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ewanmitchellconnoisseur · 3 months

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"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" (Aemond x Reader)

A/N: I want to first say. I STRUGGLE with writing dialogue in different periods. So if I make this into a fic it is going to take me so long because I will have to read other people's stories and rewatch the show so the dialogue can be somewhat realistic. Hopefully, I do well...If not. Don't tell me shit. I don't wanna hear it. // Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: You return with your family to King's Landing to defend Lucerys against your uncle Vaemond but he is not the uncle you worry about. Your mind is filled with the man you were once betrothed to what he will say when he sees you, and how he will act. You worry about how your Uncle Aemond will treat you after all this time.

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Tw: Oral Sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 5.4k (an absolute fucking monstrosity written in a couple hours)

"Would say it's nice to be home but I scarcely recognize it." Daemon hums slightly before walking around looking at every bit of the wall in disgust. Rhaenyra turns to you and your brothers. "I trust you three will stay out of trouble while we go visit your grandsire?"

Your brothers nod their heads as you all take your turn to look over what was once your home. It feels...darker than it did when you lived here, almost abandoned. If it was not for the servants walking around you would think it was.

Rhaenyra and Daemon walk away leaving you and your brothers.

"Come on. I want to see if that hole is still in the wall in the training yard." Luke rolls his eyes at the stupid memory which makes you smile. You follow after them as they try to recall the way there.

You don't listen to their conversation as Jace points out the hole that still remains. You can barely pay attention to anything anyone is saying. Your brain has been in panic mode since the moment you were told you would be returning here.

Scared to face your previous betrothed. You feel someone's hands wrap around yours and snap you out of your thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Luke says softly and looks at you worriedly. You nod and ruffle his hair with a smile.

"Im fine. Just...feels weird being back." He doesn't let go of your hand. You notice as he looks around at all the people staring at him and Jace. It had always been like this, people often compared you to your brothers in how different you looked. How you carried Targaryen features while they resembled Harwin Strong.

Unknown to you or your brothers at the time Rhaenyra and Laenor did truly try to conceive at least one trueborn child. But in the end, it was all too uncomfortable for them. It was only on their second try did they attempt it in another way. Laenor at first stayed in the room alone getting himself just before his peak so that when Rhaenyra came in all he had to do was empty himself inside of her. That one time resulted in you. The only child related to Laenor in both blood and name.

Jace comes and pulls Luke away to watch a fight you couldn't care less about. You walked around the yard looking at the various weapons laid out. You knew that you could fight far better than most of the men here, having been trained by Daemon himself.

Bored by the dusty swords and daggers you turn to watch the fight from the other side. Your heart dropped into your ass as you see the man before you.

He was tall...you always thought he would be. His hair sadly no longer carried those curls that once coiled around your fingers as he read to you. An eyepatch sat over his eye breaking your heart as you recalled the night.

"Get off of him!" "Stop it, Jace!" "Don't hurt him!"

You clamped your eyes closed wanting to fight off the painful memory. You were weak then, unable to help. You couldn't protect him in any way that mattered.

The claps of everyone around you had you opening your eyes once more. You watched as Aemond bested Criston in a duel.

"Well done, my prince, You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys. Nephews...have you come to train?" You see the look on Luke's face and you feel bad for him. He and Jace had spent most of their time trying to learn High Valyrian and barely picked up a sword unless forced to. Aemond had clearly spent all his time training since the accident.

"Open the gates!" Everyone turns to watch as the guards open the gates and men carrying the banners of Velaryon walk in. You walk over to your brothers and hold onto Luke's hands as Vaemond passes by staring Luke down. Vamond's expression only softens as he looks at you and he offers you a warm smile.

The same smile he had given you at Laena's funeral as he took the opportunity to call your brother's bastards in such a sad time. You hear Luke audibly gulp and you try to soothe him by running your fingers over his knuckles.

"Let's go inside." You place a hand on Jace's back to calm him down as you notice the look of anger on his face at the sight of Vaemond.

As you turn to enter the Red Keep your eyes automatically land on Aemond who now wears an expression you can't quite place. His eyes are only on you and for a moment it feels like there's only you two but Jace is quick to step in front of your view and to give Aemond a look you can't see. Whatever it is has him turning around in anger and returning to sparring with Criston.

You walk with Rhaenyra and Rhaena towards Rhaenys.

"Grandmother" Rhaena calls out and basically runs over to her. You follow behind her.

"Rhaena..." Rhaena stands before her as Rhaenys holds her hand. You step beside her and Rhaenys looks over to you. She steps forward and places a hand on your cheek. "You two have grown beautifully." She kisses both of your cheeks.

"Baela said you might be here." Your mother comes closer, each step wary. "She's done well as your ward. You've um... raised her admirably." Rhaenys doesn't look over and keeps her eyes trained on both you and Rhaena.

"You honour me, Princess." Rhaenys smiles softly at Rhaenyra.

"Might I speak to the Princess alone, girls?" Rhaena looks to your grandmother almost for permission. She nods and lets go of both of you.

"Princess." Rhaena begins to walk away. You give your grandmother another kiss on the cheek before leaving.

Rhaenyra smiles at you as you walk away to join Rhaena.

"What do you think they're talking about?" You both look back once more before heading inside.

"I have no idea." You look at your mother who steps closer to your grandmother. Rhaene takes your arm and you turn to her. "Come. Let us go find the boys."

That night it rained and the sound of thunder filled your old chambers. His face filled your memories. His voice echoed in your ears.

"Can I kiss you Aemond?" Your fingertips ran over the dip of his lips as you imagined what they would feel like on yours."You never have to ask Princess."

You touch your lips at the memory of your first kiss. The only kiss you ever got to share with him. How soft his kiss was, how gentle he was. Your lips yearned for another kiss. Your body begs for his warmth and your heart breaks. It breaks at the memory of when your betrothal was cancelled when you knew the future you both talked about would never happen.

"How many children will we have?" Your head lay in his lap as he read a book, his fingers twirling your hair as you pick the petals of a flower. "As many as you are willing to bear me, Princess." You blush brightly which only brings a smile to his face. But your brain always knows how to ruin the moment as a new thought plagues your mind."Would you be angry at me if I had a girl first?" Aemond closes his book and looks down at you. "I could never be angry at you."

You sat up in your bed to the sound of a knock at the door. Your hands roughly smooth over your head pushing your hair back as if it wipes away the memories and dreams.

How can one live like this? How can one continue on in life like this? He is in every breath you take, every time you close your eyes his face decorates the darkness that you simply wish would consume you. You are reminded of him in every waking moment of your life.

Another knock comes to your chamber doors and you know you have no choice but to start your day. You sweat at the thought of seeing him again.

Will he keep to his words? Will he not be angry with you for being gone for so long? For not sending any letters? You did not want to find out. In truth you just want to stay in your chambers all day and sleep, but for the sake of Luke you would attend the hearing.

"The crown will now hear the petitions." Otto sits on the throne as his voice echoes throughout the hall. "Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon."

Vaemond steps forward as everyone looks towards him. Everyone but Aemond. You can see him in the corner of your eye his gaze is focused on you. Never looking away, never taking a break.

You stand next to Daemon looking forward. Knowing that if you even willed your eyes to move it would land on him. And you couldn't bear to look at him.

"My Queen. My Lord Hand." Vaemond then goes on to talk about the history and the days of Old Valyria. You can't hear him, you can't hear anything once more over the beating of your heart.

"Iksis bisa iā qogror iā elekor?" [Is this a class or a hearing?] Daemon whispers to you. He notices your rigid stance and how you're taking in shallow breaths. He places a hand on your elbow and you look over to him. He gives you a look of "Are you ok?" to which you nod.

He returns back to staring Vaemond down hoping he will eventually burn holes into the side of his head and will fall dead where he stands but not everyone is that lucky. It is only then that he notices a one-eye fucker staring in his direction. He shifts his gaze and notices Aemond staring at you. Aemond can feel someone looking at him and looking towards Daemon before pressing his lips in a thin line and giving Vaemond his attention.

"As it does in my sons and daughter, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." You are snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of your mother's voice. You look over to her. "If you cared so much about your house's blood Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful hair." Vaemond holds a look of anger towards her. "No, you only speak for yourself. and for your own ambition."

"You will have a chance to make your own petition Princess Rhaenyra." You look towards Alicent. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." Next to her, you see the smirks of both Aegon and Aemond. You know they enjoy this, seeing Luke be openly called a bastard.

Why are your brothers blamed and dragged through the mud for what your mother has done? Are they not innocent in their own conceivement?

Vaemond gives Alicent a slight nod before turning towards your family.

"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" He speaks to your mother in a condescending tone. "I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it."

Your heart twinges for your mother. You feel conflicted all the time. On one hand, your brothers are indeed not blood-related to your father. But he had accepted them as his sons publicly no doubt. What could he have done for people to recognize them as his children? On the other hand, Vaemond proves a point in matters of blood. But is it not the last names people remember?

They both ride dragons, and they learn the tongue of the dragon. They are everything Targaryen but in matters of looks and blood. But that is more than enough for people to shun them. You want to side with them with your full heart, but how can you when you understand the opposition's points?

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

You look up in awe as you watch your grandsire slowly walk into the room. The only sound was the tapping of his cane against the floor. You had not seen him in so long, he looked so old and different. Hunched over and in pain.

You watch as he makes his way up to the throne and Daemon aids him. Otto moves over to stand next to Alicent and you can see the confusion and anger on his face. His plans are ruined and whatever chance he had at getting the Velaryons on their side is squandered.

"I must...admit...my confusion." Your grandsire breathes quickly as he tries to regain his strength. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You listen as he calls for your grandmother to speak.

You feel hot. This room feels hot. You pull repeatedly at the band on your wrist. A coping mechanism you developed when you felt so far away from everything. You snap the band against your wrist as you listen to your grandmother who only further pushes for Corly's wishes for Lucerys to be the next Lord of the Tides. You miss her announcing the marriage between your brothers and cousins.

You can't focus. He is still staring at you. You make the mistake of closing your eyes cause when you open them they are on him. You take in a sharp breath and stare back at him. Your heart feels as though someone is squeezing it, your chest heavy as if a dragon sits atop it. You want nothing more than to go over there but you keep your feet planted.

"That is no true Velaryon." You jump slightly looking towards your uncle as he angrily points at Luke. "and certainly no nephew of mine." Your mother tells your brothers to head to their chambers before attempting to silence Vaemond.

"You can not all be blind surely? To look upon both my grandniece and her sons and think they share the same father?" Everyone looks at you and for a moment you wish you could shrink into the walls, fade into the people behind you. "She even skips her daughter so that her son could inherit Driftmark when it belongs to my niece. She wishes to cover her tracks and erase my niece's future." You've never felt that way. You were never upset at your mother's decisions. Maybe you always assumed you'd end up with Aemond. "Gods be damned...I will not see it ended on the account of this-" Your eyes widen as you realize what he wishes to say.

You feel a heat radiate beside you and notice the body language of Daemon has changed. A hand rests on his sword as his head is cocked to the side.

"Say it." He whispers softly. Vaemond gives Daemon a smug look.

"Her sons...are BASTARDS! And she...is...a whore." Everyone gasps and you notice the heat beside you is missing. You watch as King Viserys unsheaths his dagger and calls for your uncle's tongue.

You then hear a thud and turn and see Vaemond's body hit the floor. His head was cut off at the mouth, his tongue still attached. Much happens in those moments but your eyes stay on Vaemond's body. It is only when your mother places a hand on your cheek you look away.

"Go with your grandmother. She might need comfort."

You stand next to Rhaenys, holding her hand as the silent sisters work on your uncle.

"Did you ever feel that way, little ocean?" You look over to her as her eyes are trained upon his seperated head. "As if your mother was trying to erase you?"

"No, grandmother. To be honest. I had always imagined myself living here, in the Red Keep." You looked around the room watching the sisters move slowly and carefully.

"Married to Aemond." Your quick to look back towards her she offers you a faint smile before turning to you. "Come back with me, to Driftmark. Your grandsire would love to see you and I have missed your presence." You nod, not caring to say that you should ask the permission of your mother and father.

The Grand Maester walks over and speaks. You stare at the body of your uncle once more. Is this justice? He called your mother a whore and your brother bastards...but was he wrong?

"The Stranger has visited me more times than I can count, Grand Maester." You feel her squeeze your hand. "I assure you, he cares little whether my eyes are open or closed." You watch as he leaves. "You should go, little ocean. Your grandsire wishes for you to eat with your family."

"Will you not dine with us?" You brush your fingers against her hand.

"I fear I have lost my appetite." She kisses your head. "We will take our leave on the morrow." You nod before leaving the room with a final look towards your uncle.

As you enter the dining hall your family is already there. The table already has its sides. On the right sit your mother and your family and on the left sit the Queen and hers. The separation hurts you and you wish you could do something about it. Mend it in whatever way possible. You would give your own life if it meant uniting your family.

Jacerys offers his seat so you can sit next to Baela and he moves to her other side. The switch puts you next to Aegon but you do not mind. He has never been one to bother you before, and only ever makes small jokes, which you would never admit to his face, can be funny.

"Mother?" Rhaenyra turns in her chair towards you.

"Yes, my heart?" She places a hand on your arm you smile at the name. Each one of you had one, Jace was often referred to as her love, Luke as her sweet boy, and you her heart.

"Grandmother has requested I return with her to Driftmark... I'd like to. To see grandsire, if that is all right with you." She smiles softly and brings your hand to her lips as she kisses it.

"Of course." You hear the doors open and see your grandsire being carried in. "We will talk more later. Go sit." You walk over to your chair and stand until he is placed in his spot.

As you walk over you look up and see his eyes on you once more. He stands at the head of the table watching you. You sit only when you notice everyone else does and clasp your hands together when Alicent calls for prayer. You've read about the Seven and know only as much as books taught you. You hear Alicent's prayer but you pray your own. You ask The Warrior and The Smith to give you strength, you beg for forgiveness from The Maiden for your thoughts and acknowledge The Stranger, for you both feel like outcasts in this world.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena." It is only then that you feel the weight of his gaze lift, as he looks at your brother on the other end of the table. Your grandsire calls for a toast to your brothers. He calls for another toast for Lucerys as the future Lord of the Tides.

"I also want to say. How beautifully my granddaughter has grown." You feel the eyes of everyone turn to you, and your mother smiles. Even Alicent gives you a genuine gentle smile. "Im sure by your next nameday we will have found a suitable match for your hand. Let us toast in hopes you will find someone deserving of you." Everyone raises their glass.

But it is only Aemond who does not. You watch as Aegon leans over you towards Baela.

"He does know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

"Let it be cousin," Baela responds clearly annoyed. Jace responds but you don't hear it whatever he says has Aegon sitting back down fully in his seat.

You stare forward as King Viserys makes a speech. You return to snapping the band against your wrist as you again feel the heat of his stare. Words are shared between the Queen and your mother before Aegon gets up and sets himself in between Baela and Jace.

"I, um I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask-" Jace bangs his hands on the table before standing up which leads to Aemond standing up as well ready to protect his brother if need be.

Aegon sits down quickly next to you. More speeches go on, too many speeches. You wish everyone would just shut up so we can all be done with this dinner. Either that or let us remove our masks and speak the truth. You have grown tired of this tension and fake genuineness.

You remain next to Aegon as food is brought out and Jace takes Helaena to dance. You can see the look on his face. He looks over your family with a sort of longing. Everything he has ever wanted on display in front of him.

"Would you care to dance uncle?" He looks over to you with a surprised look on his face. He puts down his cup and is about to put out his hand when someone clears their throat. You look over to the noise and see Aemond staring at the two of you.

"Not if I wish to lose my head." He picks his cup back up and returns to watching everyone. You look over to Aemond who only stares at you with no emotion.

You watch as guards walk over to your grandsire and take him away. You make a plan in your head to go visit him tonight to speak to him.

The mood is only spoiled as a pig is placed in front of Aemond. You hear the light chuckles of Luke and curse him in your head. You flinch as Aemond's hand bangs the table and he stands up picking up his cup.

"Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace...Luke...and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise..." And in that pause alone you feel that separation between families grow. "...strong. Come...let us drain our cups to these three strong boys."

"I dare you say that again." You tense as Jace speaks already being able to tell where this is going.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond lowers his cups and walks over to Jace. "Do you not think yourself strong?" Jace punches Aemond...or...attempts to. Aemond still stands unwavering and not a drop spilt from his cup.

Aegon grabs Luke who tries to walk over to help Jace and slams his head on the table. You stand up and walk over to Aegon and pull his hair, yanking his head back. He releases Luke and only smiles up at you. You put him in the same position he had your brother in, slamming his head against the table and holding him down until guards come and step in between you two.

You remain standing at the chairs as the sides are made once more. You stand somewhat in the middle. Jace attempts to run back over to Aemond but Daemon steps in front of him.

"Go to your quarters. All of you go now." Your siblings and cousins leave but you remain still standing in your spot. You watch as Aemond and Daemon stare at each other silently. Aemond then turns to you and so does everyone else, he looks at you and then hums to himself as he walks out of the room.

"Come little rogue." Daemon puts his arm out for you. You take his arm, your mother pats your cheek and you follow him out of the room.

You sit in your mother and Daemon's chambers caring for young Aegon and Viserys along with a couple of maids.

Your mother walks in and takes a seat next to Daemon.

"I will see the boys home. Then I will return on dragonback." She holds Daemon's hand.

"Just the boys?" He asks looking over at you.

"Grandmother has asked me to return with her and Baela to Driftmark." He nods.

"Head to bed rogue." You nod and stand up walking over to your parents. You kiss your mother's cheek and place a hand on her stomach before walking past Daemon and pulling on the small ponytail in his hair softly and leaving the room.

Daemon watches as you leave with a smirk on his face and waits until the door is closed to speak.

"Did you see the way he looked at her?" Rhaenyra is taken aback by Daemon's tone. He stands up and paces.

"Who, my love?" She rubs her belly as she watches her children play.

"Aemond." He scowls. "He's been looking at her since we arrived as if he wants to take her where she stands. Which is impressive since the fucker only has one eye." he sits back down.

"They were once betrothed Daemon. Before that, they were closer than any of the kids. They spent all their free time together." She smirks at her husbands's protectiveness. It didn't take long for him to see you as one of his own daughters.

"We should discuss her future marriage. Maybe it's time we start looking for a husband for her." Rhaenyra nods.

"We will speak to her about it when she returns from Driftmark. Vaemond was right about one thing...she is being erased...I had not realized I was doing that." Daemon took her hand and placed the other on her bump.

"That fucker didn't know what he was talking about. You are a great mother to her, and she has had no complaints about her inheritance." She knows he's right.

"Nonetheless. If there is one thing I can give her is a choice. She will decide who she marries. I would feel better knowing it's a man of her own choosing."

Your handmaids leave the room once you're finished being dressed for bed. You sit in front of your vanity staring at yourself.

When had you become someone you didn't recognize? When did you begin just walking the earth instead of living on it? When had you become so...lonely.

You walk over to the balcony and step outside. Pulling your robe tighter to your body against the cold air. You close your eyes and though you aren't sure who it is you are speaking to you beg them to help you. To bring you happiness and peace.

"Mandianna" You hear him from behind you. You turn around slowly and see him standing inside your room. You slowly walk in and close the balcony doors behind you, locking them.

"...Aemond..." You move to take another step to him but he raises a hand.

"For as long as I can remember you...Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you." You take a deep breath as he speaks. "And now that you're here...I'm in agony." He takes a step towards you. "The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you...I can't breathe." He stops in front of you a hand on your cheek. "I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that that kiss will not become a scar." He lowers his head so he hovers just above your lips. "You are in my very soul, tormenting me...what can I do? I will do anything you ask."

You stare up into his eyes and feel drawn into them. You drown in them putting up no fight. Wanting to feel that darkness that has followed you all these years surround you.

"Kiss me." And he does and it is everything you've imagined. You give him full reign and kisses you with the same intensity that a drowning man comes up for air.

When he finally pulls away he admires your bruised lips and brushes the tears from your eyes.

"Aemond...I have grieved for what we could have been...so much time has passed. And our families have only grown farther apart." He kisses the side of your cheek.

"But what is grief if not love persevering?" He wraps his arms around your waist pulling you right against him as his eyes meet yours. "I have yet to meet another soul who is fluent in my language..but you? You are fluent in me." You place your hands on his chest. "Marry me. In the tradition of our ancestors. Let my blood become yours, and yours mine." You see the hope in his eyes.

"And what of our families?" They would never accept this." You try to pull away but he holds you tight against him.

"I refuse to sacrifice the one person who sees me for who I am for a family who barely sees me for the mask I wear." He leads you towards your bed and sits you down at the edge of it before sitting before you on his knees. "You are mine. You were always meant to be mine."

His hands trail up your legs as a smirk spreads over his face.

"Aemond. We can't." He pushes up your nightgown while kissing his way up your legs.

"I will not spoil you. I will only wish for a preview of what will be mine." He pushes your dress up all the way and pulls down your small clothes. He pulls your legs over his shoulder as he lowers himself in between your thighs.

He wastes no time drinking you up. His tongue tastes whatever he can, his nose brushing against your bud softly. His tongue stiffens inside of you as he finds that place his brother had told him about. It has you lying down covering your mouth.

"Ae-Aemond..." He moans against your cunt in pleasure at your moans of his name. "Please..." you're unsure of what it is you are begging for but whatever it is you know you need it.

He brings a finger to better rub your bud as he fucks you with his tongue. He can feel you clenching and watches as you're soon arching off of the bed holding on to his hair.

The feeling is unlike anything you've experienced. A large opposite from how dark you have been feeling. You feel lighter as if pent-up energy has been released.

He gives your bud one last kiss before walking away and returning with a wet cloth. He wipes his face first before gently cleaning you. When he's done you sit up and he sits next to you pulling you into his lap.

You feel how hard he is below you and move so your legs are wrapped around his torso. You grind down on him and he looks up at you holding on to your hips. The friction against your bud only builds back up that feeling in your stomach. You kiss Aemond as he continues to guide you so you're grinding down on him. He picks up speed his mouth agape.

Without saying anything you reach and pull the eye patch off of him. Aemond stops and looks away hiding his face. You place a hand on his cheek and turn him back to you.

"Gevie." You kiss his scar gently and admire the sapphire that replaces his eye. He returns to grinding you down on him lewd thoughts fuelling his actions. His breaths become louder and you even hear a gentle moan from him.

"Fuck~" you feel him stiffen beneath you. He presses his forehead against your chest pulling you flush against him.

"I will speak to my mother and even my father. If they say no. I will come for you and only then will I fuck you and mark my name into your wet cunt so that they will have no choice but to marry us."

He kisses you again. You taste yourself on his tongue.

"You say that as if the breaking of Princess' maidenheads has not been hidden before. They could easily give me to someone who would not care."

"To that...mandianna. I tell you that idiots are highly flammable...and we ride dragons..." He kisses your exposed chest.

"I say...let them burn."

A/N: This was for the girls who dream of marrying a prince and end up falling for the misunderstood villain.

I have thought of doing another part or turning this into a mini-series at least. But for now, this is just a one-shot.

Shoutout to the Star Wars Anakin monologue that fueled me to write this anyway.

Taglist: @thought--bubble @valeskafics @dixie-elocin

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

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undertheorangetree · 10 months

Text

Pomegranate Seeds

Summary- A retelling of the abduction of Persephone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Hades and Persephone AU. Star-crossed lovers vibes. Uncle/niece incest. Making out. Angst. Fluff. Titty sucking. Handjob. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering. Soft smut. Mild praise kink. Mildly OOC Aemond.

Author's Notes- Yeah I was a Percy Jackson/Greek mythology kid, thank you for noticing. I'm still playing incredibly fast and loose with the mythology tho so we're gonna have to make our peace with that. This is a beast btw, it's like 9.6K and you can find the rest on AO3 with the link below :)

divider created by @firefly-graphics

It is moments like these, she thinks, that she loves most.

Alone in the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, the babbling of the creek as it flows over the rocks. Everything green with the exception of the purple, white, and yellow flowerheads but lush and everbearing and alive, the sun little more than a hazy warm glow, not yet hot enough to be overbearing. It is peaceful here, so much more than she is used to. She had come to an agreement with her step sisters, Baela and Rhaena, that they allow her a few hours on her own in this meadow, undisturbed by anyone else. Though her mother much preferred to that she remain alongside her sisters whenever she is out of sight, she, Baela, and Rhaena had come to an agreement that what her mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. And besides, they were never too far away from her. Being water nymphs, they could be by her side in less than a moment if she really needed them, so long as she doe does not stray too far from the river. And she has never been more grateful for it than she is right now.

Stretching her arms high above her head, she stretches out along the grass, enjoying the feeling of every blade of grass, the sweet smell of the blooms wafting on the breeze. Admittedly, this meadow had not been quite so plentiful when they had found it, following along the winding river, but she is the goddess of spring. Flowers bloom at her word and sun shines with her will. It had not been too difficult to turn this meadow into her own personal paradise, away from the chaos often wrought by her mother and brothers and stepfather.

There is a sudden change in the wind that causes her to sit up. Colder than it had been before, something more akin to winter than spring. The ground seems to rumble beneath her, shaking as if the sudden cold has sent it to shiver. Curiously, she turns her head toward the tree line, where the birches and willows keep the meadow shielded from view, only to find a man standing among them. Dressed in all black- breeches, cloak, and the shred of his tunic she can see beneath it- his platinum hair is almost jarring in contrast. He is not a big man, long and lithe, but there is an air to him that feels dangerous, dangerous enough to give her pause. He has not noticed her yet, face turned away, but she can see the long, stern plains of his face from where she sits, looking incredibly serious. That seriousness is only exacerbated by the dark leather eyepatch covering the eye closest to her, a deep red scar carved beneath it.

She does not think she has ever seen anyone here before, not outside of Baela, Rhaena, and herself, and his presence here is almost incongruous. Still, there is an air about him, one that makes it clear that he is a god just as she is, and that alone should make his surprise appearance less shocking.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice seems to catch him off guard. Quickly, he turns toward her, shoulders tense, but they relax when he takes her in. She cannot imagine that she is intimidating, sitting flat in the grass all alone. “Hello.”

But it is that reminder of the grass that brings her pause. What is this man doing here? Where had he come from? It is not as if this meadow is easy to find, hidden amongst the trees as it is. She feels her brows furrow, head cocking in question. “How did you find this place?”

She had not put a glamour over this meadow, but she did not feel she had too. The forest, though light and airy, was a labyrinth of trees that seemed deterrent enough to keep any unwanted guests away. They were incredibly difficult to find your way through and she had been convinced it would be impossible to try- for God or mortal.

Near impossible, it seemed then.

His eye darts back to the treeline, taking half a step back. “If I am intruding, I can leave.”

“No.” She says it far too quickly and she can see the way his eyebrows raise in response to it, but she can’t find it in her to be ashamed. She is intrigued by this man, more so than she likely should be, and finds she wants to know more. To learn how he came to find this place. “Just because this place is unknown does not mean it is mine alone. You may stay. Beauty like this should be enjoyed.”

“Wise words,” he agrees, coming toward her. He hesitates at the end, torn on whether or not to truly join her, but it seems courtesy wins out as he lowers himself to the ground, joining her amongst the flowers. He looks entirely out of place, black against the blooms, but she says nothing, keeping her observation to herself.

They sit in absolute silence but she does not mind. He sits stiffly, as if uncomfortable, while she continues to take in all that is around her. From here, she can see the way the willows sway with the wind, the white puffy clouds floating by in the soft blue sky.

“I did not mean to,” he says. She looks at him, head tilted once again. “To find this place. It was not my intention. Though I admit I have never seen anything quite like it.”

She smiles, though he could not possibly know that he had complimented her. “It is a rare thing.”

“It feels almost as if it were from a painting,” he adds, looking around the meadow to take it in further.

She joins him in it, finding no shame in admiring her own work. It is a pretty place, though that had always been her intention. Olympus was beautiful in and of itself, but it was stark in that way. Ethereal and otherworldly, but cosmopolitan. Bright white marble, painted statues, stained glass. Everything beautiful, to be sure, but not in the untamed way that she seemed to crave. She preferred the beauty that was found in nature, in heavy branches filled with green leaves, tall grasses and wildflowers and crystalline waters.

“Do you know much about art?” she asks to fill the silence.

He seems caught off guard again from her question, but answers it anyway. “Not as much as I would like, but I can appreciate the beauty in something as well as any man. Though do not tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

She laughs. “You needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Which periods do you prefer?”

They talk for hours, the conversation unfurling as naturally as a bird’s wing. Art, history, philosophy. There is no subject they do not indulge in. He becomes less awkward with time as he grows more comfortable around her and she almost pulls a laugh from him not once, but twice. It seems quite the feat, for a man as serious as this one seems to be, though she does not let her pride get the better of her. When she asks him how she managed to find her well kept secret, he had simply said that one always finds the best things when you are not looking for them. A non answer, but that was alright. She was sure she could coax the answer from him eventually.

“Forgive me, I never asked you your name,” she says after what must have been hours, half appalled by her lack of manners.

He does not seem to mind, a good natured half smile making its way onto his face. “My friends call me Aemond. You may as well.”

It is not uncommon, for Gods to prefer more earthly names. She is often the same. There is power within a name and for such an innocent encounter, she does not feel the need to have him call her Persephone or Kore or any of those that strike some rumination of power and fear. So she gives him her common name, the one she feels is more true to who she is, and he smiles in response to it, repeating it back to her as if to test it. She likes the way it sounds when he says it, the way each letter seems to roll off him tongue, and somehow hearing him say the word alone is enough to make her flush.

She turns her head to hide it and only then notices that the sun has dipped below the trees, leaving the sky a hazy orange. Her mother will be expecting her home soon and there is no telling how poorly she will react if Rhaena and Baela return home without her. She doesn’t doubt that Rhaenyra will send her great serpent Syrax after her should she be even a moment late.

“I have to go,” she says, unable to keep the apologetic tone from her voice.

Reluctantly, she stands, brushing the dirt from her skirts. His lips had parted at her announcement, but now he ducks his head in an understanding nod. She smiles at him, not truly wanting to go yet, and makes her way toward the creek to call upon her sisters to come and fetch her. She does not make it two steps before he is calling after her.

“Can I see you again?”

She turns back to look at him. The insecurity on his face does not seem to match his features, looking almost out of place there. Still, she finds it entirely endearing and she realizes that she would absolutely like to see him again.

“Yes,” she agrees softly.

“Tomorrow?”

She does not bother to fight the smile itching its way onto her face. “Yes.”

He matches her smile then before standing. He comes forward and takes her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste kiss there. “Then I shall see you on the morrow, my lady.”

She can do nothing but hope he does not notice how hot her face has become.

“On the morrow.”

Read the rest here

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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apothe-roses · 5 months

Text

Dance of the Sugarplum Prince

Nutcracker!Aemond x Clara!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: violence, character death, smut, tiddy sucking, oral (f-receiving), uncle-niece incest, unprotected sex, piv sex, breeding kink, possessive Aemond, obsessed Aemond

A/N: I may not be the first nor the last to do a nutcracker au, but I’m doin it anyways! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All rights go to HBO and George RR Martin

The snow falls heavy and thick outside the window. You watch the snowflakes dance to the ground while your family makes a ruckus behind you. The adults Gossip amongst themselves while your brothers laugh and joke amongst themselves. You love your family, but you’ve grown tired of your overbearing aunties trying to set you up with “nice boys” they know.

You notice a figure making their way towards the front door, making your own way towards it to greet them. Right after the doorbell rings, you open the door, smiling at the woman on the other side.

“Aunt Alys,” you smile and embrace the older woman.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, but it’s nearly impossible to make one’s way through that,” she replies, indicating to the storm outside. Other family members come to greet Alys, so you move to the side and let them. She pulls a large case out from under her coat. She reveals several beautifully made dolls, winding them up and letting them dance across the carpet. Your family is in awe. While they’re distracted, Alys approaches you.

“I have a special gift for you,” Alys says. She opens her bag, gingerly pulling out a final doll. He was a beautiful man with long silver hair and black armor accentuated with gold.

“This,” you aunt explains, “is no ordinary knight. He is a prince of a faraway land.”

“Oh Alys, she’s too old for dolls!” your mother calls from across the room.

“Oh, but he’s so beautiful!” you rebut. “Couldn’t I just put on on my shelf and admire him?”

“You can put these dirty dishes in the kitchen,” your mother tells you. You sigh, setting your doll on the windowsill. Alys follows you into the kitchen.

“Perhaps you should’ve brought me a real prince. That would’ve made mother happy,” you laugh. Alys simply smiles at that.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds from the sitting room, followed by your mother shouting “Luke!” You rush into the room. Your doll is lying on the floor at your brother’s feet.

“It was an accident!” Luke explains. “I only wanted to get a closer look!”

You rush over, picking your doll up off the ground. One of his eyes is broken. Luke apologizes profusely while you carefully extract the broken pieces. Alys approaches.

“I couldn’t find a spare eye, but this should fit,” she says, handing you a small sapphire. You slip it into his empty socket; it fits perfectly. She provides a small strip of black fabric that you use as a makeshift eyepatch.

“Thank you, Alys,” you say, giving the older woman a hug. You don’t notice the worried look she gives your doll.

BONG

Was it midnight already? You must have nodded off at some point. You look down at your prince, admiring his handsome face. Perhaps it’s the dim light, but it looks as though his mouth twitches.

You’re about to go to bed when something moves at the edge of your vision. A small man walks out from under your Christmas tree! For a moment, you think it’s your prince. However, this man has two eyes and looks older. He wears a crown that looks like it’s made of wood. He’s looking around, clearly searching for something. You stay as still as possible, hoping he doesn’t notice you. Theres a possibility you’re still dreaming, but you’re not willing to take that risk.

“Looking for someone, Daemon?” a voice calls out. Both your heads snap to the corner where it came from. Your mouth falls open. It’s your prince! But he’s alive! He approaches the man, sword drawn.

“Aemond,” Daemon greets. “It appears you’ve suffered a horrible accident. Shame. I was hoping for a fair fight.”

“And you’ll get one,” Aemond snaps. At that moment, more figures storm into view. You recognize them as your brothers’ toy soldiers.

“Alright. Two can play at that game,” Daemon raises a hand, and several mice scurry out from nowhere. You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to scream. Daemon and Aemond draw their swords, circling one another. Daemon strikes first, but Aemond is quick to block. The mice and toys launch at each other. You’re enthralled. Though bloodless, the battle is intense.

Suddenly, Daemon strikes Aemond’s blind side. He’s sent flying to the floor, his sword clattering away. Daemon smiles viciously, standing over his nephew. He raises his sword to strike the killing blow and—

WHAM!

A giant slipper knocks him off his feet. Aemond glances at you, noting you are now missing a slipper. He grins, then springs into action. He draws a dagger, races to his uncle, and plunges the blade into his neck. Daemon never had time to regain his senses before he bleeds out, choking and clasping at his throat. The battle stops. The now leaderless mice scurry off, and the toy soldiers return to where your brothers left them originally. Aemond walks over to you. As he does, he grows until he’s the height of a normal man. You stare up at him, lips parted. He’s tall, and even more handsome as a man.

“You saved me,” he states, kneeling at your side.

“I-it was nothing,” you stammer, blushing. “I didn’t want him to…kill you.”

Aemond’s lips curl into a smirk. “Such a sweet thing you are,” he muses. He reaches out, winding a lock on your hair around his finger. “It’s not every day a man can say he was saved by someone so beautiful or kind.”

Your blush deepens. “You’re too kind,” you whisper.

“You must come back to the castle with me. My family will want to meet the girl who helped defeat my wicked uncle and his wretched mouse army,” he stands, extending a hand to you. You look around the empty sitting room, wondering what to do.

“It’s only for tonight. I promise to have you back by morning,” he assures you. You bite your lip, not noticing the way his gaze darkens. Then, you smile and take his hand. When you stand, you notice how much taller he is. you look down shyly, but he tucks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to his. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But then he says, “let’s be off then,” and leads you to the Christmas tree. With each step, you shrink until you can easily walk under the branches.

You spot a castle in the distance. A beautiful red fortress perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sprawling city. The faint ringing of bells can be heard.

“It seems word of our victory has spread,” Aemond observes. “I imagine the celebration is well underway.

“Oh, but I’m not dressed!” you realize.

“Look down, little one,” Aemond replies. You do, and you gasp. Your simple nightgown had been replaced with a beautiful white dress, tied by a large red ribbon. The skirt floats in light layers down to your calves. Your feet are covered by red slippers with ribbons wrapped around your legs.

“How…?” you start to ask, the question dying on your lips when you look up and see Aemond had changed as well. He’s wearing a black and red jacket adorned with golden epaulettes, and also matching breeches and shiny black boots. His hair is loose, and the swath of ribbon covering his eye is replaced with a proper eyepatch.

“Come,” he requests, extending his hand. “We don’t want to miss out on the festivities.”

The walk to the castle is filled with merriment as the small folk throw flowers over your heads and dance and cheer. Inside the castle is even more merry as ball is in full swing. You spy the king and queen at the end of the hall, their matching silver hair catching the light.

Aemond leads you to the middle of the dance floor and leads you in a waltz. The night passes in a series of twirls and lifts, until a hush falls over the crowd.

The king leads his queen off the dais into the center of the crowd. Everyone pushes back, forming a wide berth around them as they lead a solitary waltz. You feel a large hand on the small of your back.

“Come with me,” Aemond whispers. His breath tickles your ear.

He leads you out of the room. The two of you race down the halls. You haven’t felt this exhilarated since you were a child chasing your brothers outdoors.

You’re lead into a bedroom that you presume is his. You don’t have time to take in the decor, as he grabs your face and kisses you hungrily. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his soft hair.

He deftly undoes the bow on your back. He tries to untie the laces, but he gets impatient and just tears your dress open. You gasp as your dress falls from your body.

Aemond scoops you up and lays you on the bed. He looks over you like a lion about to devour his kill.

“Have you ever been with a man before little one?”

“N-no,” you stutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, “allow me to show you.”

He tears the rest of your underthings off, leaving you bare before him. Without breaking eye contact, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. Your head rolls back as he sucks on the sensitive flesh, kneading your other side.

“So beautiful,” he gasps, switching to the other tit.

“So perfect.” He trails kisses down your torso. He fingers swipe through your folds. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean; his eyes roll back and he groans.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he purrs. He lowers his head to your mound and drags his tongue through your folds. You gasp and instinctually shy away, but he pins you with this hands on your hips. You can only moan as he relentlessly devours your cunt.

“M-my prince…”

“Aemond. Call me Aemond,” he breathes, sending a shiver through you. You feel your peak approaching, closer and closer. It’s just about to wash over you when he pulls away. You whine at the loss of stimulation.

“The first time I make you come, it will be on my cock,” Aemond states, once again leaning over you. He sheds his clothing with ease. He’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. His cock is long and thick, and already leaking. He strokes himself as he gets into position.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” You ask innocently.

“It will fit.” He replies. “I’ll make it fit.”

He angles his cock and enters you with one sure thrust. You gasp loudly, clinging to his shoulders.

“Gods you’re tight,” he whispers. He begins to rock in and out of you, setting a steady pace.

“So wet, and I’ve barely touched you. Such a needy little thing. Absolutely begging to be fucked.”

You babble incoherently in response. Aemond chuckles and starts playing with your pearl.

“Already cockdumb are we?”

He pinches your pearl.

“I could keep you here you know. Fuck you—breed you— day and night, until your belly swells with my child. You’d like that wouldn’t you? My perfect little princess. My broodmare. Mine.”

You’re a little frightened by his declaration, but you’re to overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything about it. You can only lay there as you climax, the pleasure melting your bones and heating your blood.

“That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” he groans, and you feel his cock pulse followed by a sense of warmth. He keeps his cock plugged inside until he starts to soften, then he pulls out. You feel a mixture of your fluid and his seed leak out. He hold your legs open, admiring the sight. Then, he lays down, pulling you into his arms.

“You’ll want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You lay against his chest, and it isn’t long before sleep claims you.

“Sweetheart, wake up!” you hear your mother call. You reluctantly open your eyes. You’re in your own bed, in your own room.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but we have some surprise guests waiting downstairs,” she pulls open the curtains, and you wince at the sudden brightness.

“Get dressed quickly! I need to get back downstairs!” she rushes out of your room, closing the door behind you.

At first, you don’t move. There was a heaviness in your chest. It had all been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Mice soldiers, living dolls, and princes could only be the product of dreams. This is the real world, and there are guests waiting for you.

As you get dressed, you realize your prince doll is nowhere to be found. You must have left him downstairs.

Voices could be heard in the sitting room as you make your way downstairs. Unfamiliar voices. You round the corner and freeze. Sitting around the room are three very familiar faces.

“Darling, these are my half-siblings.” She leads you to the Sugarplum King. “This is Aegon,” then to the Queen, who smiles sweetly at you, “Helaena,” then finally to the most familiar of them all, “and this is Aemond.”

He takes your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. You stare up at him with wide eyes. He’s wearing an eyepatch. Over the same eye your brother broke. Was he hiding a sapphire under there?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you breathe.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine, niece,” he purrs, looking at you in a way an uncle should never look at a niece.

“What happened to your eye?” Luke asked abruptly. Jace whacks him on the shoulder, admonishing him.

“Ow!”

“It’s alright. It was an accident long ago,” Aemond replies.

“Oh, let’s not dwell on unhappy memories,” your mother says, turning to Helaena. “How is Alicent? It’s been too long since I’ve heard from her.”

The conversation carries on, but you’ve stopped paying attention. You’re not looking at him, but you feel his gaze on you. Just as intense as it had been when he made love to you in your dream.

A dream.

It had only been a dream.

Right?

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut

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house-strong · 2 years

Text

— THE DANCE between dragons ʾ ⋆

summary ; request by anon.

“possibly a little love triangle request?? Jacaerys/Reader/Aemond but Jacaerys ends up coming out on top?”

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen

notes ; i absolutely LOVE jacaerys ever since ep 8,, what a respectful king he is!! warning: this is lengthy!

being offered the hand of an established lord was a glorious feat that was longed for by any waiting lady in the realm. to find a husband that has not only the name, the title, but also lands and wealth to shower his soon-to-be family with. this would not only strengthen ties within the houses of the realm, but ensure that any lords daughter would be well treated, well respected, and well cared for.

but, to get two hands of established lords was unprecedented. you seemed to be in such predicament. to add fuel to the fire, they were both princes. to say your family was merely ecstatic wouldn’t be doing it justice.

one velaryon and one targaryen. the eldest child of laenor velaryon and the princess rhaenyra targaryen, and the youngest son of his grace, king viserys targaryen and his wife, queen alicent hightower. jacaerys velaryon, future heir to the iron throne, and aemond targaryen, the one-eyed prince.

you had been in the presence of aemond longer than you had to jacaerys, being the dutiful lady-in-waiting to the formers older sister, princess helaena. brought to court in king’s landing by your lord father, you were first caught by aemond targaryen – a child with a serious facade who had only smiled when he caught your eye. he would ensure that you were content, always lingering around in the shadows like a lost pup. he envied the time his sister had with you and always pestered his sister with questions.

does she like flowers? what’s her favorite pie? do you think she cares if i have a dragon or not?

that was when he had two eyes.

now, he was a man grown and hardened. donning an eyepatch and a scar on his left eye, he was no different than how he was as a boy when he was with you.

kind, charismatic, and funny. sure, he was all too teasing sometimes, but he always knew the right thing to say afterward so that you could never stay upset. the boyish things he used to do when he was younger; gently shove you as he passed by, mutter playful taunts under his breath, and interrupt your time with his sister princess, was vastly different than the way he treated you now. now, he brought flowers every now and then – even going as far to claim that they were from your native lands. they weren’t, of course, but it was obvious from his dragon riding attire and the dirt underneath his fingernails that he had gone out of kings landing in search of a bouquet worthy of your attention.

bringing you a book, staying by your side in silence as you answered scriptures sent to you by your family, and sitting by you and eating his dinner by your side. offering a dragon ride – anything, to keep you entertained and keep you in king’s landing.

it was adorable, his queen mother had thought. although princess helaena was married to her brother, prince aegon, and no longer needed a lady-in-waiting, the royal family kept you by their side (or rather aemond’s side) for aemond’s sake. you kept him out of trouble and brought light back to the prince’s once dull life.

from the beginning, these interactions had left your heart fluttering and your stomach in a knot. however, as of late with prince jacaerys’ arrival, the feeling had quelled and moved from aemond to jacaerys.

jacaerys velaryon, was no different. when his family returned to court at king’s landing and was greeted by the king, the queen, his uncle and aunt, and surprisingly you, he was head over heels. in your house colors and a long gown that covered your ankles, with long sleeves that looped through your fingers bound by jewelry, he thought he had met the entity of the maiden he had heard maesters and small-folk speak about.

beautiful and radiant, he knew he had to get to know you. the only thing in his way was the stone dragon that ever so protectively stood in front of you, almost shielding your presence from his nephew. it was like a silent exchange between the two when they made eye contact – you were aemond’s.

that didn’t stop jacaerys though. with each action aemond had for you, jacaerys had an equal and sometimes even greater reaction.

he was less obvious and more of how a lord should act; offering his hand to you when ever you climbed stairs or descended from a carriage, being the first to arrive at your apartment chamber to summon you to break your fast. he was constantly a new figure in your life and often asked questions about your native lands. you couldn’t tell him much – years of being away from home, it had turned into a distant memory rather than a fresh remembrance. he had told you one day, when you announced your discontent at being away from home so long, that he would take you. that statement alone was enough to make you fall.

that was when the dance between the dragons started and the revival of their long feud began.

“dear (y/n),” aemond’s voice brings you back to the present. you halt your tracks and turn your head toward the direction of his voice, a smile brightening both of your faces. you give him a customary curtsy as he approaches with long strides. “where are you off to in such a hurry?”

you hadn’t realized how fast you were walking or where you were even going.

“i was going to the godswood to read, my prince. i find that it’s both quiet and relaxing to be there,” you reply, rediscovering the reason for being out of your chambers.

aemond relaxes his shoulders and puts his hands behind his back, “no need for formalities, my lady, would you care if i joined?”

the question wasn’t surprising at all, aemond was always by your side. it was rather poetic and sweet.

“i would love if you joined me, prince aemond.” at your affirmation, aemond sticks out his right arm and you gladly grasp it, taking care to stay in his line of sight as you readjust your hold on your book. his other hand falls onto the one holding his arm, his fingers, long and warm, curled around yours. “how are you fairing with the return of your nephews?”

perhaps you should have waited to ask him, for his face turned dark.

“my nephews and half-sister are like the plague. they turn everything sour and seem to ruin–” when he feels your head turn and his eyes on his side profile, he halts his word assault on his family, “though, the kitchen cooks are preparing better meals every day. i assume that is the only light of their presence.”

“aemond,” you say carefully, raising your brows. the prince sighs and continues to lead you to the godswood, and soon enough, the halls open into an enormous, open courtyard with a single weirwood tree. “they are your family.”

aemond wants to pull his hair out, freely say obscenities and announce their bastard parentage – but he had sworn his mother that he would stop with the strong insults.

“family,” he tastes the word on his tongue before gently dropping your hand from his arm. he approaches the weirwood tree and collapses to the ground, legs spread open and bent at the knee. “is a peculiar thing.”

you follow but more gracefully, bending your knees and sliding on to the grass. you splay out your dress, doing care to keep your modesty. you allow the silence to engulf you two and think about your choice of words next, “how so?”

“sometimes i think my own family isn’t mine,” he confesses and this is the time where he makes that face, the face that comes before he allows his secrets to fall and his wishes to come forward. “aegon, he.. he isn’t what i’d imagine him to be. my mother is.. absent and my father is the closest thing to seeing the stranger.”

you frown, but he continues, “i believe helaena is the only one i’m truly proud of and is my beloved sister.” his confession is a sad one and drives you to gently place your hand on his in support. “i think we should be lucky to choose our family.”

he does well to look you in the eye at his last sentence. you bashfully look away and your hand leaves his – he doesn’t like the sudden coolness on his skin that follows.

“would you like me–” your sentence is cut short by the sudden surprise of aemond’s calloused finger catching your chin, turning your face to his. his thumb gently touches your bottom lip and he’s focused on the pair. with caution, he looks for any objection and when he sees none, he leans in and places a delicate, but yearning kiss on your lips. he parts and leans back, a boyish look lightening his features, “aemond.”

his name comes out like a whisper from your lips and he almost moves to his knees. you enjoy this feeling – the fleet of uncertainty and the softness of love.

the moment passes faster than how it happened and suddenly you’re both parting farther, “nephew.” you look up and it’s jacaerys approaching.

jacaerys smiles once he catches your eye, but it falters when he gaze moves to aemond, “there you are, lady (y/n). i’ve been looking for you.”

he’s been.. looking for you? it’s both a surprise to you and aemond, though, the latter grips the earth until his knuckles turn bone-white. you don’t seem to notice, but the once kind smile the velaryon prince bore had turned triumphant. it’s almost as if he wants to piss off his uncle.

“my prince– i, you have?” you look down at the forgotten book in your lap and quickly raise it to jacaerys’ line of sight, as if to defend why you and aemond were in the godswood, “i was just reading to prince aemond.”

“i’m sure it was something lovely to hear.. dear uncle, would you care to lady (y/n) joining me on a stroll throughout the red keep? i might even show her how great vermax is.” your head turns to observe aemond, who was as quiet as ever. his expression is cold and his singular eye glares daggers into the velaryon prince. you were sure that if vhagar was here, aemond would have commanded his beast to rain fire on his nephew. however, his lips purse into a fine line and his eye flicks to meet yours. he blinks, then looks at jacaerys and nods in defeat.

“i shall safekeep your book, my lady,” aemond says solemnly, giving you a wounded look. he wants to reach out to push jacaerys away, taking you in his arms and mounting vhagar with you by his side and leave king’s landing. “i will.. see you tonight?”

you smile and nod, handing the book you were supposed to read to the prince, before grasping jacaerys’ extended hand that helped you to your feet. you give one last look at aemond while jacaerys leads you away, and it’s enough to tear your heart in two.

you follow jacaerys without a word, your mind a blur. was aemond confessing himself to you? pledging himself to you? did he.. love you? it was enough turmoil that you wanted to tear your hair out.

“you weren’t reading to him, were you?” prince jacaerys asks, his head turning to glance at you as his breath mingles with the air. you’re suddenly shy and nervous – whether from the truthfulness of the kiss you and aemond had shared, or the close proximity between you and jacaerys.

“not exactly, my prince,” you confess, ducking your head and looking at anything but the prince beside you. maybe you should have lied, but so far, you and jacaerys have been nothing less than honest. that’s what you loved – the honesty that never had any deceit or ill-will. perhaps you wanted to keep it that way.

the halls of the red keep become more secluded, less skylight falling into the courtyard and more torches lighting the corridors. jacaerys leads you up steps and you follow, lifting the skirt of your dress a bit to clear your pathway.

he continues to lead, the passageway becoming more clear and open once again. you inhale deeply at the last few steps, the air exiting through your nose as you two exit the tower of stairs. the walls soon disappear and the open, clear sky becomes obvious as it replaces the targaryen heraldries and tapestries. you gasp in awe as you turn your head – from here, visenya’s hill and black water bay are in view. it’s beautiful from the garrison wall.

jacaerys’ steps slow and you walk ahead, turning at the last moment to face him. he looks troubled, hands enclosed in fists at his side.

“it’s no secret that he has some affections for you,” jacaerys says carefully, taking in your figure before creating a set in his jaw, the bone more prominent. he turns his head and stares out into the open bay, moving toward the wall to lean into it. “i don’t doubt that he’s already made it known.”

“i’m sorry, my prince, but i don’t understand what you’re getting at.” your words border on a laugh, brows furrowing as you move closer. what was jacaerys playing at? was this some elaborate plan to embarrass you?

“no sly words, nothing less than the honest truth,” he starts, moving away from the stone wall to stand in front of you. his warm hands engulf yours – it’s embrace is firm and reassuring. thumbs gently run along your hand as he tries to soothe his own nerves and coax yours. “i will tell you exactly as i feel, and i would hope you feel the same.”

your heart moves from your chest to your stomach and tears had begun to well in your eyes at his next words.

“i.. i must confess that i also harbor affections for you. these past few days, while so little, have been something that i’ve been longing for,” he begins, looking down at your conjoined hands before peeking up through his brown strands of hair. “i think of you night and day, lady (y/n), your well-being clouds my judgement, and i am at constant ends with myself.”

he thought to himself, to either make himself happy and serve the consequences of being at yet another war with his uncles, or forever live in regret. he decided to swallow the lump in his throat.

your breath shudders at his confession and you feel your stomach lurch.

“i want to ask for your hand. i want you to be my lady and be by my side when my mother ascends the iron throne and i take dragonstone.” one of his hands releases his grasp on yours, his hand rising to brush a stray strand of hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear. his smile is boyish, with teeth peeking from behind his lips. this mere expression is enough to make you sigh. “i want you to see your family and visit home whenever you’d like – we can go together on vermax and travel wherever we’d like.”

“we wouldn’t have to worry about court, or formalities. we could.. we could do anything that your heart desires,” he inhales deeply, the air squashing the dull ache in his chest, “i just.. i want you. all of you. what do you say?”

the passed days replay in your mind. jacaerys dancing with you in the courtyard – the laughter that always filled the room whenever you were with him. it felt comfortable and content to be with him. you had no worries when you were with him, no worry of the wrath of his mother if you upset him, and no worry if your absence had caused a disturbance. this was easy and this felt right.

“yes.”

when word of prince jacaerys’ proposal to you and your acceptance had caught wind and spread like dragonfire, it had done nothing but harden the feelings of aemond targaryen. some would even say that it drove the one-eyed prince mad and demand atonement, an eye for an eye, or in this case, a loved one for a loved one.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fic #my writing

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bubblegumspacebxtch · 2 years

Text

Melting the Dragon's Heart

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: They say opposites attract but can profound differences really find it in them to love?

Warnings || angst but then fluff at the end

A/N: I haven't written in so long, but this man has forced me out of hiatus because he's just so dreamy. The murdering, white-haired menace that is Aemond Targaryen does things to me so naturally I had to write this long ass fic. I know it's long but I couldn't help it really. Also I was in the mood for some angst so that's that lol

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As the saying goes, hearts unalike are those most drawn to one another. Aemond thought it a ridiculous belief. He could not fathom it were possible for gentle and kind to love cold and cruel.

He was aloof and indifferent. Prince Aemond curated an image that made even the most proud of lords hesitate to interact with him. Complementary to his nature was his looks. The man stood tall and firm with his chin often upturned as if to reiterate his high status. His scowl seemingly permanent like the scar that ran across his face. Many fear what lay underneath his eyepatch that even having it covered leave people wary of the Targaryen prince.

Though he was not always this ironhearted, the young prince knew that love was an illusion and marriage a duty. Aemond believed only his mother could love him and even she could not do so fully. To some extent he understood why love for the likes of him would always sound ridiculous. Because it was far better to be feared than loved. And no one could love a monster like him.

You had.

You who is pure and spirit bright. You who is social and could sympathize with anyone regardless of status.

You were Aemond Targaryen’s antithesis. Your humility and generosity knew no bounds. Unlike the prince’s seriousness, you were lighthearted. You believed in love and never hesitated to love who you could.

Not only in nature were you and the prince contrary to one another, but also in looks. You were small and would often need to look up in order to maintain eye contact when conversing. Your head of curls the color of ink as opposed to the renowned white of the Targaryen bloodline.

You grew up with Aemond and his siblings seeing as you were the lady-in-waiting to his sister Helaena. You often left the young prince wondering how such goodness could be possessed by an individual, especially given your circumstance.

Being an orphaned bastard of House Westerling, you’ve learned to bury the pain brought by the judgment of others. You have swallowed many vile insults and hate, but never had you let it harden your heart. Your mother died in childbirth and your father you never knew. Fortunate enough, your uncle took you as his own which allowed you to be in the good graces of the king.

You arrived in King’s Landing when you were eleven and the prince thirteen. Aemond committed to memory the very moment your light filled him with awe.

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His eye was already lost and though it had already healed, the pain and anger he felt still a roaring flame.

“I want you all to treat her well.”

While his brother rolled his eyes at their mother’s reminder, Aemond simply dismissed her. In his mind, he need not be reminded because he was more or less civil and distant with everyone, especially new people.

The hinges sang lowly as the massive doors to the throne room opened to announce your entrance. A contagious smile adorned your face as you walked alongside the Hand.

Aemond could not deny that even as a child you were captivating. The grace and pureness your persona exude was what kept the room’s attention on you.

“Your Grace.”

Their mother watched with a smile as you curtsied. As you resumed standing upright, you turned your attention to each of the Targaryen children as they were introduced.

“And this is Prince Aemond.”

He seemed to snap back to attention at the mention of his name, having been admiring the dewy skin of your supple pink cheeks.

“Pleased to be in your presence, Prince Aemond.”

Your smile gave way to dimples and the prince felt his heartbeat stutter. Though you made him feel an oddly pleasant sensation between his ribs, his response was anything but. He gave only a curt nod, but your smile never wavered despite his indifference.

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With the passing of time you only became even kinder. Aemond once thought you may have been blessed to have your outsides reflect your insides. Your positivity was accompanied by beauty he has yet to see on anyone else in the entire Seven Kingdoms. He would marvel at your soft eyes and full lips before growing bitter at the thought that if you had been blessed then he must have been cursed. The misery and abhorrence he kept inside must be why he had a monster for a reflection.

Before you, it was easy for Aemond to get caught up in self-loathing and insecurity. That was until you showed him genuine affection.

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He was training with Sir Criston while you were with the princess looking to find a chrysalis she wished to take care of before it transformed into a butterfly.

Aemond was so focused on trying to dodge the knight’s advances that he failed to notice his cover had fallen to reveal his other eye. The gasps were audible but Aemond was quick to drop his sword to cover himself. You watched him storm off to the castle to his chambers. The unwanted attention had him almost in a frenzy with adrenaline allowing him so make his swift escape.

You watched the scene with a heavy heart, growing upset as the people around who had witnessed the affair started to whisper about the one-eyed prince. You noticed his eyepatch still on the ground and you took it with the intent of returning it and checking up on him.

“Princess, I believe we must be heading back. We would not want your mother to have to wait for you for tea time.”

After being dismissed, you made your way to the younger prince’s chambers.

Aemond had a tight grip on his chalice as he mulled over what had happened. By now his head felt lighter given the amount of wine he had. Drinking was his brother’s way of coping and Aemond wanted no part of him to resemble Aegon, but given the circumstance he allowed himself this bit of irresponsibility.

The sound of your knuckles against his door was so faint that he almost ignored it, but your sweet voice soon followed.

“My prince, I come returning what is yours.”

Even through his sour mood you managed to find your way past as your voice brought him a bit of peace, granting him a break from his harsh thoughts.

“May I come in?”

His mind, the sober part at least, wanted to deny your request knowing you saw his face bare. He feared the heartbreak. What if you regard him with caution or even worse, disgust?

His heart however longed for you. And so before he could decide otherwise, he said, “Come in.”

The creak of the door made him nervous. He refused to face you directly, settling on watching you from his peripheral.

You stood close to the door once it was closed, awaiting further instruction. For a few seconds you studied him. His other eye was again covered by a different eyepatch. His hair was no longer tied, leaving it to frame his face.

“You may sit, Lady Y/N.”

The prince had gestured to the seat next to him. You inhaled deeply before your small feet carried you across the room. The prince watched your every move and he noted how your silver dress made you glow, providing a contrast to your dark hair and eyes.

As you sat, you brought your hands together on your lap and only then did Aemond notice what you were holding. The sight of his eyepatch made him tense and soon an awkward tension filled the space as you sat in silence.

“You must think me a monster now.”

“Your Grace, you are no monster in my eyes. I wish you shared my opinion because it is the truth.”

Your response had him turning to face you and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Your eyes have always been so expressive and where he expected pity to lie he saw adoration and genuine concern instead.

Upon meeting his eye, your smile widened. You so desperately wanted to be there for him and alleviate whatever troubles him.

“Your eye should not be cause for judgement. It is one’s character that ought to be looked at.”

“And what is my character?”

“You are thoughtful. I appreciate how you would leave me books you believe I would enjoy or bring me pastries you’d want me to try. You are bright and respectful. The conversations you hold are of an educated man. You are immensely loyal to not only those you love but to your house as well.”

By the time you had finished speaking, the space between you two was barely there. You stared at each other for what felt like centuries before a small smile broke out on the prince’s face. You admired the way his lips curved, fascinated by the depth of his prominent cupid’s bow.

An unknown force compelled you to touch the left side of his face and your bravery raised your hand to do so. Before you could move further, the prince caught your wrist in a gentle hold.

He stared at you, beginning to feel nervous, but your will remained steadfast. Your hand landed on his cheek, caressing his scar and before the prince could react, you moved to rid him of his cover.

“Y/N-”

His protests died on his tongue as the bright sapphire was revealed to you and he watched your pupils dilate in wonder. He had never before felt so vulnerable, but your touch put him at ease.

The pair of you remained in silence like that for gods know how long. Then you whispered in earnest.

“Beautiful…”

------------

The sound of your laughter traveled down the hall. Aemond could feel his insides twist in delight as he drew closer towards his sister’s chambers.

“Brother? What a lovely surprise.”

Your back was facing the door when he entered. You watched the princess smile at her brother before turning to address him yourself. The sight of you knocked the wind out of Aemond.

A butterfly lay on your cheek and the other at the exposed skin of your clavicle. You looked ethereal and Aemond swore he felt giddy seeing you so lovely.

“My chrysalises have finally turned into butterflies! We opened the jar to free them but they flew to Lady Y/N instead.”

Princess Helaena was amused at how smitten the prince was with you. She had to refrain from giggling as she carefully removed the insects on you before catching her brother's attention.

“What is it you came for, brother?”

It was a physical effort for Aemond to take his eye off you and you felt your cheeks warm at the attention.

“Oh… uh mother requests to see you in her chambers.”

“Now? But I promised Lady Y/N I’d walk with her through the gardens.”

"Your Grace, we do not have to if-"

"I can walk with her! If... of course, Lady Y/N allows it..."

Prince Aemond was rarely embarrassed, but in that moment he could not avoid being bashful at how eager he sounded to spend time with you.

"I am sure you have better use of your time, Prince Aemond."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N. I insist."

As Princess Helaena left, you and the prince made your way to the castle gardens. You prayed to the gods he could not hear the erratic beat of your heart at his close proximity.

"Let me take this time to say my thanks to you, Lady Y/N."

"What ever for, your Grace?"

"You have never failed to be kind and patient with my sister. Many see her odd, but you regard her in no such way."

Your heart swelled at his appreciation and Aemond felt his own do the same as you faced him with your wide grin and doe eyes.

"I suppose I am grateful that your kindness extends to me as well. It is rare that I am regarded with as much compassion as you have shown me."

You are taken aback by the prince's admission and he gave you a tender smile in return.

"There is no need to thank me, my prince. I only wish more people could witness how beautiful and gentle you truly are..."

------------

The young prince could not contain his bliss as he walked back to his chambers after his time with you. There was a skip in his step with his scowl now absent from his face. That was until he opened his door to reveal his brother waiting for him in his chambers.

Aemond slightly faltered at his brother looking at him with a sly smirk. The younger Targaryen was quick to school his features, returning to the cold expression he always wore.

"What are you doing here, Aegon?"

"I saw you with Lady Y/N and my my I could not believe what I was witnessing."

Aemond raised his eyebrow at his brother and Aegon chuckled lightly before continuing.

"I never thought a simple bastard would catch the eye of a man as proud as you, my brother."

"What are you talking about?" Aemond hissed, glaring at an amused Aegon.

"You mean to say you harbor no fondness for the girl?" his brother teased back.

"Do not dare insult me, brother. I have no intention of ever associating myself with a lowborn orphan such as her. I am a prince after all so I would be careful with implying something so ridiculous."

Unbeknownst to Aemond, you were right outside his door. You had the intent of returning a book he had lent you, but stopped short upon hearing the two princes.

You tried to hold in your tears at the offensive remarks made to your name. Your heart shattered and you felt the shards stab at your insides.

It was not easy to admit, but you had developed feelings for the younger prince. His rare smile that you thought was more common when you were around. The difference in the attention he would give you compared to any other. All these things made you believe that maybe he saw you in the same light. That maybe he too felt he could not breathe whenever you were around. At the very least, you thought he regarded you as a dear friend, just like you had him.

Only after hearing what he had to say about you did you think otherwise. You were mistaken. Blinded by your want to have your affections reciprocated, you failed to notice how different your ambitions were from the truth.

He did not love you. He may not even see you as anything more than a servant he has had to live with these past years. You had set yourself up for heartbreak by creating a delusion of loving the prince and being loved back.

The hold you had on the book loosened and before you could stop it, a small thud echoed from it falling. That snapped you out of your thoughts. As fast as your feet allowed, you made your way out of the hall and on your way back to your chambers.

------------

Aegon soon left his brother's chambers and the younger prince heaved a heavy exhale. Aemond did not wish to ridicule you to his brother, but he wouldn't dare acknowledge his adoration for you either. Not because he was ashamed of having feelings for you, but because he knew making it known would remind him of the rejection that is guaranteed. You could not love him, that much he knew, so he denied what he felt.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. After giving his permission, a servant had revealed herself holding the book you had dropped moments ago.

"Why is this in your possession?"

"I found it outside your door, Prince Aemond. I only wish to return what I believe is yours."

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You made it a point to avoid the prince at all costs. Your fragile heart would simply crumble to even finer pieces if you were to be in his presence again. You stopped going to the library and would now convince the princess to avoid wandering to places you knew Aemond would be. You stayed in your chambers more, only leaving when the princess was in need of you.

Almost a week had passed and Aemond thought you had vanished into thin air with how little he's seen you. He now only caught glimpses of you not often which left his heart aching. At some point he resorted to seeking you out by going to your chambers all the way across the Keep.

With the book in his other hand, the silver-haired prince raised the other to knock on your door. He waited with bated breath and his heart leapt at finally seeing you again after what felt like decades.

It was obvious you weren't expecting him and the prince's stomach dropped upon seeing how your smile faltered.

"Prince Aemond... How may I be of service to you?"

Now the confusion was noticeable on Aemond's face. Never had you addressed him with such formality.

"I thought to return this to you so you may finish reading it. You must have left it somewhere because a servant returned it to me."

"Your Grace, I am a person of no importance to have a prince make an effort to hand me books. I believe it best you no longer do so."

You made no eye contact with him as you twiddled with your thumbs and the prince could not stop his smile from turning into a frown.

"Lady Y/N, trust that I do this wholeheartedly. You are no bother to me as I am gladdened by the love of reading we share."

"Pardon me, your Grace, but there is no need for you to pretend any longer. I know what you think of me and am aware you do not want the likes of me near you."

It was a heavy task to not cry despite feeling the heaviness of your spirit become unbearable. Aemond so desperately wanted you to lift your head to face him, but as soon as you did, his heart felt like it took a punch.

Your eyes were glassy and your features forlorn. The sight of you sent the prince scrambling for a response that would comfort you.

"That could not be further from the truth. Y-You are my dearest friend, Y/N... I-"

"I believed you were a friend to me as well, but I heard you with Prince Aegon. Though I know you spoke the truth. The truth being that I am a lowborn bastard. I-I cannot deny how it pains me so to hear you regard me with such contempt."

By now the tears have flown freely down your face. The prince's chest tightened seeing you shake as you succumbed to your heartache.

"Forgive me f-for wasting even m-more of your time, Prince Aemond."

You cringed at your pathetic apology given you could not stop the hiccups from your cries. You made an attempt to close the door, but Aemond beat you to it, placing a hand on the wood and pushing to let himself in your space.

"Y-Your Grace, please... Y-You mustn't-"

His hands on your face catches you off guard, lifting it so that you may look up at him. With gentle fingers, he wiped your tears, and you couldn't help closing your eyes at the gesture.

"It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, Y/N... I-I did not mean those words. It was not my intention to hurt you. I would never dream of hurting you, my dear Y/N. I-I simply wanted Aegon to leave me alone. I didn't want him to know..."

You raised your eyebrows as the prince trailed off. Aemond felt his heart was to burst out of his clothes soon and drop to the floor. He had to tell you now. Rejection or not, he must make it known that he would never willingly hurt you, the one person whose presence reminds him that he still has a heart and that he is worth more than his title.

"I did not want him to know that... that I care for you deeply. You have enraptured my heart and soul with the unwavering kindness you have bestowed to someone as unworthy as me."

Your eyes widen at the prince but he continues his speech as he moves to decrease the distance between you two even more.

"It is your laughter that calms me and when I close my eyes, it is the image of your smile painted on the back of their lids. When we are together and you tell me of what you've read, I find myself daydreaming of a life with you. How I would offer everything I have in exchange for your hand."

"Prince Aemond, w-what are you saying..."

"I am saying I love you, Y/N. Most ardently."

You gasped upon hearing his words and the prince moved his hands to hold yours.

"What I said to my brother was in fear of rejection for I have denied my feelings knowing they are one-sided. It was childish of me to turn to insults to reject what I feel so strongly for you and I regret having upset you. I-I understand if you wish to never speak to me again..."

With his head bowed and gaze to the floor, the prince did not see the smile that was back on your face.

"Oh Aemond, you fool!"

Before he could make eye contact to decipher what you meant, you had let his hands go in favor of wrapping them around him in an embrace as you lunged forward. The prince was quick to secure your waist in his arms. He heard you giggle in his ear before pulling back to be face to face with him.

"Your feelings are my own, my prince. I too love you a great deal."

Several emotions washed over Aemond all at once, but it was relief that was undeniable. He mirrored the bright smile on your face as your arms remained on his shoulders and his on your hips.

"I did not think it were possible for someone as beautiful and gentle as you to feel for someone like me." Aemond admitted, but you only leaned in to kiss him in response.

There was no greater pleasure than having your lips on his. Having the privilege of your love was comparable to being high up in the sky. He was in so much elation as your chest pressed to his when he tightened his hold on you.

"I love you, my beautiful prince. I am yours."

"Y/N... If you will have me... I desire nothing more than to be your husband."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd imagine

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natelia-aldelliz · 1 year

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1 : Soap never had any idea that woman wanted him carnally, he's not the most observant on that front (he never noticed Ghost flirting with him and thought his love was one-sided for the longest time, but tbf Ghost was also very discreet about it)

2 : He sewed the hat, eyepatch and hook himself, because he's the best uncle and then got distracted as he was wrapping it up, so now he's watching a tutorial on youtube about how to build a voice box. Honestly how hard could it be, he builds explosive devices as a hobby (listen, Price doesn't have to know)

3 : He is out to his family, but doesn't want his mum to know he has a boyfriend because he knows she'll insist on meeting him and welcoming him to the family and making a big deal out of this, and he knows that Ghost isn't ready for that.

4 : Christmas is obviously a very hard time for Ghost, but he is very very in love with Soap and some days still can't believe that it's mutual, but then his Johnny does something like that and his head gets quieter while he's melting a bit.

5 : For the people that didn't see my other post : the bird is a Caique parrot, and they're supposedly very energetic, a bit loud, medium sized, unintelligible, very friendly to what they consider their family, adventurous and danger prone, with an explosive personality and a hate of boredom, so basically the adhd bird.

#cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost is hard edges and sharp knives but simon is babygirl #i tried my best to make soap's sister look as much like soap as possible #as someone whose siblings look nothing like them i find it hilarious i have no idea why i swear i have the weirdest sense of humour #hc that simon's very first wait no second actually bc i feel like the first special interest for every child with autism is dinosaurs #but wait plot twist birds are dinosaurs so still hc that simon's first (or second if you want) special interest was birds #and he still loves them very much and both soap and his sister have adhd and his sister has a reoccurring hyperfixation on birds #and soap thinks ghost and his sister could get along very easily and is waiting very impatiently for the day ghost is ready and he can #introduce him to his family #but also ghost is very wary of families and especially since there's a young child because he's scared that he'll bring them death like he #feels he did to his own family #i initially wanted to colour it but then i wondered why my brain was working against me and very quickly decided that colouring all that #would be a nightmare and that i already hate colouring so why would i want to torture myself #anyway pls be nice with me i've given all i had to make this lmao

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Hey, if your requests are still open and you accept... How about Aemond being inevitably soft towards jace's twin (who he claims to hate)? Maybe they were close as children but they drifted apart due to family division. During her family stay at kings landing, not a day goes by without them engaging in some good old fashioned arguing/battle of wits. One day he finds her all alone and in distress and before he can say something mean, she bursts out crying and hugs him tightly (almost like he's the only solid thing around her). Cue Aemond being out of sorts and unable to get out a scathing remark out while innerly: "No, stop! I'm supposed to be mean and scary. I'm not soft 🥺🥺"

A/N: Oooo nonnie I loved this request. I love some banter, I definitely ran with them really taunting one another. I hope you like this! I made them pretty feisty towards one another 😂💚

Dragon's Bane ~ Aemond x Velaryon(Strong)!reader

word count: 1.8k

warning: reader is Jace's twin, some violence

masterlist

EDIT: PART 2 is live 💚

Your stomach twisted with nerves as you arrived at the Red Keep. Your mother squeezed your hand, to comfort you and you offered her a small smile. You glanced at your twin Jacaerys who stood tall, looking towards the red towers. Luke, however, paled at the sight before him. You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It shall be alright,” you told him, causing him to smile weakly. Driftmark’s succession had been challenged, the reason for your return to the capital. You pushed your fear down, deep inside of you. You needed to be there for your brother, focused on nothing else.

As your mother and Daemon made their way into the castle, you followed your brothers towards the training yard. The sound of clashing steel in the early morning rang out across the yard as a crowd gathered to watch. Jace nudged your elbow, beckoning you.

Finding a window between several heads you saw your uncle, Aemond Targaryen, was the source of all the clamor. He twirled expertly away from Ser Criston’s attack, silver hair fanning out behind him. He looked rather graceful, as though he was engaged in a dance rather than a fight.

Aemond and you had been close as children, friends even. The two of you bonded over not having dragons of your own. Aemond was not awarded a dragon in cradle, and yours had failed to hatch. It wasn’t until later in your adolescent you had claimed a dragon of your own.

With the loss of his eye came the end of your friendship. Luke was your brother after all, it was your duty to protect him from the Queen’s justice. Though you empathized with Aemond, for the wrong done against him.

“Nephews,” Aemond called, “niece.” His sword was pointed, his violet eye locked onto you. He was handsome, you had to admit, even with the scar and the eyepatch that hid half his face.

“Come to train?” he asked, a challenge more than a question. Your twin stood eerily still next to you. You snort out a laugh as his remark. Aemond’s eye narrowed.

“Something funny, niece?” he asked, as you crossed your arms in front of you.

“I just found it rather unappealing, tis all. Need your ego fluffed up a bit more, uncle?” you told him, raising your brows. Aemond’s mouth formed a tight line. Jace’s head snapped towards you.

“Sister,” he warned. Aemond’s lip curled.

“Careful, niece,” he says, voice smooth, “you begin to tug free from your brother’s leash.” Aemond makes a tsk sound with his tongue. Your cheeks fill with fire. You open your mouth to say something else when Jace wraps his hand around your arm.

“Come on,” he orders, pulling you from the scene, “he’s not worth it.”

The incident in the training yard was hardly the last quarrel you got into with your uncle during your time at King’s Landing. It was as though your mere existences annoyed one another and yet you could not see to stay away from each other.

Everywhere you went, he appeared. The library, the gardens, the sept. There was no escaping his torment.

“I didn’t know you could read, niece,” Aemond had said, snatching a book you tried to reach, walking past you. You huff in frustration, trailing after him, deeper into the library.

“Give it back.”

“Ivestragon issa isse valyrīha,” he says (Tell me in Valyrian).

Your face scrunches. Your mother tongue has been difficult for you and your twin to learn. You and Jace spent ages in the halls of Dragonstone practicing the language of Old Valyria.

“What?” you ask, causing Aemond to smile at your defeat.

“Nykeā zaldrīzes qilōni daor ȳzaldrīzes,” he says chuckling (A dragon who cannot speak).

You curl your hands into fists. You can feel the humiliation in your bones.

“Say it in the common tongue, if you’re so brave,” you taunt him, reaching for the book. He moves out of the way effortlessly.

“Kostilus tolī.” (Perhaps later)

“It must be exhausting, being this insufferable all the time,” you tell him.

“You’re very cruel when you are feeling inferior,” Aemond tells you, a smirk on his face.

“Inferior? To you?” you bark out a laugh, “you wish.”

“I already know it to be true,” he says, leaning against a desk, “in knowledge, in name.”

You sigh dramatically, tipping your head back to expose the skin of your neck. Your dark curls fall down your back, bouncing at the action, nearly mesmerizing your uncle.

“You speak so poetically uncle, it almost feels like you’re trying to make a point.”

Aemond merely hums in response. He eyes your neck as though he wishes to sink his teeth into your flesh and tear out your jugular.

“You always were a spiteful little creature,” he murmurs, eye narrowing.

You hold his gaze for a moment.

“Give me my book.”

“No, it is mine.”

Your mouth forms a smirk then, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Cannot part with it for an afternoon?” you tease, pouting, “very sweet uncle, like a child with a toy.”

This causes him to throw the book across the room.

Dinner is a nightmarish event. A fight is likely to start once your grandsire is removed from the room. Aemond stands to make a final toast.

“Final tribute, to my nephews, and niece,” he drolls, holding his cup out. Your ears ring as he continues, you watch his smug mouth move the words lost to you. All you see is red.

“I dare you say that again,” Jace says, from his spot with Helaena. You stand from your chair and move away from the table.

“Twas only a compliment,” Aemond insists, “do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace is on him, punching him in the jaw. Aemond barely moves, pushing Jace to the floor. You walk over to him, slapping his cup from his hand. It clatters to the floor, the wine pooling like blood. Aemond’s smirk only grows.

“Do you not tire of being your brother’s lapdog?” he says. You slap him before thinking of the consequences. He turns back to you, cheek an angry red. He twists his hand in your curls, pulling you close to him. You can feel his breath on your face. There is only Aemond in the room, the noises around drown out. You hold his gaze, both of your faces masked in rage.

“I hate you,” you hiss. A growl rumbles low in his chest.

“I hate you right back.”

Daemon has to drag you from the room, at the instruction of your mother. You sit within their chambers trying to cool your head.

“You are too quick to anger,” Daemon scolds, as you fix your hair. The roots sit painfully from being manhandled by your uncle.

“He vexes me,” you snarl and Daemon chuckles.

“He will not bother you long.”

You look towards your mother who rests her hand on her stomach. Her lilac eyes are sad. You wish you looked like her, especially when you were young. You often dreamt of waking with lavender eyes and silver hair.

“What do you mean?”

Daemon glances at Rhaenyra for permission. Though Daemon has been your father figure for most of your life, he still looks to Rhaenyra for guidance when it comes to you. She nods.

“When we return to Dragonstone, you shall journey to Winterfell,” he begins, “to wed Lord Cregan Stark.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. It was only a matter of time, you supposed, but you had hoped your mother would delay it.

“What?” you say through your teeth.

“My love,” Rhaenyra says beckoning you to come sit with her, but you back away.

“No, no! Mother please,” you beg, tears filling your eyes. Your voice is strained and panicked.

You have sat in your mother’s lap and listened to her cry over being forced to marry. You have seen her tears and listened to her sobs in the night when she believed you to be sleeping. You have seen her unhappy, heard her thoughts on the matter. And yet she puts you in the same position.

“I will not go!” you insist, though you are afraid you sound like a petulant child with your demands.

“You shall do your duty,” Daemon says, a warning look in his eye. You do not meet your mother’s gaze as you flee from the room.

Aemond finds you in the gardens. He had come to get some air after the event of dinner. When he spots you sitting on a bench his whole body tenses. He feels a throbbing where his sapphire eye sits as though your very presence is enough to bring on one of his painful fits.

Aemond struts towards you, tongue ready to release a cruel remark. A twig snaps beneath his foot in his haste and you turn towards him, tears streaming down your face. Aemond feels as though he has been kicked in the gut as all the air in his lungs leaves him.

Your face is red, dark eyes glassy with fresh tears as you stand. Your lower lip wobbles as the streams on your cheeks glisten in the moonlight as fresh tears wet your face. Aemond’s lips part as he readies to speak, to throw an insult your way.

A sob slips through your lips and suddenly your arms are around him, and her nearly topples over as you throw your weight onto him. His chest muffles your sobs as you hide your face from him. Aemond froze, his hands held out to his side, as you anchored yourself to him. It is as though you cannot leave King’s Landing as long as you are tethered to him.

Your hands claw his back, holding on as though someone intends to tear you from him. You are in the palm of his hand, how easily he could humiliate you now. But he does not. Aemond’s arms relax against you as he holds you to him. He brings a hand to stroke your dark hair from your face.

He finds himself unable to speak, the words fizzling from his mind as he feels the heat from your body melt into him. All he can do is stroke your hair, rub soothing circles in your arm as his tongue fails him.

It unsettles something within him and disturbs him. His bastard niece, this is wrong, he thinks to himself. Aemond does not believe himself to be a comforting man. The kindness he displays to his niece is foreign to him.

You hate her.

You despise her.

She is everything you loathe in this world.

You look up at him with those big brown eyes, and Aemond believes you must think the same about him. Neither of you speaks. This is not a language either of you knows. But as your cries lull, you stay in his arms in the gardens bathed in moonlight, exploring this unknown territory together.

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond drabble #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #hotd aemond #sapphire answers #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen fic

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humanpurposes · 3 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

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harwinsgirl · 1 year

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Healing - Aemond Targaryen x Reader

After Aemond is injured during a jousting tournament, you have been selected to tend to his wounds. The prince is not prepared to awaken to a feisty, unknown woman in his chambers who claims she’s there to care for him.

(Listen, Ser Harwin still owns my heart but this devilish war criminal has been plaguing my thoughts. I must banish him with a fic. Since some of you have asked to be tagged in Harwin fics I’m not gonna tag anyone here since it’s Aemond but please feel free to let me know if that’s something you’re interested in for the future! Some slight angst and fluff, tw for some brief trauma mentioned by the reader)

Prince Aemond had just beaten his twelfth jousting opponent in his father’s nameday tourney and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Despite his prowess, he did not have the same reputation for celebrating that his uncle was known for. It was common knowledge that the Prince felt that these events were beneath him and were a waste of his time. However, every now and again he would be persuaded to participate. The silver haired prince would defeat his challengers with speed and efficiency, earning raucous roars from the crowd each time a young knight or lord fell flat on his back.

The men that were pitted against him were of little consequence to him. All from lesser houses, just serving as entertainment to King Viserys amongst the other events and festivities. Aemond would resent being subjected to playing such a role as well, but would never say anything to confirm his feelings. Truthfully, his scowl said enough.

Over the loud cheering from the crowd, the prince could not hear his opponent stirring from his place on the dirt track. Aemond had approached the booth where his family was sitting. His father was grinning and clapping while his mother had a joyful smile of her own. Only when he acted the part of the good son did he receive such affection from his parents. Bowing politely, Aemond willed away the feeling of acid in his stomach and plastered on a smile as well.

And then he felt a sting.

The young lord has stumbled forward and drew his sword up the prince’s back, cutting at the tunic that peeked from under his armor. The sword continued its path and left a noticeable scratch on Aemond’s cheek.

The arena was stunned into silence. The king’s voice boomed and filled the air, demanding the boy drop his sword and back away from the prince. Aemond turned swiftly on his heel and clicked his tongue in disapproval, watching as the heir to House Jhorr lost his nerve, his posture folding as he cowered in fear. Whatever anger that had driven the poor soul to attack him had subsided.

“Pick up your sword boy.” Aemond demanded.

“Please, your grace! Forgive my actions.” Lowering his voice, the sandy haired boy trusted the prince with more knowledge. “My betrothed sits amongst the spectators today. I was embarrassed that I lost. I treated you like a brother and not my lord prince. I am dreadfully sorry.”

Aemond couldn’t help but glance over at the area where the boy’s eyes were hovering. A beautiful blonde lady was clutching her chest, panic marring her graceful features.

Too many people thought the prince was a monster already, with his jagged scar peeking from under his eyepatch. Too many men whispered about him in the corridors, too many ladies cast their eyes down when he walked by, too many children gasped and hid their faces in their mothers dresses.

He was not about to prove their suspicions right.

A handful of the kingsguard interrupted his conversation, scooping the boy up by his arms and holding him in place.

“Please.” The boy whimpered.

Aemond closed his eyes and shook his head, mainly at himself. It would be completely justified if he slashed the young lad’s throat in front of his father’s guests. It would be more than appropriate to have him dragged to the dungeons for further interrogation, never to see the light of day again. But he would see that woman’s face in his dreams every night, her bright eyes spilling with tears.

“All is forgiven.” Aemond said firmly. “Release him.”

The prince’s act of grace elicited gasps and murmurs from the crowd. But Aemond was having a hard time focusing, his vision growing grey and hazy with each passing moment. He saw the boy’s lips move quickly, his expression relieved and his arms animated with movement, but he could not respond.

Prince Aemond had collapsed.

Your quiet shop at the edge of King’s Landing had been invaded early in the afternoon by several members of the kingsguard, who were requesting your presence and expertise for an unnamed patient within the Red Keep. You packed several ointments and herbs with you amongst other tools that could be helpful in treating an injury or illness, for they had not told you what was afflicting this person you had been tasked with treating. You were hastily helped into a carriage that took off down the cobblestone roads as soon as the door behind you had shut.

You were a healer that operated a small business in Kings Landing. Unable to study at the Citadel and earn the title of maester due to being born a woman, you did what you could, turning an abandoned home into a place where people could seek treatment if they were unwell. Things had been relatively stable in the capital and you were very cautious with who you let through your doors. You had fled twice from other settlements when talk of witchcraft began brewing (heaven forbid a woman be knowledgeable in subjects like science and medicine). But armed guards firmly escorting you out of the premises and taking you to the royal palace was a sure sign that your activities were not as discreet as you’d hoped they had been.

Just as quickly as you’d been thrust into the carriage, silver gloves reached for you and pulled you out swiftly, placing you on the ground. You were jostled forward and forced to keep up with the fast pace of the guards who were leading you up the steps into the Keep. Without even looking at you, one of them began detailing your assignment as you marched onwards, your glass bottles rattling as they clinked together in your wicker basket.

“You are treating Prince Aemond. He suffered from several injuries that he sustained during today’s tourney. You are responsible for his care during this time.” The guard finally turned to look at you, stopping you in your tracks. “If his condition worsens, you will be at fault. Any mistreatment will be seen as treason.”

“Why are the maesters not attending to the prince?” You asked, a hint of annoyance in your voice. You couldn’t help but find it very ironic that you had been sought out to administer aid to the prince, and yet somehow weren’t fully trusted to do so.

“There is an illness that is plaguing our maesters. We cannot risk exposing the prince. And that is all you need to know on that subject.” He said gruffly.

Several flights of stairs later, you were just outside of Prince Aemond’s bedroom chamber. The guards posted outside of his doors nodded at you as they had been expecting your arrival. The door creaked open and you slipped inside.

The room was ginormous. Soft, velvet furniture adorned a sitting area that was set up around a grand fireplace. The walls were filled with overflowing bookshelves. Aemond had two desks that were scattered with papers, writing implements, and scientific tools. That area was an organized chaos, where the layout of such materials made sense only to him. The corners of your mouth twitched upwards into a smile. Your own room looked very similar in that regard.

The windows were huge, but the drapes were shut in nearly all of them, depriving the room of good lighting. You were too busy looking around and taking note of things that you almost failed to hear a pained groan come from the large bed in the middle of the room. Wisps of pale hair were peeking out from under satin sheets.

“M…m-ma…maester…M-maester Ry…Ry…” Aemond mumbled dryly.

“Do you need some water, your grace?” You asked, making your way over to his side table.

The body underneath the covers stilled. He did not recognize your voice. And your voice was that of a woman’s. The prince sat up sharply, wincing in pain immediately after he had done so.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded, squinting at you. You paused and gave a slight curtesy before flashing a smile at him.

“I’m not here to kill you if that’s your worry,” you joked, “in fact, I’ve been contracted to do the opposite.”

“You’re a woman.” He stated plainly.

You looked at him wide-eyed, fake shock washing over your face. You slipped a finger under your gown and peeked down at your own chest.

“Good heavens, so I am.” You said in response.

Aemond had to bite his lip to suppress a smile. Who the hell were you?

“You can’t possibly be a maester.” He said, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible.

“I never claimed to be, your grace. But as luck would have it, all of your maesters are currently indisposed, fighting off some illness. So here I am, a world renowned healer in your very own chambers.” You took your eyes off him for a moment to start rummaging through your toolkit, but stopped as soon as you heard him clear his throat.

“I can’t have you tending to me, my lady.” Prince Aemond said.

“I managed to make out some details of your ordeal on my way here.” You said, ignoring his statement entirely. “Your subjects are whispering about it, your grace. Apparently you fainted after you were struck with a sword by one of your opponents?”

“I did not faint,” Aemond said bitterly, “I merely grew tired.”

“An interesting place to choose to catch up on your sleep, your grace.” You quipped.

Aemond rolled his eyes. “Despite what you may have heard, it was not as terrible as it sounds. I will rest here until one of my maesters is available and I’m sure my recovery will be quick. I’m sorry that my family troubled you. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”

You couldn’t help but notice how hoarse his voice sounded. The idiot never took you up on your offer for water. You strode over to him and poured two glasses of water from the pitcher on his night table. You handed him one glass and downed the other, reassuring him that you had not managed to poison it in the short time you had been in his chambers.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, staring hard at the wiry prince that was still mostly covered by his bedsheets, “you’d rather die than be treated by a woman?”

“Who said anything about dying?” Aemond asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Any type of laceration is dangerous. You never know what sickness is waiting to take root in your blood. By dismissing me, you’re courting death.” You set the glass down on the table and sighed, shaking your head at him. “That’s too bad then. You were so young. I’ll be sure to send my condolences to the King and Queen. What color roses would you like at your funeral, your grace?”

Aemond looked at you incredulously. It was as if you had no fear. Here you were, freely discussing his death without any regard for the consequences. You could have your tongue cut out for speaking such unkind things about him. And yet, he had a feeling you would simply resort to hand gestures instead if that were the case.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head at you. “You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you so much, your grace.” You said with an abundance of sarcasm.

With deft fingers, you went to work cleaning the scratch on his cheek and the gash that was still seeping from his back. You murmured soft words to him and rubbed his skin every time he winced or made a sound of displeasure. Despite immediately vexing you upon your arrival, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the state the prince was in. He was undoubtably in pain. You also failed to disclose to him that what most of the gossip that you had heard on your way to his chambers was about his uncharacteristic generosity in sparing the young boy’s life. Any other man would’ve cut him down and made an example out of him.

“That lord shouldn’t have acted with such recklessness, your grace.” You said softly as you bent over the bed, hovering over him as you dabbed at his cheek. “You’re lucky the wounds are not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” Aemond said, taking the rag from your hand as he peered into your eyes. “A moment ago you said I was at death’s door.”

You swallowed nervously. It was easy to act aloof and jest with him when you were farther apart. From this angle you couldn’t help but take in his chiseled features, the scent of evergreen that seemed to blanket his skin, and the way his chest rose and fell with each gentle breath.

“Dear, sweet healer?” Aemond pressed. He definitely noticed your eyes wandering.

“I…suppose that’s just because you have access to such wonderful care.” You said, trying your hardest to lighten the mood again and cut the growing tension.

It wasn’t working.

It’s as if Aemond was studying you now. Watching your every movement and enjoying the way you stumbled or stuttered when you caught a glimpse of his piercing gaze. You almost wondered if it would have better if he had been successful in getting rid of you.

You had nearly finished your treatment. The wounds were cleaned and properly dressed. You were in the process of giving him a once-over, checking to see if there were any marks or bruises when you noticed a red line peeking from underneath his eye patch.

“Your grace, if you would be so kind to remove your eye patch, I believe when you fell you must’ve received another injury.” You said gently.

Aemond’s mouth formed a tight line. All the playfulness that had been your doing and the thick energy that had been growing between you two seemed to vanish in an instant.

“I will not.” He said angrily.

“Your grace, I insist. It may require my attention.” You pleaded, moving to place a hand on his cheek. Aemond’s hand moved swiftly to catch your wrist before you had the chance.

“I said I will not.” He repeated, his tone still quite harsh.

You furrowed your brows in annoyance. “I am your healer. I need access to all of you. If I don’t perform proper treatment, I could be punished.”

“I am refusing this treatment.” He said lowly as he dropped your hand.

“Why?” You questioned, your hands on your hips as you stared down at him. He was no longer looking at you. You waited for a response, but Aemond continued to avoid eye contact with you.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and then looked at you again. “You may go now.”

“I will not!” You fumed, pointing your finger at him. “I need to take care of you!”

“Can you take care of this?” He bellowed, ripping the eyepatch from his face.

A dark blue sapphire rested in his eye socket. He glared at you, his chest heaving from his fury. For a moment neither of you spoke, your expression unreadable as you stared at him, the gemstone twinkling ever so slightly when sunlight hit it from a crack in the drapes.

Aemond didn’t know what to expect. You merely stood there, taking him in. Most women would’ve gasped or even screamed. Disgust would’ve been evident on their faces. And yet, you hardly had a reaction. He didn’t know if that was a comfort or not. He was about to command you to speak, but you finally addressed his outburst.

“You think the world doesn’t know about your scar?” You said quietly, your eyes never leaving his. “Prince Aemond One-Eye. You must despise that name. And yet, you hardly know how beloved you are. How people talk of your skill as a swordsman. How men lament that they will never look as handsome as you do, and will never be as well versed in histories or sciences. There are still women that would be lined up to take you as a husband if given the chance. I’ve heard children beg to be you as they play in the streets, for Prince Aemond rides the largest dragon in the world.”

Your fingers moved to the strings of your dress. Your eyes grew heavy from the tears threatening to spill from them. Slowly, you pulled at the fasteners of your garment until your dress fell from your body, revealing a large scar that ran from your hip all the way up between your breasts.

“There is no love for a peasant woman that looks like this. Every man who catches a glimpse of this ugly red mark beneath my gown turns their head in disgust. Every jagged corner of my skin reminds me of how unloved I am. Remember that, my prince, the next time you decide to wallow in self-pity.” Your voice wavering slightly, you tilted your chin up again and glared back at him. “I am very sorry you lost your eye, but you will always be a prince. You will always be loved. Others are not so fortunate.”

Aemond rose from the bed and made his way over to you. You had bent down to recover your gown but Aemond’s hands found yours. He interlocked your fingers with his, squeezing them gently in a silent plea to get you to look at him again.

“When you first came into my chambers, I wanted you to leave immediately. I did not want the burden of looking at me and tending to me to fall onto a woman. Especially one such as beautiful as you,” he murmured, tracing small circles on your palm with his thumb. “And when you asked to see under my eyepatch, I resisted. I have never met a woman who can stand the sight of it. I hide it for good reason. The ladies that you speak of who would marry me surely only would in their desire to reach a higher status. The men who admire me still would not trade their lives to live a day as me. There is a difference in being beloved and being loved as who you are. Scars have such a terrible way of alienating you from the world.”

He dropped one of your hands to place a hand gingerly on your hip, tracing the beginning of your scar lightly. “May I ask who did this to you, my lady?”

You nodded your head, blinking away stray tears. “A suitor of mine who I had rejected countless times cornered me in the gardens of his father’s estate. I told him I’d never marry a wretch like him. He told me he’d allow me to go, but that he’d bestow upon me a parting gift,” you sniffled. “So that he’d always be with me. And that no man would ever take me as his wife. I’d always be his.”

Prince Aemond was a man prone to anger. He had a low threshold for certain types of people, such as arrogant lords, fussy ladies, and the terrible excuse for a brother that Aegon was. But he especially hated abusers of women. Whoever this man was, Aemond closed his eyes and imagined horrible things happening to him. A faceless, nameless man who deserved to be roasted alive by Vhagar, flayed by menacing criminals from fleabottom, cut down limb from limb by the prince himself. He deserved a thousand deaths for ever hurting you.

“One more question, if I may,” the prince asked softly, trying to rid his head of such images. “Why did you choose this profession? Does it not cause you anguish when you think back to this event?”

“No one was there to tend my wounds. I remember the loneliness of that feeling. I never wanted anyone else to feel that way.” You admitted, looking down at the pink lines that ran across your belly. “I never wanted anyone to feel lesser for something they did not ask for, something out of their control. I’ve lived with this a long time, and I’ve loved myself fully. But sometimes it still knocks me down like a wave. It’s hard each time but I’d never choose to do anything else with my life.”

“Lay down, my lady.” Aemond commanded softly before you could speak any more.

“What?”

“If you do not wish for my affections, you may tell me so. But if you’d allow me, I’d like the chance to take care of you. You’ve already taken such good care of me.” Aemond whispered, nuzzling his face against yours. He was drawn to you, mesmerized by you. The smart, fiery woman with a heart that still needed mending. He felt the pangs of jealously stab at him when he imagined anyone else but him stepping up to that task.

“It was my job.” You said sincerely, smiling at the prince. You leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Aemond’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

“You should be fully healed within a day or two. I’ve left some ointment with instructions for your servants on your study desk. I shouldn’t take up more of your precious time, your grace. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

Again, you reached for your discarded gown but Aemond reacted too quickly, scooping you in his arms and gently resting you on his bed.

“You shouldn’t be lifting anything!” You said, slightly frustrated.

“And you should allow me to compensate you in my own way.” Aemond responded, joining you on the bed.

Before you could protest, Aemond reached for the covers and pulled them up to cover the two of you. He snaked one arm underneath you and rested the other on your abdomen, gently tracing the outline of your scar.

“I will not force you into anything you wouldn’t want. And even if you had the same desires as me, I know my healer would advise me against any strenuous activity today,” Aemond said with a grin. “Allow me just to hold you, my lady.”

You gave him a perplexed look as the prince settled next to you. “I do not understand what is happening.”

“What is happening is that I am enjoying the company of a very smart woman. Who is gifted in the fields of science and medicine. Who has hair that smells of lilies and eyes that shine like the sun’s reflection on the emerald seas. A woman that entered my chambers and immediately disarmed me with her wit and personality. Who tended to my wounds with genuine care and love. A woman who is not afraid of my trauma and felt comfortable enough to share hers with me. I want you to stay. You are a fascinating creature who seems to be hellbent on capturing what is left of my heart.”

Your heart leapt at the prince’s words. Carefully, you moved to rest your head on his chest. The two of you laid still for a moment, simply resting together and enjoying the quietness of it. Absentmindedly, Aemond began playing with your hair as his eyes struggled to remain open.

“Didn’t I annoy you when I first entered?” You asked, leaning into his touch.

Aemond opened his eyes and gazed down at you. “Was that your attempt at distancing yourself from me?”

“Not at all. You were being an idiot and I responded naturally to your behavior.” You said matter of factly.

Aemond moved to hover over you, his arms planted on either side of your shoulders. “How is it that you have a penchant for saying things that if spoken by any other would have me seething with rage?”

“You’ll learn to love it.” You said cheekily.

“I’m afraid I already have,” Aemond said, placing a kiss on your forehead.

#harwinsgirl #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond #fluff #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 3 months

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pulling out of the angst listening to "A Pirate Today" for the chaggie spear kid and tripping directly into them and vaggie being pirate nerds together while disney princess charlie SUFFERS

Billy: “Mom? How come mom has a super cool epic eyepatch, and no one else at the hotel does?”

Charlie: “Be-caaauuse she’s… missing an eye?”

Billy: “Oh! Why’s it missing?”

Charlie: “Uh.”

Billy: “Did someone TAKE it?”

Charlie: “Well-”

Billy: “Are we gonna get it back for her?”

Charlie: “That's a nice thought but I don’t think-”

Billy: “Was it glass, like a marble? Or was it REAL? Did it bleed?? Did someone cut it out of her head with a knife after she refused their dastardly orders and paid the price in her own flesh!? Is that how she met YOU and lost her heart as well!???”

Charlie: “…..”

Charlie: “You’ve been reading Vaggie’s pirate books again, haven’t you.”

Billy: “She says I’m too young to read ‘em.”

Charlie: “Uh-huh. Which one are you on?”

Billy: “The Curse of the Skeleton Crew and the Bedding of Bonnie Bodyripper’s Beautiful Bounty Huntress.”

Charlie: “And the WHAT OF THE WHAT NOW???”

Billy: “There’s a lot of boring parts I skip past… but the fights are AMAZING!”

Charlie: “…I.. think we should get you some of your own pirate books. CHILD APPROPRIATE pirate books.”

Billy: “’kay. But what about mom’s eye. Can we really not get it back for her?”

Charlie: “You’re really hung up on the eye thing tonight huh.”

Billy: “She bumped into a table again.”

Charlie: “Aww, kiddo- she’s done that so many times, she’ll be okay!”

Billy: “… I was the one who’d moved it. And didn’t put it back.”

Charlie: “That’s okay too. Everyone makes mistakes-”

Billy: “It was a pirate ship and she was picking up the old bottles uncle Husky let me use for secret messages, after aunty Angel Dust almost slipped on one in his heels. Mom dropped some when the table bumped her.”

Charlie: “Well sounds like someone forgot to sing their ‘clean up, clean up’ sea shanty song~” (grins)

Billy: (doesn't grin back)

Charlie: (droops) “Did you help her spiff up the ship?”

Billy: “I was TRYING to! I just wanted to hand her a bottle, only I was on the wrong side and she reached out too far and touched my hand and-”

Billy: “…”

Charlie: “…the flinching again?”

Billy: “The bottle broke when she dopped it, that time.”

Charlie: “It’s okay.” (hugs them) “You know it’s not about you, right?”

Billy: “Someone hurt her didn’t they.”

Charlie: “Mm." (hugs tighter) "Vaggie’s had a pretty, adventurous life, even before I met her and we started the whole hotel thing.”

Billy: “Did the person who hurt her look like me?”

Charlie: “Oh baby that’s not why-”

Billy: “So they did.”

Charlie: “NO. Not at all. They don’t have your big smile or silly laugh like you do.” (hugs them closer) “There’s no one anywhere who’s like you, and Vaggie doesn’t want you to be anyone else ever.”

Billy: "Were they a bad person?"

Charlie: "I don't do the whole bad-person good-person. They were. Not nice."

Billy: "Like a pirate?"

Charlie: "I think calling them that'd be an insult. To the pirates."

Billy: “….was mom a pirate with them?”

Charlie: “She… she’s more of a pirate now, kinda. One of the good ones.”

Billy: “Saying fuck it to dumb rules and laying it all on the line for her new captain and crew?”

Charlie: (wincing) “I need another talk with your ‘uncle Husky’. Also, Vaggie doesn’t have a captain.”

Billy: “But if the hotel’s her ship, and you founded it, then-”

Charlie: “-then we’re co-captains!”

Billy: “Mom. That’s not how ships work.”

Charlie: “It is on THIS one.”

Billy: “Her being your first mate makes more sense though!”

Charlie: “Noooope! Our ship, our rules. AND our rules still include bedtime!” (scoops them up)

Billy: (grumbling) “There’s gonna be mutiny over this someday…”

Vaggie: (slipping out of the shadows) “Aye, but not until you’re old enough to yell about it not being a phase, apparently. Ye scallywag.”

Charlie: “I STILL can’t believe dad told you about that.”

Billy: “Mom! I-” (shyly) “…sorry about the ship. And the, glass and the stuff.”

Vaggie: “More of a shipwreck, yeah? Don't worry.” (smiles) (holds up note) “The broken bottle had a message in it.”

Billy: “Oh that’s-!”

Vaggie: “It’s got SEKRET written on it, in something that’s probably not blood-”

Billy: “Aunt Niffty helped with that.”

Vaggie: “…written in something that’s probably just rat blood...”

Charlie: (groans) “Great. More ‘child appropriate environment’ talks.”

Billy: “Heheh.”

Vaggie: “Anyway, here.” (hands over note) “Pirates respect each other’s secrets.”

Billy: (gingerly taking it without touching her) “No they don’t? None of the ones in your books do.”

Vaggie: “My books- sweetie, which my books?”

Charlie: “Bonnie Bodyripper.”

Billy: “Curse of the Skeleton Crew!!!”

Vaggie: “Oh thank ff…eather dusters…. Not one of the wild ones then.”

Charlie: “THAT’S not a wild one!?”

Vaggie: (shrug) (at kid) “Did Bonnie Bodyripper read the bounty huntresses letter when she found it lying on the cabin floor while looking for her clothes?”

Billy: “No…”

Charlie: “LOOKING FOR HER WHAT.”

Billy: “She’d’ve seen the betrayal coming sooner and could’ve stopped it, if she had.”

Vaggie: “But she wanted to trust the huntress. You read the ending?”

Billy: “It’s the best part! The huntress swings in and saves her! They kill SO MANY guards together and blow up a SHIP and and and-”

Vaggie: “Yeah okay right, uhhhhh- the actual ending. On the last page.”

Billy: “Bonnie says she fell in love with a huntress who could hurt her and she was okay with that.”

Charlie: “Ehhh.”

Billy: “It’s like with the sea, mom. There were parts of the huntress maybe Bonnie’d never find out about, and she was okay with that too! Because the parts she did know were something the huntress had shared with her.”

Charlie: “Aww, that’s…”

Billy: “And then they wrestle.”

Charlie: “…still not something you should be reading yet, yep.”

Billy: “What’s boring wrestling have to do with anything?”

Vaggie: “Forget the wrestling. Point is, people hurt each other sometimes, sweetie." (tickles them with a wing) "What matters it what they do after.”

Billy: “Heh!" (wiggles) (grins) "Did the person who took your eye say sorry afterwards?”

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “No.”

Billy: “Okay.” (thinks for a moment) “So I’m not like them.”

Charlie: “MUCH cuter.”

Vaggie: “You… are stalling, you sea rat.”

Billy: “No ‘m not!”

Vaggie: “Bellow decks and into bed with you.”

Billy: “Where’d you get the eyepatch??”

Charlie: “That’s a story for tomorrow, kiddo! Bedtime is crucial to a child’s development!”

Billy: “I’m enveloped I’m enveloped! Pleeease just five more minutes-!”

Vaggie: “Nuh-uh, you heard your mom. Captain’s orders.”

Charlie: “Don’t you start.”

Vaggie: “Babe, it really doesn’t make sense for there to be two captains at one time.”

Billy: “HA!”

Charlie: “What does it even matter anyway? We’re running a hotel, not an actual ship-”

Vaggie: “And I’m the hotel manager, which makes me your first mate.”

Billy: “See mom? TOLD you!”

Charlie: “But you’d look good in that fancy captain’s outfit!”

Billy: “Oh so that’s why you stare at mom’s book covers before confiscating them..”

Vaggie: “Charlie, it’s not about who looks good in it- It’s about division of duties onboard and proper crew management-”

Billy: “Tell her!”

Charlie: “This is a hotel!”

Vaggie: “Guest management. Whatever.”

Charlie: “You just like that I’D be the one in the long coat and ruffles!”

Vaggie: “It’s a perk. But that’s not the point.”

Charlie: “This whole thing doesn’t have any point to it and if I’m captain then I can just promote you to captain too so HA!”

Vaggie: “Pirate captains are elected, babe.”

Billy: “They’re elected, mom.”

Vaggie: “It’s a popular vote thing.”

Billy: “I think maybe YOU need to read the books too, instead of just going gooey eyed over the covers.”

Charlie: “I’m starting to think no one in this family should be reading them…”

Vaggie: “Fine. Let’s vote on it.”

Charlie: “Oh come on!”

Billy: “All in favor of being historically accurate hotel pirates say aye!”

Vaggie: “Aye.”

Billy: “Aye!”

Charlie: “ARGH!”

Billy: “Out voted~”

Vaggie: (pats charlie’s shoulder) “Good job getting into the spirit of things though.”

Billy: “Pirates didn’t really go ‘Arrg’ did they?”

Charlie: “Well THIS one sure does.” (leads the way to bedtime) “What’s the point of being captain anyway if you don’t win any arguments?”

Vaggie: “We’ll let you win the next one. Pirate’s oath.”

Charlie: (sighing) “Argh…”

Billy: “You mean. We’ll let her win the next, the-” (giggles) “-the next ARGHument, right?”

Vaggie: (groans)

Charlie: “…okay.” (cracks smile) “THAT'S worth being a pirate for.”

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #chaggie spear child au thing #charlie morningstar #vaggie #oc kid #silly family time #light angst #realized during this that i gotta for myself call this kid “billy”#bc of the #being charlie's kid and the #billy goat thing

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babyblue711 · 7 days

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Little Dragonseed

Sister Story to Loyalty Aemond Targaryen (HOTD) x Handmaiden - Part 2 Summary: The young maid tries to remain discreet while in the Prince Regent's presence, but her curiosity regarding her ancestry compels her to sneak a visit to his formidable dragon. Words: 1.7K Chapter Warnings: Mild threat of violence

<<<< Part 1

The air buzzes with tension as Aemond surveys the stronghold, his violet eye reflecting a cold determination of a man driven by duty. The One-Eyed Prince is equally, if not more, striking in appearance than his uncle; his long mane of blond hair is tied neatly away from his face, a leather eyepatch secured over his left eye, his dark green jerkin is neat and tidy. Despite such a long journey, his appearance isn’t the least bit disheveled.

As like Daemon before him, she is summoned to attend this royal subject for the duration of his stay. Aemond barely spares her a glance, treating her with the same indifference that Daemon had initially shown. Her heart pounds in her chest as goes about her duties around him, always keeping her eyes downcast, terrified to meet his gaze, fearing he will notice that she is different.

Unlike her curiosity for the Rogue Prince and secret willingness to be discovered by him, there is an arrogance about the Prince Regent that unsettles her. His demeanor exudes unyielding rigidity coupled with an air of superiority, as if everyone is beneath him. Truthfully, he terrifies her more than Daemon ever had and, moreover, her heart belongs to the black faction as she fervently believes in Queen Rhaenyra's cause.

So, in the haunted halls of Harrenhal, she moves like a ghost, trying to remain invisible to the new master of the castle. Every time Aemond’s cold, violet eye fixes on her, she feels exposed and vulnerable, as if he could see straight through her feigned obedience to the loyalties she harbored within. Blessedly, he ignores her just as he does for many of the castle’s inhabitants, except for a certain witch.

The young maid has always kept a wide berth around Alys Rivers, despite the fact that she has never been unkind or cruel towards her. There is something about the enchantress that feels unsettling and unnatural, and the young maid can’t shake her distrust. As time passes, she notices that the witch is spending almost every evening with Aemond and the young maid fervently hopes she is keeping him preoccupied.

But as the days melt together, the young maid’s curiosity begins to get the better of her. If she truly is the Blood of Old Valyria, did that mean she could become a dragon rider as well? The thought consumes her as she finds herself watching Vhagar from a distance, enthralled by the dragon's immense size and ancient beauty. She longs to know more about her heritage and the dragons that symbolize the power of the Targaryens.

One day, while Aemond is engaged in a lengthy war counsel, Vhagar lay next to the large lake adjacent to the castle, peacefully asleep as the sun dips toward the horizon. The young handmaid knows it is foolish to approach this fearsome giant, but an irresistible sense of curiosity has possessed her mind, gripped her soul; she’s bound by an inexplicable need to get closer to Vhagar and can’t explain why.

While high up in one of the castle’s towers, she leans on the windowsill, eyes fixed on the distant figure curled by the lake, admiring the way the dragon's scales glint in the fading light. Out of nowhere, a cool voice breaks the silence from behind her, making her jump.

“She is magnificent, isn’t she?” says Alys as the young maid whirls to face her. They have only spoken a few times prior, when duty demanded it, yet here is the witch addressing her as if they are old friends.

“She is,” admits the young maid as Alys comes to stand beside her, both of them gazing out the window.

“War counsel is still in session, the prince is rather occupied at the moment,” the witch muses lazily. “I think, perhaps, you should pay her a visit?” she suggests airily, arching an eyebrow.

“Do you think I could?” the young maid asks, captivated by the idea, but sure she would get caught or worse, would her Targaryen blood keep her safe from dragonfire? Alys seems to be able to read her mind.

“I believe you’ll be perfectly fine, child, and I won’t tell the prince. Your secret is safe with me,” she assures her with a sly smile. “Go now, and I’ll stall him if he finishes the counsel session early,” she coaxes in an almost motherly tone.

Without hesitation, the young maid turns and sprints down the tower steps and walks briskly through the castle, her heart pounding in her chest with excitement. She knows a secret way outside that bypasses the main gate and leads closest to where Vhagar lay.

Conflicting thoughts assail her mind—she knows this was foolish, dangerous, something she shouldn’t do—but the possibility of seeing Vhagar up close, maybe even touching her, drives her feet faster as she slips out the side gate.

Down on the ground with the almighty dragon is quite different than viewing her from the height of the tower. She hardly dares to breathe as she creeps closer to the resting giant, her heart pounds so hard she fears Vhagar may hear it.

Yet, a sense of calmness settles over her, blotting everything else out except the dragon before her. Almost as if her arm has a will of its own, she pulls off the scarf covering her hair, reasoning that maybe Vhagar would not think her so edible if she awakens and sees her Targaryen hair. Night is falling fast now and she depends on the cover of darkness to hide her appearance from the other castle inhabitants.

Still sound asleep, the dragon’s deep breaths are slow and rhythmic; it sounds like a mountain is breathing. The young maid inches closer, feeling transfixed as she gazes upon this ethereal beast, in awe that something so mystical and powerful could be real.

Vhagar’s wingtip is closest and easiest to reach while still maintaining a bit of distance from her fire-breathing mouth. Tentatively, the young maid reaches out, fingertips barely brushing her wing, marveling at the leathery feel beneath her fingers, softer than she expected. Taking another tentative step, she smoothly runs her hand along Vhagar’s wing without the dragon’s notice. Suddenly, a strong hand comes out of nowhere, yanking her away from Vhagar while firmly covering her mouth with another large hand.

Her shriek of surprise is muffled by his hand, but it’s too late; Vhagar’s large eyes snap open, clearly disturbed. Terrified, the young maid’s eyes dart to see who her assailant is and her heart nearly stops as the Prince Regent returns her gaze. His single eye blazes with fiery disapproval and every sharp feature of his face is etched with fury.

Vhagar rumbles, a low, threatening sound that reverberates through the ground. Aemond raises his voice over her growls and speaks to her in an ancient language that the young maid does not understand, his tone gentle yet commanding. Vhagar settles again, acknowledging her rider’s presence, but continues to watch them with a fearsome, slit-pupiled eye.

“You stupid little girl, were you trying to get yourself killed?” Aemond hisses furiously into her ear, giving her a little shake. His arm is gripped so tightly across her chest that she is starting to feel lightheaded and all she can manage is a small whimper, his hand still clapped on her mouth.

“Come, idiot girl, let’s see what the Queen of Dragons makes of you then,” he releases his hold and painfully grips her upper arm, marching her straight at Vhagar’s face.

The young maid’s mouth pops open in a silent scream, feet dragging the ground; she has gotten as close to Vhagar as she liked. But fighting against Aemond is like fighting against an immovable stone wall as he stops right in front of the ancient dragon’s nose, releasing his grip on her arm and taking a step back as Vhagar lifts her massive head from the earth. The young maid freezes in place and trembles in terror, convinced that any sudden movement will surely mean her imminent death. Vhagar seems to consider the small form in front of her, blowing a smokey gust of air into her face. After a moment, the dragon turns away, seeming disinterested, and sets her heavy head back down on the ground before them, but keeping a watchful eye trained upon the pair.

Still not daring to breathe, the maid’s gaze flicks toward the One Eyed Prince, where she sees a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

“I knew she would not eat you,” he says menacingly, voice laced with dark amusement, as if he almost wishes Vhagar had, “But do not ever approach my dragon again, or I shall kill you myself instead.” He growls, deep and menacing, his threat cuts through her like a razor sharp blade.

He steps closer to her, his lone eye darting around her face and lingering on her hair. She had completely forgotten she had removed her scarf for Vhagar, but certainly not for him. The realization strikes her as his expression sours, his lip curling in disdain.

“Don’t think for a second that I don’t know who you are,” his voice is dangerously low, barely above a whisper. “Alys told me, surely she’s mentioned it to you over the years?”

“N-no…” her voice quivers as she tries to lie, convinced he is referring to her parentage, but confused by his comment about Alys, did the witch know about her bloodline all along?

“Dragonseed,” he practically spits the word at her and then starts to chuckle, a humorless laugh that further ignites her terror as her heart leaps into her throat. He knows then, knows that she must have Targaryen blood, royal blood, that she is most likely a bastard and Aemond hates bastards, especially those sired by his greatest nemesis, the Rogue Prince.

“Oh, how much fun I am going to have with you,” his breath fans her face as he leers over her, standing almost nose to nose.

“Daemon deserves to have a little taste of his own medicine, I think.” He pauses for a moment and she sees resolution form in his eye and the next second he is shoving her roughly back towards the castle.

“Put that scarf back on, so no one else can see your hair,” he commands gruffly, “you’re going to accompany me to my chambers, little one.” Fear spikes in her chest as he uses the nickname Daemon had given to her and she can’t help but wonder:

“How does he know?”

>>> Part 3

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