behind House Velaryon.”

“I doubt she’d want to speak to me. I don’t think Princess Rhaenys likes me much,” he responds, not looking up from his work. “Something to do with a dragon and a funeral.”

“The fact that she came to this wedding means she doesn’t want to depend on Princess Rhaenyra to support her own house,” you shoot back and he looks up at you. “Lord Corlys is at war in the Step Stones. That could easily serve as an excuse to not attend. As it is, however, she’s left Driftmark in control of her good-brother and come here with other members of the house and Baela Targaryen. Even if she does think you dishonored Laena Targaryen by claiming Vhagar, she must hate the Princess and Prince Daemon for what they may have done to Ser Laenor.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Even if they didn’t have him killed, they dishonored him by marrying mere days after his death. It wasn’t the appropriate amount of time after Lady Laena’s death as well.”

“Their mistake is our gain,” you respond, smiling when he nods. “Princess Rhaenyra may not realize it but she is no longer the Realm’s Delight. They scorn her and, by choosing Daemon Targaryen as her consort, has maligned most of her allies, most crucially the Velaryons.”

“Lord Corlys has always been firm in his backing of Luke as heir,” Aemond hums. “Princess Rhaenys, however… I remember the funeral of both her children well. If Meleys had been near her at the time, I can only imagine the destruction she would have rained down.”

You glance back down at the summary in your hands. “Discuss it with Lord Otto. Princess Rhaenys would be instrumental going forward. The Queen has a tea arranged for Helaena and the other ladies of the court tomorrow. I can… speak with Lady Baela then, see if I can find out more about the state of House Velaryon.”

He quirks an eyebrow up at you. “From what I can recall from the few times I’ve met Lady Baela, she’s half feral. She resembles more of my uncle than she does a true lady.”

Your smile widens. “If she’s anything like your uncle, then she must resent the insults her stepmother and father have levied against her mother. Perhaps… she’s even resentful of the fact that the seat that is rightfully her’s will go to little Lord Strong instead.”

He laughs then, quietly, and you beam. “I’ll speak with Grandfather then. See if you’ll be able to manage your part. Take care that you don’t poke and prod at her anger and cause her to explode.”

“Hotheaded people tend to reveal more than they ever realize,” you reply, shrugging. “Either she will warm to me or she won’t. Either way, I imagine she’ll let something slip. I’m not frightened of dragons - I’m afraid I’ve spent too much time in their company to fear them.”

He leans back in his chair, looking you over. His uncovered eye gleams with mirth. “If you’re not frightened of dragons, my lady, why have you never accompanied me on Vhagar? I offered once.”

You shake your head immediately. “You offered two months after you first claimed her! I was only twelve!”

“You’re a woman grown now,” Aemond replies quickly, his voice low. “Would you ride her now?”

You meet his eyes and suddenly the silence of the library feels heavy, wrapping around you and holding you in place. His lips are curled at the corners and his eye is watching you carefully, burning you as if he was physically trailing his hands over you. The mad desire to reach over and grab his face and pull him close nearly takes over and you let out a shaky breath, trying to find control.

“Perhaps,” you say, moving as close to him as you dare. The heat of his body scalds you through the thick lining of your gown; somehow, you want more and more. “If you promise to make sure I land back on the ground after.”

“Vhagar respects nerve and cunning,” he responds, reaching over to pull the tax summary out of your grip. His hands brush your’s and you suck in a breath, praying that he didn’t notice. He smirks and you know you’ve failed. “You have that in shades, my lady. She wouldn’t harm you.”

You tap your fingers on the desk, looking down for a moment before you glance back up to meet his eyes. “Helaena once told me something of same. She said that Dreamfyre would never hurt me since Dreamfyre would never harm anyone she cares about.”

Aemond watches you and, for a moment, you think you’ve overstepped, but then he smiles at you, soft and gentle as if it’s only saved for you. “Helaena has always been wise where it counts.”

He turns back to his work and you reach for another sheet from his pile, if only to stop yourself from reaching for him.

——————————–

The hallway outside of the throne room is crowded with people and you fight to the urge to pick at your neckline or your sleeves, knowing that it was only the nervous energy affecting you. Your family was next to be called and, behind you, your cousins anxiously whisper with one another, your great uncles speaking to each other in low tones. As members of the main line, you, your uncle, and your father stand at the front. Your eyes scan the little you can of the throne room past the throng of people. What you can see is beautiful - large banners are strung up on the walls and beautiful flowers adorn the long feast tables.

Your eyes meet Lord Commander Harrold Westerling and he spares a smile for you, one you easily return. Johanna Lannister was his niece and, as her daughter, he was always kind to you even if he rarely crossed your path as he was usually assigned to the king. Finally, he looks over at your father and, after a nod, Jason begins to step forward.

“House Lannister, with their lord, Jason Lannister. Lord Paramount of the West and Master of Casterly Rock.” Ser Harrold’s voice rings loud and clear in the throne room though you can’t imagine much can hear him over the buzz of conversation. As one, your house all move as one, following behind Jason as he walks confidently down to the royal table in the shadow of the Iron Throne. Around you, some lords that notice bow their heads in greeting but the majority talk amongst themselves, ignoring your family’s entrance.

It rankles.

Lannisters used to be revered, you think, eying your father’s back as he continues forward. But now the Rock has five daughters and a babe for an heir. They think us weak and vulnerable.

You hold your head high, keeping your eyes locked on the royal table as you approach. A marriage to a dragon would help House Lannister reclaim its former glory but it would take more than that to ensure the realm remembered that the Lions of the Rock were still meant to be feared.

“Your grace, Lord Hand,” Jason greets, bowing low as he stops in front of the royal family. The rest of the Lannisters all follow behind and when you look back up, Aemond meets your eyes.

He nods his head in greeting and you nod back, eyes flitting over to his sister at his side. She looks pale, paler than usual, and in her hands, she grips a napkin, the fabric nearly tearing in her hands. She doesn’t notice you, her head bowed over her lap as if she’s in prayer. Next to her, the Queen Alicent speaks with your father, her eyes shifting over occasionally to check on her daughter.

The King is, predictably, absent. Otto Hightower sits in his place and you send a quick prayer to the Seven that Viserys coughs out a lung in his chambers while the welcoming feast takes place. It was the very least he deserved.

With a quick glance at Tyland, who nods his consent, you step away from your family and walk up the steps to stand in front of Helaena and Aemond, curtseying again when you slow to a stop.

“Your highnesses,” you murmur, eying Helaena with care. She doesn’t look as if she hears you, too preoccupied with shredding the napkin with her bare hands but you push forward. “I wanted to personally wish you, my princess, peace and prosperity in your upcoming marriage. I also wanted to vow that I would remain loyal at your side throughout it all.”

“Claws of gold, claws of green,” Helaena murmurs. “Shadows in the walls.”

You glance over at Aemond but he looks just as confused as you, carefully watching his sister for any sign that he needs to take her away from the feast for her comfort.

You move closer. “Helaena,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see House Tarbeck be announced. “I will not be able to accompany you during the feast but once the dancing starts, I’ll come up to help you if you need,”

She looks up suddenly, her eyes flashing. “A lioness will burn blood to protect her pride,” she insists, almost begging, and you stare back, helpless.

I’ll help you. I won’t let even Aegon hurt you if it’s in my power to stop it.

“I’ll be with her,” Aemond says to you quietly and you look at him with gratitude. “If you see me take her out, meet us in the hall outside the small council chamber. It should be quiet and empty there.”

You nod, wanting to say more, but your father calls your name and you’re forced to retreat with your family. Luckily, thanks to Tyland’s position as Master of Ships and your own closeness with the royal family, you aren’t seated far. On your side of the throne room, only the Hightowers are closer than you and, on the other side of the room, the Velaryon family sits, directly next to the royal table on Aegon and Daeron’s end.

You watch them carefully. Rhaenyra had unceremoniously rejected the wedding invitation, citing her pregnancy as a reason to stay on Dragonstone. It was an insult, a grievous one, to not even send her bastard sons or husband as an envoy. The cracks in House Targaryen grew ever wider and more obvious and, not for the first time in your life, you wonder why Viserys had named her heir if she wasn’t willing to dine with her own family to at least pretend there was peace amongst them. She needed allies - desperately. Viserys had yet to formally adjust succession laws and you had heard whispers everywhere you went about the King violating the laws that had allowed for his own ascension to the throne over Princess Rhaenys. Rhaenyra remained stubborn and blind in her pride, preferring to slight her half-brothers and sister rather than attempt to consolidate power to her claim.

Princess Rhaenys, however, seemed to be perfectly content with ignoring her good-daughter’s lead. Her house all sits around her, looking perfectly in place, as they talk cheerfully and calmly amongst themselves. At her side, however, Baela Targaryen sits, her head held high and her discomfort clear on her face.

You had heard that Baela had been separated from her twin and father, and shipped off to be fostered at Driftmark. You had also heard that it was Rhaenyra’s poor apology for marrying Daemon before her six months of mourning were up after Ser Laenor’s mysterious death, a grievous affront to House Velaryon. There were even rumors aplenty that the two had had Laenor killed to clear the way for their union, something that you knew had broken down the once firm alliance between the houses.

It was no small wonder that the Velaryons hadn’t snatched back Rhaena as well.

You feel a twing of pity for Baela before you remember that she had helped the Strong boys attack Aemond, that she had been the first to strike him, and you almost curl your lip in contempt. It’d be terribly funny, you think, for her to have helped Lucerys Velaryon take Aemond’s eye only to have him take something of even greater value from her - her own birthright, Driftmark.

Still, you had given Aemond your word. Baela Targaryen would have her comeuppance if you had anything to do with it but first, you needed to secure her and her grandmother to the side of the Hightowers.

Reaching for your goblet of wine, you take the tiniest of sips to settle yourself before turning back to your family. Jason has already charmed the Hightower ladies, all of them taken in by his easy grin and suave words. Across from him, Tyland is deep in a conversation with Lord Ormund Hightower, heads bowed towards each other as they talk about ships and lumber. You try to follow along with their conversation as best you can, eager to soak in more about your uncle’s position, but then the last house finishes greeting the royal family and all are seated.

A hush falls across the room as Otto Hightower rises to his feet, tall and striking in front of the Iron Throne. There’s little of his grandchildren in his features, save perhaps, his steely countenance. “In the King’s absence, he has asked me to speak for him and express his sincerest apologies for not being here in order to celebrate the union of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.”

Hidden safely in the crowd, you make a face at such a clear lie. Even if the King were in perfect health, you somehow doubt he would be willing to attend a celebration celebrating any child of his that wasn’t Rhaenyra. Aemond catches your eye and he smirks at the more than obvious look of scorn on your face.

“The crown would like to thank all of you and welcome you to the beginning of a weeklong celebration for the King’s eldest son and his youngest daughter. Together, they will serve the realm by cherishing the customs and laws of not only Old Valyria but of the Seven Kingdoms. May their example serve as a shining light for us all.” He claps his hands and servants pour out of the side doors, carrying trays and trays of endless food as the singers burst into song.

The room applauds his speech, cheering either his words or the beginning of the feast you don’t know, and you think about how it was not mere luck that had enabled Otto Hightower to climb to the most powerful seat in all of Westeros - maybe even including the Iron Throne. The King’s absence had given him the opportunity to throw the entire weight of the throne behind Aegon and Helaena and, by saying they were cherishing all of the customs of Westeros, had reminded nearly all the noble families of Westeros that, by rights, Aegon was the rightful heir and, in order to continue to uphold the laws they had vowed to protect, they needed to support his ascension.

It was a masterful move, you think, as a servant lays a plate in front of you. It was subtle enough that his true intentions could be denied but firm enough to cement his and his house’s stance on the matter. You glance up at the royal table and see Aegon, nearly as pale and withdrawn as his sister, firmly push away his plate in favor for reaching for another goblet. On the other side, Helaena, coaxed by her mother, has begun eating.

You can’t look for too long when one of your cousins calls your name and pulls you into a conversation about the most eligible bachelors in the Red Keep. More and more of your cousins join in and soon, you feel vaguely like a lecturing maester except your focus was the social climate of the royal court rather than medicine or astronomy. Your cousins all titter and giggle, eyes scanning the massive room to find the men that you were mentioning. They gossip and scheme and, when the plates are taken away and the center of the room made clear for dancing, they all prepare themselves to go search for potential husbands.

Before they can do that, however, a hush falls over the room as Aegon and Helaena rise from their places at the royal table and make their way toward the center. They both look impossibly pale, ethereal in the glow of the torches with their shining silver hair and glowing lilac eyes, and your cousins whisper about what a striking couple they make.

You clench your fists under the table.

The court musicians begin to play a song and the melancholic cry of a flute rises above it all to sing its melody. Aegon and Helaena face each other once they reach the center of the room and, after only a moment’s hesitation, they reach for each other and begin to dance.

It reminds you uncomfortably of when you were all children, before the betrothal between the two siblings had been announced, and Aegon and Aemond would join you and Helaena as dancing partners in your lessons. You remember how back then, during his good moods when he wasn’t distant and standoffish, Aegon would spin Helaena around the room, moving faster than you had ever seen him move in the training yard, and her shrieking laugh would echo in the room.

There is no laughter now. The two only stare at each other blankly, their faces cleared of emotion, as they move through the motions of the dance with no passion, no eagerness. The facade fools at least your cousins and they swoon about the two’s beauty. You want to hiss at them to shut up, to realize that this marriage was a mistake for all the good it would do to support their family, but instead, you bite your tongue, watching them dance resolutely.

Finally, the song ends and Aegon and Helaena stand together for one beat longer, long enough for it not to seem as if they were desperate to pull away from one another, before they separate. The room erupts into applause and, after a moment, you follow suit, clapping your hands. The dance floor is officially opened for the rest of the court and your cousins immediately disperse, seeking out the men they had narrowed in on earlier.

You nod your head at your father and uncle before heading after Helaena who has already retreated to the relative safety of the royal table. The rush of nobles to the dance floor crowd your way and you want to push and shove to get through quickly and only a lifetime of etiquette lessons keeps you from doing so. You just manage to escape the throng when an all too familiar figure steps in your way.

“My lady,” Victor Florent greets, bowing his head, and you fight the urge to roll your eye, instead smiling politely as you curtsey back. Since his arrival at court two years back, Victor Florent had become somewhat infatuated with you. At first, it had been flattering - you were young and he was five years older, somewhat handsome though the traditionally plain features of House Florent held him back. But then you had realized he was almost frighteningly dull. He seemed to think that you desired nothing more in the world than to find a good nobleman to father your children and to sit by a warm fireplace, stitching garments for your children until you were too old to move your fingers. The worst part was that he didn’t even mean it as an insult though, you took it as one to be sure.

He truly believed that you wanted that since he wanted that. He was the fourth son of Lord Erren Florent and his eldest brother’s wife had already given the Florents an heir and a spare. He would not rise higher than his station unless he fought to do so and he so clearly did not wish that. Because he thought that he, as a fourth son, was accepting of his lot in life, he could not ever consider that you, a third daughter, would ever want anything more.

He tended to trap you in conversations when he could and talk up his admittedly impressive achievements in tourneys and the sizable amount of gold he had squirreled away to support his future wife and any children she may have him. The fact that he meant to impress you, a Lannister who routinely wore jewelry that would cost him more than his savings could bear, with his funds was laughable. If you could have gotten away with it, you would have told him so.

As it stood, Uncle Tyland had made it clear to you that you weren’t meant to reject all the men who came to you straight out of hand, not even Victor. Men always desire that which other men crave and Prince Aemond, for all his talents and skills, is just a man at the end of the day, he told you and you had begrudgingly seen the logic in his reasoning. Aemond, however, did not seem to notice the rather strange popularity you had gained amongst the men of the court, never bringing it up to you. Plenty of other men have approached you though they always stopped rather quickly even if you were perfectly polite and cordial. A few had gone to your uncle to request more directly and he had always denied them, treating it as a fun game to find how he could insult them openly to their faces without them catching on. Victor Florent remained your only stubborn suitor.

“If I am permitted to say, my lady, you look like a vision tonight,” Victor says, eyes bright and cheeks rosy.

You stop yourself from replying ‘No, you are not permitted to say’, and instead you lower your eyes coquettishly to the ground. “Thank you, my lord. Now, if you would pardon me, I believe I promised Princess Helaena that I would find her once the dancing began.”

You move to side step him but Victor is that much faster, blocking your path. “Oh but wait, please. I was just about to ask you if you would do me the honor of being my first dance.”

He’s persistent, I’ll give him that you think and you apologetically shake your head. “I’m sorry, Ser, but I must attend to the princess and I do not know how long she may need me for. I would hardly wish to be holding you back from any of the other ladies in the court.” You look over and spot one of your cousins, standing against the wall as she speaks cheerfully to a girl you recognize from House Marbrand. “My cousin, the Lady Jocasta, is just over there. I’m sure she would be so ever pleased to dance with such as a talented knight such as yourself.”

His cheeks explode with red and it would be charming if he wasn’t blocking your way. “I will do so, my lady, if you ask, but really, I must ask that you save a dance for me at one of the other feasts?”

You smile tightly. “Of course, Ser Victor. I promise I will make every attempt to do so.”

Victor’s face brightens at that. “I saw that your father has come to the capitol as well. Perhaps we can arrange a tea or luncheon soon?”

You nearly roll your eyes. His intentions were clear - your uncle had denied him but perhaps your father would not. You could see his exact logic. Tyland only took care of you and was openly fond of you as his ward and niece. He would value your hand more than perhaps your father, responsible for four other dowries, would. “My father is a busy man, my lord,” you respond, a tad more chilly than you had intended but Victor does not seem to notice, still too star-struck by you. “I fear his schedule would be too busy for such a… meeting of small consequence. He is Warden of the West and I do not wish to take up his important time. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

This time, he allows you to walk away, hastily bidding you farewell, and you shoot up a prayer to the Seven that your father will not make any poor decisions if Victor chooses to approach him now when he was in his cups. Jason would never fail so miserably and give your hand away like that but, if Victor was somewhat intelligent about it, you fear that your father would agree to a meeting and that sounded like a miserable affair.

Quickly enough, you reach the royal table and nod in greeting at Aemond and Helaena as you quickly claim Queen Alicent’s chair that she has abandoned in order to walk around the room and socialize, sitting on the other side of Helaena.

Helaena sends you a shaky smile, still clearly out of her element. She seems moments away from bolting from the throne room and you don’t blame her. “Is Ser Victor still bothering you?”

You sigh, even as Aemond lets out a too-sharp laugh. “I managed to escape more quickly this time though perhaps not quick enough. He seems determined to get a meeting with my father before this week is out.”

“Would Lord Lannister be inclined to give him one?” Aemond asks, fingers tapping on the table.

You finally roll your eyes. “Perhaps if he catches him at the right moment. He’s a lovestruck fool if he thinks that my father or my mother would consent to such a match. I may be the third daughter of five but I’m still a Lannister. He offers me nothing but comfort he says.”

Aemond smirks. “You never did like the stories about giving up nobility for the arms of your lover.”

“Some of them make for pretty songs, my prince,” you say, looking back out at the crowded dance floor. You can’t make out Victor or Tyland but you can see Jason laughing in a corner, talking with Lord Tyrell. “But in reality, lords and ladies have duties to fulfill and their houses to honor. Lann the Clever did not win the Rock for me to disgrace it by throwing away all it has given me to live with a household knight. I was born and I live to serve and better my house and the Westerlands.”

Helaena nods, eyes shining. “Lions will soar high above the rest.”

You smile wryly. “Besides, if I marry poorly, Jeyne and Joy will not stand a chance in the marriage market. If for nothing else, I will seek a better match to better their odds.”

“We all have our duties,” Aemond agrees. “We all have our roles to fulfill. Shame that so many are comforted by what is easy.”

“Indeed,” you reply. “I’ll find a match, one that is worthy of my house and suits me.”

Aemond hums. “And what sort of marriage would suit you?”

You look over at him but his blazing eyes are already on you. Your breath catches and it’s only Helaena between the two of you that keeps you steady. “I will not suffer a fool or a craven as a husband,” you finally say, voice firm. “I will only marry a man whose ferocity matches the lions that live within the walls of Casterly Rock.”

A slow smile spreads on Aemond’s face. “I can’t imagine you submitting to any other.”

“Who said anything about submitting, my prince?” You fire back and he laughs in earnest. Even Helaena breaks out in giggles, shooting you a playfully scolding glance.

You watch them, grinning and your chest glowing warmly. A rush of emotion fills you and you almost want to burst out about how much you care for the both of them, in drastically different ways but both equally as deep. You’d do whatever it takes to keep them both safe and the intensity of your devotion would frighten you if it hadn’t been a fact that you had always known deep down since Driftmark.

More than customs and laws, more than any true desire to see Aegon on the throne, you want to give them the throne because it is what they deserve. Helaena was born to be a loving and gentle queen, a mother to all of the Seven Kingdoms. The world didn’t deserve it but it needed to see her as you saw her - the sweetest and kindest girl to ever live. Aemond was made to be a protector of the realms. If Aegon was king, he would be Hand and, just as Otto to Viserys, he would be the true power on the throne. Your children by him could inherit the real power, not a throne that you had realized meant less and less. You would make it so. Together, House Lannister and House Targaryen could create a power and forge a legacy that the kingdoms had not seen since Aegon the Conquerer.

You want to tell them both this. You want to tell them you’ll gift them both Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms because that, more than dowries and marriages and gold, is the greatest gift a Lannister could ever hope to give them but you don’t.

Instead, you smile at the both of them, wishing you could find the words to say it all to them.

“I think I will retire soon,” Helaena says softly, once her laughter has subsided. “It’s too… loud.”

You nod, already rising to your feet. “I can inform your mother.”

Aemond shakes his head, already out of his chair. “I can do that. It would hardly do for Ser Victor to accost you again, would it?”

A laugh escapes you. “Thank you, my prince, I would avoid that if I can. Take care that he doesn’t try to trap you in conversation about me as he has to my uncle several times before. I imagine he pestered my poor cousin Jocasta for details on me.”

His eyes brighten with that, suddenly eager. “I hope he does. I have plenty to tell him.”

“Please don’t maim someone at my wedding,” Helaena cuts in, frowning. “We are not Dothraki. A marriage is not blessed if someone dies during the festivities.”

“No, sister, I don’t imagine it is. I assume it’s quite the opposite,” Aemond teases, his face softening as he looks at her annoyed face. “I would not curse you like that.”

“You might curse Prince Aegon like that,” you retort and he shakes his head, giving you one final small smile before he descends from the royal table and joins the mesh of people. It’s easy enough to track him - he stands taller than most of the crowd and his silver hair is a beacon, even amongst the colorful attire of the court. You watch him for a few more moments but turn back to Helaena.

She’s smiling at you, mischievous and you wonder if it’s too late to take back your earlier mental praise of your character. “It seems that your wedding will go much more cheerfully than mine.”

You shake your head. “Is that another one of your strange predictions?” You ask, feeling a flash of anxiety at being laid bare in front of her like that. She had never hinted that she had noticed the relationship between you and her brother and your desire to nurture it to flourish into more.

Helaena’s smile only grows. “I don’t need that to see the truth.” She turns away to you to walk away and, as she does and you follow, she looks over her shoulder at you, eyes bright and glazed over. “Lions will ride dragons someday.”

You try your best not to trip.

#aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #we're in it now lads #victor listens to midnight rain btw and cries himself to sleep

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skyward-floored · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 31: Emptiness, (“I thought that I was getting better”)

Last one finally! ...a day late, but hey, at least I’m close, right..? This may be a bit rambly and headcanony, but it’s something. It’s done. I finished it.

Thank you everyone for supporting me this year! I appreciate you all more then words can say <3

Read on ao3

Warnings: pretty light, discussion of death and grief, mild mention of blood.

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Rusl was familiar to Wind.

Well, okay not exactly, he wasn’t one of those people that popped up no matter what era they were in or anything (like Beedle, seriously what was up with that?), but he was familiar in a different way.

One that made Wind’s chest feel weird whenever he looked at him.

The sailor swallowed, and looked down at his full plate of food, the others chattering loudly around him.

They’d finally ended up at Twilight’s home village, and the rancher was ecstatic, showing the Links all around Ordon, and introducing them to his family. It was late in the day when they’d arrived, and after showing them all around, Rusl and Uli had invited them all for dinner, insisting despite the large number of them.

They’d all piled in their house, the space a bit tight with eight extra people, but they managed, and set out a big meal for everyone.

It was chaos, everyone talking, passing food, holding Twilight’s baby sister, but despite everything going on, Wind found his gaze drawn continually towards Rusl, and Twilight and Colin as well. They were all sitting next to each other, and kept smiling, and laughing, and despite the delicious-smelling food in front of him, Wind had lost his appetite.

Twilight said something Wind didn’t catch over the din, but Rusl laughed at whatever it was he’d said, squeezing Twilight’s shoulder with a fond look on his face.

Wind felt the weird pit in his stomach suddenly grow, and he quietly slid off his seat, slipping out the door without barely a sound. Nobody seemed to notice him leave, and he stepped out into the night, closing the door and blocking most of the noise from inside. Cool air met him, and he breathed in deeply, shaking himself as he lingered on the doorstep.

The image of Rusl and Twilight together flashed suddenly in his mind, and Wind crossed his arms, kicking at a pebble on the ground.

Why was he feeling so weird about this? Twilight was finally home and able to visit his family, Wind should be feeling happy for him, right? He got to be with his whole village, and his little brother, and baby sister, and his parents...

Something stung in his chest again, and Wind swallowed.

Was that really what it was?

This... that was stupid, he wasn’t jealous of Twilight’s family! He had Grandma and Aryll! That was more than most of the other heroes had at all, some of them didn’t have any family, so why—

Why did seeing Rusl ruffle Twilight and Colin’s hair make a pit open in his stomach?

Happy laughter came from inside, and Wind felt the pit get deeper, something cold rising in his chest.

He suddenly couldn’t stand the idea of going back inside. Wind turned from the house and stalked away through the village, the moon shining too calmly for his mood. He circled the village a few times, then eventually found a secluded spot behind a house by the stream, throwing off his shoes and dunking his feet in.

The water was a little cold, chilly from the coming autumn, but Wind didn’t care, swishing his feet around.

A distant trill of music floated on the wind, and Wind hunched over himself as the tune changed to a different one in his head. He remembered his parents dancing to songs like that, and eavesdropping from his bed at night so he could hear them sing.

There was less music after Aryll was born, but it could still be found, and Wind still remembered his father quietly singing up at the lookout tower, Aryll asleep in his arms as Wind tried to fill in the missing harmony.

And even after that, Wind and Aryll still sang, to the seagulls outside, and with their grandmother when they helped her make soup. Sometimes Wind still sang Aryll to sleep when he was home, and they’d curl up together and he’d hum lullabies he’d learned on his travels.

“...Wind?”

Wind startled, and turned to see that Sky had walked up behind him without him noticing.

“We were wondering where you’d slipped off to, Uli was about to serve dessert,” he said warmly. Then his smile dimmed a little as he looked at Wind’s face, and he hesitated. “...is everything okay?”

Wind swallowed, then turned back to the water, not sure what to say.

Was everything fine? He’d thought it was, but the empty hole in his stomach spoke otherwise. He should probably tell Sky to just go back and eat dessert with everyone else, but for some reason those words didn’t come out.

“...Do you remember your parents?” Wind asked shakily, and Sky let out a quiet oh, moving to sit down next to him.

He looked out at the water for a moment, then took off his boots as well, dipping his toes in next to Wind’s.

“I do somewhat,” Sky replied, his voice soft. “My father and mother were both knights, though my father took it much more seriously. He was always patrolling, and practiced with the sword whenever he could, he helped train people to use it actually. My mother was more laidback like me, and mostly preferred just flying with her loftwing though. Apparently she was the best rider Skyloft had seen in a long time, she saved a lot of people.”

His smile dipped, and he breathed out.

“They both died when I was about seven.”

“I’m sorry,” Wind said quietly, and Sky gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I still miss them of course, but... in more of a good way, if that makes any sense.”

Wind crinkled his eyebrows, but he didn’t really have time to think that through, since Sky then gave him a searching look. Wind squirmed a little under the scrutiny, and looked back out at the water.

“Do you remember yours?” Sky asked softly, and Wind swallowed.

“Kind of,” he whispered, his mind falling back to one of his earliest memories. “My... mom died when Aryll was born. I don’t remember a lot about her, but I remember that night. There... there was a lot of blood.”

He paused and glanced at Sky, seeing that the Skyloftian was watching him with a gently sympathetic look on his face.

“My dad didn’t die until Aryll was three,” Wind continued, clearing his throat. “I remember more about him, he... he loved the ocean. Loved the waves and wind, and sailing. He went out on his boat a lot, but he’d never be gone too long, and he’d always throw me up in the air and catch me when he got back,” he finished with a smile, old laughs ringing in his ears.

Then they faded, and he felt his smile slip away.

“Sailing is hazardous, though. A storm blew up after he left to trade at Windfall once, and... nobody’s seen him since.”

Sky set his hand on his shoulder, and Wind swallowed again.

“I’m sorry Wind,” Sky said gently, and Wind gave him a small shrug.

“At least I have some memories of them. Aryll doesn’t remember Mom at all, and she barely remembers Dad. A-and at least I know who they were, I mean Wild doesn’t know anything about his family, and Four barely remembers his mother, and I don’t even know if Legend ever had parents and—”

“Sailor,” Sky interrupted carefully, and Wind looked at him, his throat tight. “...Where’s all of this coming from?”

“I...”

Wind clenched his fists, feeling that huge empty feeling in his stomach again.

“How come Twilight has a whole family?!” he burst out, feeling his lip tremble. “He’s got two whole siblings and parents that love him and are still alive and he gets to be around them and love them and I’m happy for him, I am but how come he’s the only one of us? Why doesn’t Time get to have parents? Or Warriors? Why did b-both of our parents have to die, it’s not fair Sky!”

Sky pulled an arm around Wind’s shoulder, and to his horror he realized he was crying, tears dripping into the water they were still dipping their feet in.

“I-it’s not fair,” he choked out, and Sky didn’t reply, gently rubbing his shoulder.

Wind let out a thick sniffle, mopping his sleeve over his face, and Sky held him a little tighter, a sigh escaping his lips.

“...I wish I had a good answer for you Wind,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Other then me just agreeing with you that you’re right, life isn’t fair. I... I don’t know why most of us lost our families. Maybe it’s due to us being heroes, maybe it’s just a big coincidence, I truly don’t know.”

Something deeply grieved flickered over Sky’s face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

“...I know it hurts, Sailor. It’ll probably hurt the rest of our lives,” Sky said as he closed his eyes, the moonlight somehow softening his features. “And we can’t bring our parents back, no matter how badly we’d like to. But... for me at least... I’ve had so many people in my life who’ve filled that role in their absence.”

Wind looked at him again, and Sky gave him a small, grieved smile.

“Zelda’s father, all the teachers at the knight academy... everyone on Skyloft, really. They’ve cared for me like my parents did, and while they’ll never replace them, they’re also my family. It’s a lot like that for Twilight too.”

“What do you mean?” Wind asked, and Sky looked at the water again.

“I guess you hadn’t joined us yet when we had that conversation... Rusl and Uli adopted Twilight, they’re not his birth parents,” Sky explained, and Wind’s eyes widened. “All of Ordon helped raise him, like Skyloft did for me, but he says he just ended up here one day. He has no idea what happened to his birth parents.”

“...Really?” Wind asked, and Sky nodded.

“Really.”

The weird hole in Wind’s stomach shifted again, and he felt even more miserable, staring down at his feet. For some reason the information only made him feel worse, and he felt Sky’s arm give him a little squeeze.

“Wind... you lost your parents a lot more recently then I did,” Sky said after a moment’s silence, and ran a gentle hand through Wind’s hair. “It’s okay to miss them.”

Wind swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat.

“I... I guess I thought I’d gotten over it,” Wind said thickly, voice shaking. “And then I saw R-Rusl and I just...”

A loud hiccup escaped him, and Sky gave him a squeeze.

“Even with Grandma, and Aryll, and L-Linebeck and Tetra and everyone I just... I miss them,” he finished in an embarrassing squeak. “And Rusl j-just... he looks like my dad.”

Sky didn’t say anything, just let him cry into his shoulder, and Wind shut his eyes and leaned against him a little more.

He didn’t know how long Sky sat with him, holding him while he cried, but it was long enough that his feet had started to feel numb in the water they were dipped in.

Wind shivered a little as his tears had finally slowed, the pit in his stomach feeling a little less empty as he wiped his face again. Then he looked up at Sky, the Skyloftian’s eyes looking a little red themselves.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Sky let out a wet chuckle, wiping his own eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright. You ready to head back?” he asked gently, and Wind hesitated a moment, then nodded, pulling his feet out of the water.

“Yeah, I... I think I’m... okay,” he said, and was a little surprised to find that he meant it. “Thanks Sky. Sorry for all the...”

Sky gave his shoulder a squeeze before he could continue.

“No problem, Sailor,” he smiled. “A good cry never hurt anyone. Now... let’s go see if somehow the others didn’t devour all the pie.”

Wind grinned. “Well if they did, I bet we can guilt Wild into making us more. I could sniffle and everything.”

Sky laughed, and Wind joined him as the two headed back across the village, the moon gently lighting their path.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu sky #linked universe fanfic #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #day 31 #emptiness #I thought that I was getting better #writing from the floor #WHEW #we're finally done lads!!!#oof this year was rough #though it turns out i wrote over 80k soooo that might be why #nanowrimo has nothing on me #...but yeah I'm definitely burnt out now heh #time for a writing break

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