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jamespotterismydaddy · 5 months

Text

Spoil of War

dark!aegon x niece!reader

summary: aegon enjoys his time with his prisoner of war

A/N: my bad y'all, it took me forever to get this up

TW: MAJOR DUBCON, smut!!, bondage, incest, violence, kidnapping, degradation, body worship perhaps

word count: 2,245 words

You sit in your childhood bedroom, stewing with your thoughts. It was all so quick, the battle with Daeron, the demise of your dragon. You should be grateful; she spent her last moments cushioning your fall so you wouldn’t die on impact, but you can’t help thinking that you would be better off dead. There’s hardly anything worse than being a prisoner of war, except being Aegon’s prisoner of war.

Speak of the Devil, Aegon has the guards open your chamber doors and the smug bastard strolls in. “Ah, my sweet niece. I finally have the chance to lay my eyes on you.” He regards your nightgown with great interest. You haven’t had a chance to dress yourself for the day yet. “You’ve been quite the subject of controversy as of late.” He says with a light smirk.

“Which part is controversial, the fact that you’re keeping me prisoner, usurper?” You say back to him with spite.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. It’s a temporary situation.” He says, unconcerned as he walks over to your dining table of untouched food and picks up an apple, taking a bite of it. “Once your mother bends the knee, i’ll return you to her. It’s as easy as that.”

“Or they’ll take control of King’s Landing and Daemon will slaughter you where you stand.” You’ve never heard your voice filled with such hate before as when you speak now.

“Come on, the threats are hardly necessary. You are safe with us - for the time being.” He makes a stupid joking cringe face at the second part of his sentence. “You could do with being more amicable.”

“Amicable? I’m your fucking prisoner and if her Grace the Queen doesn’t bend the knee to your spoiled, traitorus ass, you’ll execute me.”

“War doesn’t often give you many options. And you, my dear niece, are a very valuable bargaining chip.” As he speaks, you know he takes the utmost pleasure in you being in his control. You want to wipe the smug grin off his face.

You reach for the piece of glass you had hidden, ever so slowly. You feel your hand clutch it and your gaze is filled with rage as you launch yourself at him. “You traitor!” You aim for his throat with the sharp point but he catches your arm. The broken glass barely grazes him, leaving only the thinnest line of blood as proof of your attack. He twists your arm and the piece of glass clatters to the floor. Your uncle releases you only so he can backhand you so hard that you fall to the floor.

“Gods, you’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He wipes the drip of the blood off his neck. “Clever girl, going for the throat.” He laughs at you. You just tried to kill him and he laughs at you.

You glare up at him, your face distraught and full of vengeance. You quickly reach for the glass that you had dropped but as soon as you manage to grip it again, Aegon kicks you in the stomach. You curl into yourself, whimpering.

“Okay that’s enough of that. Guards!” The guards immediately enter the room, ready to defend their king. “Restrain her. Use… rope.” He has a certain look on his face as he says the last word, seemingly pleased with himself as he struts out of the room.

You’re left on your knees, by the fireplace for an hour until Aegon returns. Your hands behind your back, the bindings keeping you in place. There is, what you consider to be, an unnecessary amount of rope tied around your body that is seemingly for decoration, for your uncle’s pleasure.

“Are you calm now?” He asks as he strides back into your chamber with arrogance. “I wasn’t sure what the cool down time was for Strong bastards.” His stare is hungry as he looks upon you. “What a pleasant sight, my combative niece tied up at my feet.” He almost mumbles the last part.

“I will be calm when I watch your body burn.” There is heat in your words, your threats.

“That is a lot of big talk for a girl who is kneeling for her king. You’re much more desirable like this… when you’re helpless beneath my gaze.” His fingertips graze under your chin, tilting it up so you have to look at him. You jerk your head away.

“Don’t touch me!” You spit at his feet.

“Silly to say such things when you’re at my mercy.” He kneels down to look at you better, his fingers run along your soft hair. “I’ve never been more tempted. And i’ve been tempted many, many times.” He leans in to whisper in your ear. “I had forgotten how divine you are.”

You know where he’s going with this, what he wants. His finger trails down your nightgown, to your breast, giving it a light squeeze. “You’ll burn in the Seven Hells for this!” You say as you fight against your restraints.

He ignores your words. “If I were a more brazen man, i’d ravish you right here and now… oh wait.” He chuckles at his own joke.

The fire burns bright behind you and his dagger gleams in the warm light as he unsheathes it. He cuts one of the cap sleeves of your nightgown. “You have no right.” Your eyes flare bolder than dragonflame as you speak.

“Oh, my lovely sweet niece, I absolutely have the right because you are under my protection. If I want to rip that nightgown off and ravage you, who’s going to stop me?” He says sadistically… lustfully as he cuts the other cap of your gown.

“It’s not a proper way to treat an important bargaining chip.” You say softly. To be truthful, younger you would be preening at the chance to be so close to Aegon. Up until now, you had thought that part of you had died with Luke. Now, he’s so close, so... alluring.

“It’s not, but when have I ever been known to behave properly?” He then cuts your nightgown off of you, down the middle and as swiftly as he can without cutting through your bonds, leaving you naked other than the smallclothes that barely cover your lower half.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you almost completely naked. His hand falls to your thigh, rubbing the smooth soft skin. “You’ve always had such a lovely figure, niece.”

You flinch and squirm some more. And then you begin to scream bloody murder. Aegon winces before grabbing part of your torn nightgown and shoving it in your mouth. “Such a noisy girl. Now, that’s better. You shouldn’t scream so much. I only intend to show you a good time. I promise you’ll love it.” He smirks again. “Well… i’ll love it.”

His other hand trails up your navel, to your breast, giving it another squeeze. He then pushes you back on the flocculent carpet and what a sight you make with your hair splayed around you and your pretty mouth gagged. The pillows are strewn about you, in place so you can sit as close to the crackling fire as you wish. Now, it has become the perfect scene for Aegon to take you. He looks at you as if you are the maiden herself, descended from the heavens to be gifted to him. To him, your fairness outmatches Psyche… it outmatches Aphrodite.

“You don’t know how long I have waited for this, princess.” He then rips your remaining small clothes off, leaving you completely nude. His eyes just rake over you for a moment before he speaks. “Ah, a sight I could get used to.” He leans down to kiss your breast, focusing on your nipple, focusing on making you feel good? He litters little marks all over before moving to the other and giving it the same attention. He then begins to methodically kiss down your chest, to your tummy, past your navel. You know what he intends his final destination to be. You keep your legs clamped firmly shut, not fully because you want him to stop, and partly because of the wetness that lies between your thighs.

“Hm, a little shy, are we? How sweet…” It isn’t difficult for him to pry your legs open and he grins at the sight of you dripping for him. “Naughty little girl, all wet for her uncle.”

You turn your heat to the side so you don’t have to make eye contact with him. He grabs your chin and turns your head back. “No. You will watch as I fuck you with my tongue.” You try not to groan as he licks up between your legs, his eyes on yours as his pupils blow wide. He kisses, licks and nips at you, taking you to places in pleasure you’ve never been before. When his tongue pierces your entrance, you can’t stop the whimper that falls from your lips. You hope the gag muted the sound enough that he wouldn’t hear, but your hopes are dashed when he lifts his head.

“I think I want to hear all the pretty little sounds that you make. No more screaming though. Unless, they’re screams of gratification.” He pulls the torn cloth from your mouth but you keep your lips stubbornly sealed. He shakes his head and chuckles before he is between your thighs again. The man eats you like you’re his last meal but you don’t let a single sound out, much to his displeasure even if he can tell that you don’t do it with ease.

“Why must you be so difficult?” He asks exasperatedly.

“I want you dead.” He rolls his eyes at the statement. “Perhaps you aren’t as good at pleasuring women as you believe.” That pisses him off.

“You’re such a little liar.” He flips you over so your ass is in the air and your chest and face are squished into a cushion, your hands unable to hold you up due to their bindings. “Perhaps I need to fuck that bratty behaviour out of you.” He says and you hear the rustling of clothes behind you. You know he’s undressing and you know there’s no way you can stop him from taking you now, not with how you have pissed him off, not with how your cunt is so deliciously presented to him. But it won’t stop you from trying.

“Aegon don’t you dare.” You say with all the confidence you can muster. You don’t fear your maidenhood being taken, you fear the possibility of a bastard being put in your belly.

“Don’t you ever presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, wench.” With that, he shoves himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. You let out a strangled moan and he laughs. “No keeping your sounds to yourself now.” He then begins to piston himself into you, the head of him brushing your cervix with each thrust. You feel so full every time his hips meet yours. “Gods i’ve never felt a cunt so tight and wet.” His hands grip your hips roughly so he can bring them back with each thrust, making it feel like he’s hitting deeper inside of you.

“Aegon…” You whine out and squeeze a little around him.

“You like it, don’t you? You like it when your uncle fucks you. I’ve taken you as a prisoner and now you’re moaning in pleasure as I use you. What would your brothers think, what would your mother think, if they saw you taking my cock so well?”

You just whine his name again in response, your head too cloudy to give him an answer.

“I want you to say it. Say how much you love having me inside you.” He fucks into you so deeply that all you want to do is obey.

“I l-ove it, uncle. I love it when you fuck me.” You whimper out again as he stretches you so perfectly.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” His finger comes between your legs to rub your clit and you almost scream. “God, you’re such a little cockslut. Am I your first, little niece?”

“Y-Yes…” You say softly and he grins.

“I thought so. Nobody gets so worked up like a maiden.” He rubs you harder, so fast that you see stars. You begin to squirm a little as your walls begin to squeeze around his thick cock.

He grasps your hair at the roots and pulls your head back so you have to look him in the eye. “That’s right, cum around my cock, baby. Do it.” You fully reach your peak with his command. He watches your face contort with pleasure as you finish around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm. He gives a few more hard thrusts before spilling his seed in you. “Good girl.”

You wince as he pulls out, feeling empty now. He easily manoeuvres you back to your knees and stands up with you at his feet. He tilts your chin up so you have to look him in the eye again.

“I’ll be visiting you much more often now. You don’t have the kind of cunt a man can handle only fucking once.” His thumb strokes your cheek. For the depravity he speaks, his voice is surprisingly soft

“I hate you.”

He smiles gently. “Hate me all you want. I can take it.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

#aegon targaryen #aegon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon x reader #aegon smut #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd smut

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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Fall from the Heavens

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, humiliation, bullying, chauvinism ]

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

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

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had always felt that he lacked something. Part of him claimed that if a dragon had hatched from his egg, things would have been different, however, years later, he recognised that this was not entirely true.

Aegon had a gift for light-hearted conversation, an ironic humour that he lacked. He kept telling him to smile at last, to get his nose out of his books, that he was boring, perpetually serious and withdrawn. He preferred to spend time with Jace and Luke − they were louder and funnier than him, they understood him, they had dragons, they had what he was missing.

They didn't spare unpleasant comments even to their own sister, calling her a hamster, most likely referring to her rosy, firm cheeks and big eyes.

He could see that she was running away from them crying, but he wasn't going to comfort her. She was a girl, her world seemed to him as distant as Essos, completely incomprehensible to him, filled with beautiful gowns, embroidery and music.

The only thing they had in common was books.

They bumped into each other occasionally in the library, and although at first they simply pretended not to see one another, one day she dared to sit next to him as he looked through the family tree of their ancestors.

"What are you doing?" She asked, placing the large volume on the table in front of them with difficulty. He huffed as the dust that rose with her movement reached his nostrils, out of the corner of his eye he noticed that it was The Great History of Aegon the Conqueror.

He did not reply, turning the page of the book, not knowing why he should explain it to her.

He didn't believe her, didn't trust her, didn't want her.

She was a bastard, though she probably didn't know it herself, wallowing in riches like a princess even though she didn't deserve them.

He didn't want her pity, attention or anything else she could give him.

He didn't want to be her second choice, the place she ran to because her brothers were mean to her; he had his own, in his mind very adult, worries and he didn't want to listen to hers.

"Is this a book dedicated to our family history?" She asked softly, leaning out so that she could see what he was reading. She stood up coming closer to him and he pressed his lips together when he smelled her pleasant scent, some intense vanilla oil.

He felt a tightening and burbling in his stomach at the thought of the cake that smelled similar, which his mother had ordered to be baked for his Name Day a few months earlier.

"Ah, our family tree. Where are we?" She asked cheerfully, as if intrigued, and he sighed heavily, reluctantly flipping forward a few pages, tracing their line with his finger, showing her a place at the very end.

He swallowed loudly as he saw how Laenor Velaryon was written in the space where her father was inscribed, trying not to smile with mockery.

She leaned lower, looking at the area he had pointed at and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different they were, apart from the obvious fact that he was a man and she was a woman.

His eyelashes were almost white and translucent and hers were black, long, surrounding her shining eyes, making them seem even bigger to him. His skin was pale, thin as parchment when hers was flushed and full of life, her lips plump and moist, her nose shapely and straight, the contour of her face gentle as his jaw was outlined sharply.

And finally, his hair, the colour of Targaryen's, the white she lacked, her luscious black curls falling gently down her back was visible proof of who her father was.

Although he liked to mock her in spirit, he couldn't say she was ugly or repulsive.

"Would you marry Helaena if our King so commanded?" She asked curiously, glancing sideways at his seated figure. He lifted his gaze to her and sighed heavily, figuring that nothing would happen if he spoke to her for a while.

She was simply bored, just like him, and he didn't get the impression that she had come to entertain herself at his expense.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes. I would do my duty as a Prince and son of the King." He said lowly, solemnly, fiddling between his fingers with the page of the book he had just looked at, crossing his legs − even though he was still a child, he was trying to sound and look like a man.

She cocked her head, clearly genuinely intrigued by his statement, a wide smile on her face.

"Are you in love with her?" She asked as if it was obvious, as if she was encouraging him to reveal his little secret to her. He looked at her in disbelief, not knowing what to make of her question. He swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, feeling his heart pounding fast.

What did it matter?

"Well…she's my sister. Of course I love her." He replied coolly, feeling strange with the words on his tongue, as if there was something inappropriate about them.

"I love Jace too, but I'm not in love with him. There's a difference." She said with a kind of calmness and wisdom that surprised him; she stood beside him looking at him with a gentle expression on her face that consternated him.

Why were they even having this conversation?

Still, her words made him feel a tightness in his throat, a realisation that he understood what she meant, but didn't want to admit it.

The tenderness of falling in love, the poems and the late-night frolicking were the domain of women's imagination, which unfortunately then had to collide with the cruel reality. He was a man, however, and he had no intention of getting into these deep divagations of the weaker sex.

"Don't be naïve. Marriage is not meant to be a pleasure. It is meant to be a sacrifice for the good of the kingdom, to secure its needs." He said dryly, turning back to the page he had been reading earlier, frustrated for some reason by her remark.

She did not speak again, returning to her seat, sinking into reading the gigantic volume dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

Although he could have done it in his chamber, he had been coming to the library to read ever since and always met her in the same place. Although they didn't appoint themselves, they both had their assignments until midday and would turn up there to read immediately afterwards, sitting next to each other, exchanging thoughts in passing.

He was afraid that Aegon would see them one day, but fortunately he never ventured into the abyss of the library, few people went there and he felt reasonably safe.

Usually it was she who asked him questions and he was the one who answered her. He felt some sort of empowerment because of this, at last there was someone who appreciated his knowledge and rhetoric, who listened intently to his opinion.

"I would like to be like Rhaenys in the future." She said softly and he looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Rhaenys? What's interesting about her? Visenya could fight with a sword and she rode the largest dragon still alive in this world. If I had a choice, I would marry her." He said without thinking, recognising that it would be wonderful to have by his side a woman who could wield a sword perfectly, with a sharp tongue and temperament, who would be a born warrior like him.

He saw his niece raise an eyebrow in amusement, a sort of childlike joy on her face, her eyes shining.

"Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise. Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys." She said mockingly, as if immensely pleased that she could take the argument out of his hand. He pressed his lips together at her remark and shrugged his shoulders, returning to his reading.

He didn't care what men and women did at night − his mother had told him that he shouldn't bother with it for the time being, and he had decided that there was in fact no need to, until his father called on him one morning.

"− no −" He heard his mother's voice, leaning over the table where the tired King sat, looking at her as if half asleep. "− I do not agree, Viserys, it's not −"

She did not finish, hearing his footsteps and folded her arms in front of her, trying to calm herself, letting out a loud breath. His father nodded at him to come closer, which he did obediently, feeling his heart pounding hard.

His father had never yet called on him on any serious matter.

"I have just been discussing with your mother the importance of our family, of our kingdom remaining united. Although I have agreed that, according to tradition, your sister should marry your brother and not your nephew, I would like you to be the one to bring House Targaryen together anew, and that you should marry the daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor in the future." He said calmly, with each finished sentence tapping his fingers on the table top, as if to add some finality and certainty to his words that he was convinced this was the right thing to do.

"− this is ridiculous − Aemond should secure our kingdom with a marriage to the daughter of one of the lords who can benefit us −" His mother began impatiently, her husband sighed loudly, exhausted.

"And who should receive this honour? The Starks? The Arryns? The Baratheons? No choice would be good, for someone would always feel disadvantaged. Marriage within the family will not outrage anyone on the outside, and will only strengthen what has been strained." He said with conviction; the Queen swallowed hard, shaking her head, finally looking at him as if she was certain he abhorred the idea as much as she did.

"− Aemond, you don't have to agree −" She said in a trembling voice, and he swallowed hard, looking at the stone floor beneath his feet, feeling his heart pounding hard.

Bastard or not, the dragon's blood flowed in her, as it did in him. She didn't despise or mistreat him. She knew what duty and obligation meant.

He reasoned that although he would have preferred to have a female warrior by his side, in fact the idea of marrying her did not reject him. He preferred her to the daughter of some common lord.

In his own way, he even liked her.

He grunted, feeling proud to rise to the occasion and fulfil his father's desire.

"If it is my King's wish, I will marry her, for the sake of the kingdom and our family." He said lowly, looking him straight in the eyes, standing upright, his hands folded in front of him.

He felt a tightening in his throat as his father smiled at him sincerely, for the first and last time in his life.

"So it's decided."

He didn't know how the message had been conveyed to his betrothed, however he could see by the look on her face as she ran into the library, all red with emotion, that someone had made her aware of what had happened and he felt a twist in his stomach.

He was afraid she would make it clear to him that she didn't want him, that she abhorred him, that she had no intention of marrying a man who didn't have a dragon of his own.

As she approached him however her eyes sparkled, she laughed as if she didn't believe it.

"Is it true?" She asked breathing loudly and he swallowed hard, nodding his head, looking at her with wide eyes.

"I'm so happy." She giggled sweetly, warmly, covering her mouth with her hand, as if someone had just given her a wonderful surprise.

He felt some kind of heat in his chest, an affection towards her, a gratitude for her faithfulness, for her devotion, for the fact that she respected him.

He was shocked to think that she would make a good wife.

Aegon laughed at him, not understanding where his lack of objection came from, how he could think that good had happened.

"She doesn't even have an arse or tits." He sneered and he clenched his jaw, wrinkling his brow, looking at him over his shoulder.

"Shut your mouth. Don't speak about her this way." He growled, feeling that her good name was now his as well, and that he had to protect her.

Aegon snorted, shaking his head, patting him on the back piteously.

"My little brother fell in love with Lady Strong?" He asked, forcing himself into a sweet, mocking tone as if he were speaking to a small child, which angered him even more. He slammed his head against his forehead, and he swore in pain, staggering backwards, catching the table, which fell over with him.

"You fucking bastard!" He shouted throwing himself at him, and they began to pound each other with their fists, wrestling with each other on the floor, until, hearing the commotion, a servant girl rushed into his chamber, trying to separate them.

His future wife visited him in his chamber that day, concerned that he had not appeared in the library, raising her eyebrows in simultaneous concern and amusement as she saw him holding an ice cube to his red cheek, a large bruise under his eye.

"What's happened?" She asked as she was accustomed to, without any pleasantries, approaching him sitting in a chair that was, however, too big and his legs did not reach the ground. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders without answering.

He had no intention of revealing what had caused the fight − he wasn't going to appear to her as a prince on a white horse who would worship and adore her, as in all those poems she had surely read.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She asked further, and he shook his head. She sighed heavily, taking a single lemon cake from the pocket of her bottom gown, placing it in front of him.

"I know the Queen only allows you to eat sweets after your weekly visit to the Great Sept, but I stole one for you anyway. As a consolation." She said proudly, and he nodded, lifting his gaze to her, involuntarily feeling grateful.

She cared for him without wanting anything in return.

Since they were betrothed, she hadn't asked him for solitary walks, gifts, confessions of love or anything else a lady of her status might desire from the man she was to marry.

"Thank you." He replied calmly, recognising that he could give her at least that much.

She looked around his chamber and he realised that she was in it for the first time in her life. He stood up, setting the ice sack down in the bowl, walking over to his bookshelf, a gift to him from his mother.

"If you wish, I can lend you some. Just pick which one." He said softly, coming to the conclusion that he wanted to be kind to her, that he wanted her to have no regrets about him becoming her husband, to be proud of it.

She looked at him gratefully and took out a book written by the ancient philosopher, Areon, dissecting human dignity and duty. Something about her choice pleased him, the thought that she wanted to understand him.

She pressed the book to her heart and looked at him, her eyes seemed even bigger to him than usual, her beautiful long eyelashes, hair and plump lips shone in the summer light of the day.

He felt a pleasant tickle in his lower abdomen watching her without saying a word.

"Can I kiss you?" She asked so quietly that for a moment he thought he had overheard himself; he felt his whole body tense up, his pupils dilate in disbelief, his breathing quicken, his fingers involuntarily rubbing against each other in a subconscious nervous reflex.

Oh gods.

Should they be doing this?

Was this the right thing to do?

She was supposed to be his wife. From what he understood, husbands and wives did this, as a kind of union and intimacy.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her lips, thinking they looked pleasantly warm and soft; a shiver went through him at the thought that he could feel them in a moment if he wanted to.

He nodded his head.

He watched her vigilantly, involuntarily breathing through his mouth as she stepped closer to him; he was taller than her and leaned in slightly, wanting to make her task easier.

She surprised him when she suddenly lifted up on her tiptoes and her lips pressed against his in a warm, innocent kiss − he felt like his heart had stopped for a moment, the scent of vanilla filled his lungs, her skin delightfully moist and soft.

It felt so pleasant.

She pulled away from him immediately, all red as he was, breathing hard, as if it took a lot of effort and courage from her too, her eyes looked at him dreamy, as if she was waiting for his reaction, but he was unable to get anything out.

"One more time." It came out of him like a weak whisper, like a plea through which he felt the shame overpowering him.

For the first time, someone wanted him.

She smiled before rising on her toes again, this time placing a hand on his shoulders for balance − she pressed her fleshy, moist lips to his for a longer time and sighed softly as he touched her cheek, wonderfully soft and warm. She pulled away from him and closed her eyes feeling him stroke her skin with his thumb, he pressed his forehead against hers, feeling butterflies in his stomach.

"Will you come to me at night?"

He had nightmares most of the time at night − usually dreams in which he saw anew the pig that his brother and nephews had introduced to him as his dragon, humiliating him as no one had ever done before. He found that her presence calmed him and that perhaps if she slept in the same bed, he would finally get some rest.

He didn't think about the fact that it might have been at least inappropriate in the eyes of others when under the cover of night she snuck into his chamber, slipping under the thick furs beside him, snuggling up to him. In his mind she was already his wife, and wives slept with their husbands − unless it was his parents.

They lay that night looking at each other with their foreheads pressed together, stroking each other's cheeks, their wordless, innocent confession of affection and need for closeness.

"We are going to have seven children." He stated after some thought, as if he had decided that such a number would satisfy him. He wanted his family to be strong and broad, and also seven were gods, so it had symbolic meaning as well.

She blinked, as if something troubled her in his words, furrowing her brow.

"My mother gets very tired during childbirth and then can't get up for a few days. With the rest, how do we do it?" She asked uncertainly and he shrugged his shoulders.

He had never delved into the ins and outs of the pleasures of the flesh too much − Aegon had said that rapprochements with women were very pleasurable and, as he understood, that was why he couldn't pull away from them, to him, however, what he had was enough.

"We'll find out everything when we're older. Do not fret." He said with certainty, stroking her soft, plump cheek with his thumb and she cheered up, he saw the sparkle in her gaze before her lips stole a soft, warm kiss from him again.

He smiled at the thought that he felt that in her eyes he was a man, the head of their future family.

There had been times when he had forgotten who she was, who her father was, her smile, her laugh, her eyes, the sweet kisses she bestowed on him when they were alone made him think it didn't matter anymore.

Years later, he could not believe how wrong he was.

______

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 11 months

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Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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tomriddleslovergirl · 4 days

Text

House of the Dragon characters x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of child death, pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of threesomes

Daemon has trauma from what happened with his past wife, Laena. He's terrified that you'll die during childbirth, and will have a Maester check up on you every moon.

Daemon loves to gently press his forehead against your stomach, humming a song under his breath as you fall asleep.

He'll pick out a few dragon eggs for you to choose from for your guys' baby.

If there are any complications during the birth, he'll threaten to put the Maester's head on a spike if you don't make it out alive.

He'd rather you survive than the baby. You can always have another baby, but there's only one of you.

It was no surprise that you got pregnant since the both of you were constantly fucking.

b i g b o o b s

His hands and mouth are constantly on your breasts and once you begin lactating it will probably get worse,

Like Daemon, Aegon would choose you over the child if it came to it. You are one of the only things that bring him some version of happiness and he'll be damned if he losses you.

Aemond has thought of being a father before. Of course, since he was the second son, he would need heirs. He had also sworn that he would be a better father to his children than Viserys was to him.

Aemond does get a bit possessive when your pregnant and would prefer to be the one helps you bathe and gives you massages when you complain about back pain.

Though Aemond is usually reserved and shy about his touches, once he finds out your pregnant, he becomes more confident. Something that should of been a simple kiss, would end up with his hands wandering towards your breasts.

Ser Harwin probably got you pregnant during one of the multiple threesomes you have with him and Rhaenyra.

She's over the moon when she finds out your pregnant.

Her hands are constantly on your stomach.

Rhaenyra has a lot of experience when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. She'll be there for you, listening to your worries and reassuring you.

She'll go throw a list of baby names with you, and you'd land on Aemma and Baelon being one of your top picks.

Buys you long necklaces and new dresses that show off your breasts, and gives you a cheeky smirk when you catch her looking.

#house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 27 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰💜

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has fought his way through the maelstrom and is dragging Aegon away by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston roars, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

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daenerysies · 2 months

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i think the biggest problem i have with the whole team discourse in f&b + hotd is that it isn’t just about which characters you like more/who you want to sit on the throne at that end; it’s that each side is fighting for completely different ideologies, regardless of one members personal beliefs. grrm could not have made it anymore clear.

team black isn’t just fighting for rhaenyra to be queen, they’re fighting for the monarch’s right to choose an heir, for the oaths they swore years before, for the complete opposite of precedent/tradition: the king’s word is law. team green isn’t just fighting for aegon to be king, they’re fighting for tradition, that no matter the words of a king being law sons will always come before daughters, that oaths are fickle and don’t matter. each side is in some way fighting back against what’s already been established for the kingdom, but the end goal is completely different.

we’re not given as much insight into why most of the houses initially sided with rhaenyra, but we do have an inkling into how the green council felt and acted, however. jaehaerys choosing baelon over rhaenys (against andal tradition, the king can choose his heir) is one point. the great council of 101 is another. alicent, despite being the leader of the council, is removed from the equation and shoved off to the side when it comes to swearing oaths of loyalty between the members on account of her womanhood. daemon being a second coming of ‘maegor’ (despite what we know would be a better suited title for aemond, but i digress) is also used. when discussing who would side with them the vale is automatically disqualified from the list, due to them presently being ruled by a woman, jeyne arryn. she doesn’t choose to fight for rhaenyra for the sole reason of them being kin, but because her own right to rule can and will be put into question if aegon steps over rhaenyra. because she is a woman. she does so in spite of her dislike for daemon (and his supposed maegor-ness) too.

even if one were to look at each characters personal feelings about the succession the fact of the matter is that rhaenyra is usurped because she is a woman. it’s stated almost blatantly multiple times before and during the war. the greens use scapegoats and smokescreens in attempts justify it (her ‘bastards’ chief among them, but legally her sons live and die as the trueborn children between her and laenor, with the reminder that septon eustace refutes this claim to begin with). even when she is killed grrm has her breast pricked to arouse a dragon that doesn’t want to kill her (and why is that?). aegon ‘wins’ against her and is king, but then why is jaehaera, as his last living remaining child not named his heir? why is aegon iii put ahead of her, despite being the enemies son? these are rhetorical questions. aegon had no plans to ever consider her his heir, he made it clear with how excited he was to marry cassandra baratheon and produce more ‘strong’ sons. his dragon (who had fought and bled for him the entire war) wasn’t mourned properly, he couldn’t wait to hatch a ‘new dragon, prouder and fiercer than the last.’ yet he wasn’t even capable of doing that in the six months before he too was killed.

it’s also safe to mention that grrm created an entire separate lore story, one that would seem to have no bearing on the original story unless you’re capable of understanding symbolism. the amethyst empress is usurped by her younger brother the bloodstone emperor, and the first long night ensues from this decision. rhaenyra (amethyst = arryn blue + targaryen red) is usurped by her younger brother aegon ii (bloodstone = hightower green + targaryen red) and the dying of the dragons, the very creatures needed to stop the next long night, are eradicated, along with the magic needed to hatch them and keep them alive (until). the war is the blacks (power, death, grief, rebellion, restraint) versus the greens (ambition, greed, jealousy, anger, wealth). the amethyst empress is important to the main story in the same way that rhaenyra is important, that snubbing the women (an integral aspect to the power the targaryens held) of house targaryen can lead only to disaster. daenerys is the key, the one to break the cycle and fix the wrongdoings caused by her ancestors obsession with power. mother of dragons, mhysa, breaker of chains, slayer of lies, daughter of death, the dragon queen, azor ahai come again, the prince that was promised will bring the dawn.

you can argue for technicalities sake all day, but there is a meaning to this story beyond the scope of rightful heirs. and it shouldn’t be shoved off to the side just so you can praise your favorites and hate those who go against them. it makes for a poor consuming of the actual story. fire and blood was created as a history book to expand on daenerys as a character. her family, what and where she’s come from, and how she relates to them. she’s the antithesis to every targaryen that’s come before her, a hero in her own right. the only targaryen’s we can say are radically important to dany’s story are the conquerors (aegon the conqueror with teats) and rhaenyra (the amethyst empress). i don’t know, just some food for thought.

#asoiaf #fire and blood #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #pro rhaenyra #daenerys targaryen #pro daenerys #team black #anti team green #anti aegon ii targaryen #the amethyst empress #the bloodstone emperor #the amethyst empress 🤝 rhaenyra 🤝 daenerys #i’m sick and incredibly tired so please excuse any typos in my ramblings lol

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ewanmitchellconnoisseur · 2 months

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"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" - 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 Aemond x Reader

A/N: I had not originally planned on this being a series but the Aemond girlies loved the first one so here is a second as a lil gift. //Divider by @firefly-graphics & @cafekitsune

Summary: You wake up to unfortunate circumstances. It only gets worse when you finally get some answers. A dream confirms that whatever chance you had at having a normal life was gone.

TW: Blood, Death.

← Previous Part • Final Chapter →

Word Count: 3.6k (Not proofread, we die like men 🫡Im also just too tired I'll do it eventually🤣)

You yawned as you sat up in your bed rubbing your eyes. You look over to the spot Aemond was in and simply see a flower. Blushing you reach over and smell the flower.

You look over to the bath on the other side of the room and notice there's no steam coming out of it. You stand up and grab your robe off of the armchair next to your bed.

You walk over to the door after you wrap yourself in the armchair and attempt to open the door. You're shocked when the door doesn't open or move an inch.

"Hello?" You try opening the door again but they don't budge. "Is anyone out there?" You wait but hear no response.

You're unsure of what to do now. You look around your room for something to do. All that you manage to find are some of your old toys and unfinished projects.

You sit in front of the fireplace trying to think of what could possibly be going on. You remember a piece of the wall that could move and search for it, trying your best to remember exactly where it was. You end up finding it next to your dresser.

The piece moves easily and you reach inside. Your hand touches something and you instantly remember. You lay down flat on your stomach reach in with both hands and pull out the wooden box.

You're filled with nostalgia as you sit down on your bed with the box. You blow off the smoke and open it up.

Inside lies a small journal which you place to the side already deciding you have to see what young you used to write about. Inside also lies a small cushion you had sewn for you and Halaena's dolls. One of your teeth which Aegon convinced you to let him take out by tying it with string to a door.

You're confused for a moment at the last item. It's a black handkerchief with gold detailing. You pick it up and stare at it a moment before you remember.

Aemond had found you crying in a corner of the library covered in dirt, mud and God knows what else. He had asked you what happened and although you didn't want to tell him he convinced you too. You admitted that your brothers had joined Aegon in tormenting you by throwing mud at you insisting it was just a joke.

Aemond felt bad especially since he understood what it meant to be at the end of their cruel jokes. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the mud off of your face before walking you to his mother's chambers.

Alicent cleaned you off and got you a clean dress before seeking out the boys and your mother. All three of them were forced to shovel horse shit while you, Helaena and Aemond watched and ate cake.

The memory brought a smile to your face. Aemond had asked you for the handkerchief back but you told him you couldn't find it.

You pick the journal back up excitedly and open it up to a random page.

King's Landing 117 AC

Dear Diary,

Today my brother was born. Father named him Joffrey, I personally think his name is stupid but I held my tongue. Septa Anne would be proud. I went with the boys to the dragon pit today. It was awfully boring. Aemond and I watched while they got to practice commands. AND YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT THEY DID! They gave us pigs! PIGS! Called them the "Pink Dreads".

Sometimes I wish I could just gouge out Aegon's eyes and put them in his soup when he isn't looking...maybe I can get Helaena to catch a beetle for me...

Anyways. I went to the kitchen to get cake but then Harwin stole it! He said it was taxes? WHAT EVEN IS TAXES?

You can't help but laugh as you continue to read. You fall asleep while reading about the time Aegon fell out of a tree while trying to grab a bird.

You wake up and blink a couple times, clearing your vision. You sit up and jump back when you see Aemond next to you lying in your bed.

"Gods! When did you get here?" He has a smirk on his face as he continues to read while eating an apple.

"A while ago. You were sleeping peacefully I didn't wish to wake you." You nod and look at what he's holding. You quickly notice it's your diary and try to snatch it out of his hand but he's quicker. He clicks his tongue at you as you try to reach for it. "Im quite enjoying this. Listen to this one. Aemond gave me a flower today!"

"Aemond! Stop! Give it back" Your face flushes in embarrassment. "I was a kid!" He drops the apple and manages to grabs your hands with one of his and holds them down.

"He is so cute!" He looks back at you with a shocked expression. "You thought I was cute, princess?" Aemond pulls you to sit in his lap and you hide your face in his neck out of embarrassment. "Aemond smiled at me today!"

"Stop!!! Please I beg of you!" He laughs and puts the journal down.

"And this!" He lifts you out of his neck and waves the handkerchief in your face. "You swore to me that you lost it! Liar!"

Aemond begins tickling you and rolls you over caging you under him. He leans down and leaves a trail of kisses from your neck down to your collarbone.

"Aemond?" He hums back in response. "Why was I locked in my chambers?" He stops kissing you for a moment before he leaves a final one on your cheek and sits up.

"You need to break fast first...then we can talk."

Aemond calls for food and for your handmaids to prepare you a bath. You're shocked at first cause of how open he was about being in your chambers while you were fully undressed. You wanted to ask if the talk had gone well about the betrothal and if that's why he was ok with people seeing him here but you opted to wait.

He watches you eat occasionally grabbing slices of fruit off of your plate.

"If you want one you could just take from the tray you know?" He smirks as he puts another grape in his mouth.

"But they taste much better off of your plate." He leans over and bites the strawberry that you're holding.

"So." He leans back in his chair. "Are you going to tell me why I was locked in here?"

The atmosphere immediately changes and is tense. He sighs deeply.

"...King Viserys died..."

Your eyes widen and you drop the food in your hand back onto the plate. Your heart clenches at the news. You had spent much of childhood following him around, you had even willingly chosen to be his cupbearer in some of his council meetings simply because you wanted to be near him.

"...that doesn't explain why I was locked in my chambers Aemond. Matter of fact that is far from an explanation. If my grandsire died I should have been notified."

Aemond fidgets with his hands the same way Alicent does as he looks at the wall.

"Kepus. What are you not telling me?" He continues staring at the wall occasionally looking at you. "Aemond." [Uncle]

"Aegon was crowned king." He says it quickly with his head held high. "As the king's firstborn son, he is the rightful heir. He was crowned before the masses in the dragon pit."

Aemond watches as your breathing quickens and your facial expressions. Your lips are pressed together as you're clenching your hands so tight.

"Who made that decision?"

"It was the King's wish. He said it upon his deathbed to my mother." You roll your eyes and stare at the wall. There was a battle going on within your head. Part of you was understanding of the firstborn son point but the other part was devastated for your mother.

"Does my mother know? What of my grandmother? I was supposed to leave with her this mourning."

"...your grandmother interrupted the crowning. She was riding Meleys, many people died and just as many were injured." You cover your mouth with a shaking hand. "I believe she is already on her way to Dragonstone probably to speak to your mother..."

Meanwhile in Dragonstone

Rhaenys wasted no time heading straight for the princess. She had no time for formalities.

She walks into the room seeing them both by the fireplace.

"Thank you, Ser Lorent." Rhaenys stops at the head of the table. "Princess Rhaenys, might we hope for news of Lord Corlys' recovery?"

"Viserys is dead." Rhaenyra's face drops as Daemon turns around. "I grieve this loss with you Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father...possessed a kind heart." Rhaenyra struggled to comprehend what was happening. She knew her father would die soon but hoped she would be back to King's Landing in time to be there.

"There is more. Aegon has been crowned as his successor" Rhaenyra clutches her stomach as Daemon walks over.

"They crowned him?" Rhaenyra was looking off into space, grieving.

"How did Viserys die?" Daemon had a look on his face that no one could quite place. Was he sad? Angry? Or just plain confused.

"I could not say." They both look at each other.

"How long ago?" Rhaenyra asks.

"A day past, perhaps two. I was made prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations."

"Viserys has been slain." Daemon watches Rhaenyra.

"Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon." It was not a question, Rhaenyra already knew that it had happened.

"She did. I refused her." Rhaenyra let out a shaky breath.

"And yet you are alive." Of course, Daemon was skeptical, when was he ever not?

"The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys." Rhaenyra was still clutching her stomach.

"They crowned him before the masses." Rhaenys nodded.

"So that the masses would see him as their rightful King," Rhaenys responded.

"That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne. And you could have burned them all for it." Daemon's unknown emotion was now evident, he was angry, livid even.

"A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure. But that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house." She took a deep breath. "The greens are coming for you Rhaenyra. And for your children."

"M-my children?" Rhaenyra's face contorted in pain. "My daughter! You brought her with you?" Daemon stood straight up.

"Sadly...no...Alicent had her chambers guarded well and her room had no passages. I'm sorry. I did not wish to leave my granddaughter either."

"You left my daughter with those cunts?" Daemon walked around the table to face Rhaenys. "You left her to become a bargain in this war?"

"I did my best Prince Daemon. We have allies within those walls that can get a message to her. Once I hear word she is alright I will be sending someone in to retrieve her."

"You have done enough." Daemon pointed at her. "I will retrieve my child from the snakes you fed her too."

"Enough Daemon..." Daemon turned to face Rhaenyra who was now hunched over gripping the table. "The babe... it's coming..."

King's Landing

Aemond watched as you paced around the room. You had requested he leave you alone for the a day only allowing in your handmaidens and refusing to see anyone else.

Since you had called for him this morning you hadn't said anything in almost an hour and instead paced around the room looking for the words to start this conversation. Occasionally you would stop, point at him and open your mouth but then you'd scowl and resume pacing again. He could tell you were conflicted.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon, kessa ao sit ilagon? Before you burn a hole into the floor." [My Love, will you sit down?]

"Now is not a time for jokes, Aemond! Do you know what your family has done? This is an act of war! They have usurped the throne right out from under my mother's feet. If you think she will let this go easily- no, if you think Daemon will let this go easily you are all sorely mistaken." you begin pacing again.

Aemond stood up and walked over to you and grabbed your hands.

"Gīda." [Calm] He pushed a strand of hair out of your face. "Everything is going to be ok."

"What will happen to me?" The thought had crossed your mind many times as you wondered what would be made of you.

"My grandsire and the King have agreed to our betrothal. They will announce it as part of the terms if she agrees to declare Aegon as the rightful King and kneel before him and the council."

"Terms?" You back away from him letting go of his hands. "Our marriage would no longer hold meaning Aemond. It would be seen merely as something my mother won in bowing to Aegon, a spoil of war. Either way, she would never say yes."

"Then Aegon will marry us anyway." He shrugs and pulls you back into him as if none of this bothered him. "He is my brother and he knows of the love I hold for you."

"And if I say no?" His face became stern.

"You wouldn't hurt me so."

"You mean the way that you have today?" He sighs deeply. "Why did you not come and free me from my chambers?"

"Because I knew you would leave at the first chance." You look away from him and he turns your face back towards him. "You're mine and I wasn't willing to risk losing what is mine."

You would typically enjoy this possessive air around him but you currently found it suffocating. You wanted nothing more than to put space between you but he was holding you tight against him.

"Aemond. This is not right. You must understand that?" He rolled his eyes and let you go.

"Who sits on the throne is none of my concern and not on my list priority."

"Then what is?" You step towards him angrily.

"You!" he snaps. "You are my only priority. If you say no to marrying me then you will be made prisoner here. You will spend the entirety of this war locked in here." You could tell he was being truthful. "Marry me and you will at least have some freedom."

"Some?" He walked back over to the table and sat down tired of this conversation. "What is some?"

"You will be allowed to walk freely around the castle with a guard of my choosing."

"And Vermithor?" You think of your dragon and where he could be. You had claimed him when you returned to Dragonstone after what happened at Driftmark. Aemond's bravery in claiming Vhagar led you to sneak into where he sleeps and approach the dragon yourself. You had also thought that if you claimed him you could ride to King's Landing and see him. You had learned the song Daemon would sing and tried singing it to him to calm him down. It worked despite almost being burnt to a crisp you had claimed him.

"I will visit him on Vhagar." He reached for your hand but you shied away. "You must understand that my grandsire worries about allowing you to have full freedom. After a while, you will be allowed to go riding."

"How long is a while Aemond?" He visibly gulped and bit the inside of his cheek. "How long?" Your voice was cold and made the hairs on his neck stand.

"Until you give birth to our firstborn." He said it quietly already knowing how you would react. It was smart you'd give them that. They know you wouldn't fly away while your child is in their possession. "My grandfather's decision not my own."

"And did you try to fight him on it?"

"Why would I?" He shrugged but soon noticed the angry expression on your face. "I want marriage with you, I want children." He tried to reach for you again.

"So do I Aemond! But not like this." You take his hand and he pulls you to sit on his lap. "I want us to marry because it is what we want. I want my mother to be there! This isn't the way I want to do this."

Aemond leans his head against your chest.

"My hands are tied, my love." You get off of his lap and walk over to the fireplace facing your back to him.

"I wish to be alone."

"Baby..." You hear him get up and walk over to you.

"Please go...now!" A few seconds later you hear him sigh and leave the room. You sit on the armchair and allow yourself to cry.

This was all too much for you. You worried for your mother and the rest of your family. Did they think you were a traitor now? Will they think you have chosen Aemond's family over them if you were to marry him?

You know there's no way your mother will kneel before Aegon, even if she decides to, Daemon would rather lock her in her chambers than agree to that.

How could they be so foolish? So reckless?

You walk over to your bed and lie down. You go over the pros and cons of agreeing to marry Aemond. You then think about ways you could escape. Maybe agreeing to a betrothal will at least get you the right to walk around, you could find your parent's allies within the walls and find a way back to them.

You can stall the wedding for a while. Aemond would understand you'd prefer to be married only after the war was over and your family could attend.

You soon tire yourself out with all this thinking and fall asleep.

You spend the next day alone in your chambers. Alicent had invited you to join her in breaking your fast but you respectfully declined. You needed more time.

You saw a boat sail out from King's Landing and knew it was most likely Otto heading out to deliver the terms to your mother. You knew it would not go well and they would be lucky if she didn't feed them to Syrax for their treachery.

It was only the following midday when you grew worried. You saw Vhagar fly away from the castle. Part of you wish you knew where he was going and the other part of you remained angry. You thought he knew you better, if he did he would have fought harder for your freedom right? He would have denied Otto's offer and not allowed him to make your marriage into something that they hoped would sway your mother into giving up her crown.

Gods you missed her, you prayed every moment for her safety. For all of their safety.

It rained that night. Something was off. You could feel it in your bones. You tried to sleep hoping it would calm your nerves. Your handmaid brought you tea to help you relax. You soon fell asleep but sadly even your dreams were disturbed.

You wake up on the floor of pitch black. Everything around you was dark. There was no light just darkness. You sat up and looked around.

"Hello?" Your voice echoed. You stood up and began walking around in the dark abyss not knowing where you were going.

"Gēlȳn enkagon jamela!" You hear Aemond's voice. [You owe a debt!]

You quickly turned around but nothing was there.

"Aemond?" You walked in the direction that you heard his voice. As you got closer you noticed your feet getting wet.

"Taoba!" You hear him again but in a different direction. [Boy!]

You turned again where you heard his voice and walked quicker in that direction. You felt something patter on your head and looked up. Nothing was there just darkness but you could for sure feel something wet as if it was rain.

There was a flash of a bright light to which you shielded your face.

"Daor Arrax!" Arrax? That's Luke's dragon.

"Luke? Luke, are you there?" You noticed your clothes clinging to your body as they were now soaked the scent of salty water filling your nose.

"Vhagar! No! No..." What had happened? Why was he saying no?

You look around you quickly trying to make sense of what it is you are hearing. The rain is heavier and you look at your hands. They aren't just wet...they're red. Your dress is now too stained red. You touch your cheek and look back at your hands and see the same red substance.

Something drops from above causing you to step back quickly. More pieces fall from the sky surrounding you. You shield your head and scream as the red rain grows heavier and more pieces fall.

When the rain softens and the sound of stuff falling ceases you open your eyes and look around you. Your face twists in pain as you see pieces of the body of Arrax surrounding you. It only gets worse when you see a human body part. You look closer and notice the hand.

"He got me." You hear his Lucerys voice and you instantly know it was his hand.

You wake up in a sweat your hair sticking to your neck and your pillow drenched. You look up and see Aemond standing at the end of your bed his clothes drenched.

And in that moment you knew.

The war had started.

A/N: So this is clearly turning into a series. Which I'm actually not mad about. Not sure where this is going but naturally the chances of any of this being 100% original is not possible. There are far too many HOTD fanfics for any ending or storyline to be original. I can only hope that it is 100% enjoyable.

I will still obviously do my best to come up with a unique ending but I feel like to have a unique ending people need to die. I need to start killing off characters like Grey's Anatomy 🤣

Anywho I hope y'all enjoyed this part! If you wish to be added to this Taglist or any other one please let me know!

Gen Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics

#ewan mitchell verse #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x you

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ladydreamfyre · 3 months

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Just because I'm bored, I sometimes go back to old leaks about season 2 of HOTD. I found the two I used to be most interested in and compared them with each other. I found them both on Reddit. One was released in February 2023 and the other in April of the same year. Here are the conclusions:

1. Rhaenyra vs Daemon

The first one says that Rhaenyra and Daemon will argue about actions taken during the war, which ends with Daemon slapping her in the face.

The second describes Rhaenyra over a table with a map of Westeros. Rhaenys and Daemon are with her. Daemon states that he has told Rhaenyra many times to send assassins to Aegon and Aemond, but she has refused each time. Rhaenys replies that they would be cowards if they attacked Alicent's sons in such a manner. Rhaenyra agrees with her and says that she would rather Aegon and Aemond die in battle than in the Red Keep. Rhaenyra also adds that it would have been better if Helaena had married Jacaerys. At which Daemon insults Helaena with ugly words, Rhaenyra tries to silence him, but Daemon continues by claiming that as long as Aegon's son lives the succession crisis will continue. Rhaenyra responds that killing the child is a low act and that they would be better off taking Jaehaera hostage until the Greens agree that the little princess should marry Joffrey and Aegon gives the throne to Rhaenyra. Rhaenys agrees with this idea. Daemon, on the other hand, is against it and insults Jaehaera. Rhaenyra is angry with Daemon and tells them both to leave, addressing Daemon that they will discuss the matter later.

Both leaks indicate that Rhaenyra and Daemon will come into conflict. The latest leak also indicates that Daemon will use some form of physical violence against Rhaenyra, again.

The second leak is very informative, and when I remembered it now I realised that a similar scene was shown in the last teaser.

In the picture we see Rhaenyra over the map, Daemon and Rhaenys, but also Ser Erryk. Rhaenys looks like she's looking at someone, so there may be someone else with them. Nevertheless, the discussion described could still happen in this teaser scene between the three.

2. Aegon and Helaena

The first leak describes Aegon at a meeting of the Small Council, attended by Otto and Tyland Lannister, among others. The men are discussing among themselves, while Aegon sits quietly with his hands on the table. They are discussing the death of Lucerys. Suddenly a guard appears and announces that the Queen (Helaena) needs urgent attention. Aegon says "If Aemond can kill one puppy, we can kill more", then apologises and leaves. Aegon then goes to see Helaena, who is with Alicent. Helaena faints, reaching out her hand to Aegon, and he catches her. Alicent informs Aegon that Helaena is pregnant.

The second leak describes a similar situation, only starting with what happened earlier. Helaena is in the chamber along with Alicent, the twins and the maester. The maester informs Alicent that Helaena is pregnant. Helaena smiles and says to Alicent that she wished she had been the first to know and that she would have told Aegon the news. Alicent is nevertheless concerned as she wonders what will happen if a boy is born. Helaena replies that she wouldn't mind another boy, but Aegon would prefer a girl, as Jaehaera is his favourite child. Alicent then tells the guard to summon Aegon to the chambers so she can tell him the news. Then a scene similar to the one in the first leak is described. We see Aegon at a meeting of the Small Council, playing with glass of wine. The council members discuss matters of trade amongst themselves, including Tyland Lannister, but Aegon replies that for all the extra money they should hold a tournament and that he would rather ride his dragon Sunfyre than attend a meeting. Criston Cole then appears and informs Aegon that he is expected in his chambers. Tyland Lannister jokes and says that apparently Queen Helaena needs urgent attention.

It seems that Maelor had not yet been born at that time. There is no description of him being in the chamber with Helaena and Alicent next to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

We also see Aegon interested in his wife, and we also learn that Jaehaera is his favorite child, so Aegon needs to spend time with his children to be able to determine who he likes more. Although this does not mean that he does not love his son. Maybe he prefers his daughter because she is not the heir to the throne? Aegon didn't have a good relationship with Viserys, maybe that's why he doesn't know how to deal with his son. Or maybe little Jaehaera reminds him of sweet and innocent Helaena? I leave this to everyone's own interpretation.

Most importantly, the description of Aegon's participation in the Small Council closely matches the scene from the teaser.

We see someone with his hands on the table, playing with a ball. There seems to be a cup next to him? Additionally, this person's outfit matches Aegon's outfit in another scene when he sits on the Iron Throne.

“Aegon sits quietly with his hands on the table.”

“We see Aegon at a meeting of the Small Council, playing with a glass of wine.”

In the photo we see hands on the table and probably a glass of wine next to the person. Which fits the descriptions I mentioned earlier from both leaks. It seems that the things described in both leaks may be accurate to some extent. And that's very interesting.

3. Blood and Cheese

Blood and Cheese was only described in the first leak, but it connects to the scene described in the second one, which I wrote about at the beginning. The leak informs us that the entire event will take place in the middle of the night. Helaena will be with her children in some aisle and they will talk. Suddenly Helaena hears voices and starts calling for Aegon and Aemond. When Blood shows up, Helaena grabs her children and starts running. However, Blood stops her and grabs her by the hair, while Chees rips Jaehaerys from her arms. Blood tells Helaena to give them Jaehaera or he will rape them both, but Helaena refuses. Cheese tells Blood to let it go because they have a boy and that's enough. As they leave, Helaena screams and her children cry. Cheese wants to run away with the boy in his arms, but Blood slits little Jaehaerys' throat. Helaena and Jaehaera scream. It also says "Cheese doubts before running."

Now I will not consider the event itself, why they decided to change it and so on (if this version is true). Let's focus on relating this version to the conversation between Rhaenyra, Rhaenys and Daemon.

“Daemon continues by claiming that as long as Aegon's son lives the succession crisis will continue. Rhaenyra responds that killing the child is a low act and that they would be better off taking Jaehaera hostage until the Greens agree that the little princess should marry Joffrey and Aegon gives the throne to Rhaenyra. Rhaenys agrees with this idea. Daemon, on the other hand, is against it and insults Jaehaera. Rhaenyra is angry with Daemon and tells them both to leave, addressing Daemon that they will discuss the matter later.”

“Cheese doubts before running”.

“Blood tells Helaena to give them Jaehaera or he will rape them both, but Helaena refuses. Cheese tells Blood to let it go because they have a boy and that's enough.”

What I will describe now is my own theory, which does not necessarily have to be true. Just speculation regarding the information mentioned above.

It appears that Rhaenyra was involved in renting Blood and Cheese as well as Daemon. However, they both had different goals. It is possible that Rhaenyra actually wanted to kidnap Jaehaera to hold her hostage, and maybe even kidnap Jaehaerys, if possible, to keep the Greens in her grasp. If we assume that Rhaenyra's target was only Jaehaera, it would explain why Blood insisted that Helaena give her to them. However, Cheese, seeing that Helaena was adamant and having Jaehaerys in his arms, quickly calculated that the boy was definitely a better option, so he says that it will be enough.

It is also said that Cheese wants to run away with the boy he was holding in his arms. So he probably didn't want to hurt him at that moment, or he didn't want to hurt him at all and deliver him to Rhaenyra safe and sound. However, Blood has other plans, he kills the boy and runs away. "Cheese doubts before running." Is this an indication that Cheese was surprised by Blood's action?

Now, my theory. Blood and Cheese were hired by Rhaenyra and Daemon, but it was Daemon who used Mysaria to find suitable candidates for the job. Rhaenyra just applauded. Kidnappers are kidnappers, if Daemon chose them it means they were good at their craft. Rhaenyra orders them to kidnap Jaehaera. However, Daemon has other plans, which only Blood informs about. He secretly tells Blood to kill Jaehaerys, and maybe even Jaehaera. I wouldn't be surprised if he also ordered him to rape Helaena and her daughter, especially since he had previously insulted them in leaks. So we have Cheese, who was going to follow Rhaenyra's orders, and Blood, who was initiated by Daemon and was going to kill the little prince, and maybe the princess.

Again, I leave it up to your interpretation.

An interesting thing is that, according to the leak, Helaena was supposed to be in the aisle during the attack. Where was she going with her children? Was she returning from Alicent? Or maybe she was just going to her, like in the book? In the book, Blood and Cheese attacked Helaena and her children in Alicent's chambers, where they were waiting for them. It's different here. Will Helaena be walking through the halls with her children and then they will be attacked? Or maybe she wasn't coming back from Alicent but from Otto? In the book, Helaena took often the children to Viserys, but this is not the case in the series. Viserys ignored Helaena, but Otto clearly had a good relationship with her. Maybe Helaena took her children to Otto, who told them stories, just like Viserys did in the book?

There is a scene of Helaena with one of the attackers in the teaser, but you can't see where she is in the background. The image is blurry.

Maybe Helaena is in some chamber and I'm misinterpreting the word "aisle". You'll have to forgive me, English is not my native language. Despite everything, this word was used in the leak.

4. Daeron the Daring

And finally, Ladies and Gentlemen, He.

In the first leak, we have information that Daeron will make his screen debut in Oldtown with Ormund and Garmund Hightower. Daeron and Ormund plan to travel to King's Landing to return Daeron to his family. Daeron says he can fly there on his dragon to greet Aemond and Vhagar.

The second leak describes a conversation between Aegon and Aemond, in which Aegon states that he is glad that for once their mother's anger is not directed at him, but at Aemond (referring to what Aemond did to Luke). Aemond is not happy about this comment. Aegon sees this and feels bad for saying it and tries to comfort Aemond by stating that Alicent's anger will eventually pass, as Aemond and Daeron are her favorite sons and Helaena is her favorite child. In turn, Aemond replies that Aegon is their mother's favorite child, to which Aegon does not answer. Aemond changes the topic of the conversation by saying that Daeron will arrive soon and that Alicent will forget what Aemond did.

In both leaks, we have confirmation of Daeron's existence in the series. Which is very optimistic. I know a lot has been said about Daeron, and most people seem to think that he won't be in the series at all or that he won't appear until season 3. However, let's focus on the optimistic version that Daeron, according to these leaks, will appear in season 2, one way or another.

Summary

Both leaks mention a few other things, but I decided to choose the most interesting ones. Interestingly, it is impossible not to notice that both of them overlap to a greater or lesser extent. It is likely that they come from one source, but different people had access to more or less details. Or they subjectively chose what might be the most interesting for us. I returned to them several times over the months until I finally decided to compare and combine them. Long post, but I hope it was entertaining for you. The closer we get to the premiere of season 2, the longer the days get. That's why I'm coming to you with this piece of information. Maybe you have your own thoughts or know more than me. I encourage you to refer to this.

I'm not saying everything here is true. Maybe it's all a lie. I don't know the exact sources of this information, I'm just quoting what I once found on Reddit. Some of you have probably heard about it. Think of it as fun. Let's hope that season 2 will be better than all the leaks that have appeared in recent months and that they will really surprise us with something good. Hopefully.

Let’s stay together because...

The Night Is Dark And Full Of Terrors.

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potato-frenzy · 1 year

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I have so much more to say about that AU actually like shit this has been eating my brain for weeks. Have some headcanons

- Rhaenyra calls Aegon her 'special boy' in much the same vein as she calls Luke her 'sweet boy'. Aemond is 'little warrior' even when he passes her in height.

- Aegon actually grows the closest to Laenor out of all the children. He takes his death the hardest.

- Aemond was two when Luke was born and immediately asked if he could have him when introduced.

- Laena doesn't die in this one, so Vhagar stays with her. Rhaenyra takes Aemond to Dragonstone and Vermithor basically goes 'it's about fucking time!'.

- Rhaenyra has a half second consideration of betrothing Aegon and Helaena and she asks him about it. His immediate response is 'please gods no. I love my sister but we'd make each other miserable'.

- Jace and Aegon stay best friends and make it everyone's problem but the only one who knows that Aegon is in love with his adopted brother is Laenor. He buries it in wine when Laenor is gone but not to the same extent as in canon.

- Aegon receives the love he needs to thrive and dedicates himself to one day being Jace's Hand of the King.

- Aemond, ever the ballsy second son, takes what he wants. He and Luke are each other's first everything and no one finds out that they're obsessed with each other until Aemond asks Rhaenyra if the gods of Old Valyria would bless a union between two men. She says yes he can marry a man but he's going to need to keep it a secret because the people of Westeros won't like it. This leads to a massive family meeting between the Targaryens and Velaryons about the fact that Luke and Aemond are determined to get married but they need heirs.

TBC

#house of the dragon #my writing #lucemond #jaegon

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nena-la-fresa · 2 months

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The Dragon and The Wolf |Part 3|

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Part 2 | Part 4

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f! Stark Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage | Murder/Suicide | Soft Aemond |

Word Count: 2233

A/N: Hasn't been proof read yet. I feel like this took a hard fucking turn and idk how I feel about it. But it's the only direction I feel like it could go in.

Aemond had dressed first so that he could stand in front of you as you changed back into your dress. He hid your body from his brother as he refused to look away.

“I’ll have you know sister. I tried many times to get him to bed a woman in the whore house. I had no idea he was capable of that.”

“Brother I think you speak too much for a man on his deathbed.”

“That is exactly why I need to speak my dear baby brother.” Aegon began to cough violently. “Come.” Aegon lets out.

Aemond looks back at you to check if you are dressed before moving to sit on his brother's bedside. You follow closely behind to fill up a cup for Aegon.

“I have spoken to mother. As my children have all died you are to be my heir.” He began to cough again.

As he does, you pass him the cup, “Thank you dear sister.” He takes a sip to provide relief to his throat.

“Forgive me dear brother. I never wanted to be king. It should have been you. You should have been King. You wanted it far more than I did.” Aemond watched as his brother spoke.

“As you have consummated your wedding I see no reason why I should drag my life on longer.”

Confused by his response you looked over at Aemond and back at Aegon.

“Aemond, I need you to kill me. I can not live like this. This is no life. I will not live like father.”

Aemond scoffs and gets up from his brother's bed, “All you have is broken bones and scar's brother.”

“It is an infection.” Aegon removes his quilt with what strength he had left to show the infection that had been growing on his legs. “I had the maester hide it from mother.”

All Aemond could do was look at the infection that had spread from Aegon's leg to his chest. Aegon infection had looked exactly as their father’s.

“Aemond. Please. I beg of you. You had not let me run away back then. Let me die now. Let me go before I end up like that man.”

Aegon's eyes pleated with the silent prince. All Aemond could do was nod.

“Aemond.” You spoke lightly. Your thoughts racing at the possibility that your new husband was about to do.

Aemond turned back to you, watching as your figure cowered. He had made his way over to you, he tilted your chin upwards towards him. His grip was firm yet soft, “Make your way to my chambers. Speak to no one, and remain there even if I do not return.”

You looked at him hesitant, your eyes flickering between him and his brother.

“Y/n”. It was the first time he had spoken your name since the moment you had arrived. Your eyes had now locked on his face.

“Do you understand?”

You nodded lightly. You began to walk away before turning back and looked at Aegon, “I wish we would have met under different circumstances. But may the gods of the old and the new be with you.”

Aegon gave a faint smile, “And to you.”

You had made your way out the door closing it behind you. You stood there for a few seconds before walking off. Your mind clouded, vaguely remembering where Alicent had showed you where Aemonds chambers were.

“She’s beautiful.” Aegon spoke to fill the awkward silence.

“She is.” Aemond’s view lingered on the door for a few seconds before returning his attention to his brother. “I will return. It would be best with poison.”

“No.” Aegon coughed before speaking again, “Where would you find poison at this hour? There are too many eyes watching.”

“Anything else and it would be obvious it was an assassination.”

“Use the pillow.”

Aemond hesitated but he watched his brother. “Please.” Aegon whispered.

He had looked frail, he hadn’t noticed until now how weak his brother looked. The man his brother once was was gone. There no longer resided the whore of a man. The one who would always tease him. All that was left was an empty shell of a man who was asking for mercy.

Aemond picked up the pillow and hovered over his brother. Aegon could tell Aemond was hesitant, “Don’t worry bother. I will forgive you.” He paused for a moment, “I love you my dear brother Aemond.”

“And I you brother.” Aemond lowered the pillow down against Aegon's face.

He had pressed his weight down more. And after a minute or so there was a jolt. Aegon’s body had been fighting against the weight. His hands found Aemonds arms as he grasped onto them. Holding them for what seemed like hours Aemonds hands shook at the pressure he was putting. Until the jerking motion had stopped. There were no longer signs of struggle coming from Aegon. Removing the pillow Aemond saw his brother's face. It was lifeless, it looked like he was resting and that at any second he would take up.

Aemond put his finger to his brother's nose to check for air, and there was none. He had done what his brother had asked for. He had remained loyal to his brother. But at what cost. The wave of guilt and regret hit Aemond. He placed the pillow down where it was first found. He had begun to back away from his brother. His mind racing, his heart beating out of his chest.

He should have said no. He should have let his brother suffer. He should have suffered because now he is burdened with the weight of this. Now with the weight of becoming king. He had always wanted to be king. But this was the cost. Was this really worth it?

Consumed by his emotions Aemond left the room making sure there was no one. He then made his way through the doors of the Red Keep. He had climbed onto Vhagar making the dragon fly into the storm that had been stirring. Aemonds cursed the gods but they had been drowned out by the clapping of thunder.

As you walked into Aemonds chambers you were greeted with the decorated colors of black and red. The candles had provided the only light as you stood there in front of the door. You had tensed up after hearing a knock on the door. As you turned around you saw a maid with towels in hand.

“Princess, before the Prince left he had asked me to draw you a bath. Please sit as we get everything ready.”

“Thank you.” You gave her a half smile. You had made your way to the small balcony, the cold night air made you shiver slightly. But as you breathed in you could smell a hint of petrichor.

“Please princess, sit by the fire. You might catch a cold.”

You chuckled lightly, “Winterfell has had colder nights.” But you listen to the maid regardless and sit by the fire. You had begun to wonder where Aemond had gone. Or what had happened. Had he fulfilled Aegond's wish?

As the other maid finished drawing the bath the other helped you remove your gown. No matter how many times you refused she didn’t take no for an answer. Just as you were about to step in, the sound of thunder and the bedroom door swinging open were heard.

Startled, the three of you turned towards the door to see Aemond drenched. The look on his face was hard to read. One could say it was a somber look. You wrapped yourself in a sheet and excused the maid out.

Closing the door behind them you made your way to Aemond. He had made his way to the fire, leaving a trail of water behind him.

“Aemond?” You place your hand on his arm, yet he makes no response.

“Come bathe with me.” You lead him to the bath and begin to remove his clothes for him.

You let him get in first. Trying to figure out where to sit, you decide that the only option was his lap. You step in slowly as you avoid stepping on him. You slowly sink down and straddle his waist. Instinctually his hands placed themselves on the curve of your hips. You grabbed the cloth nearest and dipped it into the warm water. You began to run the cloth against his chest, shoulders and to his neck. You grabbed his hand, cleaning his palms before you cleaned the rest of his arm, you had done the same for the other. You had rinsed the cloth before cleaning his face. You gently cleaned around his face but got to his eyepatch. You hesitated for a second but decided to remove it.

Aemond, now out of his trance, stopped your hand.

“Not there.” His voice was different. It had almost sounded like defeat.

You put down the cloth against the tub. Grabbing his hand you placed it on your waist. Gently you grabbed the eyepatch and pulled it away. He had his left eyelid closed, making his scar even more noticeable. You picked up the cloth again and gently patted it so as to not hurt him. When you were done you leaned in and kissed his eyelid.

You had pulled away from him, once you did he decided to show you. Show you how hideous it was. How hideous he was.

You were met with a blue sight. The space where his eye was supposed to be was replaced with a blue sapphire.

“Hideous is it not.”

“You’re beautiful.”

They had spoken at the same time.

It had taken him a bit to register what you had said. You leaned down again to kiss his scar and the corner of his eye. No one had ever used that word to describe his eye. He had kept the eyepatch as a courtesy for others as many of the times they were repulsed. Saying things behind his back, ‘He now has only a face a mother could love.’

“You must be blind.” Aemond turns his head away from you. His hands no longer rested on your waist as he moved his arms against the tub.

“I can assure you my dear husband that the only blind one here is you.” You smiled lightly as he turned his head back.

“You dare joke now?”

“You are blind to your own beauty. You after all have that Targaryan ethereal beauty. A horrible attitude yet a very pretty face.”

He continued to glare at you. There was a distant look that was scattered across his face. It was hard not to notice. It was hard not to ask him what he was thinking or feeling. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.” He grew stubborn though you clearly knew his mind was flooded with thoughts. This was the first time he was docile. No sarcastic remarks, no anger behind his words. Perhaps it was best to leave him with his thoughts for now.

“Alright well-” You paused, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.” You were going to leave the tub when his hands found your waist again. His fingers danced across your waist.

The man you had seen that day in his mothers chambers was now different. Although it was only a moment, it had been enough for you. Enough that you saw another side of him. Not the angry man he was. But a loyal man, a man who would do anything his family asked of him, no matter the action.

Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist. He sat up slightly, coming closer to you he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Do not leave. Not yet.” His voice was soft, almost angelic.

He had confused you. He had made your mind try and piece together if you should hate him or comfort him. He still had disrespected you when he did, he had still lashed out when he did. But the last few hours, since the moment you had entered Aegon's room, it was different.

In this moment you were choosing comfort. You wrapped your arms around him. You felt his warmth, the way his skin touched your skin. You felt the way he was breathing and his heartbeat. Your fingers ran through his hair in an attempt to soothe him in any way you could. After all, you were now his wife. His future Queen. Was this not the role a woman in this society needed to take?

Perhaps you were delusional. Perhaps you were just trying to justify his behavior. But would that really be so bad? After all this? After knowing a secret with him. Knowing you have to keep this secret. It was frustrating. Frustrating that in the past three days you had not had a single dream or vision. Nothing that could help you in dealing with all this. Nothing that could help prevent it. Perhaps you had angered the gods in some way. Either way you had to gain it back, you had to be in the favor of the gods. After all, being what you were was the only reason as to why you were in this situation at all. It was the only reason why your family was alive. To remove that from yourself could cause chaos and the death of your house.

#xreader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #x reader #hotd x reader

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simpingland · 10 months

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Love is patient.//Aegon Targaryen II x wife!reader.

Moments before the coronation, Aegon's wife recalls her first memories with the Prince. Patience was key on this journey to make things right. And this patience let love to grow easily between them.

A/N: angst, Diane's assault does not happen here because It's the only way I can write this. TGC is the loveliest person ever, im(r)o.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The first time you saw Aegon drunk was the first time you met him. And you knew from the start that the journey you were being forced into would not be an easy one. The prince was a little older, but a single word came out of his mouth, and you were the one who felt mature. The glory of the Targaryens, with their distinctive faces, their airs of divinity, did not show in any of Aegon's features. His mother scolded him for cutting his own hair on the very day your chariot pulled into the Red Keep. He gave you an awkward kiss on the hand and talked more to his brother Aemond than he did to you during the entire presentation dinner. The night was a disaster. You almost fell asleep in your own seat, with not a single charitable soul to speak to you.

"It's your duty," your father had told you over and over again. "You have a good chance of being queen."

"You don't need to scare her," your mother corrected him. She took your hand for the last time and said the words that were always echoing in your head. "He is a difficult man, and I understand that. But love can be many things, my dear. This love may be patience. Be patient and patient to welcome the good things with joy and to know how to overcome the bad things with peace of mind. Just...be patient."

Very few lords attended the wedding, and not even Rhaenyra and her family came to the ceremony. And you were glad to think that few were those who saw the humiliation of not receiving a single kiss from your now husband. When it was all over and the feast began, the music filled the room with joy, with Aemond and Helaena dancing, while your siblings found different partners to share the song. And all you had was Aegon beside you, who wouldn't let go of his cup for a second. From the corner of your eye, you could see that this drunkenness was unlike any you had seen before. He was faded, his eyes clear and glittering with sadness.

"Aegon," King Viserys trudged over to your seats, and you alone rose to pay him a courtesy. "Why don't you take your beautiful bride out dancing? By the gods, you'll bore her to death sitting here!"

You wanted to say you didn't have to, but contradicting the king was very wrong of you, and lying to yourself was also a bad habit. You really did want to dance, and you really did begin to die of boredom. When you looked at your groom, you saw him turn to look at you, his eyes still half closed, heavy with alcohol. Still, he stood up and offered you a hand. Your walk to the centre was full of applause.

"I warn you, I am not in my best powers of coordination, my lady," he warned you himself in a whisper.

"I hadn't noticed, my lord," you gave him a half smile, his hand dropping quite a bit into yours.

When the music began, the song was perhaps too lively for what you would have wished, and certainly for what Aegon would have wished as well. His steps were clumsy, and the rhythm of the music was too lively for what you might have wished. His steps were clumsy, and the pace was beginning to make him dizzy. He stepped over a few lords, and when he had to approach you, he would push you back by accident. Already bordering on embarrassment, you could see your parents blushing and looking at the scene with concern. And you could also see Alicent and Otto look at Aegon angrily. The old king looked confused.

"I can stop this," you whispered to him when you had him close.

"No," he replied. "I'm being a good husband."

Then he danced on. And soon what he was waiting for happened, Aegon fell to the ground. Everyone held back an exclamation, some of them hiding their laughter very badly. The prince was slumped on the floor, and before long he was vomiting up what was only wine. The sight was pitiful. One of your sisters approached you, as Ser Criston and Alicent approached Aegon. And when your sister tugged you away from the pool of wine, you broke free, moving closer to the prince who stirred slowly on the floor.

"My dear, you'll stain your dress," Alicent said.

"Let me help, Your Majesty." You replied.

With a handkerchief borrowed kindly from a nearby lord, you wiped Aegon's face and let him lean on you to slowly rise. His hands rested on your shoulders and yours on his arms. His face was red, and he seemed to regain some sense of shame.

"I think you should rest for a while," you said. He nodded.

And then Criston took over, putting the Prince's arm over his shoulder and leading him out of the room. Alicent walked behind, and as they walked away you could see Aegon turn his face to look at you. With a last glance at your family, you followed the Queen's path, straight to your husband's chambers.

"I asked only one thing of you, Aegon, just one," Alicent was saying to him on the way. She seemed to hold back quite a bit in your presence.

Criston left him sitting on the bed, and Aegon tried not to fall into it as his mother spoke to him.

"Tomorrow we will talk further." And then he turned to look at you. "I'm so sorry about this, love. I will tell the guests the bedding will be private."

"Oh, thank you, Your Majesty."

When Criston and Alicent left, they expected you to follow them as well, but you stood in the room.

"Have you not been shown to your rooms yet?" Alicent asked, quizzical.

"Yes, yes, I've located them... but I'd like to stay here a while longer. It's our wedding night, isn't it?" You sounded totally nervous but determined.

Alicent could only nod and force a smile before leaving with her knight. As the doors closed, you could hear Aegon finally collapse onto the bed.

"I wish to give you no offence... and the gods know I am the most willing man to do our duty that you will ever meet," Aegon said, and it was the sort of compliment you should learn to accept. "But tonight, I do not think I have the strength to achieve our goal," he said.

"I was not here for it, so I will take no offence."

Aegon turned his head to look at you, and he seemed much more alive than before.

"That's a pretty dress," he reached out to brush the fabric of the gown. "I'm sorry you got it stained with...my vomit."

"Don't worry, my prince. I could never wear it again."

You heard a laugh from him, which even startled you. But it was tender and unexpected, and it made you proud. Aegon repositioned himself better to give you a place on the bed and tapped his side, asking you to lie down beside him. Before you did, you picked up a tray of fruit and filled a glass of water. And before you lay down, you offered Aegon the water.

"The Maesters say that alcohol should be compensated with water." You watched as Aegon sat up so he could drink his glass without choking. And though he hesitated at first, he ended up drinking it whole and with need.

"I did not remember the taste of water..." he put the glass back in your hand. "And it's a disappointing taste."

When you finally lay down beside him, Aegon enjoyed the fruit on the tray, offering you some grapes.

"Is it always going to be like this?" You asked. He stopped chewing to look at you. "This humiliation. Are you going to be drunk every day of our lives?"

At your hurt tone, Aegon did not know what to answer, but he sounded remorseful, trying to compose an apology or some excuse. He swallowed his food before speaking.

"I have never had reason to be sober, my lady. No one has given them to me."

"Is your mother not worth it? Is your father not worth being proud of you?"

"What my father wants of me is very different from what my mother wants of me. I will never do well in their eyes."

"And at what point is it a much better option to wander around the castle blind with alcohol?"

"It's the only thing that makes me forget how useless I really am."

You couldn't help but run your hand over his face, trying to get him to look at you. His eyes were shining again, but they seemed much more alive than in the room.

"We all have our duty to do. And not all of us are good at it, but we all try."

"You seem like a person suited to this kind of life."

"I'm responsible. I like to think I am, at least. But don't you dare think that I don't wish I was somewhere else right now, with my horse and music nearby. I don't like to pour water to drunk men or stain my clothes with their vomits. But I do it because, somehow, It's now my duty. I will fulfil it for my family's name's sake. I would like to start a family and I will need your help to protect it. Just as you are going to need mine. It is what I believe is right."

You watched as Aegon nodded. He stroked your hand on his face and got out of bed to rummage through his wardrobe. You watched as he stumbled over his own mess but managed to pull out a long white shirt. He left it on the bed for you.

"This will do, so you can change into something clean." He stood expectantly.

"I already have clothes to change into in my rooms," you turned him down, but with a coy smile.

"Oh... all right," he looked disappointed. He looked sweeter than you had ever seen him, still dressed in his groom's robes. His suit was blue and gold, like his dragon Sunfyre. He went to pick up the shirt when you changed your mind, placing his hand on top of it, preventing him from pulling it away.

"Although...I don't trust my sense of direction around the castle in this darkness. Do you mind if I stay?"

"No..." You saw a soft smile appear on his lips. "Not at all... you are already my wife."

You changed in a dark corner of the room, and though Aegon said he would not spy on you, you caught a glimpse of him slyly rolling his eyes, trying to make out your figure in the gloom. The shirt made you look rather unattractive, in your opinion, but the loose hair and lack of tight fabrics made you feel so comfortable that you forgot all about your appearance. Aegon also shed the tight jacket and breeches and was left in a camisole similar to your own.

"Thank you for lifting me up in the hall..." he said after you had mocked the dreadful attire you had witnessed throughout the day. "It's not the first time I've fallen down. But it is the first time someone has helped me as tenderly as you have helped me."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry I humiliated you."

"I don't want your apology. I want you to promise me that you will try to change."

"And how can I change?" He sounded surrendered.

"With patience."

"I'm not patient, I'm afraid."

"Well, I am... I'll share some with you."

"Oh no... you're going to make an annoying wife, aren't you?" He joked, making you laugh. "You're going to ask me out dancing a lot. And I'm going to have to greet a lot of gentlemen and lie about how pretty their wives are..."

In the comfort of shirts and bed, a few hours passed as exhaustion begged you to sleep, not yet having consumed the marriage. You granted him a kiss on the lips. They were the taste of one and figs. After that night, it took you a long time to even set foot in your room.

The days passed more quietly, with Aegon showing you his favourite parts of King's Landing, trying to avoid the whorehouse, though you knew he had visited it a hundred times. You never reproached him, for since you were married, he had hardly left your side. In fact, he was the annoying husband. He asked you a thousand times to fly over Sunfyre. The only thing you insisted on was that he should not refill his wine glass during lunches and dinners. It was as simple as holding his hand fondly as he approached the decanter. The next day, you noticed that the lack of hangover manifested itself in long expeditions to which you went half-dragging. Soon, you understood what Aegon meant by his father's wishes and his mother's. Viserys enjoyed Aegon's Aegon. Viserys enjoyed the more talkative, joker, and absent side of him, the one who was a good spare heir behind Rhaenyra and her children. He barely paid him any mind, always reminiscing about his eldest daughter and his late wife. Then there was Alicent, and close behind her was Otto. The Hightower wanted in Aegon the malice that could reside in him, the malice that wanted more than to be a prince. They compared him incessantly to Rhaenyra and to Aemond, who was younger than he was, and therefore even more humiliating.

On nights when you returned from those uncomfortable dinners, Aegon would become extremely nervous, and you could not stop him from asking for a large flagon of wine. Your words did him no good, but you remembered your mother's advice. You had to welcome bad things with patience. And you watched him drink in front of the fire and asked a guard to watch him when he moved drunkenly around the castle. The next day, you helped him freshen up with a bath and get rid of the horrible headache.

On one of the nights when it happened again, you went to extreme measures before he ordered his alcohol.

"Perhaps a walk with Sunfyre will clear our heads, Aegon."

"'Our'?" He looked at you quizzically.

When you nodded, his face changed completely, and in the dead of night, he asked for his dragon to be prepared for a ride. Aegon was so pleased that he barely noticed that you were terrified. And you didn't say anything, of course, you liked seeing him so happy. Sunfyre was beautiful and quite a good boy, but that didn't take away your terror at the heights he could reach.

"Come on, wife, the tingling in the stomach is what makes it fun."

"I disagree."

As he laughed at you, he put your hands around his chest. He was quite a fit man, and over the past days and flirting, you found yourself more and more wanting to touch him and hold him close to you. Perhaps the dragon was a good idea, after all. Sunfyre led you to Kingswood, a place you mentioned you had never seen. And the whole flight was spent in places whose names Aegon made up to distract you, surprising you with the absurdity of the game. There was the odd surprise pirouette that he couldn't avoid, making you scream and squeeze him. But all in all, it was quite fun.

It was in the forest where you wandered, talking about unimportant things that kept your mind off all the crowns and iron chairs. It was that night when you consummated the marriage. You gave him the kiss that set it all on fire, the deepest kiss you had ever given each other. And he continued it with even more passion, clearly the more experienced of the two. He undresses you right there, and you undressed him as well. In the soft grass, only the moon could see you become one at last. You awoke at dawn and returned to the Red Keep with red faces and dishevelled hair.

"You're glowing," he whispered to you before he had to leave you to attend a meeting, pulling away your hair to give you a kiss on the neck.

All those memories flashed through your mind as Aegon leaned against the carriage window, on his way to be crowned King, his sister unbeknownst to their treason, his father recently dead, and war knocking at the door. They had dressed you too, and the thought of being queen made your stomach churn more than it already did.

"I'm afraid," Aegon suddenly confessed to you. "I'm not going to be good for this."

"I'm afraid too..." You took his hand. "We have to be smart, Aegon. We must protect ourselves."

"You should run while you can. I can order Ser Arryk to send you away... until all is safe again."

"No!" The thought horrified you. "I can't abandon you. We need you."

You brought your hand to your belly. You watched as Aegon's eyes widened with surprise.

"Gods..." he knelt before you, his head close to your knees, the din of the city seemed to hush inside the carriage. The light through the windows rattled on your skin, and the scene seemed like something out of Aegon's imagination.

"We must flee."

"It is too late now." Tears were falling, and your husband wiped them away, overwhelmed. "They won't let us scape this, you know that."

The carriage finally stopped, and Aegon had to bolt the door, which would only hold the guards for a second.

"Then, wife, I will do my true duty to protect our family. But as you said that day, I need your help...it is what I believe is right. Let us have hope. Never before I have felt this love for anything. Never before has anyone ever shown me as much love as you. I'll do everything in my hand to keep us safe. The only thing that matters to me is you and everything that involves you. My only friend is you."

Trying to regain your normal breathing, wiping your cheeks, you nodded as Aegon gave you a kiss on the forehead, another very soft, slow kiss on the cheek, which you couldn't help but drop your face to his touch and essence, and a kiss on the lips. Before removing the latch, he gave you a last kiss on your belly, making you giggle.

A look of complicity and a final sigh to enjoy a moment of peace before your heads held the crowns.

#game of thrones fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd x reader #hotd aegon #hotd imagine #hotd #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x oc #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #tgc #tom glynn carney #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon x oc #angst

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flowerandblood · 20 days

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (21)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk ]

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

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When she woke up in her chamber the sun was already slowly setting behind the walls of the Red Keep. She muttered under her breath in displeasure, twisting in her place, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and looked down, feeling a wave of disappointment and pain once again.

She sighed heavily, putting aside the already cold purse of water that had brought her great relief and allowed her to sleep for a few hours. Although she was distraught and terrified, the thought of her uncle's reaction and behaviour towards her made a warm, pleasant feeling spill over her heart.

She smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if he had just been at the Small Council meeting and would be back soon.

It wasn't long when the door to her chamber opened, and a moment later her husband walked in, pale, staring at her with wide-open eye.

Her heart pounded harder in horror at that look.

"We have received your mother's demands."

The word that she wanted to see her, to speak to her, and the fact that Aegon had agreed to it at the same time filled her with joy and horror.

She missed her and longed to hear her voice again, but she did not know what her mother was planning, what she hoped to hear from her lips.

What if she believed that her daughter had married her uncle just to survive?

That her affection for him was a lie and she would stab him in the back when she got the chance?

Her husband didn't seem pleased either as the affair became more and more complicated and there seemed to be no end to it all, no solution they could reach together.

On the second morning after King sent his response, a raven arrived in the Red Keep with word that her mother had agreed to the arrangements and would indeed be waiting with her husband in the Eyrie on the appointed day to speak to her daughter and her half-brother.

Her husband had no intention of spending a single night in the Eyrie, so he just acceded to his brother's suggestion and decided that the day before the agreed date they would travel to Harrenhal. She was not delighted with this idea, having heard many unflattering opinions about her father's brother.

Word had also reached her that a witch lived behind the walls of this grim fortress.

Still, she understood her husband's caution and anxiety, so she did not defy him, demanding something else in return.

"I will fly with you on Larax."

"No."

"If my mother sees that you did not allow me to fly on my own dragon she will not believe that anything that leaves my mouth was spoken of my own free will. She will see it as an excuse to believe that I still remain to you only a prisoner." She said impatiently; her husband turned his face towards the fire, sitting on one of the chairs at the table, licking his lower lip with his tongue in a nervous gesture, frustrated.

He did not reply.

She approached him slowly and knelt beside him on the cold stone floor, taking his hand in hers, placing a warm, tender kiss on it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had closed his eyelids, that he was losing the battle with himself.

"Please, husband. Give me this joy."

Though reluctant, her uncle finally gave her his wordless consent, but he remained silent throughout the evening and locked himself in his mind, tense.

It didn't help that she was still bleeding.

Not wishing to cause him any discomfort with an intimacy full of these disgusting fluids, she did not attempt to touch him, and he, apparently fearing that he might cause her pain in this state, also refrained from doing so.

The carriages filled with their belongings had long since left King's Landing when she and her uncle left the walls of the Red Keep.

She could see that he was pale, looking at her with his lips pressed together, unhappy and unsure whether he was making the right decision. He sighed heavily as she touched his cheek with her soft palm.

"I will join you in the sky soon, husband. I promise." She whispered and rose on her tiptoes, placing a moist, warm kiss on his cheek exactly as she had done that day, when he ran after her. Her husband hummed under his breath at her words and moved ahead, while she turned the other way, heading for the Dragon's Pit.

At the behest of her uncle, the servants who had been taking care of their dragons since their childhood led Larax into the main cave – her dragoness squealed loudly in despair at the sight of her, her sounds reminding her of the crying of a child.

She ran to her with tears in her eyes, feeling that the sight was breaking her heart.

She had been locked away for so long, terrified and imprisoned just as she was.

"Shijetra nyke, Larax. Shijetra nyke. Lykiri (Forgive me, Larax. Forgive me. Easy)." She mumbled, reaching out to her – her dragoness tilted her head and let her touch her, pushing against her chest, showing her how much she longed for her closeness.

As she climbed into her saddle again, as she again commanded her to move ahead, to take to the skies, and as the wind and speed blew her hair away, she felt a wonderful surge of adrenaline, freedom and happiness. She soared high into the sky, commanding her to fly in the right direction.

Larax let out a loud cry, terrified, wanting to escape, when suddenly Vhagar flew over her, her mighty wings causing a wave of air to hit them.

"Lykiri, Larax! Gaomagon sagon zūgagon daor! Sōvēs! (Calm down, Larax! Do not be afraid! Fly!)" She commanded, and after a moment she managed to regain control of her, heading after the great beast towards the fortress where her father had died.

Although she knew her husband was terrified at the prospect of letting her ride her own dragon, she noticed out of the corner of her eye his silhouette and his face staring back at her, from a distance she had the impression he was smiling.

She thought with a squeeze in her heart that he must have been dreaming of this moment since they were children.

Him and her, flying side by side on their dragons.

Exactly as it should be.

Thanks to the good weather, their several-hour journey turned out to be less tiresome than she thought it would be; she felt an immense ache in her muscles after a long break from flying as soon as they landed and she dismounted from her saddle anyway.

She had to wait for her husband, who had to land on Vhagar much further away so that no houses were destroyed, therefore she allowed herself to look around, feeling that her heart was pounding like mad.

"My Lady. What a joy." She heard the voice of Larys Strong as he strode towards her through the gates of his fortress, leaning on his staff, followed by several guards and a woman who immediately caught her attention.

Her long, straight black hair, her bare shoulders, her full breasts, her slender figure and her eyes surrounded by her dark lashes, her irises having the colour of fresh, juicy grass.

She lowered her gaze, never having seen such a beautiful and mysterious woman before in her life, finally glancing at Lord Strong, realising she should say something in reply.

She had never trusted him or had a good opinion of him.

She believed he was responsible for her father's death and she didn't want to speak to him.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She mumbled finally, forcing a warm smile, Larys Strong nodded. They all bowed as they spotted her husband approaching from the distance, his black leather coat and hair blown by the wind.

"My Prince."

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters." Her uncle commanded him, his voice as hoarse and shaky as hers from the emotion they had both apparently experienced while flying.

Her uncle and Larys Strong walked through the gate first and she moved to follow them, the woman who stood beside him, whoever she was, strolled a few paces behind her, her pleasant scent reaching her nostrils.

Lavender and cloves.

"We have prepared for you, my Prince, the most magnificent quarters in the entire fortress. I have no use for it anyway; I would get tired climbing all those steps every day. Nearby we have prepared rooms for your wife, I assure you −"

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." Her husband interrupted him, pulling his leather gloves from his hands, stepping inside the room, looking around with frustration and impatience.

Having been with him on a daily routine, accustomed to him conversing with her of his own accord, she had already forgotten how much he resented speaking to strangers for longer than necessary.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you."

She and her uncle cast quick, concerned glances at each other; her husband hit the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, furious.

She knew the expression on his face, knew he was only dreaming of rest, but they were his guests and he was not in a position to simply refuse him.

Lord Strong looked at her expectantly and her uncle nodded at her, albeit reluctantly, to leave them alone. The woman standing beside her raised her hand and indicated with a gesture where they were to go, so she set off in that direction.

The chamber her father's brother had assigned her was smaller and more modest than that of her husband's, but it had a more pleasant view from the window, straight over the forest and the clearing where her dragoness slept.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath as she pressed her palm against the glass, seeing Larax, forgetting for a moment that she was not alone.

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, My Lady?" She heard a low, melodious, pleasant female voice behind her. She looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked uncertainly. The woman smiled, looking at her calmly.

"Alys, my lady."

An awkward silence fell between them for a moment.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She said after a moment; the woman burst into a hearty, light laugh and shook her head.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She replied softly, her voice gentle and full of understanding, as if she were speaking to a small child. She blinked, shocked by her words, her question leaving her lips before she had time to think what she was saying.

"Did you know my father?"

The woman looked at her for a moment before she nodded.

"Yes, my Lady."

She felt her hand clench into a fist, her heart starting to beat like mad.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, the corner of the woman's mouth lifting in a grin.

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, my Lady."

She left her enigmatic response unanswered, both intrigued and terrified of her at the same time; it seemed to her that the gaze of her luscious green eyes pierced her to the core.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She spoke again with a hint of amusement from which she felt uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her words.

"What do you mean?" She muttered uneasily; the woman's gaze swept over her figure, as if assessing what she saw before her and combining it with her own conclusions in her head.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said in a light, low, slightly dreamy voice, looking somewhere to the side, intertwining her hands in front of her.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had been able to see such a thing being in their company for just a moment, unable to hide how pleased her words made her.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her heart pounding like mad.

Alys helped her change into one of the gowns that had arrived in Harrenhal in the chests before them, her long, graceful fingers entwining her dark, long hair into an intricate bun of many braids surrounding her head.

She had never had a similar hairstyle before and she liked it very much.

Alys escorted her to the chamber where her husband and Lord Strong had just eaten supper, then bowed and left, leaving them alone. Her husband looked at her intently as she sat beside him at the table with a smile, Larys Strong cast her a look full of curiosity.

"Beautiful hairstyle, my Lady." He said softly, but she felt a sense of discomfort instead of gratitude, which, however, she did not give vent to in any way. She looked at her uncle, for some reason emboldened by the woman's words.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked softly, her uncle throwing her a calm, impassive look.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He merely replied, reaching for his goblet full of wine, taking a loud sip from it, setting it down on the table with a loud clinking of steel.

She felt like a silly little girl and lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat as an awkward silence fell around them.

What had crossed her mind to ask such foolishness?

Did he think she asked it out of vanity?

It seemed to her that her uncle regretted the coldness in which he had expressed his opinion, for before she left to prepare for sleep he reminded her that immediately when she had finished she was to appear in his chamber.

She nodded her head at his words and pressed her lips together, only in the corridor letting a few regretful, embarrassed tears run down her face.

How could she take it so personally, expect empty compliments from him when she knew perfectly well that he loathed it?

As she stepped into her chamber she asked one of the servants to summon Alys, wanting her to help her take off her gown and to prepare her hot bath.

She had no intention of going to her husband after hours of travelling on a dragon all sticky from sweat and exertion.

Alys walked into her room with a smile and bowed, approaching her, seeing that she herself had already begun to untie her bodice.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, my Lady?" She asked softly, and she swallowed quietly and sighed, lowering her gaze.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said resignedly, as if she had failed in some way by not meeting his expectations.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, as if she were speaking of something completely obvious and natural. She blinked, feeling that somehow her words comforted her.

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She mumbled uncertainly, meeting her gaze in her reflection in the mirror, from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Yes, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding hard at the thought.

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked at last; the woman involuntarily giggled under her breath, finally releasing her from her gown, which fell lightly to the stone floor, leaving her in her white night gown.

Thankfully, her bleeding had almost stopped.

"Yes." She said with amusement, taking her garment in her hands and placing it gently back in one of the chests, being careful not to crumple it as she meanwhile stepped into the bath and sat in it with a sigh of relief, sinking into the hot water.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled embarrassedly, trailing her fingers along the edge of the tub, not daring to look at her in fear that the woman would mock her.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied with amusement, and she raised her eyes at her, shocked.

Although her husband had sunk his face between her thighs on several occasions just as he had the first night after her return to King's Landing, he had never expected her to reciprocate.

Before she could suggest anything he thrusted his manhood deep between her moist folds anyway.

The truth, however, was that even if she wanted to do it, she didn't know how.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, looking at her uncertainly, a smile on her face that she might have considered warm.

"I see." She murmured, approaching her slowly, startling her completely as she knelt beside her tub, gently grasping her wrist in her hand. "I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling butterflies in her stomach and excitement, she licked her lower lip feeling it dry up with emotion.

"…How?"

Alys smiled, leaning towards her hand – she shuddered when her lips gently touched her finger, wondering with a fast beating heart what she was doing.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman showers them with gentle, tender caresses." She cooed as she closed her eyelids, running her full, moist lips up and down her pointing finger, leaving a wet trail of her saliva on it.

She looked at this sight as if enchanted, feeling an involuntary throbbing inside her imagining that she had knelt before her uncle and touched him like this.

She drew in air loudly, feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine as the woman slipped the tip of her finger gently into her mouth, teasing it with her wet, fleshy tongue; she sighed helplessly feeling her nipples become hard, her walls clenching around nothing.

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She gasped softly between the brushes of her lips and suddenly slipped her whole finger into her mouth, starting to suck it unhurriedly with a quiet click of her saliva.

She didn't even notice when she began to breathe through her mouth, when her thighs clenched involuntarily under the water, seeking any kind of release of the tension that was building up inside her.

There was something so lewd and inappropriate about what she was seeing and feeling that she felt like a moan was about to come out of her throat.

She shuddered as Alys suddenly opened her eyes − a misty darkness in the green of her irises that she had often seen in her husband's gaze, her lips released her finger with a quiet click.

"− you pretty little thing − it's usually him taking care of you, isn't it? − he can't deny himself − I can't blame him −" She whispered, and she felt heat in her lower abdomen, her walls clenching greedily around nothing.

They both flinched as the door to her chamber suddenly opened, Alys stood up quickly and bowed, closing her eyes.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" She heard her husband's warning growl; she turned over her shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes, all red, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking shocked as the woman immediately left her quarters.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He asked furiously standing over the tub as soon as the door closed behind her, fury in his eyes.

She couldn't find any meaningful answer in her head, her mind was completely blank.

Her uncle pressed his lips together in impatience, apparently trying not to explode.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He hissed, and she shook her head, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I − I asked her for help −"

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −"

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She muttered, his jaw clenched in displeasure.

He didn't believe her.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled with an impatience so strong that she knew that if she didn't give him the answer he expected, her uncle was really about to explode and would surely knock her out along with her tub on the floor.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −" She mumbled pleadingly, looking at him with her big eyes.

She saw that at her words his anger began to slowly fade, giving place to a slight intrigue in his gaze.

He hummed low and took a few steps back, as she requested, sitting down on her bed, looking at her watchfully.

She swallowed hard, rising from the tub with a loud splash of water, walking slowly out of the bath. He blinked, surprised when she sat on the floor in front of him, but with her back to him, reaching for the pins woven into her hair.

"− you have to help me, because I won't be able to do it myself until morning −" She muttered in displeasure, all heated up from the hot water her body had just been submerged in, her nightgown all soaked, clinging to her naked skin.

She heard her husband sigh heavily, leaning over her with a loud creak of the bed, sliding the pins out of her hairstyle, making the curls of her hair start to fall over her shoulders.

"− it was her idea too, wasn't it? −" He sneered disapprovingly and she let the air out of her lungs, tired.

"− I really liked the way I looked −" She burbled resentfully; she heard his heavy sigh again, however this time he answered nothing more.

When her hair was finally completely loose she turned to face him, already visibly calmer, his hand involuntarily went to her cheek, his thumb running over her soft skin.

His pupil narrowed as her fingers unfastened the buckles of his tunic and reached into the ties of his breeches, she felt his bulge beneath her palms throbbing hard.

"− what are you doing? −" He muttered uncertainly, coolly, as if terrified of what he had just imagined.

"− I want to kiss you there with my lips − are you repelled by the thought? −" She asked softly, releasing his swollen, half-hard erection, feeling him shudder as she grasped it gently in her hand, guiding it to her face.

"− what? – no − b-but − I − oh −" He gasped as she ran her lips over the pink head of his cock with a rapidly pounding heart; she felt satisfaction when his length twitched aggressively in her embrace.

She knew he wanted to say more as his mouth remained open, but he simply stared at her, breathing loudly, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as she mimicked Alys's cues by running her lips from the root of his manhood to the very tip of it.

She heard him sigh in pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, his hips involuntarily began to buck, pressing his already fully hard erection closer to her face, searching for any source of friction.

"− this − this is what she showed you? − hm? −" He gasped, as if he was simultaneously thrilled and enraged by this vision.

Not wanting him to think about it too much she used her tongue, running it up to the very top of the head of his cock, feeling the veins under his skin clearly, a low, hoarse groan stuck in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair.

"− fuck − g-gods −" He muttered in a trembling voice, his breathing increasingly shaky and accelerated – she knew he was aroused, and his sounds made her feel that unbearable, intense tickling and pulsing between her thighs again.

She was wet.

In some subconscious instinct, his hand tentatively guided the pink, swollen head of his cock against her lips, and she parted them, letting him slide between them with a loud sigh of pleasure.

"− squeeze − squeeze with your hand what doesn't fit inside − and suck − oh, yes, little one, just like that −" He exhaled delighted tilting his head back as she let him deep into her palate, his tip bumping again and again with the sure thrusts of his hips against the back wall of her throat causing her to gag, tears of exertion pooling in her eyes.

"− if this is too much − hit me twice on the thigh −" He gasped, looking down at her, and she merely nodded, clamping her hand over the base of his hard length, sucking it slowly with a loud click of her saliva.

She reminded herself about her tongue and what Alys was doing with it, so she made use of it, and every time her husband thrust his erection into her its tip teased and licked him; his two hands tightened in her hair with his low groan, quickening his pace.

"− oh − oh, fuck, little one − mghm − gods −" He panted, invading her throat with deep, fast pushes, making use of her mouth as he saw fit, a high-pitched moan erupted from her lungs as she felt him aggressively pulsing between her lips, breathing hard through her nose, trying not to suffocate.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He commanded in a shuddering gasp full of pleasure and relief. She squirmed as his hot, sticky seed spilled down her palate straight into her throat; she swallowed some of it with difficulty and coughed, trying not to choke, a pearly trickle of his spend ran off the corner of her mouth down her chin.

Good gods.

They were both panting loudly and quivering, his face pressed against her hair, on which he still clamped his fingers, not letting her escape.

"− just a moment more − please, just a moment more − so warm −" He mumbled, and she swallowed hard, breathing loudly through her nose with his half soft length deep in her throat. It seemed to her for a moment that he might have fallen asleep in that position, but eventually he took pity on her and slid out of her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

She involuntarily put her arms around his knee, exhausted, hugging her face to his thigh, breathing hard, not believing she had really done it.

Her womanhood pulsed all over, her thighs were all sticky from her moisture.

She sighed in relief when she felt his large hand begin to stroke her hair with a tender, calm gesture, his breathing still erratic and accelerated.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −"

230 notes · View notes