#targaryen!oc

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf (XI)

XI. A ray of sunlight

MASTERLIST

Summary: You never thought you could feel like this 

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats,arranged marriage, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon, might miss some warnings, brestfeeding on this chapter

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3,4 k 

Notes: Alright… sorry for the confusion… There were three ravens, Reader first wrote to Cregan to confess to him that she was pregnant and she wanted him back and whatnot… that raven GOT LOST, got eaten by a snake… idk… she then received a raven from Cregan, who, as he never received anything, he wrote to her telling her he was fine and he would like her to visit him up North, reader thought he received the letter, and didn’t care, and it was answering to it, so she just wrote a letter telling him she couldn’t make the journey, that’s it!

“Look at him”, you whispered, “he is perfect”, you admired his beautiful round face, his perfect little nose, his long eyelashes, his round squishy cheeks

“He is”, Cregan whispered, kissing your temple, “you had done so beautifully, my sweet Queen”, you looked into his eyes and you found content, and pride

But your eyes returned to your baby, your dragonling.

He had silver hair, beautiful silver hair, just like yours, and then when he barely open his eyes, he revealed them to be icy gray, like his father

He was so perfect, a perfect Targaryen Prince

The blood of Old Valyria and the blood of the first men run through his little veins.

You were so, so proud of him, of yourself, you had every maester check his health, and they all agreed, that the New Prince of Dragonstone was healthy, strong, and, as he had proven to you, had a strong set of lungs in him.

“My love”, called Cregan, but you only hummed, not letting your eyes wander from your newborn son, “there is people wanting to meet him”, he said softly, it was the middle of the next day, and you wanted to savor your alone time with him a little longer.

“Later”, you said simply

“They had been waiting since yesterday”, he said, kissing the top of your head again, “and we need a name”

“I just gave birth, can’t they please leave me alone for a bit?”, you asked, softly but angrily 

“This baby is the next ruler of the seven Kingdoms”, he said softly, “there are protocols…”, you looked at him severely

“Bring in my brother and Jahaera”, you conceded, he barely nodded, and went away, giving you a breath of relief. You didn’t want anyone else but your family in here

The children entered with big, curious, scared eyes, when they landed on you, they came to your side quickly, Aegon was sure to be right there next to you, to catch the closest and first look at his baby nephew

“He is a bit red”, it’s the first thing he mumbled, making you giggle

“He was just born”, you whispered, “it’s normal”, you explained softly, Jahaera didn’t say anything, but looked at the baby with big ghostly eyes, and for the very first time, you thought you catched a glimpse of a smile

“Jahaera? want to hold him?”, she seemed truly surprised, you just patted the bed right next to you, and she climbed to your side, when she was settled, you placed your baby in her arms, she seemed content, only watching him in her frail arms

“He is small”, she murmured, you only smiled, he was a bit small, and… “made of ice and fire”, she whispered

“What?”, you asked, but you were interrupted when Cregan opened the door, he stood there, with a warm smile on his face. 

You didn’t even know how you were going to name him, I mean, you had some ideas, and you were not even going to ask your husband, he, your firstborn, was of the realm, of the Iron Throne, he had to have a name of Old Valyria

Jahaera excuse herself, she had a lesson with her septa, but Aegon stayed, sitting there in the bed by your side, Cregan had left to gather the court

“Can I ask you something?”, your baby brother asked 

“Anything”, you answered truthfully

“Now that you have a son… will you… will you still love me the same?”, he asked, and his big eyes told you he was extremely worried. That truly surprised you, but you smiled softly nonetheless.

“Of course!”, you said with a big smile, “you are my baby brother, I will never stop loving you, and I will never stop caring for you, you heard me? you are stuck with me, and your little nephew for life”, you giggled

“Really?”, he asked, hopefully

“I promise”, you assured him.

Cregan came back, thinking he had given you enough time, Aegon as he saw him, he excused himself from the room, and left

“A name, wife”, he demanded. He was the father, but he is letting you name your child, the prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne

“Aerion”, you said with your son back in your arms, “of House Stark, until he ascends the Throne, as Aerion Targaryen”, you said firmly

“Good”, he said, “the small council is waiting”, he said, and again, he did not expect a no for an answer

“Very well”, he received your son, as you stood from the bed, the maids had placed you the “looser” dress you had, but not less impressive than any others, it was soft red velvet, with black and gold details. Your hair is barely arranged by two small braids arranging it off your face.

You barely let the maids touch your child, but they had dressed him too, in a simple golden attire. He was sleeping in his father’s arms, and you held onto him too, as you walked the hallways.

You had to present your son to the court

Not letting them see him, would awaken all sorts of gossip, that maybe there was something wrong with him, or he was weak, or any nonsense like that, this was going to make it clear to everyone…

The House of the Dragon stood strong, with you, your son, your brother, and your niece.

Especially with the silver hair on his head.

“You have done beautifully, wife”, Your husband said, as he saw you pondering, with your eyes lost in front of you

“Thank you husband”, you answered simply

You were already tired as you reached the huge doors, you hoped you didn’t have to sit on the throne today, you didn’t think you could handle it. You were still really sensitive.

“Lady (y/n) of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Roynar and the first Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the Realm, and her Lord Husband Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand to the Queen, would like to present to the court, Aerion, of House Targaryen and Stark, Prince of Dragonstone!”, you might as well announce it now, the shocked faces appeared before you, your son was the heir, and next King of the Seven Kingdoms.

The huge doors of the entrance of the throne room opened in front of you, you tried to smile as the entire court, your court, tried their best they could to catch a glimpse of the sleeping Prince in Cregan’s arms

You walked slowly to the front, smiling and nodding to everyone on their way

All the Lords and Ladies nodded at you, muttering words of kindness

“Congratulations my Queen”

“What a fine Prince your grace!”

“You had been blessed, and you had blessed us all”

And more

So much more

Your council had been waiting for your approval, to start the celebrations, feasts, tournaments, parties, the first ones since the end of the war

“Behold! Prince Aerion of House Targaryen and Stark!”, chanted Arryk, you faithful Queen’s guard. 

It was a tiring affair, you should be resting, and Cregan thought so as well, but you you a Queen, and if you wished to prove those who wouldn’t see your mother on the throne wrong, you have to stand there, with your newborn son, in front of the court as you barely gave birth the day before as the sun was setting 

“In the celebrations of the birth of my son, I announce a big tournament, to join all countries as one, and also, a big feast to go with it!”, you said loudly, and the entire room bursted in cheers and applause, making Aerion cry angrily, as he was startled by the loud noise

Cregan smiled grabbing him carefully with his strong hands and showed him to the entire room, shortly, then he cuddled him into his strong chest, he looked so proud 

The tournament was going to be held in two months time

This was a new era, you constantly had to be remained of

The kingdoms were still healing, you were still healing… you need this, you did

You were finally “allowed” to go back to your rooms, you dismissed the nannies who had offered to take your baby.

It was normal and customary, that you had a small army of women ready to take care of your child, but you didn’t want to let him out of your sight

Is not that you didn't trust them, it was just…

It felt odd

To be apart from him

You had them bring a crib by the side of your bed, as you watched him asleep tears fell down your eyes… oh how you wished your mother was there with you

You had cried for her in the middle of labor, how you needed her warmth, her maternity, her advice, all of her. She was an excellent mother, she adored each and every one of you, and you didn’t know how you were going to do this without her

You were so lonely

You had dismissed your ladies, and the nurses were unfamiliar to you

Because Aegon the Usurper killed your mother’s nurses when he took Dragonstone

You felt so lonely.

The all familiar pain that had installed on your chest came flourishing back again, and you realized it had never left, you just grown accustomed to it

Would she be proud of you?

You imagined your brothers coming to see your son, Jacaerys picking him up from his crib and raising him in his strong arms, you imagined Luke grabbing onto Aerion with gentle hands, accommodating him on his chest with his beautiful smile looking down at his nephew 

The guards outside your room presented Cregan who entered the room with scrolls on his hands

“Letters, from your cousins Baela and Rhaena, and one from Lord Co…”

“Dispose of them”, you demanded, you didn’t care

“But…”

“I don’t care what those traitors have to say”, you said bluntly, he had caught you in a wrong moment

“Wife…”, he started carefully, “may I ask why…?”,  he asked simply, you guessed he wanted to hear your version of the facts

“Corlys Velaryon served my mother, until it suited him, when the ship was sinking, in the moment my mother needed him the most, he betrayed her, then served the usurper!”, you said bluntly

“He probably was the one who poisoned the usurper”, he said softly

“I guess, it didn’t suit him to keep serving him, I don’t care”, you said angrily, “if he had stayed at my mother’s side like he promised perhaps she would still be here”, you said, you could not forgive him, you wouldn’t allow yourself to

And Baela and Rhaena?

It just hurt too much

At one point they were like your sisters, like real sisters, you had lived together since your mother married Daemon, and… now it just hurts too much. They say Rhaena managed to hatch a dragon, a pink little thing

Good for her

But it just… it hurts… of all the people that could have survived… 

You felt guilty for only thinking about it

They were more Corlys Velaryon’s granddaughters that they were your sisters

“Can I read them?”, he asked, you looked at him

You wanted to say no, you did, but you were also terribly curious

Of what they might want or say… What if was indeed something important? and really, it was Cregan, he was the only one you trusted fully

“Yes”, you said shortly, “let me know if there is something important”. He sat by the window, to read the letter by the sunlight, Aerion began to get fuzzy, so you grabbed him gently and started to feed him

Something very frowned upon

Not even your mother had breastfeed her babies

But to your understanding… who better to feed a future King… than a Queen? his mother? You paid it no more mind as he latched onto you, Cregan didn’t even batted an eye

He was frowning a he read the missives 

“Is there something they need?”, you asked dismissively, “a threat to our Kingdom?”

“No”, he said simply, “just a call for you, their sister”, he said, he folded the letters and put them away, then he opened the one of Lord Corlys

“They wish you the best regarding the birth of your child and Prince of Dragonstone, and they wish to know that if there is anything they can do for you”

“No requests… that’s a new one”, you said sadly 

“Please, help me understand”, he pleaded once again, “what are you thinking?”

“They just keep wanting the fucking throne”, you said bitterly, “that is all this whole thing had been about, the Hightowers and Velaryons alike, each for their own side, sunk their teeth into the targaryen of their choice and bit, ripped and tear them apart for their own convenience, for the fucking throne, killing my entire family in the process, I am done with them”, you sentenced. 

“Very well”, he said, “I will stand by you”

“Thanks”, you said smiling softly, not wanting to discuss the issue further

Even if they were true, that they only were calling for you, their “granddaughter” and sister, how could you ever trust that? if you were not seated on the throne, would they still care for you?

You were convinced they only wanting to fall back into your good graces, the graces of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and everything that meant

And the very fact that they knew about the birth of your son so soon unnerved you.

Of course they had spies inside the castle

Perhaps you should burn the letters publicly so words get to them

But it was of no consequence, because that very day, Cregan received important news

His son was arriving

He was in the Crossroads Inn, and he was dying to go and meet him

You allowed him to go with a small force, you had never seen him so happy and excited. He was on his way to meet his son

And taking advantage of that fact, that was going to take him a few days… You realized, thinking about Rhaena… 

Your son needed his egg

You had felt Vhaelar restless, and you needed to know if she had laid her clutch of eggs, or, egg

Singular

The very thought frightened you, what if it didn’t hatch? She as well could be the last Dragon, a grown, fertile dragon. You called in a Dragon keeper immediately, and he presented in front of you, the one that went inside the cave with you, the only one who could get close to your Dragon

“This is long overdue, your Grace”, he said with a soft smile

“I cannot go down there myself”, you explained softly, his face then changed. “What's the matter?”, you asked him

“Vhaelar laid eggs, we didn’t know how many, when the prince was born we adventure into the cave to find… one is gone”, it seemed like everything froze around you

“What?”, you asked

“One of the nests was… broken into”, he said

“Why wasn't I informed of this!?”, you asked angrily

“We found it this very morning”, he said quickly

“Raised alarms!”, you said

“The one that stole it… didn’t realize, she laid two eggs”, he gave a signal to Erryk who was at the door and he opened them to reveal two more Dragon Keeper, that brought with them the heating chamber

A sight you never thought you’d see again

They revealed the egg to you, and tears were brought to your eyes, it was golden, golden like the sun

Was it an Omen? Golden like Syrax… Golden like Sunfyre

Who could have possibly stolen my dragon’s egg?”, you asked him

We don’t know your grace, it must have been someone who knows the area, that its been heavily guarded, even though its against the sea, you had maintain guards around it, and over it, so we can’t understand…”, you kept quiet, you could barely go up stairs, you couldn’t go personally.

That is why she was so restless

Somebody stole her egg

“What if it hatches?”, you asked him, fright in your eyes, he didn’t know what to answer

“A dragon will only answer to a Targaryen your grace, in the worst case, it will grow wild, until we can finally know where it is”

“And in the best case?”

“It’s not normal for two eggs to hatch in the same clutch”, he said softly, “if the Prince’s egg hatches… then… someone still had a treasure in their hands but at least, it will not be a dragon”

It did not settle your nerves

You saw the beautiful egg, it seemed to move, you could feel it, the life within it

“Thank you”, you said finally, and they left you alone.

It wasn’t until a week later, as you fixed the skirt on your dress, that you finally realized how important this was.

Rickon Stark, Cregan’s son, was entering the city

Your husband’s child

Your own child, by marriage

A sweet boy of eight

Soldiers entered in front of the comitive, mounted men with the Stark sigil, and then, right after them, Cregan in all his glory, and at his side, on his own horse, a young boy, that even from afar, you could tell he looked exactly like Cregan, same shade of hair, and as they dismounted and walked towards you, you realized, he had his eyes

“Your Grace, my I present to you, my son and heir, Rickon Stark”, presented Cregan

“Your grace”, the boy greeted politely, his big eyes looking at you widely, even though he bowed. Cregan was by his side, looking at his son proudly

“My Lord, you are most welcomed to King’s landing, and to the Red Keep”, you greeted, amused, he smiled shyly.

“Thank you, your grace”, he looked at you with mistrust, and you could understand him, all of this was new for him.

You of course invited them in, the entire household he had brought with him was large, but, the more the merrier, and if having more of his people with him was going to make Cregan and RIckon feel more comfortable, they were most welcomed.

“There is someone I want you to meet”, you said happily, he only nodded, you looked at Cregan as you walked back to your chambers, and he seemed content, “Can I call you Rickon?”, you asked him softly

“Yes your Grace, of course”, he said simply

“Are you my new mommy?”, he asked bluntly, and you looked at Cregan, alarmed, he was amused, but didn’t say anything, you then looked back at the boy who was looking up at you with his big ghostly eyes

“I don’t have to be if you don’t want me to”, you said gently, and that seemed to relax him a bit, “but there is a place I’d like you to fill”, you said with a solemn voice, like you were requesting of him, you opened yourself the double doors to your room

“Which one, your grace?”, he asked solemnly

“How about.. big brother?”, you asked, inviting him to look inside the cradle where his baby brother was sleeping peacefully

“I’d like that”, he said, pleased, but frowned at further inspection of your baby, “why is his hair white?”, he asked, you giggled

“Because he got it from me”, you said softly

“I thought you had white hair because you were old”, he said simply, and you laughed, hard

The sound of your own laugh seemed so foreign to you

You haven't laughed in…

In…

In a long time

“No, no my dear, I was born with my hair like this”, you explained softly, he only nodded, understanding clearly, “so… are you going to be Aerion’s big brother?”, you asked, and he looked at you with a true smile for the very first time, and nodded excitedly

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[bronzefuryfic]

Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter One: Runestone Remembers / Directory

The shepherds of the Vale report the dragon Sheepstealer has been sighted to the south of Runestone. Determined to please her family, 15-year-old Rhae Targaryen is ready to finally claim her birthright, or die trying.

Since she was a child, Rhae Targaryen bore the weight of vengeance for a house wronged. The words of her mother's house were "We Remember", and for what happened to her, House Royce would never forget. The ghost of their fallen matriarch haunted the face of her daughter. Despite her silver hair, the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce otherwise preserved the features of her mother.

Rhae would sometimes wonder if she looked any less like her mother, that the lords and ladies of Runestone might move on. Her uncles and cousins would promise her they'd have justice for Daemon's crimes, but these promises always seemed for someone else. While all of House Royce could remember Rhea Royce- her fury and her passion, her skill with a bow, her sharp wit- Rhae could not.

For all her frustration for her lack of remembrance, Rhae's heart still soared with each comparison.

"Your mother also favored a heavier bow when she was your age," her uncle would tell her. "Best to build the muscle. You'll have a far greater range than others will expect from a female archer."

Rhae would sometimes wonder if she looked any less like her mother, that the lords and ladies of Runestone might move on. Her uncles and cousins would promise her they'd have justice for Daemon's crimes, but these promises always seemed for someone else. While all of House Royce could remember Rhea Royce- her fury and her passion, her skill with a bow, her sharp wit- Rhae could not.

For all her frustration for her lack of remembrance, Rhae's heart still soared with each comparison."Your mother also favored a heavier bow when she was your age," her uncle would tell her. "Best to build the muscle. You'll have a far greater range than others will expect from a female archer."

"Lady Royce never had much patience for needlework either," lamented the Septa. "We'll have to have you start this piece again. That simply won't do..."

"A favorite of Rhea's, if I recall correctly," a cousin shared as Rhae pored over the historical accounts of Nymeria's travels. "Nymeria was a hero of hers."

Though she'd never know her mother, Rhae thought she would've liked her.

The subject of her father was an equally difficult one, but for a different reason. House Royce was sure to remind Rhae of her father's crimes near-daily. Her mother was said to have been thrown from her horse, her spine broken and skull caved. A senseless tragedy, as noted in the letters that came in the following weeks—most of which offered some line of inquiry about the new heir of Runestone's two-year-old hand. But nearly all neglected to comment on the true treachery that transpired.

Prince Daemon had returned to Runestone the day of his wife's death, and had scarcely stayed an hour before departing for the Red Keep. The Street of Silk was alive with whispers that night, rife with reports of Daemon's celebration. He was finally rid of his bronze bitch.

Rhae was raised on the story of her Uncle Gerold confronting Daemon at King's Landing and accusing him of murder. She was told how her father merely laughed, and said that as Rhea Royce's husband, Runestone should pass to him now. Daemon never made good on the threat, but nothing came of Ser Gerold's accusations either. During this time, only the Hightowers extended a hand. Ser Otto alone dared to acknowledge Rhea's murder in his communications with Ser Gerold. It was a small solace.

Rhae resented and feared the rogue prince accordingly. There was little incentive for any other conclusion—she could not remember Daemon either. Images of his face were only her imagination.

But resenting him did nothing to change her heritage. Rhae was the only person bearing the Targaryen name in all the Vale. She was easily spotted everywhere she went for her silver hair. Just as the vestiges of her mother haunted her, so did her father.

Her position was thus a precarious one. She was the heir to Runestone, but shared the name of the butcher who'd killed her predecessor. To some, to have a Targaryen sit the ancestral seat of House Royce was a great insult. As she was a woman, an engagement could easily remedy this slight, but there were those in Runestone that recognized the power in her name. If a Targaryen were to champion House Royce, their house may know glory like it hadn't seen in years. While the Bronze Kings were a proud lot, they would be foolish to deny the potential of the dragon before them.

That was, of course, if the young Targaryen had a dragon. Forgotten in the Vale, Rhae suffered from a lack of resources. She knew little of Old Valayria and its teachings. Daemon had never disowned his eldest daughter, but he'd never extended a hand to her either. It was as though she didn't exist, even as obvious as it may be she was a trueborn Targaryen. What House Royce remembers, the House of the Dragon forgets.

Questions of her place plagued Rhae through her youth. For all her love of House Royce, she carried a hollowness in her heart. She'd never known love without grief.

"They have denied us justice for your mother's murder for many years, Rhae," Gerold told her as they walked the courtyard. "And perhaps we'll be denied forever, if not for you. If Daemon were to return for Runestone, as he's promised, we will be at the mercy of his dragon."

"I cannot control his dragon," Rhae replied. An involuntary tug of her lip turns her mouth into a frown. Few things could stop a dragon, and Caraxes and his rider were as vicious as they came.

"Not his," Ser Gerold mused, offering a rare smile. He did not seem to hold his usual temperament. Rather than grave and serious, Ser Gerold's voice carried a hint of eagerness. For what, Rhae couldn't be certain. They'd had this conversation a thousand times in the 13 years since Rhea's murder. "We know little of dragons here, but even this we are certain. Dragons are loyal creatures, even if their riders are not."

Rhae pursed her lips and looked away. Last she'd heard, Daemon had travelled to the Free Cities some months ago with his new wife and children after a years-long stay in Driftmark. Rhae had spent many nights wondering if he might do something horrid to them as well, but all the news seemed to point to the contrary. Having won his battle in the Stepstones, and ridding himself of his first wife, Prince Daemon seemed to have retired to a life of a lavish lord. More than that, he seemed more than willing to share this life with Laena Velaryon and their children together. Rhae's father seemed no stranger to loyalty, even if it wasn't to her.

"There have been reports of a dragon migrating north from Dragonstone," Gerold continued, stopping Rhae in her tracks. "Myself and the maesters believe it might be a sign."

"I'm up for the task."

Gerold chuckled and turned, having gone a few paces past her.

"I suspected you might say that," He said, surveying her with pride. "I've had scouts tracking the beast's movements for some time now. We believe it's settled in a cavern on our Southern coast."

"And you've waited until now to tell me?"

"We wanted to be certain," Ser Gerold said, raising a hand defensively. "Furthermore, we'd hoped you might learn more from King Viserys before taking on such a task. Has the King responded to your letters?"

Rhae flushed. At her uncle's behest, she'd been attempting to appeal to the King's supposed love of family and Valaryian history. Ser Gerold even instructed her to express contempt for House Royce and show a longing to reconnect with her Targaryen roots. Rhae thought this piece was her most convincing. She hadn't expected an invitation to King's Landing by any means, but she'd hoped at least for a book or two. So far, even that was too much to ask.

"No."

Ser Gerold's brow furrowed, and Rhae knew this meant disappointment.

"I don't need a letter or a book or a blessing from the king to claim what is mine!" She insisted, clenching her fists. She'd do anything to ease the constant shame that hung so heavily over her. "Just because they refuse to see me as part of their house, doesn't mean I don't share their blood! It is my birthright to claim a dragon. You too must not deny me this!"

Ser Gerold held her gaze a long while, before finally relinquishing with a curt nod.

"Very well, Lady Rhae."

And without waiting for dismissal, Rhae took off to prepare her things.

Rhae, Ser Gerold, and thirty of their best men set out the next morning for Gull Town. The journey took three days of riding, but Rhae did not mind. Away from the castle, on her way to claim a dragon... The change was welcome.

Rhae was accustomed to whispers as she passed, but on this journey, the guards were sure to give her plenty space. She suspected this might be on her uncle's order—He had been oddly distant with her since they last spoke. He communicated to her only in scout updates and affirming nods from across the campsite. Rhae wondered what he was thinking.

Scouts reported they were tracking Sheepstealer, a wild dragon of about forty years of age. According to Ser Gerold, Sheepstealer did not harm shepherds. While it was not clear what compelled him to come so far north, the dragon seemed to behave in all manners expected from its name. Farmers have reported over two dozen sheep stolen in the last few days alone.

They planned for Rhae to deliver a sheep to the dragon before attempting to ride it. While Sheepstealer did not hunt humans, there was no way to determine his reaction to being approached. If things turned deadly, Rhae was to fall back to the treeline immediately. Archers would cover her retreat, and with any luck, Sheepstealer would leave after losing sight of them.

"Not that I have any doubts you will claim this dragon," Ser Gerold added after their meeting. "You are Targaryen; the dragon will obey your command."

Rhae willed herself to believe the same.

On the second night of their journey, a scout reported he had seen Sheepstealer just a mile westward. The camp grounds held an uneasy silence that night, every knight and guard nervous to fall asleep with a dragon so close by. In the morning, they would deliver Rhae to the sight on foot, to avoid detection and possibly frightening the beast.

Rhae too stayed up late, feeding on the anxieties of the rest of the campsite. She tossed and turned in her make-shift bed.

Perhaps she wasn't ready to tame a dragon. She'd never so much as seen one before! If she failed to tame Sheepstealer, what would come of her house's hope for justice? Would she become exiled from them too? Rhae thought she might prefer Sheepstealer eat her before facing that future.

In the morning, Ser Gerold maintained his stiff silence towards his niece. The whole walk, Rhae hoped he might say something. When they first heard Sheepstealer's roar, he did not look her way. As the archers got into position, Ser Gerold busied himself with a loose strap on his armor. It wasn't until her uncle pressed the sheep's lead into Rhae's hand, still dodging her gaze, that she found the courage to break the silence herself.

"I don't mean to alarm you, uncle, but I think you have grown twice as gray as when we started this trip."

Ser Gerold looked as though Rhae had smacked him across the face, then let out a wild bark of laughter. The guards behind him flinched at the sudden noise, eyes still trained on Sheepstealer, and Ser Gerold instantly bit his knuckle.

"Apologies," he whispered, leaning in as tears stung his eyes. He was still chuckling softly. "You are so extraordinarily like your mother."

"So I've heard," Rhae mustered.

"I'm sorry, Rhae," Ser Gerold clasped her shoulders, gaining his composure. Sheepstealer trilled from the field, but Ser Gerold did not take his eyes off her. "I have acted cowardly. House Royce has little business with dragons. I must admit, this pending task frightens me more than any I've had before."

"Fear not, Uncle," Rhae managed half a smile. "I'm the one carrying his favorite snack."

"That is the part that frightens me most." Before Rhae could reply, Ser Gerold pulled her into a tight embrace. A lump formed in her throat as her arms wrapped around his torso.

Lead in hand, Rhae steps out of the brush into the field. The ocean breeze blowing in from over the cliff edge whips her silver hair, and she quickly spots Sheepstealer lounging by the cliff face. She turns to see her Uncle Gerold one last time, and he gives her a final, grim nod.

You've got this.

Heart thumping in her chest, Rhae marched the sheep across the field. It was much farther away from the treeline than she would've preferred. As she drew near, Sheepstealer lifted his scaly head to watch her. To Rhae's surprise, he was actually smaller than she had imagined. Rhae wondered for a moment whether she'd merely imagined dragons to be too big. She straightened her spine—he wasn't so scary.

Sheepsteeler scales were a dark muddy brown, making it difficult to distinguish his features. He was a dark, lean mass save for orange eyes that seemed to glow like embers. The sheep Rhae escorted tugged at the rope, resisting her lead. The dragon trilled once more, eyes narrowing on its squirming meal.

Rhae held her ground as Sheepstealer pushed himself up further, baring his teeth. After a moment, when nothing else happened, Rhae gave a tug of the leash and dragged the struggling sheep closer.

"Serve me, Sheepstealer." Rhae said, locking eyes with the beast before her. His snout flared slightly. "By the power of Old Valyria, heed my words."

Rhae was uncertain that the dragon could understand her—his attention seemed torn between her and the offering she brought along.

It won't work, Rhae thought fearfully. But she couldn't return without a dragon. Sheepstealer would listen to her—He had to.

Now within biting distance of the dragon, Rhae slackened her grip of the sheep's lead. It at least seemed a good sign Sheepstealer had not struck yet.

The moment of truth was approaching. The sheep would run, and the dragon would feast. Then, if she still had her wits, Rhae would mount his back. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she wasn't sure what to do then, either.

Rhae let the rope fall to the ground with a soft thump, and the sheep set off at a brisk trot, its lead trailing behind it. Sheepstealer was now raised on all fours, watching its prey flee with alarming excitement.

"My gift to you, Sheepstealer."

With a roar of delight, the dragon did not waste a second longer to open his maw and expel a shot of flames. Even though the blast was not aimed at her, Rhae gasped at the intensity of the dragon's breath from where she stood. Startled, she leapt backwards to distance herself from the wave of heat. In doing so, her foot snagged on a rock.

Rhae cursed loudly, swinging her arms wildly for balance. She knew her mistake instantly—she should've allowed herself to fall. Sheepstealer may have tolerated Rhae's presence so far, but tolerance was not the same as trust. The sudden noise and large movements surprised the dragon, which defensively spun on her in an instant. His neck coiled back, eyes turning to slits. Another blast seemed to building in his throat...

"Serve me, Sheepstealer!" Rhae cried forcefully. "I wish you no harm! Stand down! Obey!"

Rhae could've sworn she saw the glow within his gullet dim, but control was already lost. At the edge of the wood, Ser Gerold had charged the open field the moment the dragon turned on Rhae. Dutifully, a small band of knights followed quickly behind. They let out a cry, drawing Sheepstealer's attention.

With a roar and a powerful flap of his wings, Sheepstealer was airborne.

"RHAE! RETREAT!"

Shit shit shit shit shit shit!

Rhae made her way hurriedly across the field, sprinting past the smouldering, forgotten sheep she'd brought as an offering. Within moments, Sheepstealer had crossed the field and was descending upon the guards. A volley of arrows loosed as the knights threw their shields up.

Sheepstealer roared in outrage, lashing his spiked tail dangerously. One body went soaring through the air, landing with a sickening crack in the ground thirty feet away. Rhae's heart seized as she sprinted harder for the wood.

"Fire!"

Another volley of arrows loosed, with several lodging in the dragon's throat. They didn't seem deep enough for any substantial damage, but Sheepstealer still cried defiantly, shaking them free.

Rhae was closer now, and could see Ser Gerold slashing with his sword. She sucked what air she could into her lungs and cried out once more.

"Stop this attack! Stop!"

Now caught up, Rhae dodged as Sheepstealer gave another deadly whip with his tail. It came down hard beside her uncle, who fell to the ground with a painful grunt. Before she could make her way to him, another knight had grabbed her firmly around the waist and was dragging her to cover.

"NO! Sheepstealer, stop! Unhand me!"

Rhae wrestled herself from his grip and ran to her uncle, ignoring the danger. A roar filled the air as another volley loosed—the men were panicking. Sheepstealer incinerated the arrows as they flew closer, thrashing his head. Rhae heard muffled shouts over the ringing that now filled her ears.

A blinding pain consumed her left side, the same wave of heat from before colliding even closer to where she stood. Rhae fought to keep her eyes open, struggling to focus on her own smouldering arm. Her skin bubbled and boiled, looking red and angry. Through the haze and smoke, she saw Sheepstealer rise once more.

"Ser... Gerold" she gasped. She had fallen to her knees, trying to hold herself up with her uninjured right arm. Her Uncle was badly hurt. With one knee bent at an odd angle, and an arrow protruding from his gut, Ser Gerold Royce lay gasping for breath in the dirt. He too suffered from sickly burns. Rhae watched in horror as his armor seemed to mold to his skin.

Ser Gerold writhed on the ground, crying in anguish from his injuries. As Sheepstealer soared off over the ocean, the remaining guard came out from their cover.

"We need a healer!" someone called. Rhae was loosing conscious rapidly, but she was vaguely aware of someone attempting to move her.

"Uncle..."

Rhae did not remember her travels back to Runestone, having been heavily sedated on the milk of the poppy. It was later, while she recovered in the castle, that the Maesters finally filled her in.

During her third bandaging, she'd finally become lucid enough to understand their story. She was told that they'd only lost seven men of the thirty they brought—a "miracle". In addition, only she and two others received any long-lasting injury.

"And Ser Gerold? Which of these is he?" she demanded of the Maesters once she had found her voice. They bowed their heads, confirming her fears.

"I apologize, Lady Rhae," the eldest of them, Maester Willem, stepped forward. "They said Ser Gerold did not survive the return to camp."

Rhae let loose a throaty sob, wishing they'd leave. She could not shout at them in this state, and so allowed them to proceed with applying burn creams to her charred arm.

"Your injury will take time to heal, but it thankfully has not become infected," Willem continued, once her labored sobs gave way to sniffles. "It is likely the scar tissue will affect mobility at your shoulder and elbow joint, but we hope it'll be mostly functional within a few months."

Rhae would give both arms to have Ser Gerold returned to her—none at Runestone advocated for the heir as devoutly as her Uncle.

"Any other news?" She asked meekly as they re-bandaged her arm. She prayed for none.

The Maesters exchanged nervous glances before Willem brought forth a letter from a pocket deep in his robes.

"One last thing, if you're up for it..." She wasn't. "It arrived shortly after you left."

Grunting, Rhae leaned forward in her bed, reaching for the scroll. She broke the seal and flattened it one-handed on her bedsheets. As soon as she read it, she read it over again. Then a third time, just to be sure.

"Is this truly from the Queen?"

"It came with all the royal seals, my lady."

"She says..." Rhae's voice faltered once more. "She says that the Crown regrets our estrangement."

"This is good news, is it not?"

Rhae couldn't say. Ser Gerold had ruled Runestone in her stead all these years. Rhae had originally ascended at 2, but now at 15 it would be appropriate for her to sit the seat herself. That was, if anyone else from House Royce still trusted her after this latest tragedy. She could already hear the whispers in the hall. Rhae had been tasked with bringing justice, but all she brought was more death and more destruction.

Rhae reread the letter a fourth time, ignoring the Maester's question.

"The King grows ill." She continued. "And has expressed a desire to reconnect with family after so many years apart." Did it count as reconnecting if they'd never met? "The Queen says she would like to host me in King's Landing, to learn the ancient traditions of my House." A bit late for that, it seemed. "She mentions her daughter Haelena is my age, and her sons are close to it. It's her sincerest hope that we might still be friends..."

Rhae trailed off, reading the letter a fifth time. Rage brewed in her stomach. What good was such an offer now that Ser Gerold was dead? The Maesters watched her closely.

"If I may offer some advice," Maester Willem said at last. "I know you bear no love for your Targaryen family members, but you're scarcely the only one to feel that way... if you're to believe the gossip of lords and ladies, that is."

"Which lords and ladies?"

Maester Willem eyed her closely. "The Hightowers have long held contempt for your father, just as the Royces have. I think it notable that your response came from the Queen, and not the King."

Rhae allowed his words to sink in, trying to ignore how itchy and sore her arm felt beneath its wrappings. Ser Gerold's cries of anguish still rang in her ear.

What had it been for?

"Fetch me some parchment, Maester," Rhae groaned as she sat straightened in her bed. She may be without her own dragon, but she could still align herself with their firepower. Best yet, she could do so while granting House Royce a reprieve from her presence. "And put away the poppy. I've had plenty."

The Maesters bustled at her orders. There was still a matter of finding someone to warm her seat in her absence, and she would need time to recover before she traveled. A necessary delay, though plenty frustrating...

"Prepare our fastest raven," Rhae continued, dipping her quill. "I'll have my response sent as soon as I'm done with it."

She may not remember Rhea, as the rest of House Royce did, but the sight of Ser Gerold's mangled corpse was not something she'd soon forget.

Next Chapter: Ch. 2 - To King's Landing

After suffering a great loss, Rhae is summoned to King’s Landing to meet her estranged Targaryen family members. Far from home and alone in the dragon’s den, it is up to her to determine friend from foe. 

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

#House of the Dragon #hotd fanfic #aemond x oc #aegon ii x oc #team green #Royce!oc #Targaryen!oc #OC can also be used as a semi-reader-insert #She has a name and silver hair and she’s right handed #For plot reasons #Everything else is up to your imagination and won’t be contradicted in the text

[frankcastleonlyfans]

— Princess Alyssa Targaryen.

#targaryen!oc #dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader au #dad!daemon targaryen au #visual inspiration

[lady-phasma]

Upcoming series...

I'm wrapping up my current Daemon series and starting a new AU.

Here's an ai portrait of my ofc so you can meet Elaenya Targaryen.

Her mother is from House Velaryon and her father is from House Targaryen (one of Daemon's uncles, remember it's AU so I will invent these characters as well). Elaenya is Daemon's first cousin because Targaryens.

#Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!ofc #house of the dragon #hotd #Elaenya Targaryen #daemon fic #house velaryon #daemon x ofc #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fic #x Targaryen!oc #targaryen!oc #Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!of #matt smith #hotd au #house targaryen #hotd fanfiction #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #prince daemon targaryen #daemon #Targaryen ofc #adding the stupid misspelled tag too #house valeryon

[fireandcrimsoncrowns]

The Blood of the Dragon

And thus, we tell a tale, a collection of stories both short and long, depicting the lives lived and feats accomplished by the Silver Beauty, Visenya of House Targaryen, Second of Her Name, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

(A story collection featuring the same Targaryen OC through different worlds, timelines and pairings.)

Fuilech

Old Irish. Adjective. Meaning bloody, blood-stained, blood shedding. By extension, valiant in battle.

The one in which Dameon Targaryen did not leave the wedding celebrations quite so quickly, Rhaenyra Targaryen cunningly negotiates a contract - and Visenya Targaryen, the firstborn daughter of the Crown Princess manages to ensnare the adoration and utter devotion of her uncle. Rather it shall be for the salvation or the destruction of the kingdoms, only the Gods and Dragons may decide. 

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x TargaryenNiece!OC

Masterpost - Coming Soon!

Aesthetics - Coming Soon! 

Teaser!

Supernova

Derived from Latin. Noun. Astronomy. Meaning a sudden, powerful and luminous explosion of a star.

The one in which Queen Alicent gives birth to not one but two babies in her third pregnancy, and the whole world quakes for it. Twins born to the Dragon Bloodline are a rarity and seen as a heralding, a blessing to come. Will their father, the King, heed the blessing gifted by the Fourteen Flames? 

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x TargaryenSister!OC

Masterpost - Coming Soon!

Deflagrable

In British English. Adjective. Meaning to have the ability to burst into flames quickly, burning with a sudden and sparkling combustion, slightly explosive.

The one in which Visenya Targaryen is the last of the dragons that roam Planetos, and she absolutely refuses to accept such a truth, not after all she and her sister sacrificed. When she is given the opportunity to unweave the threads of time and choices made, back to a moment when the Fate of House Targaryen hangs in the balance - she takes it. Succeed, and the Dragons will reign for an eternity to come. Fail, and all shall perish.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC, Daemon x Targaryen!OC, Possible Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC x Daemon Targaryen

Masterpost - Coming Soon! 

#house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #got #house targaryen #targaryen #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #targaryen!oc #targaryen aesthetic #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen

[lwbu]

LOVE WILL BURY US

During the nights when sleep evaded her, Alyssa would lie wide awake, wondering how she could ever allow him to come this close to her. Like he was now—their cloaks brushing. Breathing the same air.

They did this often, she realised. Stood close enough to touch. Her body was on fire; drowning in ice-cold waters. Her heart was beating and long since stopped. There was nothing. Everything. His eye watching her.

masterlist | ao3

#aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #ao3 fanfic #hotd #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen #targaryen!oc

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Even Dragons Grow Lonely (Aemond Targaryen x Cousin!Targaryen) Part 2

Summary: The capital mourns. Secrets lurk. Blood and fire join as one.

Warnings: Brief mention of bodies.

Word count: 3,870

Part 1 | Part 2

Even Dragons Grow Lonely Part 2

ALYSSA I

The bell toll for many things in King’s Landing. The rejoicing of a birth. The blessing of a wedding. A city under siege. Yet, I knew at this fateful hour of the night that something was wrong.

The city was rarely lively at this time: people from the capital roamed the streets with music and plays to be told of old Kings and their Queens, their dragons and their tales. A different scene to that of the day.

However, amidst the calmness on the streets, inside the Keep, turmoil reigned.

I had been awoken to it, mistaking it for a siege just outside my window, the sounds of cries and shouts, rushed footsteps moving all at once just outside my room, never ceasing.

I rushed out of my bed, running to the door. With a harsh tug on the heavy lead doors, they did not budge, solid and unmoved.

“What is going on out there?” My voice was oddly calm for the sounds of murmured voices and fleeting movement, moving at once just inches from outside my room. “Let me out this instance!”

My mind went to my grandmother; where had she been in this, escorted from her chambers? Whisked away before she could realise what was happening.

Curse the Gods, I should’ve taken the trip back to Dragonstone. To be away from this mess. Why did I accept staying in this city, wishing my sisters goodbye instead of going with them? I tried at the doors again. Once, twice, thrice. Nothing. The movement from outside never stilled, and voices ranged with confusion and panic rising. I did not need to know what had happened, incredibly so late into the night.

My shouts and cries were not answered, my thoughts racing as I imagined what would’ve been accepted of me. Rhaenyra would not be declared Queen, nor would she have been told of the news of her father’s passing. This was a ploy, acted by the Hightowers to win their petty game and seat Aegon as ruler.

Seafoam. Where are you? I wished I had been on her back, flying back to tell of the traitor’s schemes. They all were aware. I fumed. Otto, Alicent, Aegon, Aemond… did he care at all? Even after the kiss we shared?

I remembered his words: the way he caressed me, held me close to him as if it was only me there and nothing else in the world. “I swore it back then, and I swear it to you now. My Alys.”

“Liar.” I seethed. “You fucking liar.” I banged at the doors, screaming louder as my anger flourished, raw and flaming like dragon’s breath. I did not stop until my voice croaked and my fists ached. Liar. Liar. Liar. I had let my feelings loose, allowing them to be used against me like a foolish child.

My rage burnt until it ached in my chest, and I imagined how it would’ve felt to be atop Seafoam, burning the greens in their walls to the ground. How fitting: the Conqueror did it once. I could imagine it now: King’s Landing a smoking ruin, my stepmother atop the seat of the iron throne with the crown on her head.

If I did not burn King’s Landing, certainly Rhaenyra and father.

There were no bells to be rung, no mourners, no cries out. It would all be quietly decided until Aegon had the crown on his head. How would Rhaenyra react? Taking her dragon to the Keep to burn all inside? Her half-siblings, myself and Rhaenys included?

No, she would mourn, but she would not be so cold. A killer was one thing, but a Kinslayer was a fate worse than the Stranger’s touch. I have seen the Stranger more times than I can imagine. No more, not whilst the King is still fresh as a corpse.

All I could do was wait. Wait, and gave a quiet prayer to the Mother, praying for my family and those who would be lost for good.

AEMOND I

“Your father is dead. Aegon is now King.”

He was in the courtyard of the early hour when the news came for him to see his mother, hurried tones that grew muted in the air. Everything was so secretive that it had given no time for the one-eyed Prince to react.

Father is dead. How should he have felt? The man who had given him little to no attention since the time in the cradle, only doting on his eldest daughter from a previous marriage. He and his siblings were discarded for nothing, forgotten and only given the blessings and privileges that were normal for any Prince or Princess of the crown- honour and titles, wealth and riches beyond all of Westeros and Essos.

But not a father’s love.

He had found his mother, who had been more distraught than him; dressed in subdued green and her long hair dishevelled. She had not gotten much sleep, he noted, watching her movements silently. She had been muttering incessantly; how would Helaena know? How would the rivals react? He had been her rock this whole time, the steady calm when she needed to be away from Aegon and his vulgar acts that she and her father hid so very well. He did what he did best: hugging her how any child would, devotedly and silently, before he quietly drew the words he had been thinking since the news came from a dreaded tongue.

“What will we do with Rhaenys? And of Alyssa?”

“They have been kept to their chambers. It would be too risky to allow them out. Not until Aegon’s coronation in the morning.” His mother’s words were quick, hurried and jumbled, “We must, we must anoint him before news reaches Rhaenyra.”

Aegon didn’t deserve to be King, nor did Rhaenyra as Queen. 

His mind was running with thoughts, not for his brother or his family, but for his Alys. What would they do with her if she didn’t do what the King and his grandfather asked? Aemond knew it would’ve been peace and allegiance to his brother, yet he knew it wouldn’t be so easy.

Not with Alyssa, his sweet Alyssa, fierce and stubborn and wilful. He would’ve laughed at the sight, imagining her now: more beast than human in chains. My Alys. Locked and bound like a little bird. It would not suit her well.

“Allow me to visit our guests, mother. I’m sure my cousin would need to know of the death of her uncle.” Aemond suggested, yet Alicent had twisted her head so sharply it looked as if it nearly snapped off. “Lady Alyssa is as wild as her father. No, leave the girl to me. I know of her reputation.”

There is no doubt she would already know. Aemond thought, though, his heart twisted at the mention of the words he spoke against her. The ones he only wanted in hopes of getting the approval from his mother to marry her. In hopes of getting her betrothed to call everything off. Now, it only seeped drama, its ugly head reared and moving from shadow to shadow with rumours for all to whisper.

“No, you must find your sister, and be kind and gentle to her with the news.”

“Of course, mother.”

-

ALYSSA II

My room was lit with light and deadly silent compared to the streets when the Dowager Queen slipped in.

Queen Alicent had looked more like a shell of her past self. The once righteous and confident woman now looked decrepit, exhausted and on the verge of madness. The green of her gown wanned her skin, and she looked sickly in the sight.

“My grandmother, where is she?” My words came as I approached hastily as if outweighing to shove past her and flee. No doubt her guards would be there, and her loyal dog, Criston Cole too. I had heard stories of the wedding to Rhaenyra and my uncle, Laenor; how he slayed his favourite knight and companion, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth like he was a butcher. The thought shuddered through me, imagining what he could do with little to no order from his owner.

“She is safe and fine, worried of you I have heard,” Alicent answered in a slow tone, though I could tell it hid the tiredness in her words. “It is not her who also asks for you, Lady Alyssa.”

I ignored her words, shaken and sure she was talking about a certain second son of hers. “I am fine, though I have not been informed of my uncle’s passing. Tell me, would it be easy to spread the word to the Queen who awaits her birthright?”

Alicent’s face paled visibly. “The King has been anointed in the Dragonpit in front of all those to see. It was your uncle, the King’s wish.”

I laughed too quickly. “Is that what he told you? Whilst you held the poison to his lips?”

Alicent surged towards you, anger flashing in her eyes. “You dare speak of the lies in your stepmother’s court? I do not know what your father whispers on Dragonstone, but I assure you, the King died in peace with those words on his tongue.”

My hands clenched into fists. “It couldn’t have been—Rhaenyra was his heir for the last twenty years.”

“He was adamant in his wishes.”

My head was pounding, my heart stammering in pain in my chest. This couldn’t have been. “What will you have of me then? Strung on the high walls for all to see?”

“That was what my father wished for, for all your family and the Princess,” my heart clenched. “But I have spoken with his Grace and have requested him to listen to my words and heed on the deaths of your family.”

“Requested? More like begged.”

The Queen’s lips flattened. “Until Princess Rhaenyra has sworn allegiance to her half-brother, the true King, you and the Princess Rhaenys will remain here in the Red Keep, protected and watched over, and so too your dragons.”

Protected is a pretty word for held hostage. I mocked. “And if she doesn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“And when the Princess does not bow down to the King—and we both know she will not— what will you do when she arrives on dragon back, answer me that? Will you apologise with kisses and proclaim her the new ruler?”

Alicent laughed dryly. “It wouldn’t come to that.”

My mouth was dry when I continued to listen to her denial. “War has loomed for the last twenty years, your Grace. Plotting from yourself and your father to have Aegon as King, and the moment when everything falls perfectly in place, that is when the snakes lurch from the tall grass.”

Alicent’s chin jutted as before she spoke carefully. “War will not come to the realm, my lady. The realm has seen peace since the Conciliator. And Viserys made good work of keeping that until his final days. His son will continue what was set in stone.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? When not once had this happened before, to my grandmother when she was discarded for her sex. So too will Rhaenyra.”

Something flashed within her burning eyes, and in that moment, I knew she would say something outlandish. “It is the oddest thing, is it not? Had the Old King accepted the votes for your grandmother to be his next heir and allowed daughters to be as worthy as sons, so too would Laena have joined her as Princess of Dragonstone. And so too you.”

Had it been the warmth of power that surged in my chest? The prospect of being heir and Queen? In another lifetime, had the victors been so grateful? “Jaehaerys did not allow it then, and the men of the realm wouldn’t have either.” I laughed to ease the tension. “My uncle Laenor had always seen a better candidate than my mother.”

“How deemed fit would’ve you been as heir? As dutiful as the Old King? As wise as he or kind as his sister-wife? No doubt, if you had been his daughter and word came of this sin, your right as heir would have been broken, set aside for a younger brother.”

Heat rose so did my anger. “You are accusing me of such a crime? A crime that was so innocent of any child?”

“My son was a child too. I have no doubt it was easy to lure him.” She spoke of it matter-of-factly.

I scoffed. The pious and righteous Alicent. How you have fallen. “Aemond said it to mock my betrothed. We… I forgave him for his japes.”

She did not seem to accept my words. “Had it been fate, had I been as relaxed at accepting Jacaerys and Helaena in matrimony, the same could’ve been with you and Aemond, niece.” She stepped forth until I could feel the heat from her breath. “You have tainted yourself before I could call you my good-daughter.”

My hand twitched with the thought of unfurling a smack to her face, but I refrained when remembering the Kingsguard outside the doors. My fingers shook with wroth.

“Careful, Alicent. I may not be your niece through blood, but I am certainly my uncle’s kin, and certainly my father’s daughter. I do not wish to become an enemy of yours.”

“The court whispers of your acts, Alyssa. Word carries quickest, quicker than a raven.” She warned as if the hatred for me had been replaced with a motherly warning. “The mouths of court hold too many secrets to ruin one’s self. What would happen if the word spread past the capital? Beyond the lands of the realm and even across the Blackwater, towards the island, your betrothed awaits for your hand?”

I didn’t allow her to speak any further, pointing to the door. “Go, I’m sure you must attend to His Grace. He must need his mother in a moment of vulnerability and mourning.”

Alicent opened her mouth to speak but did not answer as she nodded solemnly. “The King will need an answer from you after his coronation. So too from your grandmother.”

“I’m sure he will. But I will not answer to no King. I await our true Queen.”

-

AEMOND II

“That foolish, foolish girl! She speaks more mindlessly than Aegon. How I wish I could—she is all her father, none of the lovely Laena remains in her compared to her sisters.”

Aemond had done what he did best, and in the years of being there as emotional support to his mother, he had grown good at staying silent and listening. And listening he did well.

He would’ve laughed at his cousin’s antics: even from young she had been the same, wild and untamed like the dragons on Dragonstone. He remembered her at her mother’s funeral: braver than her sisters regardless of the salt that she blinked from her eyes.

She had been anywhere but beside her sisters after the burial at sea, and it took most of the day to find her, only for her to be snuck grabbing the reigns of her then-young she-dragon, tears flowing from her eyes in an attempt to leave.

That day, even when her white curls had grown unruly from the wind and smoke, Aemond had thought she had looked beautiful.

No matter how hard she tried, Aemond knew that the girl was persistent to a cause, a fire and little to no salt of the sea in her blood. It had taken some futile attempts for her to release Seafoam, and they spent some rest of their time, beneath the bowels of Driftmark, speaking to one another as if long-lost friends reunited.

‘Maybe, if I fly back to Pentos, she will be there waiting for me.’

He had come to realise how much of his cousin was nothing like his older brother or nephews, nor did she mock him for being dragonless. ‘My mother did not get a dragon until she turned ten-and-five,’ She replied, wide-eyed and hopeful, ‘Vhagar became her mount. A dragon does not claim your worth.’

Aemond remembered the innocent kiss they shared, ignoring their families above them as they shared the peace of their family and house and spilt. In the end, it was a moment Aemond had missed from his troubled youth, not one of teasing and bullying, but of hope and childish purity.

Had his mother not been so blinded by bitterness, he could’ve married in, in their house they suited fit, and flee across the Narrow Sea to be rid of their family’s drama.

No, Aemond would have to make his own fate.

“Mother, allow me to speak with her. She is mourning just as we do,” he knew it had been a lie when only one of them was. “She is trapped here, away from her family and worries for her grandmother. Would it ease your qualms if I saw her?”

His mother dismissed it all the same with incessant worry. “No, the court hears too much, if they heard more—”

“Mother,” he quietly took her by the shoulders, squeezing them kindly. “She is my cousin, my own blood. We haven’t spoken since that day. It was I after all who apologised for offending her and her betrothed.”

Alicent didn’t seem to believe his words from the scepticism written on her face, but she sighed, hugging him to her. “My son, my lovely son. What carnage awaits us?”

“None if we keep the crown away from Rhaenyra.” He spoke adamantly. “Aegon will remain safe here.” And so too, my Alys. “No matter what I shall do to keep the city safe.”

-

He slipped in the cover of night, when the streets of King’s Landing were filled with mostly joy for the new King. The common people never knew of drama, nor the way it kept those trapped and had harboured chaos, yet Aemond could feel it all inside the Keep.

The bodies hung high for all to see: of minor lords and ladies who were foolish to not swear allegiance to Aegon and to stand in defiance for his half-sister instead. How foolish of them. He thought, if they were smart enough, they could’ve kept their lives. And their heads.

He had remembered where to find Alyssa’s room through the long halls, avoiding knights and guards patrolling as he slipped through the cracks of shadows, waiting before continuing his pursuit. He knew it was wrong what he had to do, but all he could think of was Alys. Would she think him a craven for breaking promises? He could not know, but he could only try, for her sake.

Her chambers he found with ease, slipping past through the doors before a guard could notice as they did their routine swaps throughout the night, quietly finding the room alit with light and little to no darkness.

That was when he heard movement, the shifting of clothing and rustling as someone shifted behind him, charging with speed. Even with one good eye, he managed to swing around to capture the person from moving, and apart from the candles in the room ceased to move.

He had forgotten all about the mourning, the deceit and trickery, not when he could feel how his heart felt ruptured and poured liquid fire inside him from the sight in front of him. “Alys.”

“Aemond.”

It was uncertain who had moved first, but in a heartbeat, he had been kissing her with a force that it nearly knocked her off her feet in a fleeting heartbeat. He cradled her, his fingers running through her white curls, tenderly cradling the sides of her face in an embrace he feared would make her break in his grasp.

It was only when he pulled away did he realise she had been trembling, tears biting at the corners of her eyes.

He held her close to keep her steady, and all feelings poured from his heart to hers. “Aemond… I-” She began but he silenced her fondly.

“I know,” he spoke when their lips parted. “But we have no time, we must leave.”

“What?”

“The city is not safe for either of us, and I do not think a war would be good for either of us,” Aemond spoke matter-of-factly, gathering a clock for her to put on, his own cloak guarding his face.

“But what about my grandmother, and Seafoam?”

“Wherever you go, they will follow,” he dragged her to a set of secret stairs from the back of her bedroom wall, ones he was told by Ser Erryk would lead him down to the outskirts of the city, albeit underground. “We must not waste time.”

“You mean to row us to Dragonstone?”

“No, Vhagar awaits by the shores. And we’re not going to Dragonstone yet. I promised you one thing, not before my mother could find out.”

“How—” Alyssa’s words jolted from her mouth, her eyes widening in the realisation of what he meant. “You mean it? Truly?”

“I will wed you, I promised you then. Not before some Velaryon brood of Vaemond’s can get their hands on you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips once more. “We must make haste to Evenfall Hall.”

“Doesn’t House Tarth support your brother?”

“My grandfather believes the Evenstar of Tarth will support your stepmother.” Said Aemond. “He has not heard an answer from them as of yet.”

They didn’t speak for several minutes as they descended into the depths of the underground, dark and damp walls echoed their hurried footsteps as they rushed with certain worry, constantly looking back at themselves in fear of being followed or chased.

Once the caves opened and the banks of the Blackwater rush opened for them, Aemond took Alyssa over to Vhagar, sleeping soundlessly whilst the gulls and water swayed and crashed around her. “Hurry.” He motioned and Alyssa clambered up the rigging that got them up her back into the saddle, the One-eyed Prince hurrying.

Aemond climbed in front, grabbing the reigns as Vhagar began to groan back to life. 

“Sōvētēs, Vhagar.” Aemond gave the command loudly, and the large she-dragon moaned as she rose from the sand covering her. Alyssa clutched to Aemond from behind, not used to the size compared to Seafoam not even half Vhagar’s size.

With a loud cry into the sky, Vhagar set off down the bank, slowly and clambering off the ground as she slowly and awkwardly soared into the skies. The wind whipped up in Alyssa’s face, higher and stronger than any dragon she had been on before, Vhagar could still fly with no issues despite her age and speed.

“What will Rhaenyra think when she hears of us married?” Alyssa muttered once the steadiness of the air had settled.

“It will not be up to her or my mother what they think,” Aemond spoke. “They can keep at their war. I am done playing to everyone’s weaknesses.”

“Husband does have a good ring to it,” Alyssa settled in cuddling into Aemond’s back, wrapping her arms around his slim waist. Aemond gave a chuckle. “Anything for you, wife. Anything to keep you safe.”

-

A/N:

I imagine the end would be Aemond and Alyssa marrying in secrecy and fleeing to somewhere in Essos, like Pentos or Lys-- maybe even for shits and giggles to find Alyssa's great aunt Saera. I wasn't planning on making any more chapters, but I wanted to make a second part of the first chapter. I hope you liked it as much as I did.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #Aemond the Kinslayer #aemond x fem!reader #hotd aemond #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc #female oc #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon

[whereismymindnow]

I won't tell you where my head is currently... but I will give you a hint with a crappy attempt at photoshop!

I have a Targaryen!OC. I've named her Aemyra. She is Rhaenyra's (+ Daemon's, but shhhh!) daughter. Her hair is as bright as the stars at night and her eyes are a cool lavender that pierce directly into your soul. ...she also has quite a big problem. Her uncles want to ruin her. Aemond, because he wants no one else to have her in the end. Aegon, because she is resilient and her tears taste exquisite.

I have no idea if anything will come of all of my thoughts. Potentially some dark one-shots? Who knows!

#targaryen!oc #targaryen ofc #house of the dragon #dark!aemondtargaryen #dark!aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon targaryen x oc x aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagines #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

[bauwhores-blog]

I am immensely sad to see the huge lack of Criston Cole fanfics.... and I'm here to serve

#criston cole x reader #criston cole #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #targaryen!oc

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun // COMPLETED

You became an orphan, niece to the King, you soon find yourself living in the Red Keep, and surrounded with more vipers than dragons. So he betrothed you to a recently widowed Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

And you found yourself more willing to be surrounded by wolves than by vipers. Because you were known as the little sunshine of the Red Keep, always shinning light in everything you touch, and the cold heart of Cregan Stark won't be any different.

The sun always shines, even in the coldest of winters.

Main story

Prologue

Alone in the world

No man’s land

A call for help

An Icy road

Compromises

New Gods

Old Gods

A way to a man's heart...

...Is trough the green path

Trembling ground

Backlash

Winds of Winter

Dragonstone

The White Harbor

Winter is here

Godswood

Dark Wings, Dark Words

The calm before the storm

Premonitions

The march ahead

A dangerous road

Rains of Fire

Harrenhal

Snowstorm

Sea of uncertainty

The strength of certainty

Home

King's Landing / Fin to the timeline

Into the future

Epilogue 1

Epilogue 2

Epilogue 3 FINAL CHAPTER

#misguidedwinter #cregan #cregan stark #hbo house of the dragon #house stark #cregan x reader #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc

[foxyanon]

Face Claims: Rhaenerys Targaryen

Here is who I face claim for Rhae and her family

Rhaenerys of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone: Elle Fanning

King Maegor I of House Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms: Charlie Hunnam

Queen Elvira Harclay of House Targaryen, Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms: Katie McGrath

Elinor Costayne, Black Bride and Queen Consort to Maegor I: Lea Seydoux

Rhaena Targaryen, Black Bride and Queen Consort to Maegor I: Jodie Comer

Jeyne Westerling, Black Bride and Queen Consort to Maegor I: Caitlin Stasey

Dowager Queen Visenya of House Targaryen: Kathryn Winnick

King Aegon I of House Targaryen, The Conqueror (before his death): Bradley James

#foxys ocs #targaryen!oc #face claims

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤

Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.

As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.

For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.

He had buried his nose in books, absorbing  information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.

And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.

He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.

And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.

A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.

He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.

It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.

But there was one duty he had yet to perform.

Taking a wife.

Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.

As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.

As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.

He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?

Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.

Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.

What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.

That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.

Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.

He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.

And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.

Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?

What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.

He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.

Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.

There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.

While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.

When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.

His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.

For duty. For family.

He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.

Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.

Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.

Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.

He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.

They faced each other as the Septon spoke.

Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.

It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.

A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.

Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.

He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.

He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.

The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.

It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.

He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?

Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.

At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.

Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.

Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?

He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.

He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.

“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”

He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.

The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.

She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.

She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.

Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.

He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.

Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.

She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.

The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.

Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.

The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.

Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.

But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.

Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.

“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.

Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.

There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.

A warning.

There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.

A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.

She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.

Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.

But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.

“You need not be so afraid.”

He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.

When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.

He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.

“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.

Husband.

He felt his cock become impossibly harder.

He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.

While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.

She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.

“Leave that on.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.

He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.

“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.

Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.

“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”

He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.

“Come here.”

She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.

Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?

She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.

“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.

“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”

She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.

“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”

His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.

“If there is pain, you must tell me.”

She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.

“Come. Lay on the bed.”

Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.

All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.

She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.

She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.

“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.

But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.

She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.

“Relax.”

She tried to do as he said.

She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.

So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.

She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.

He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.

To touch her intimately.

To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.

“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”

“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”

She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.

His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.

She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.

His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.

He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.

Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.

She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.

She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.

"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."

She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.

A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.

"I apologise-"

"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."

Her breath quickened.

Feel?

"Feel how I touch you here -"

He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.

"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.

"Strange…pleasantly so."

He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.

"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."

Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.

It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.

Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.

He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.

Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.

Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.

She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.

He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.

Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.

Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.

Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.

He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.

In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.

With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.

He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.

It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.

As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.

He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.

 “What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.

Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”

He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.

“ - Aemond - I’m - ”

Aemond.

The way she called him by his name.

There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.

A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.

“That was your peak, little one.”

Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.

Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.

His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.

Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.

It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.

He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.

“You are beautiful.”

She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.

He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.

He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.

She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.

They were the same.

She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.

He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.

She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?

Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.

“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.

She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.

“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”

The affection in his words made her stomach roll.

“You are my wife.”

She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.

She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.

When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.

He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.

Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.

After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.

Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.

It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.

It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.

It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.

Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.

It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.

But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.

The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.

It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.

But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.

It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.

As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.

She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.

“Aemond.”

When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.

“I am alright.”

He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.

She saw that he had been holding back.

He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.

Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.

Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.

"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.

"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."

She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.

Little pearl.

Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.

"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"

Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.

"Answer me.”

"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.

He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.

He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.

Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.

If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.

"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?"

She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.

"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."

He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.

"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."

His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.

His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.

She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.

"Husband - "

"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.

"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"

She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.

"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."

The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.

"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "

She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.

Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.

She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.

They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.

Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.

He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.

Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.

Aemond only smiled down at her.

"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."

She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."

Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.

"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."

His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.

He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.

Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.

And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.

Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.

The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.

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#prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond smut #aemond stannies #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fic #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond smut #dark!aemond #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #dark!aemond pov #aemond fanfic #prince aemond fic #hotd big bang #house of the dragon aemond #aemond fandom

[lady-phasma]

Philosopher Prince

Chapter 4 coming soon

Shaena Targaryen (oc) and Aemond Targaryen

Chapters One, Two, and Three up now. Masterlist.

#aemond targaryen #Shaena Targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc #HotD #house of the dragon #HotD fic #Ewan Mitchell #aemond x fem!oc #aemond x ofc #targaryen!oc #house of the dragon fic #aemond smut

[fireandcrimsoncrowns]

House of the Dragon, Aesthetics

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

The Devil’s Dragons, Biker/Motorcycle Club!AU

(The Biker!AU Aesthetic that literally no one asked for…except my girl @sprinklesandsugarcubes blame her for this.)

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #targaryen #aemond targaryen #targaryen!oc #aestheitcs #targaryen aesthetic #biker!aemond targaryen #biker!house targaryen #biker!au #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aesthetic #aesthetics #fire and blood #prince aemond targaryen #targaryen original character #he could do anything to me #literally anything

[lwbu]

Love Will Bury Us

Chapter 12

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

pairing: aemond targaryen x targaryen!oc

summary: Alyssa Targaryen cherished chaos, its presence a comforting reminder that she was alive and breathing. But when dragons danced and fire erupted, her chaos was no longer her own. As the last of control slipped through her fingers, a hand came in its place—cold, possessive and unforgiving, and it belonged to Aemond Targaryen.  

content & warnings: f!oc, targcest, so much tension it hurts, slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood and violence, spoilers for hotd, canon character(s) death, canon divergence, morally grey characters, additional tags to be added

word count: 6k

english is not my first language. all feedback is very appreciated.  also on ao3 and wattpad.

There was water in her mouth. It clashed onto the roof of it, swirling around her tongue before crawling down her throat. Alyssa choked on it, trying and failing to evade another wave. Her chest burned.

She felt a hard surface beneath her pliant body and something sharp digging into her neck like a splinter under the skin. Her bones ached, twisted awkwardly as though they'd been shattered and ineptly put back together. To change the angle, she attempted to move her head away, only for overwhelming coldness to grasp it into a tight grip. Like a rag doll, she went limp.

“Drink.”

Alyssa summoned no protests onto her chapped lips, too tired and too delirious and too lost. Empty. She'd never felt this empty.

Anxiety sat deep inside her body, wrapped around bones and flesh, and the crippling fear convinced her not to open her eyes. She could feel something solid beneath the tips of her fingers—hard and leathery and so unbearably cold to the touch that her hand went numb from the contact. Heard nothing but the sound of her own breathing, irregular and rustling and hungry for air. Felt pain in her ribs, burning and searing and radiating downwards, spreading like wildfire.

And the wetness on her lips. She wanted it gone.

She must have been lying there—wherever there was—for a long time. Long enough for her limbs to no longer feel like part of herself. Long enough to be stripped of control.

Hand on her jaw, forcing it open and mercilessly pouring what felt like litres of tasteless liquid down her throat. Ice-like fingers sinking into her skin, slim and long enough to engulf the entire width of her face. Strong enough to prevent her from moving an inch.

Struggling against the ache, mind seized by panic, Alyssa shot upwards with her eyes blown wide. The hand lost its hold on her, pressure now gone, and she knew that it must have left imprints behind. Her throat was given a moment of respite, freed and no longer constricting, and Alyssa almost wept in relief. Breathlessly, she blinked. Even her lids were heavy and shaking.

Only the darkness did not evaporate, nor did her surroundings clear from shadows. Seconds passed and Alyssa counted each of them with held breath, and still nothing changed and no clarity came, and she couldn't, she couldn't—

“I can't see,” she gasped.

Silence. Somehow, it felt all the more malicious when it collided with the darkness. Threatening. Like being lost in unknown corridors and trapped inside forever, and chased by shadows with sharp claws. Alyssa's skin tingled with trepidation, muscles spasming from pain, lips once more dry. But she wasn't alone. The hand had just been there—on her skin, scorching and blending into it, leaving Alyssa's jaw tender.

Her ears strained to find something else than the pounding of her own heart. She felt the wind brush her cheeks and braided curls, and heard a distant rustling of leaves whirling around, but nothing else. Dread blossomed in her chest. When at last she caught a low hum slicing through the silence, Alyssa went rigid.

“It'll pass.” A shuffle. Wetness returned to her lips, this time with an insistent sort of pressure she could not evade. “Drink.”

Realisation was a bitter thing. When swallowed down with the water, it landed near her heart, thousand of sharp blades waiting to strike and draw blood.

As Alyssa froze, so did everything else. Even time stopped, it seemed, now grains of sand suspended in air, waiting. Soon to be burned.

Her palms were trembling when she awkwardly, ungracefully plummeted them into Aemond's chest, solid beneath her touch, trying to push him away and lacking the strength to succeed.

“You.” Of course, it was him. He was always there to see her like this—tense and crumbling and almost broken. As though waiting to swallow down the cries and tears and bathe in her pain. As though basking in the glory that was her defeat. “Don't touch me!”

She needed to act—to do anything but sit there, disoriented and flinching and weaker than ever. Her limbs were heavy and even the slightest of movement hurt, but Alyssa refused to give up without a fight. Blindly, she reached forward in an attempt to grasp Aemond's throat, to squeeze it as he had squeezed her own, to strangle him and be freed from the shackles of his making—

He was faster. Stronger, too, with his lean but sturdy physique, and Alyssa felt the testament of it on her wrists. He was holding them brutally enough to leave bruises. Fingers long enough to wrap around the entirety of them twice, he held her tightly, a vice-like grip Alyssa could not escape. He might as well have put a dagger to her throat. She couldn't move at all.

“Calm yourself,” he hissed into her ear, so close the hotness of his breath engulfed her skin. She heard a small chuckle when she thrashed in his grip.

Blinded—both literally and figuratively, by madness and something else entirely, she spat, hoping that at least she'd managed to aim at him. Aemond tsked in annoyance, the sound echoing through the air, and his grip turned just a touch harder; her hands numb.

“Careful.” There was a hint of amusement in the timber of his voice. She wanted to claw all traces of mirth from his skin with her fingernails, even if she could not see it. One of his hands returned to Alyssa's face, but before she could bite into the flesh, he was squeezing her jaw. “Drink or I'll force you to.”

Alyssa hesitated for a second before complying, water pouring down her throat once more. Aemond's hand hadn't left her wrist, the other holding some vessel filled with liquid to her lips. She drank greedily, overtaken by a sudden burst of thirst and dizziness alike. Her insides burned. Everything did.

Careful not to alert him, Alyssa gulped and gasped and let her eyes fall shut in a vivid portrayal of relief, palm coming up to clutch at the vessel and tilt it just so. Briefly, their hands brushed; she struggled not to choke on the substance, water turned into flames pouring down her throat, scorching everything in its path.

Or maybe it was the touch that burned. Maybe it had always been him inflicting fire upon her bones. She chose not to ponder over it, hand falling limply to her lap, freed from unwanted friction. She still felt it. Felt him.

She wanted it gone. The traces his skin had left on hers and his fingers still on her wrist and the feeling of him—overwhelming and poisoning all her senses. Wanted to scorch it all until not even a memory of it remained. If she could, she'd tear her own skin into pieces, if only to eradicate the imprints he'd left. With her free hand, Alyssa reached towards her thigh. If there was something the nightmares had taught her, it was never to part with the dagger. Sometimes, though she rarely allowed herself to ponder over it, she'd awaken with the blade already clutched in fist, ready to strike. Sometimes, she'd cut herself by accident and welcome the physical pain. It was always a good distraction from the phantom one tormenting her mind.

“Ah. You didn't think I would have allowed you a weapon, did you?” He was closer, if closer was a thing that could be achieved anymore. Close enough that their cheeks brushed. Alyssa's skin prickled at the contact, only no longer did she know whether it was the coldness or simply him that elicited the response. As most times, Aemond's fingers came to tangle up in the wild strands of her hair. His voice dropped, no more than a whisper when he uttered, “I promise it's in good hands.”

His hands. Cruel and wicked and ready to snap necks. Hands with blood already staining them, long soaked into skin, crimson so deep it could never be washed off. Hands that had killed. Hands that would try to kill again.

Alyssa's face twisted, and she felt weaker than ever before when she let out a snarl. “Give it back.”

“I think not,” Aemond murmured. “I'd rather you didn't try to blindly slice my throat.”

She would have, had the blade not been stolen from her. They both knew it to be true. Alyssa caressed the place the knife had once been, a sheath sewn into the leathers, utterly empty now.

He had taken her dagger, but she still had nails and teeth, and not once had she ever considered yielding without attempting to bite into his throat first.

He must have expected it. Awaited the moment she pushed her aching body into his. When they crashed and fell back, just before she managed to pin him down, his hands wove around her cloak like ivy. Alyssa's elbow connected with something hard and solid, and she could only hope it was Aemond's face. She thrashed in his vice grip, and still his arms held onto her waist with a crushing force, hands tugging at the cloak to pull her away. Alyssa let out a dragon-like screech, fire disrupting the nothingness of her vision. When she heard him laugh, flames engulfed her entirely.

She scratched at his face, nails digging into skin, blood pouring down her fingers, swallowed by the want to ruin him—

“Come now, Alyssa,” he gasped, breathless under her hands. “You'll only hurt yourself.”

“Might as well try to hurt you in the process.”

“I suppose yielding is not in your nature.” One swift move and she was on her back, squirming underneath the weight of his body. His hand on her neck. It always was, in each of her dreams. Squeezing like now. “You should know that mercy is not in mine. Stop moving or I'll make you.”

Even though she couldn't see his face, Alyssa stared him down and hoped it was enough to burn him. One of his hands moved to grab her bloodied wrists, grip iron. He was fully straddling her now, pushing onto her chest in a way that restricted breathing.

“Go on, then. Finish what you started,” she spat. “Kinslayer.”

Aemond must have lowered his face. The ends of his hair tickled her cheeks. When he hummed again, as was his habit, the sound seemed to reverberate across her body, leaving havoc in its wake.

“Don't be ridiculous. You are of no value to me dead.”

She felt his breath on her skin. Her oxygen became him, him alone, his scent crawling into her lungs—

He let go. Alyssa's limbs fell onto the ground, freed from the embrace. Chest heaved, no longer weighed down by his body. Soon enough, she caught footsteps in the distance and knew she was alone.

Her head fell back to the ground with a thud. She was without a weapon and sight, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and Aemond's presence did little to calm her nerves. Whatever reason he'd had to chase her through the skies, she didn't doubt that this was the very result he'd been hoping for. He'd wanted her like this—defenceless and alone, imprisoned in an unknown, deserted place. Now that he had it, there was no predicting his next move. She wished the fog cleared from her eyes. It would be easier to defend herself from his wrath if she could see.

She needed to flee. This much was obvious, though the methods of achieving it were not yet clear. She searched for Blindfyre deep in her chest, somewhere in her bleeding heart, and found nothing. As if he was gone. As if he'd never been there at all.

No. Such thoughts were poison she could not allow into her mind, lest it overtake her entire being and leave her crumbling in pain. Wherever Blindfyre was—because she refused to accept the thought of him being just gone—she'd find him. She'd search the world for him.

Alyssa's mouth felt bitter. She wished there was no need to ever hear Aemond's voice again. But there was no one else around—no one to turn to at all—and so she was left without alternative options. She cleared her throat and almost gasped at the feeling. It was so dry even swallowing hurt.

A steadying breath. She forced herself to sound collected. “Blindfyre—”

“I saw him take off soon after you crashed down.”

Crashed down. Alyssa couldn't remember much aside from the dreadful sensation of falling. There'd been a storm. Heavy rain. Blindfyre must have lost balance, agitated by the sounds. He'd been bleeding, she recalled. Weak, as though no longer supported by the rune. Or had it been Vhagar that wounded him? It had certainly been Aemond's goal. His laughter still echoed through her mind. Alyssa scowled, choosing anger instead of the foreboding grief sinking into bones.

“He wouldn't leave me.”

“And yet that's what he did.”

“Where's Vhagar, then? Did you send her to chase after him?” It was a weak taunt. Lacking bite. She was too tired to conjure any more of her wrath, now no more than a flame.

He chuckled. It sounded hollow. “Believe it or not, it is not my intention to kill your dragon.”

“Of course,” Alyssa mocked. “Just like it was not your intention to hunt us through the storm.”

His anger was palpable. She felt it lick her skin like fire, boiling and relentless. Aemond had a habit, she noted, of attempting to intimidate her through touch. His hands always clutched at her body but never truly hurt her. Now, he did it again, fingers weaving through the braid on her neck. Angry breath hit her face. Still, he didn't pull.

“I did it because you broke your word.” One sharp tug was all he offered, and Alyssa bit into her tongue, if only to deny him the whimper that threatened to come out. His fingers travelled up the length of the braid, soon splayed across her scalp. It felt almost like a caress; she hated everything about it. Wanted him gone, gone, gone. “And look where it got you.”

If only she could see, her vision would be painted red. Hesitance long abandoned, she pushed into him. They'd never been close like this, she thought. So close that they blurred into one another. Close without drawing blood, even if she still felt his underneath the fingernails. Even if the scratches she'd left on his face were surely still oozing.

“I'm going to kill you,” she whispered.

She could almost hear him smile when he whispered back, “I don't believe you.”

She'd always thought him cold. Icy winds biting into cheeks and frozen waves crashing into skin, and even his eye itself was a statue carved from glaze shimmering in the night. Wherever he went and whatever he touched was a victim of frostbite, swallowed by angry rawness, last traces of warmth leeched off.

She'd always thought him cold, and yet it was warmth that disappeared when he moved away.

Alyssa swallowed the thought. Pledged to swallow every one that followed, too, if only it was similarly treacherous in its nature. Refused to entertain her own madness. It was all shameful enough that even erasing it from her foolish mind hurt.

“I am, after all, the only one who knows of your ailments,” he continued, merciless as ever.

“It was you who gave me the rune. You knew this would happen.”

“I didn't know you'd delude yourself into thinking one rune alone could reverse all the damage. Nor did I think you'd so easily give up on the beast.”

She couldn't listen to him anymore. Weakly, Alyssa attempted to stand, frail hands supporting weight, only to fall back to the ground as though her legs had forgotten how to walk. A scowl was now a prominent part of her face, expression full of creases and twists.

How pathetic an image she must have painted. A wingless dragon, she thought. Aemond must have been delighted, even though he kept silent. Was he standing above her, shoulders shaking with mirth, basking in the sight of her defeat? Had he been staring intensely enough for it to be long engraved in his mind, free to return in dreams?

“You did this to me,” fell from her lips, as bitter as her rotten heart.

His was rotten, too. She had known it for a long time. “No, Alyssa. You did this to yourself.”

She was so tired. Trapped. There was no way out of that wretched place nor Aemond's clutches. The severity of the situation downed on Alyssa like a wild tide, drowning and suffocating and aiming to kill. She wondered if they were indeed far from Stone Hedge or Harrenhal or anywhere else where her father had left footprints. He'd find her. If she was gone for too long—if a message came from Rhaenyra—he'd find her.

Only it might be too late by then. She could be long gone.

She wished to stop breathing, if only as a means to evade the constant waves of searing pain. She wanted to be swallowed by the dreadful silence; wanted her hearing to be as gone as her sight was. Wanted to disappear. Shatter into pieces.

He wouldn't let her. This much had been obvious since the very beginning. Since the first time he'd bled before her eyes. She still remembered that night. She wondered if he, too, had deemed it the beginning of whatever this was. Them, she supposed. Nameless and full of bittersweet rage.

“Drink up. We'd better move before it gets dark.”

She raised her eyebrow mockingly. “We? I'm not going anywhere with you, kinslayer.”

“No?”

Alyssa flinched when his finger touched her cheek. Just a caress, almost affectionate in its delicacy. Barely sensible. She wished she hadn't felt it at all.

“Would you rather be left all alone, blind and defenceless?” His voice was so quiet. She might not have heard it at all if it weren't for the proximity between them. Goosebumps rose across her skin.

He never let her go too soon. Always kept her immobilised in his clutches until he alone was satisfied. Fighting him was futile.

“I hear men in these lands have a great appreciation for silver. It's somewhat... exotic, if you will. Looks good wrapped around their fingers when they tug.” She gasped at the feeling of his fingers yanking. Her braid fell apart under his touch. “What do you think they'd do if they found you like this?”

They'd take. All men ever did was take.

But wouldn't it be a kinder fate?

She knew why she was there, in the middle of nowhere, with the shadow that was Aemond Targaryen. She wouldn't delude herself into thinking there was any other purpose to it. Her father had sent his men into the Red Keep to keep clean hands when blood was drawn, and so the Usurper now sent his brother in retaliation, too cowardly—or too deep in his cups—to take revenge himself. Alyssa knew how this would end.

Blood. It was always about blood.

“Tell me, Alyssa, do you want me to leave?”

She tilted her head. She thought their noses might have brushed against one another.

Fire. She was on fire.

“Is it really them I should fear?”

His hum was a knife to her throat. A promise of something unspoken. Darker. “I imagine not.”

Her sight returned in broken segments, as though shattered and needing to be put together again. She saw the grassy landscape and dark skies and fields full of nothing, and almost wept at each detail she managed to find. There was a disarray to the way the leaves danced in the wind; she counted each of them, if only to occupy her mind.

They'd began walking as soon as he noticed her taking in the surroundings. He was too perceptive, she thought, to be fooled into believing that she still couldn't see, and so she hadn't even tried. The distance between them was the only comfort, and so Alyssa cherished it in silence. Not once had he attempted to cross it.

She didn't doubt that eventually he would. She wondered if the moment would come as a response of rage or something different. She wondered why she was thinking about it at all. Mostly, Alyssa felt lost, and when she allowed her thoughts any freedom, they swallowed her whole and brought upon an overwhelming sense of despair. Out of desperation, she sought every reason for distraction as a man starved seeks sustenance.

Sometimes, the distraction was this. Leaves flying above, some catching in her hair, braid long gone. The wheezing of wind, oddly comforting in its chaotic nature. Grass underneath her feet; the way it crumpled and formed into prints.

Once, though, Alyssa had given in to the urge that plagued her mind. She'd been rigid when the question fell from her lips. It threatened to choke her. “Where are we?”

“In the riverlands,” he'd replied, all harsh tones and chilling sounds.

“In the riverlands, where?” Alyssa had inquired, only to never receive any answer.

The silence that followed was heavy. It made her skin itch and breath short, and something about Aemond had turned even darker. There was something akin to repetition in the way Alyssa forced her eyes away from his figure; each time, they found their way back, leaving an aftertaste of chagrin in her mouth.

She had long lost count of the times she tried to call out for Blindfyre. The emptiness inside her chest flickered like a torch, both gentle and brutal, and with each second it felt heavier. Alyssa carried the pain and anxiety in complete silence.

There were things she noticed now that her sight returned. Aemond walked as if he knew the path by heart. His hand never left the right side of his robes, which could only mean it was where he'd hidden her dagger. Everything about the image screamed pledges of a trap, an ambush, she needed to run—

She needed to wait. Blindfyre would come for her.

And she needed Aemond's rage. His fire. Anything other than the tense silence. If anything, perhaps if she angered him enough, she'd gain room to escape. And since the mere sound of her voice annoyed him so, she would speak.

“Why were you here?”

For a moment, she believed he wouldn't answer. He seemed intent not to, in any manner, humour her. She saw the twist of his lips and the glint of his eye, and all this spoke of danger.

But then he turned to face her, stone cold. The violet burned. And yet it was simplicity that coloured his words when he said, “because you were here.”

“How would you know that?” she demanded.

“You sent a raven, did you not?”

Alyssa stopped. Everything did. Neither the leaves nor the wind brushed against her body anymore, suspended in time, awaiting whatever would come next.

A raven. No more than two sentences scribbled in the dark. A piece of parchment small enough to get lost in the way; to be thought insignificant. She hadn't thought to mention it to her father, wanting only to notify Rhaenyra that she would be coming back. Coming home.

A bile rose in her throat. She had done it to herself. She'd done it time and time again. Each of her choices had led them to him.

“Sweet girl. You can't have thought that your letters would only ever be read by one pair of eyes.” He taunted and taunted and never stopped. Even his hand was but another way of tormenting her when it came to cup her chin. “So unwary. So childishly naive.”

The sound of a slap echoed around them when she hit at his palm. She needed him to stop touching her. The skin on her face had long turned raw, melded into a strange sculpture of his own creation. As though to accommodate each of the following touches. As though for his fingers to fit perfectly, splayed across it, painting it with blood.

Aemond's lip quivered before forming a smirk. There was a gash on cheek, shallow but scarlet red. His blood still underneath Alyssa's fingernails. She watched the scratch; his eye remained unwavering as it scanned her face. She still felt it by the time they wordlessly pulled apart and resumed walking towards the unknown.

It wasn't until the sky darkened that Alyssa acknowledged the ache of her bones with gritted teeth. If they had indeed fallen from the skies, it must have been Blindfyre who had suffered most from the impact, and the thought of him being in pain and all alone did nothing to calm her nerves. Somewhere along the way, she'd begun limping, knees weak, on the verge of collapsing. But Aemond couldn't know just how enervated she was, and so she walked forward.

When the landscape of fields blurred into woods, he halted. In another life, she might not have even noticed—he moved as deliberately as he did in silence. But her eyes had long turned a permanent presence on the back of his head, and not once had she thought of reverting them. He seemed aware of her gaze. His muscles twitched under its weight.

She'd never truly been in a place like this. Never left the safety of stone walls and looming towers. Even her escapades with Blindfyre were solely limited to the skies, both seeking refuge among clouds and not lands. There were grasses and trees and sandy beaches on Dragonstone, but nothing quite like this. A dreary place, she thought. Dark. Even the trees themselves seemed to whisper promises of demise, as though they'd decided her unworthy of entering. When she looked up, she found that the skies, too, were banned from accessing, as though their light could never shine upon this earth. They were barely visible anymore.

“We shall rest here.”

Her head snapped downward, eyes immediately finding him. Aemond had already moved from the previous spot, now perched upon a log, hands rummaging through the pockets of his black cloak in a manner so carefree Alyssa's blood boiled.

Rest. She'd never rest again until she found a way to escape.

“Call Vhagar,” she snapped. “Do it.”

His gaze was lazy, eye wandering over the length of her body before it settled upon her face.

“Why would I?”

“And why wouldn't you?” Her throat was dry again, each word falling from her lips another nail scratching through its length. He remained passive; Alyssa's hands trembled. “What's the point of this?”

“Why, it's your punishment.” Instead of shrinking under the pressure of her gaze, he shrugged. The smile that he offered was malicious. “I'm merely testing your limits.”

“Testing my limits,” she repeated, a hollow tone carried by the wind.

Inside her head, he was always swallowed by wildfire, both eyes bleeding, scars on display. Turning to nothing but ash swept by the wind, lost forever in the sky. Inside her head, she imagined him harmless. Vulnerable. Not the ever resilient statue of composure.

Not like he was now. It was intrigue that lingered in his eye, and Alyssa detested it most.

She wanted his anguish, not curiosity.

“Take out your blade, then. Test them,” she ordered.

She knew he wouldn't do it. He'd sooner slice her throat in the middle of the night when she was lulled into an unguarded tranquility. If there was something she knew about Aemond, it was that fair fight meant little to him.

“A wild beast,” he mused.

Alyssa imagined taking his other eye when it shone in mirth. His voice dropped, a low rumble against the rustling of trees.

“You're far from home. All alone. You cannot navigate through these lands. I quite enjoy watching you squirm as you ponder over your nonexistent options. As it is, we will not be leaving until I decide so.” He looked so pleased with himself. Pleased with the way her lip twisted. “How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

It felt like death. She'd never tell him, but it felt as if her heart had been torn from chest and stepped on. As if he'd crushed her lungs between his hands and let them break into tiny chunks. As if he had, at last, put more pressure around her throat and finally, finally stole the last of her breaths.

Alyssa decided to await the right moment in silence, wondering if it'd ever come at all.

She watched him light a fire without asking questions, even if they all but crashed upon her lips in an attempt to come out. She didn't ask who had taught him to do it, or why would he ever need to learn. Perhaps this was why. Perhaps he'd come prepared, as though following through a long-outlined strategy. It was odd to think him calculating, and yet that was precisely how she would describe him.

She watched him. Constantly. Obsessively, as though expecting him to strike. He never did. His eye remained focused on the flames, fire illuminating his face and painting it in warm hues. It didn't suit him, she thought. He was made of cold marble and harsh strokes of paint. Made for dark, deserted areas; places of abandon, long forgotten and mostly feared. Not for mere flicks of light that now brushed through his skin, but wildfire. Not the softness or tranquility around them, no matter how feigned.

The ground, uncomfortable as it was, managed to provide relief to her bone-tired legs. A shiver of anticipation crawled the length of her spine when she rested against a lone log, as far from Aemond but still close to the fire as possible. The night had fallen at last, and no longer was she certain a day would come again.

She thought of her father. Of Rhaenyra and the crown on her head, sharp enough that it might have been made of thorns. Of Rhaena's long lost laugh and Baela's sudden need to be close, as though starved for any proximity.

Mostly, she thought of Luke. Every time she looked at Aemond, she saw shadows of the life he'd taken.

Grief, it seemed, was a twisted thing. Mangled and broken and coming in times she wished to forget it the most. She wondered if Aemond's own grief was anything alike the ugly, rotten flesh of her heart; if it took the form of a parasite that could only ever grow, even when it wasn't being fed. If he felt it equally intensely. If her face, too, reminded him of what he'd lost.

“What was the point in giving me the rune? What is it that you gained?” Her voice cut through the silence like a dagger.

“Your gratitude, of course,” was his response. But there, amidst flames, she saw the slight tremble of his shoulders, as if they’d been joking around. Slowly, just a touch, he turned his head towards her. “Perhaps it's only ever been about the pleasure of your company.”

“Do not patronise me.” With their eyes once more in a battle of their own, Alyssa remained completely still. Frozen. Her muscles tensed, anxious fingers flexing. “Is this revenge? A war strategy? Or do you actually hope that my undying gratitude will lead to betrayal on my part?”

To evade the fire of his gaze, she reverted her eyes and, spurred by the moment, decided to braid her hair anew. The strands were all tangled, wilder than ever. It suited well with her current circumstances, she thought bitterly.

This night, the darkest of all she'd seen, was a stark contrast to the one from yesterday. Had it truly been so recently that she conversed with the utterly unremarkable Oswin Roote, a man so placid that he'd likely shrink from Aemond Targaryen's leer?

A soft cunt, her father had called him. And it might have been the truth of it, for what would the puny lord do when faced with a dragon?

Comparing him to Aemond was preposterous. A sign of her madness, she thought. She had long stopped making sense.

“Have you not betrayed already?” His words snapped her out of her mind. Brought a shiver down her body. “Has each of our illicit meetings not been a betrayal in itself?”

She hummed. “Then you are equally guilty.”

“I never claimed otherwise.”

She didn't want this. Didn't want them to have anything in common, be it guilt or something else entirely. Her heart raced in a pattern much like that of her braided hair.

She wished she hadn't opened her mouth at all. Still, as if with a mind of its own, it moved. “It's not betrayal if my aim all along was to kill you.”

“Ah, yes, kill me. You aren't very good at it, are you?” There was a trace of humour in his voice.

“Perhaps I am simply waiting for the right moment,” Alyssa quipped.

His laugh was so unlike him. Oddly warm. It made her blood boil.

“And perhaps that is precisely why we're here.”

Once, she had thought him a simple being. Stone cold and ice-like, made entirely of darkness. She'd been wrong, though. There were cracks in the facade, like the scratches she'd left on his cheek. If someone looked intently enough, they'd find flickers of light.

She never wanted to see it. Never wanted to see him as anything other than a lurking shadow.

A nightmare inflicted upon her tormented mind. A man of violence and brutality and war.

He was war.

“Was it your false king that sent you, my head his desired prize?”

“Our meetings remain a secret only we know of.”

And whether that was for the better or worse, she didn't know.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Had tried to eradicate exhaustion from her lids, rubbing at them until they turned raw. But then she had dreamed of hands squeezing life out of her, awakening with a loud gasp and her own fingers caressing her throat. He had watched. Of course, he had watched.

Upon sunrise, he had led them forward—away from woods and extinguished fires and maybe, possibly away from Blindfyre. Each step was a cut on her flesh, deeper and deeper until everything was covered in blood.

They’d been silent the entire way, as though none had any words left; both unwilling to break the stillness between them. Aemond had strode ahead, and Alyssa had imagined all the possible ways she could get her dagger back. She should have done it during the night. Could have, if only she hadn’t been an utter fool.

At last, Aemond’s goal came into sight. A pitiful thing, really. Desolate-looking. Entrance badly lit by oil lamps.

A tavern. He'd brought her to a tavern.

She inhaled. Held the oxygen in her lungs long enough to burn. Counted the colours around, imagining Rhaena’s voice.

When his hand clutched at her elbow, Alyssa flinched. He was expressionless as ever. “You should cover your head.”

Her scoff was bitter, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. She contemplated reaching for the dagger now, regardless of consequences. She knew he must have already seen the way she eyed his belts. Likely, it was but another game to him—awaiting her attack while knowing she stood no chance against him.

Just to defy him, she tried to move away.

It was with a vicious smile that he pulled her back to his chest. “Do try to stay close. I'd hate to chase you down again.”

But the glint in his cold eye told her the truth.

Chasing her down had long become an obsession.

#aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond x oc #hotd #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #ao3 fanfic #targaryen!oc

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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