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queers-gambit · 4 months

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The Battle Above the God’s Eye

part one: Sands of Time

prompt: decades after the Stepstones, it's his turn to be rescued.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: i'm not the happiest with this piece, so i'll most definitely (probably) write an alternative when the time comes and the show does the Battle. y'all know me by now, you know i love me a good ol' reader-insert and i didn't want to wait years to publish some kind of sequel so here we are.

warnings: reader isn't explicitly a Targaryen but we had to make this work and i'm burnt the fuck out. so fuck it, dragon rider reader. cursing, books spoilers, violence, imagination required, maybe Red Priestess reader, mention of more Little Birds (let author live), toxic family (duh), heavily encouraged imagination, depictions of death, angst, some hurt and comfort i think ? missing warnings 'cause wonky brain goin' wonky.

"There's rumor, Mistress, of a dragon the color of night," the hooded figure informed. "It nests in the Ruins of Ancient Valyria, seen by farmers and countryfolk; they say his wings beat like thunder. It's a colossal shadow they fear to engage, but after hearing your ransom, they reported it."

You hummed as you took a sip of scalding tea, finding comfort in the heat, musing, "I've been to the Ruins myself on two seperate excursions, I promise you, friend, there is no dragon that nests there."

"It's come from the East, a new beast in the sky."

"I require proof if I am to pay the ransom."

The man with a hood over his head reached for his rucksack and rummaged, a moment later, placing two items on the polished mahogany table between you both. One was unmistakably a dragon's tooth, and when you examined it, there was still clotted blood on the root - assuring it was a fresh pull. The second was a large black scale that weighed at least a dagger's worth.

You smirked, "This is promising. Where in the Ruins has it been seen? Who procured these artifacts?"

You discussed specifics with the man for an hour, offering him a hefty finder's fee after getting the name of the village the man had gathered his own information from. It was a messy journey from there; leaving the home you had made in the decades since the Stepstones to head for what was probably another dead end in Ancient Valyria. You were something akin to a magistrate, the people saw you as a figurehead, a leader; their person of authority who they were all too happy to follow.

Your village flourished, growing in size, number, popularity, and strength by the passing day. The people seemed happy, wealth flowing from exports and trade, and apparently, a few cartographers have begun the process of updating a few maps to add your village's name to history.

Much had changed in your time away from your Rogue Dragon Prince, but you knew that was all coming to an end soon. Your Lord of Light had shown you much in your flames, one of which was a repeating image of you, mounted atop a dragon all your own, soaring over the Narrow Sea with distinct purpose. You weren't a Targaryen, but your religious devotion seemingly gave you the ability to walk amongst beasts and their flames.

Exploring Ancient Valyria took over a year on foot.

You had plenty of encounters with the Stone Men, but all met their merciful demise - those left after that steered clear of you and your Valyrian Steel sword. Around the ruins of the ancient volcano that hadn't erupted since The Doom, you found a graveyard of goat, sheep, and cattle bones. There were bigger skeletons of aquatic creatures, something you found incredibly fascinating - what fully grown dragon went deep diving?

Soon, you found scat. For those who don't spend time in the wilderness or who are simply unfamiliar with the term, "scat" refers to waste produced by wild animals. Yeah, you're reading correctly, after you found the plethora of skeletons, you found dragon shit.

So, you knew you were closer than before. But the fucker still alluded you to the point you felt insane circling the Ruins.

You located about three different potential caverns, investigating them all with caution, but finding them all empty. Feeling exhausted from the months of searching, you claimed one of the caves as your own; hunting for a meal after gathering adequate fire wood. You listened to the untamed wilds of Valyria as you ate whatever you roasted, trying to distinguish familiar sounds of an approaching dragon.

Or perhaps even a distant one!

You'd take any sign!

It'd been weeks since you found the dragon droppings, no other signs appearing. You would search new areas for days, then return to your cave for rest; feeling disconnected from reality the longer you lingered in the ruined empire. You wondering what your village was doing, you were curious if the young woman, Ferona, had a baby boy or girl, if they had erected the new buildings you left blueprints for in an effort to create opportunist housing and houses of worship - as your people had requested.

How did the krill and shrimp season fair? What weddings happened this past spring? How was the irrigation system holding up?

Weeks drug by slowly. Weeks turned to longer months. Two years, you spent in that Gods forsaken ruin of a city - but couldn't find it in you to abandon your search.

Your Lord of Light had yet to send word, yet set your heart ablaze every time you "decided" to go home. You stared into the flames every night, desperate for any indication you were on the right path, but nothing was seen - nothing was said - nothing was shown to you. Until one night, during a torrential downpour and thunderous storm, you were shivering, drenched to your core, fighting the wind to let you keep your flames alive.

And there, in the dying, flickering warmth, you saw it. With wide, unblinking eyes, you stared into the flames harder; unsure how long you remained in the tranquil state before a particularly strong gust of wind nearly pushed you face-first into the embers. You gasped, looking around as the smoke nearly choked you as it filled the cave; stumbling out into the rain as you coughed and patted your chest. Stumbling slightly from malnourishment and delirium, you leaned on the outer shell of your "home", panting with relief before there came a screech so fearsome, you were then cowering into the wall with fear.

You dropped to your knees, huddled into the rock formation; the ground trembling as something enormous touched down. You gasped when through the haze of sideways rain, two nostrils flared and heaved thick plumes of smoke; reddened from the ignited flames deep within an invisible chest. You flattened against the wall, four taloned paws striking the ground and causing it to crack, quake, and tremble. With the fleeting clouds, you used the moon's light to distinguish the beast that loomed closer to you; over you; and then, in your face.

A long, blackened snout nearly pressed into your chest; fabric of your tunic caught in the razor sharp teeth. You had faced death, you had faced beasts, you had faced hacking axes and swinging swords. You had faced the wrath of the Queen Alysanne's court, the rumors of the common folk, and judgment from both man and God. But nothing was like this moment: a wild dragon staring you down, sniffing your chest and stomach, debating if it should just open it's mouth and eat you whole yet or not.

Thankfully, it chose an alternative route.

You're not fully sure how it happened, but you dedicated two years to finding this terrible beasty, and yet, it only took about 6 weeks to bond with the (obviously) young thing. Time with your Dragon Prince proved most useful, creating a bond so secure, you were beginning to wonder if someone deep in your bloodline had mated with a Targaryen. It was natural, the way you both became accustomed to one another; living together on a carbon-dated land long doomed.

The lessons from Daemon came flying back to you. You practiced your High Valyrian, laughing when you obviously got a word or two wrong because the dragon would snort at you. In the light, she was still the color of the night, but her scales were dusted the same gold as her eyes. She was impressive, she was huge in size but nowhere near Vhagar. In fact, you'd wager she had outgrew Caraxes - the only dragon you had true experience with.

Speaking of Caraxes, you were on the shores of Old Valyria, debating how you were going to convince your new companion to join you back "home" in the village, when suddenly, your beast gave a defensive growl.

Looking to the skyline, you spotted the distant dragon and frowned. This dragon wasn't the color of flames like Caraxes was, no, instead, it was a murky blob in the sky with two wings. You offered calming words to your dragon in her native language, not sensing danger, but your beast was unhappy leaving you in the open. Her tail curled around you to corral you back into her body as the muddy brown dragon landed with a thunderous shake a respectable distance away.

Your name was begged by the rider descending from who you recognized as a wild dragon by the name of Sheepstealer.

"Nettles? That you, love?" You asked in skepticism, managing out of your dragon's grasp. "What're you doing here? You all right?"

"I needed to find you," she panted. "I-I need you help - it's all - it's all gone wrong! Please!"

"What's wrong? The fuck's happened?"

"Do you know nothing, Auntie!? Do you know nothing of the war!?"

Your eyes rolled, "Watch that tone with me, girl. The Dance of Dragons is of no concern of mine, it had barely started when I came here."

"Well - it's your concern now," she insisted. "You took me under your wing - you helped raise me in a village you built from the ground, despite not ever needing to - "

"Your mother was a dear friend of mine," you cut her off sharply. "She was kind to me when I came back to Essos, let me stay with her and your father. When I set out on my own, she was always a friendly face, and when my settlement was established..."

"She came to you for help after getting pregnant with me," Nettles nodded. "You've told me this before."

"Then you should know better by now that I owed your mother more than my life, so, raising you was the least I could've done. A life for a life."

"And as such, you let me go into the world with stories filling my head of a handsome Dragon Prince that saved you from the Crabfeeder!" You scoffed at her words, ready to argue, but she rushed, "He's in trouble, Auntie."

You paused, finding no lie in the girl's eye. Slowly, you asked, "Come again?"

"I found him, Mistress," she nodded. "After I got back to Westeros, I found your Prince Daemon - the ones from the stories! He's... He's brutish and harsh, they call him Rogue, but he was kind to me when I told him I knew you. When he heard your name, Lady, he just - he insisted on keeping me close. He protected me, even against his wife - Princess Rhaenyra."

Your head cocked, "Hmm... He usually did have a taste for younger flesh. I'm not surprised he took to you - "

"No, no, no, Mistress, not like that," she insisted desperately. "He was kind, educational - similar to a mentor."

"I see."

"He needs your help."

"Prince Daemon does not need rescuing, he is no damsel."

"He searches for Prince Aemond," she informed, making you lift your chin slightly. Though lost in the wild of Valyria the past two years, you were still well versed in the affairs of King's Landing; staying updated, curtesy of your Lord, the Lord of Light: R'hllor. In your village, you were known to pay for any accurate information - eventually hiring your own spies to relay trustworthy information from around surrounding cities and villages. Nettles was one of your Little Birds.

You sighed, "And? What of it - Aemond killed Lucerys, did he not? Since he married his niece, her children are now his step-children, right? Daemon is within his rights to want some form of vengeance - it's war, Nettie, it's never fair to anybody.

"He will not survive this, you don't understand! It's horrible, Mistress, please, he-he-he's deranged. Mad with grief, lost to his wife's useless fucking war. It'll be the death of him, Auntie, please!" She paused, seeing you just stare back at her; so she begged again, "Please!"

You nodded, "What do you want me to do, Nettie? Hmm?"

"You've told me those stories! I remember them well! You always said he came back for you, saved you from The Crabfeeder," she reminded, making you stiffen. "Does he not deserve the same? Or at least a chance? Rhaenyra will not help, she'll kill him herself I fear, but you can - you can help!"

You nodded, "I will consult the flames - "

"I am telling you - "

"I have heard you, girl!" You snapped, glaring at your Little Bird. "But there are greater forces at work than what you know, I cannot just so willfully trust the word of a child before flying off across the Narrow Sea. Allow me my time with my Lord, I will have an answer for you." Turning from her, you gathered whatever materials you could; setting it up in a small teepee before stepping back.

In High Valyrian, you gave your command. From over your shoulder, your beasty opened her mouth and shot a single flame at the structure.

On your knees, you muttered repeatedly; chanting, summoning your Lord of Light to come to you now in a great hour of need. And He did. Through the flames, you saw what R'hllor wanted to show you: the two Princes engaged in a brutally epic fight that would claim them both in the end...

Unless you left right that moment, as your Lord commanded.

"Make yourself safe, Nettles, go back home," you told her in a rush, catching the pouch of Gold Dragons she tossed you when you sprung into action - and for the first time, mounted your dragon. Like your minds were connected, the Great Shadow took to the sky - leaving Nettles and Sheepstealer behind, and you'd never see either again.

You remained high in the sky, being a blob to the naked eye should any dare to stare at the sun.

You only paused to let the Great Shadow dive into the Narrow Sea for a meal; surfacing with creatures in her jaws as you swam an exhausting broad stroke. Was it terrifying to swim in the open water? Absolutely, but your dragon seemingly kept any threats at bay. When she was satisfied with her meal, the Great Shadow scooped you onto her back and relaunched into the air again to continue your flight for Westeros. You both dried in the air.

The trip was draining.

It was grueling on you both.

Yet when you saw the distant shore, you couldn't help the spike of relief in your heart and veins.

Once in Westeros, you were forced to ground yourselves in the open area of the Stormlands because you needed to know where to go since Nettles hadn't been sure where to send you specifically. Using the usual thunderstorm as cover, you had to separate from the Great Shadow; leaving her in the dark as you ventured to the closest village.

With the pouch of Gold Dragons Nettles gave you, you paid for information that you needed. You were told all the nitty gritty details about the Dance of the Dragons that you've missed, understanding what (Nettles and) the Lord of Light had been trying to tell you for years: the Black Queen would be Prince Daemon's death.

The time had come for you to return his favor from the Stepstones. If this worked the way you wanted it to, you wouldn't be his first, second, nor third wife, but his fourth and final. You knew what you had to do.

"What do you know of their whereabouts?" You asked the innkeeper who wiped down the bar you leaned on.

"The Princes?" She asked, tisking right after. "The One Eyed Prince has been burning the Riverlands for almost two weeks now. The Rogue Prince was in Maidenpool but he's called his nephew to meet him at, uh, oh... Oh, bullocks, what's that haunted castle? The one that was torched?"

"Harrenhal?"

She snapped her fingers at you, "That's the one!"

"Fuckin' Hell," you muttered, wiping your eyes. "What's your thinking, love? 'Bout this war?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Stupidest thing I've endured so far. How silly, the House of the Dragon does not know who rules it, or so says our liege lord. So we must all pay their price in Fire and Blood."

You nodded slowly, "Who do you think holds the better claim t'the Throne?"

"Depends on your views," she muttered, "but in truth, it doesn't matter to me - so long as this all comes to an end. But between us?" She leaned in, glancing around before muttering, "The Bitch Queen would burn us all. Can't say if King Aegon would be much better, but at least we'd know what we were dealing with."

"And if he was another Maegor?"

"Can't be worse than the Black Queen. Hear they call her Maegor with Tits."

You smirked, chuckling lightly, "Thank you, ma'am, for your words." You offered her a few Gold Dragons, repeating, "Harrenhal?"

"Harrenhal," she nodded, accepting the payment. "I do not know if the One Eyed Prince will answer the Rogue Prince's challenge, but that is where he lures Prince Aemond - Harrenhal. Now, how's about a nice bowl of stew? You look drenched, love, and a bit skinny - you been eatin'?"

"Your kindness is refreshing in this shit-for-a-kingdom."

You winked at her and tapped the bar in parting before turning for the door, and into the rain you ventured once more. You didn't notice the cold, your Lord kept you warm and moving; finding the Great Shadow, mounting, and shooting off into the unknown sky again.

It wasn't easy directing a dragon without a saddle nor any stabilizing reins, yet your beast was something of a decently smooth fly. You minimally directed her as you went, but in truth, her instincts directed you both more than anything. When the storm broke, you were soon flying over charred scores of land; homes smoldering and burning, the wind spreading the embers and never letting the fire fully die out.

"The fuck..." You muttered, sitting up straight as you flew through the carnage. "Seven Hells, he burnt it all, didn't he?" You whispered, needing to hold onto the spinal ridges of your dragon to keep balanced. "Gods be good," you gaped at the damage beneath you.

The sun moved into position, getting ready to set when you heard the horrible screams of feuding dragons. You couldn't see Harrenhal yet, but you heard the fight, and then, as the sun began to set, there came flashes of bright firelight that lit the sky to a new level.

It was nearly the shade of daylight with the way the flames danced against the setting sun. You were desperate to get closer, and after directing the Great Shadow over a set of charred rolling hills, you finally had Harrenhal in sight. "Go! Go, please! That's them - we need t'get there!" You begged through a small sob of panic, and if possible, your dragon flew all the faster.

You were so close, yet felt so far.

The air trembled when the pair of dragons, Vhagar and Caraxes, collided in the sky once more. They grappled and snarled and shrieked and blew flames and gnashed their teeth and slashed their talons. You paid no mind to the pregnant woman standing on the shoreline of the lake they fought over, and instead, focused on your task; feeling as if you were moving on pure instinct and adrenaline.

The Great Shadow dove low to the lake's surface as Caraxes and Vhagar came barreling to the ground. It all happened too fast. As the two dragons fell, you saw one man - in black armor - leap from his crimson beast with his Valyrian sword winking in the dying light. Just as his arm extended to pierce Dark Sister into Aemond's blind eye, the dragons were tussling enough to turn over and forced Daemon off their hide.

You gasped as you reacted - no fucking thought to your actions.

As the Great Shadow glided over the surface of the Gods Eye lake, you were leaping off her back to launch into the air; tackling the Rogue Prince hard enough to disrupt his impact on the water's surface. You hit the water all the same, but instead of it being like hitting fresh pavement, it was a softer landing due to the Great Shadow's expert and quick maneuvering.

Two dragons hit the water, three human bodies; sending a wave of water higher than the towers of Harrenhal's fortress. It was a shock to land in something so wet and cold, but your adrenaline was stronger than any feeling of freezing water. Your arms kept an iron-clad lock around Daemon's unconscious waist, surfacing as the lake rippled and churned from impact; turning a seeping red from the open wounds on the dragon sinking into the depths.

Prince Aemond never surfaced, and years from now, he'd be found still chained to Vhagar's saddle with Dark Sister still stabbed through his skull. His Red Witch standing on shore couldn't save him, it appearing that your Lord preferred the Rogue Prince to the One Eyed.

Keeping Daemon afloat was difficult, but to your shock, you were being gently propelled forward to the shore by a fatally injured Caraxes. You encouraged him best you could, trying not to choke on the water splashing around your frantic forms. When you were able, you started heaving and dragging Daemon up the lake's embankment; the crimson dragon crawling out of the lake behind you, slowly, heading towards Harrenhal. You wanted to offer the loyal beast aid or comfort, but you were much too preoccupied with his master that was dead weight in the water's surf.

You trembled as you swiftly hoisted his dragon winged helmet off to leave bobbing in the surf; unhooked his armor, shucking it off him and compressing his chest rapidly - just like a fisherman taught you to do.

"C'mon," you grunted. "C'mon, Daemon, breathe - fucking breathe, damnit! Please, come back to me - don't do this. I just found you again, c'mon, my Prince, breathe. Breathe, Daemon, don't give up - not now, not on us! Don't give up on us, c'mon, my Prince, breathe, w-we finally have our time." Sobs wracked your form. "Breathe, Daemon, please! Please! I'm back - I finally found you, please, my love, breathe!"

You shoved harder into his breast bone with increased ferocity until water came suddenly spewing from his lungs. You heard the Great Shadow land in the near distance, turning Daemon on his side to help him breathe better; choking the water out. You spoke in relief, "There, there you go, c'mon, love, breathe! Thank fucking Gods, you're all right, you're okay, get it out - you're okay, just breathe, my love."

Daemon choked your name in pure disbelief, holding one of your wrists in a vice grip that only briefly concerned you. He panted and relaxed into the embankment, loosening his grip as he turned over to look up at you in shock and wonder. "How is this possible?" He wheezed.

"It's a bit of a long story," you teased softly, caressing his cheek. "Bit of a boring tale, 'M afraid."

"How? How is - how can this be?"

"You needed me," you explained, "thought I'd return the favor since you saved me all those years ago, huh? You got me out of the sea, I got you out of the lake - we're even, yeah?"

He still panted, only staring at you as if he couldn't believe himself. "You've not aged a day," he whispered.

You smiled, petting his cheekbone with your thumb daintly. "You need rest, reprieve, aid," you whispered.

"No, no," he gulped, "not when I just got you back. T-Tell me 's done. Tell me we're done being apart."

"You have a wife still, Daemon. She won't let you go, she wouldn't let us be together."

"Tell me what your flames say."

"Now you trust my flames?"

"When they bring you back to me, yes - oh, fuck yes, I'll believe whatever those fucking flames say. Please, love, for us - consult your flames, tell me what they've said."

You frowned, petting a soaking wet lock of hair from his forehead. Quietly, you whispered, "My Lord showed me what was to pass if I did not come for you... This war, this Dance of Dragons, would claim your life, Daemon. Your wife, your niece... She'll be the end of you, my Prince. You will not survive if you go back to her. Neither of you will survive this... My Lord has shown me that Rhaenyra will meet her end in flames, but following her will cost you your life in water," you glanced at the lake. "Not a death befitting of a Targaryen Prince."

"And now?"

"Now, she will fight her own battles for the first time," you whispered, "and I will return home, and you will make a choice."

He smirked, "We've gone lifetimes apart, like you said before."

"We have."

"I would not go another day," he coughed, wincing in pain. "I do not think I can fight anymore anyways, love. Please... Please."

Daemon never begged. You swallowed harshly, asking him, "No? No more fighting?"

"No," he agreed. "'M so tired, my sweet. I-I can't do this forever," he half-slurred, making you perk up slightly in attention. "Retirement sounds all too appealing now. Rumor will spread that neither Aemond or I lived, it'll be the perfect escape."

You nodded in agreement, flinching when a new voice screeched, "YOU BITCH!"

The pregnant woman you saw on shore stormed towards you, making you chuckle dryly as you had already foreseen this Alys Rivers - pregnant concubine of the One Eyed Prince Aemond and fellow Follower of R'hllor. Alys was unique in the sense that her training was decent enough to ensnare Aemond (it seemed), but not so decent that the Lord yet favored her.

She wasn't more than ten feet from you when the Great Shadow opened her mouth and showered the Red Witch in holy flames; an end she surely did not see coming - not that R'hllor would've showed her. This all caught Daemon's attention, who flinched slightly when he had to turn and look; not expecting the flames nor the beast.

Then his eyes drifted over the land, breathing hitching, and he sat up with a painful groan. "Daemon," you worried, but instead of trying to get him down, you helped him up.

You knew what he saw.

When at Caraxes' side, you helped Daemon lower to his knees at his dragon's head. He whimpered and moaned, belly slashed open, wing torn apart; bleeding out into the cold soil he rested on. The Great Shadow moaned gently in sympathy, lowering herself around you three to let you grieve in peaceful, protective privacy and ease Caraxes to his next life.

The moon was fully in the sky when the crimson bloodwyrm took his final breath with the ebony giant's flames to warm you all. You weren't sure what could be done, but Daemon was pressing a tender kiss to his dragon's head before turning to face you - a lost, confused, vulnerable look coating his features. "Come on, love," you eased gently, helping him to his feet; knowing a few ribs were shattered and probably his clavicle, too.

"Where will we go now?"

"Well, I have somewhere safe for us t'live," you grunted in assurance, wobbling a little under his weight. "But we need rest for tonight. Any ideas?"

"I doubt anyone will venture to Harrenhal this night, should be safe..."

You agreed, and together, you and Daemon settled in the empty castle with the Great Shadow resting on the outskirts of the Keep. She was too big for the interior of the courtyard, so, she was left outside with Caraxes' corpse as you and Daemon settled in the room he had commandeered.

"How is this possible? How can you be here?" He asked, holding your hips as you worked between his spread legs. Daemon had minimal supplies at the ready; hopping up on a work bench to let you care for his injuries and wounds. He watched your every move with a softening look. "I thought I wouldn't ever see you again, that I'd be cursed to only remember you in my dreams. Rhaenyra said I say your name a lot at night, when I sleep."

"I'm really here, Daemon, ease yourself," you offered an assuring grin, tending to the head wounds he obtained from the fight.

"How?"

"Nettles."

"What?"

"Nettles," you repeated with a smirk. "She's one of my Little Birds, Daemon. It was not entirely coincidence she found you..."

"So she said," he frowned. "But how - "

"She told me you needed me," you smiled softly. "And when I consulted the flames, I was shown what could be. I made a decision, I just wanted you safe, no matter what that meant."

"I just want you. Fuck," he seethed, squeezing your hips, "'s been fucking decades since I've even touched you."

"You're delirious," you teased. "Sleep deprived, maybe concussed."

"Perhaps all at once, but I finally have all I've dreamt of. Please," he whispered, "do not deny us longer. I've endured lifetimes - "

"Daemon, being here and now, you know I can't walk away. But we've time t'talk it all out, I need you to let me help your wounds - so sit still."

He nodded, "One thing I do not understand, though - the dragon? How did you...?"

"Spent two years in Valyria, looking for her."

"Why were you there?"

"Searching for a dragon, of course," you smirked. "She's impressive, isn't she? And from her size, I wager she can easily support us both back across the Narrow Sea."

He grit his teeth when you cleaned his open cuts and wounds, wrapping whatever clean cloth you had around the larger wounds; easing him out of his tunic to have better access to the blackened ribs he sported. "Would you tell me?" Daemon whispered some time later.

"Of what?"

"Your life since the Stepstones?"

"Oh," you chuckled, "sweet love, you know it was dreadfully boring without you."

"Doesn't seem it, you being in Valyria two years? That's not heard of, what was it like? How'd you survive? Why go looking for a dragon?"

This lead to you both laying in bed, hands held together, resting, but not sleeping. You just spoke quietly, fingertips tracing idly over each other's faces; sharing in each others lives that the other missed, reminiscing together in fond memories.

When morning broke, you had to move swiftly. Caraxes was left where he laid and after a final parting to the loyal beast and commandeering his saddle, together, you and Daemon mounted the Great Shadow. She wasn't a fan of the restraints, but once you and Daemon were mounted, she did not fuss as it was evident you humans had an easier time with the leather contraption.

"I must confess," Daemon whispered in your ear, using you as an anchor and leaning into your back, "I fear I might feel something akin to guilt for fleeing home."

"That's natural," you assured, "you're leaving family behind, 's never easy."

"There was no winning this war," he admitted, sighing. "I lead so many to their death... Destroyed my family - "

"From what I have heard, this is not your doing," you argued sharply. "That night, when Aemond attacked Lucerys, what were you to do? Leave that kind of atrocity without consequence? No, that is not in the Targaryen's nature. You did not start this war, Daemon."

"But I knew..."

"You knew what?"

"I knew Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were Harwin Strong's, not Laenor Velaryon's. We thought if we married her sons to my daughters, nobody would care much else about lineage - but we were wrong."

"It's okay to be wrong," you promised, leaning your head back to let your forehead rest against his temple. "It's okay to make mistakes or have regret. Tell me, do you wish to return to your wife? I will take you now, no quest - "

"No. No, I do not wish to leave you. This is... This is Rhaenyra's war, I've done my part. I'm free and finally with whom I belong."

"Now it's time to heal," you told him.

"Time to rest," he agreed, squeezing your waist and placing a few kisses to your neck. "This is where I should've been all this time... After the Stepstones, I should've stayed with you, none of this would've come to pass. I regret leaving you everyday - "

"I told you, for us to get here, to this point, now, we had to separate. But look where we are," you smiled back at him, the Great Shadow soaring higher in the sky to keep Westeros at a distance, "we will not be apart again. 'S you and me, love... Until our end, which we will greet together."

Daemon's lips found yours at long last, whispering, "Together," against them before sweeping his tongue against yours.

The port was lovely this time of day, sun high in the sky to give light to the fishermen and vendors hard at work. Sailors made port, calms were being shucked, different Aristocats trying to barter and trade on their journeys abroad. You smiled at the people you passed, grateful to be home after a prolonged absence; arm looped tight with Daemon's as you both strolled the pier.

"It's hard to imagine you've done all this in a lifetime or less," he mused, a hand folded over yours, dressed in the best clothes you could find. "It's s marvel, my sweet," his compliment was sincere.

"Thank you," you whispered, hugging his arm as your skirts swished around your ankles, just tickling your bare feet. "This season's expected to be bountiful," you told him, pointing to the various teams bringing crustaceans, fish, and other sea life in different crates and traps. "I expect there won't be much of an off-season."

He glanced around, "And you don't collect taxes?"

"Why would I?" You scoffed. "We're more dynamic than that. Everyone works for their place, if you wanted to think of it that way. They are not expected to contribute, but the village seems happier that way. Being close knit, helping one another, sharing wealth. No one person has complained, so, I figure it's working so far. Even if it didn't work, I still wouldn't charge them taxes - it'd be like charging them to live. Always seemed silly t'me."

"Morning, Mistress!"

"Morning, Don," you beamed, leading Daemon towards the dock. "How are you, kind sir? Looks as if you've been working all day already."

"Aye, up before the sun," he nodded, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Wanted t'thank yah, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, yeah, with that dragon? We're hauling in more ships," he chuckled, and just overhead, the Great Shadow glided over them all to head out to sea to fetch another round of ships. "Gets us out there quick, brings us back when done, 's like a wee bit of an assembly line, ain't it?"

You chuckled, "Sounds like it, friend. Uh, Don, have I introduced you to my husband?"

"Husband?" Don grinned, cocking his head, "No, Mistress, I wasn't aware you even had a suitor. Mariam don't tell me much gossip these days," he snickered, referring to his wife. "It's nice t'meet you," he told Daemon, "name's Don, just Don - no, it ain't short for nothin'."

Daemon smirked some, shaking the man's fishy hand boldly, "A pleasure, Don, Just Don."

"Oh, this one's got a bit uh humor, don't he?" Don laughed lightly. "What's your name, lad?"

"Daemon?" A voice answered for you all, and just above you, a little further on the pier, stood an aged Laenor Velaryon.

"Excuse us, Don," you spoke swiftly, confusion marring your features. He understood or sensed the slight tension, backing off to let you approach the "dead" knight.

"Oh, my - Y/N," Laenor breathed, another aged man at his side with what you assume to be his children. No question could be asked yet as your old friend launched himself into your arms, laughing merrily, giving you a tight squeeze with his still-toned arms. "Oh, the Gods are good for this!" He laughed, rocking you slightly, "Oh, how the Seven bless us."

"You're so dramatic," you laughed back, patting him happily until he pulled back. "But I must confess, I am so fucking confused - what is this? How are you here? I thought you died, Laenor, that's what ever spy reported."

"They should've," he nodded, glancing at Daemon, "but perhaps, the explanation will be better received after some wine?" He caressed your cheek in affection before looking at your husband, nodding, "It's good to see you again, my Prince. Or is it King Consort?"

"Neither, just Daemon," he corrected, your heart soaring a little at the idea that he would abandon his title so easily. Yet you knew, there was nothing to go back to for him.

"Well, how about I introduce my family?"

"Family?" You grinned, seeing him present the others.

"My husband," he gestured, giving his name. "And our kids," he introduced the other three.

"How?" You asked simply.

"We found a Red Priest who was willing to officiate the ceremony," Laenor explained, "and the kids were sired by different mothers, too."

"Whores," the husband smiled.

"Huh," you nodded in impression. "Well, perhaps wine is best to hear that tale, as well?"

"Perhaps," Laenor grinned. "Uh, but first, we should find accommodations - "

"Oh, come off it, you're staying with us," you waved. "Your belongings?"

"This is it," he half-shrugged, you eyeing the few rucksacks around their feet, neck, shoulders... "We heard of the prosperity here, thought it was worth the move."

"How right you are," Daemon answered. "Come, old friend." He picked up a few sacks for the kids and you looped your arm with Laenor's to lead the way. How good it was to have your friend back, your husband at your side, and a functioning, happy village with your placement amongst them most important... Everything you could've wished for, it seemed, came true.

And in your womb, a Dragon Seed was planted; soon to make its announcement known. Truly, a happier ending than you thought deserved - but R'hollr worked mysteriously, blessing those deemed worthy to spread his flames.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon #prince daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x f!reader #daemon targaryen x female!reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen angst #prince daemon targaryen x fem!reader #prince daemon targaryen x f!reader #prince daemon targaryen x female!reader #prince daemon targaryen imagine #prince daemon targaryen fanfiction #prince daemon targaryen angst

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axelsagewrites · 6 months

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Aemond Targaryen*Collar

Pairing: aemond x f!reader

Kinktober Day twenty-six: collaring with Aemond Targaryen – not wanting to share Aemond decides to invest in something to show that you’ll always be his and only his

Word count: 593

Warnings: possessive aemond, suggested smut but no real smut, collaring

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

A pretty little thing. Those were the words Aemond murmured whenever he saw you walking around court. After all he called you much worse in private however in public, he had to show restraint, but the way lords eyes trailed your figure made him want to poke them out with his dagger.

Some may call it possessive, but Aemond just wanted to protect you. that’s what he told you when he would slip into your bed chamber in the middle of the night. “I just want to play,” he’d tease as he pressed kisses to the back of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

One night while curled into his side, clothes long since discarded as you traced shapes onto his chest with your finger, Aemond began to wonder. “Does it not bother you when you notice their stares?”

“I never notice them,” you said, placing a soft kiss to his shoulder, “I only have my eyes on you my sweet,”

Aemond placed a kiss to the top of your head, his arm tightening around his waist, “I just wish I could find a way to show them you’re mine,” he murmured.

You chuckled against his skin as you kissed his chest softly, “Don’t go starting wars over me my sweet,”

Aemond’s hand closed over yours, your head raising to meet his gaze, “I’d burn the world to the ground and build us a home from the ashes if I ever thought you desired it,” he said. You smiled softly, your hand moving to cup his cheek.

“All I desire is you my prince,”

Despite your sweet words thoughts swelled around Aemond’s head till a few days later he hatched a plan. He soon drew it up and sent his designs off to the finest jewellers in the realm.

When the necklace arrived, it was made from Valyrian steel, a blue sapphire nestled in its twisted strands. Its length meant it would sit perfectly on the hollow of your throat. Conveniently it arrived a day before your name day so that night after you snuck into his chamber, he had it tucked away in his pocket.

“I have something for you,” he said as you entered the room. “Close your eyes,” Aemond couldn’t help but smile at the excited grin you wore as you quickly shut your eyes and almost bounced with anticipation. He slipped the necklace from his pocket, holding it up for you to see, “Open them,”

“Aemond,” you gasped, reaching out to touch the fine jewels, “It’s too much,”

“Nothing is too much for you,” he corrected, moving closer and signalling for you to turn round. He kissed the back of your neck gently as he moved to rest it on your neck, “This way,” he said, carefully fastening it around your neck, “we both know who you belong to,”

“I do not need a gift to prove who I belong to,” you said, leaning back into his chest as his arms wrapped around you, “but if it please you I shall never take it off,”

“Good,” he said, tightening his grip for a moment before letting go. He guided you to turn around so he could see his hand work, “its almost as pretty as you,” he said, a heat spreading over your cheeks as he stepped closer.

Aemond’s fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, “Now strip off your clothes and leave this on,” he said, his finger trailing along the necklace making your skin tingle,

“As you wish my prince,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

#aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #Aemond Targaryen smut #Aemond smut #house of the dragon headcannons #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #House of the dragon smut #HOTD #HOTD smut #HOTD imagine #HOTD x reader

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clytemnaestraes · 8 months

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Proof that Catelyn is asoiaf jesus:

-> has stigmata (valyrian steel dagger wounds)

-> died after being betrayed

-> was resurrected THREE DAYS after her death

#catelyn stark #asoiaf #sorry jon can't let you have this one #not a serious post

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aemxnd · 1 year

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strength in numbers | aemond & aegon ii x strong!reader

Two scheming Targaryen princes shatter your world as you know it.

Inspired by a wonderful anon request for a Targaryen sandwich… 🥵

WARNINGS: reader has brown hair for plot point, change of canon events, manipulation, praise, degradation, v fingering, oral f receiving, p in v, titty sucking, name calling, threesome, multiple orgasms, restraint, overstimulation, language, Aemond is a lovestruck cutie, Aegon is a dick, it’s just chaos.

WORDS: 5.6k

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

✨ my requests are open! ✨

Fire and blood, if commanded correctly, can melt Valyrian steel, lead an army to battle and change the course of a meandering river.

Aemond’s gaze fixed into the commotion of the family meal to celebrate the Driftmark succession, gaggles of relatives mingling in groups around the hall before dinner arrived. His eye was trained on one of the present number, a woman with rich wavy mahogany tresses tumbling over her shoulders, mixing confidently with his family as if you were always there.

He was so fixated, the one-eyed Prince missed the approach of his brother Aegon at his blind side, toting a full tankard and observing him unashamedly glaring at you.

“Are you sure about this, brother?” Aegon leaned into his younger sibling’s shoulder, wavy silver curls brushing his poker-straight locks. “Not too late to back out, you know.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Aegon,” Aemond asserted without a falter, refusing to part his gaze from the vision which made his heart soar.

“You’re well and truly cuntstruck for her, aren’t you?” Aegon pressed jokingly, choking back a chuckle deep in his throat. “She only arrived at King’s Landing last week and you’re already smitten.”

“She deserves to know she is betrothed to her own brother,” Aemond’s lips slowly puffed into a determined pout. “The Strongs aren’t familiar with our family’s… customs.”

Aegon shrugged, eyebrows quirked. “Keep it in the family, I say…”

“You would, brother,” Aemond snapped. “Besides, if nothing else I cannot see her marry that bastard. A beauty of her standard deserves better than Jaecerys Velaryon, eventual heir to the Iron Throne or not.”

“What if all this backfires on you, though?” Aegon took an eager sip of his flagon. “What if she doesn’t choose you, or she turns against you?”

“She will not,” Aemond insisted, watching the way you smile warmly as you make polite conversation with the Queen. “She will know the right course of action.”

“You remember what happened the last time you made a scene like this, don’t you?” Aegon nudged. “Mother wielded a dagger, Rhaenyra’s family left for Dragonstone. It got messy.”

“Yes, brother, I remember it well. We got rid of those bastards from under our feet for a good few years.”

Aegon laughed, jabbing his brother’s arm in jest.

“You do realise you’re risking our family for the sake of a Strong, muddying our bloodline with brown hair… just because she’s Ser Harwin’s only legitimate child, you don’t have to be the lone saviour to keep their low family name alive.”

Aemond did not dignify his statement with an answer, not even breaking his fixation on your form flowing around the hall in your black dress. Fitting for the occasion, he thought to himself, considering you were as good as signing your own death warrant by boring yourself into the grave.

“Well, I’m all out of protests,” Aegon cinched his lips into a grin, demonstrably slapping his own thigh with his free hand. “All that remains is that I hope there’s something in it for me if you want me to help you in this fool’s venture.”

“Your cup will never empty, you can be assured of that,” Aemond clicked his tongue, nodding his head toward Aegon’s quickly dwindling tankard. “I know your price, brother.”

“As you wish, Aemond,” Aegon sighed. “Don’t come crying to me when mother actually stabs our sister this time.”

Three loud chinks of hollow metal signalled the call to be seated.

It’s now or never, Aemond thought to himself.

—

You could cut the tension in the hall with a butter knife.

“I, umm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” Aegon jibed to you through a mischievous grin, his provocative jest at your betrothed’s lack of carnal knowledge worked as soon as the syllables left his lips, your gaze flicking to Jaecerys’ fists balling at the table. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jaecerys slammed the table and rose to his feet in a fit of rage.

“Jace,” you pressed quietly, calming his temper purely for the sake of public appearances. You may not know many things about Aegon Targaryen, save for his reputation for evocative outbursts like this. The sooner you refuse to humour the platinum-haired firstborn, the better.

Aegon made a demonstrative nod to his one-eyed brother across the table, who stood upright and cast a stony glare over the room at him. The grace of his stature, the manner in which his poker-straight silver tresses flowed like crystal waterfalls over his shoulders — the man was a striking example of Targaryen beauty that had you all wrapped up in his image rather than the palpable tension in the room.

Aegon dutifully returned to his seat, feigning defeat as per their well-orchestrated plan. Establishing a tension between the two would surely dissuade any concern about their scheming, ensuring any and all consequences would not be levelled at them as a pair, instead dismissed as two isolated incidents in the midst of palpable conflicts within the room. The hall obediently fell silent for Aemond as if he wished to make an announcement, but now was not the correct time to break his cover in sure and certain knowledge that whatever he uttered next would be connected to his brother’s snide remark.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace raised his goblet tentatively, casting a suitably awkward nod to each of his uncles. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies.”

Aemond remained aloof, jaw clenching ever so slightly as he glanced over to you, also raising a toast.

“To you and your families’ good health, dear uncles.”

Jace tipped his goblet and sipped carefully before placing an assertive hand on Aegon’s shoulder and jabbing a playful fist into his arm. Aegon swallowed harshly, eyes widening at the insinuation.

“To you as well,” the elder prince conceded reluctantly, stifling a chuckle.

You had yet to piece together exactly why your betrothed was so anxious around his uncles, or exactly why Helaena Targaryen attested to the ease of married life until your husband is drunk. Word had not reached Harrenhal of any quarrels or infighting between the branches of the silver-haired Targaryen clan, but it seemed like such common knowledge among present company that you didn’t dare question it around the table.

As the festivities continued, music drowned out small talk and groups gathered to dance. Your betrothed requested a dance, but you refused with a quick excuse that you were too hungry to consider dancing, noticing that more food was being served at the table. A plump roast pig was placed just in front of Aemond when Lucerys began stifling a giggle. In awkward compliance with the commotion around you, you prepared to rise to your feet and join Jaecerys across the room when the one-eyed Prince slammed his fist on the table, silver cutlery chinking against the wood as he stood to address the room.

“Final tribute,” he declared, raising a goblet aloft as the room fell silent. His jaw tightened. “To the health of my nephews.”

Your gaze fell into your lap, still perplexed by the tension that fell over the room like a grey cloud descending before the storm.

“Jace,” he nodded. “Luke… and Joffrey.”

You swallowed harshly, reading his body language that felt as if he could lunge across the room at any moment.

“Each of them handsome, wise…”

A pregnant pause fell mid-sentence. You couldn’t calculate why, but your fingers had begun clinging to the edge of the wooden table, pressing so hard your skin turned pure white.

“Strong.”

The coil of suspense in the room snapped with his word, but you remained fixed to the edge of the table.

“Aemond,” the Queen interjected, her face pale and fearful.

“Come,” he cut off his mother. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” your betrothed interrupted.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” To the untrained ear, it was nothing more and nothing less. Your gaze frantically scanned the room, confusion washing over you in a tidal wave as you found shocked, horrified and nervous faces all around the room. Aemond paced over to Jace with rigid shoulders. “Do you not think yourselves strong?”

Jace’s fist flung at Aemond’s and clocked him across the cheek, and in the blink of an eye Aegon was slamming Lucerys’ face into the table. You tried to rise to avoid the commotion, but found yourself frozen to the spot with fear. Aemond smirked proudly, shoving Jace to the floor and walking away with a smug grin as the younger was restrained by the waiting guard. The Queen raced over to the one-eyed Prince in blind panic.

“Why would you say such a thing before all these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother,” he dismissed coolly. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

His comment caused Jace to lunge free of the guard’s restraint, and suddenly bile rose up into your throat. The penny dropped, a freezing wave of shock washing over you as you realised the enormity of his accusations, no less factual statements considering the response of the entire room to his declaration.

The three brown-haired princes were not Velaryon offspring, but Strong bastards. You were related to your betrothed.

Suddenly, you flung yourself to your feet and scattered from the room, your chair tumbling to the floor with a loud crack behind you. Racing to the nearest exit, your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough away from the horror your mind was beginning to process.

Each darkened hallway that led you further and further from the epicentre of your discovery made your stomach turn, twisting around stone corner after stone corner with your dress billowing behind you.

Having only arrived at the Red Keep mere days ago, you had no idea where you were, where you were going or even your destination, but the thought didn’t cross your mind. Sheer terror had descended a red mist over your vision, your revelation replaying like a recurring nightmare over in your head until the sound of your own blood thundering through your veins sickened you.

Stumbling around another darkened corner, you hastened until your body slammed into another, a rock-hard cliff face of a human standing before you. The blur of your panic blocked out any features except the black leather chest that stilled your motion, squeezing your eyelids together and opening them to find poker-straight blonde locks flowing over its shoulders, framing a pale, stern face adorned with a leather eye patch.

Aemond. The executor of your terror.

“Eh… excuse me, your Grace,” you panted out, hastily battling for breath and frantically wracking your brains for an excuse to duck out of idle conversation. “It—it is late, I must retire to my chambers. G… good night, Prince Aemond.”

You smoothed down your dress and slinked past his broad shoulders obstructing your path, scanning the doors in the hallway and choosing one to swing open. Yet on the other side, you found less of a lavish bed and more cleaning equipment, mops and buckets stacked high in a restricted chamber.

“You’re boarding in the broom cupboard?” Aemond scoffed lightly as he observed you floundering at your discovery, a gentle dismissive shake of his head disguising the delicate notes of a polite giggle. “Why don’t you come with me, Lady Strong?”

In one swift motion, his hand clasped around your forearm and tugged you through another door, this time one where you found a lavish bed at the centre nestled atop ornate flagstones, the walls draped with a thick black satin swooping from corner to corner.

Carefully casting you into the chamber and releasing his grip on your arm, Aemond turned to close the portal behind you, where he pressed his back to the wood and leaned against it.

“Umm… Prince Aemond, what do you mean by this?”

“You said you wished to rest, my lady,” he nodded dutifully, clasping his hands behind his back. “After the commotion this evening, I shall guard the door for you.”

Your confusion skewed into anger in a heartbeat.

“A commotion you concocted, Prince,” you spat back through now gritted teeth, lunging toward him. “You conspired to humiliate me in front of them all!”

“Not at all, my lady,” he corrected, his brows knitting into a gentle frown as you closed him against the door. “I only sought to help you.”

“By exposing the princes’ parentage in front of your entire family?” Your hands flew demonstrably in the space between you.

“They already knew,” his calming voice reassured. “They just don’t like it when I bring it up in conversation.”

“So that display was for my benefit only, then? I was the solitary person in the dark in the entirety of Westeros, so it was a good idea to tell his future wife that she’s marrying her cousin in the most public manner possible? Seven hells, why did you and your drunkard brother Aegon not simply shout it from the Red Keep so even Flea Bottom could hear?”

“Cousin?” Aemond’s head tilted slightly, perplexed at your presumption and pushing himself off the wood to close the gap between you. “Y/N, Jaecerys is your brother. His father is Ser Harwin Strong.”

The wave of bile rose up in your throat again, your fists instinctively clenching at your sides.

“My… my brother?” You retched, throat thickening and constricting at the mere concept. “I’m to be wed to my brother?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he insisted.

“I could not possibly marry my brother, that’s… that’s…,” you spun away from Aemond, storming across the room to the bed, propping yourself up against the ornate post at its corner. “I’m not accustomed to your… queer Targaryen customs!”

Aemond stifled a laugh under his breath, pacing toward you with his hands still clasped behind his back.

“This is… this is monstrous,” you choked again, palms pressing into the hollow of your throat in a vain attempt to control your sickened reactions. “My mother called for this betrothal, did… did she know too?”

Aemond didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Oh gods,” you despaired at the thought that your mother not only knew your father had sired three bastard sons, but also intended to wed you to the eldest. You sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped your head into your hands. “It’s all such a mess.”

“It does not have to be,” Aemond reassured, approaching to perch by your side. “I want to help you.”

Unsure you had heard him correctly, your eyes squinted hard and brows furrowed as you raised to look at his softened, sympathetic features.

“Why do you care?” Your eyelids half-shut in a suspicious frown. “What does it really matter to you whether a Strong suffers a fate of marrying their closest relation?”

You could hear Aemond’s hard gulp, his eye refusing to meet yours.

“I know right from wrong, Lady Strong,” he dismissed, looking away and twirling his thumbs together like an awkward child. “You deserved to know the truth.”

“The one-eyed prince wanted to do the right thing?” You scoffed. “I would never believe that in an infinity of moons. Tell me the truth, Aemond. Why did you do this for me?”

His lips skewed into a pout. “Because you matter, that’s why.”

“Me? A lowly unwed Strong?” You interrogated him despite his refusal to even meet your gaze as you spoke. “You didn’t even know I existed until last week.”

“The passage of time does not change how you feel for a person!” Aemond’s temper finally snapped, his eye meeting yours with a fierce violet glow. “I could not see you marry that bastard when I would give anything for your countenance to be the last thing my remaining eye sees in this world.”

His words finally slotted into place, and you immediately softened your temper. You reached out a gentle hand to brush his cheek, closely observing the way his eyelid fluttered on contact.

“Aemond, I didn’t know,” you sighed, recalling each time you caught his gaze upon you ever since you arrived at King’s Landing. He wasn’t just observing you, he wasn’t suspicious of the new betrothed to the second in line to the Iron Throne, he was yearning.

“It was never my intention to inform you, you were simply supposed to call off your betrothal to Velaryon and leave the Red Keep behind you.” Aemond’s hand rested on your gown draped over your thigh. “But I could not watch you walk away from me.”

You leaned to gently rest your nose against his, breaths heating up each other’s lips as you waited for him to close the gap between you. His eye scanned yours for confirmation before crashing his lips against yours, feverishly pressing into you for the most contact possible. Within moments, his tongue darted to explore your mouth and beckon your own, your mind swirling as frantically as your tongue around his. You blossomed under his touch, his arms now wrapping around your waist as he rose to his feet and lifted you to the centre of the bed.

Tumbling into crisp silk sheets while jostling for dominance in each other’s mouths, you hardly noticed the tussle to remove each other’s clothing before you found yourself bare beneath Aemond, his knees locking you in on either side as he hovered over you.

“So beautiful,” he hummed against your lips, consuming your frame with his hands brushing down your curves as he refused to part from your mouth. His fingers journeyed toward the valley of your hips, sinking into the expanse between your hipbones before traversing intrepidly over your mound, eagerly pressing his palm to your skin as he continued. Your legs instinctively twitched at the sensation of his touch, battling to both buck away through sheer sensitivity and also grind into him to chase your own desires, spreading open beneath him to allow the prince to crawl between your thighs.

“Easy, my lady, I won’t hurt you,” he soothed, lips trailing feverish searing kisses from your lips down the column of your throat, making a determined path for your left breast as your chest heaved with anticipation. “Not unless you ask me to.”

A soft hiss escaped you as his tongue laved around your nipple, consuming the sensitive bud with his lips and latching as if a man starved of touch all his life.

“Aemond, please…,” you pleaded through shallow breaths, your spine flexing as his touch ignited every vein in your body, pressing his teeth ever so slightly over the hardening bud. “Take me.”

“Patience, sweetling,” he mumbled against your skin, swinging over to lavish your right breast with the same undivided attention while his palm smoothed your mound, fingertips dancing lightly over your pulsing folds to complete his sensory onslaught on your body. “I have no intention of rushing this.”

While carefully suckling on your nipple, his index finger drove an intrepid trail around the perimeter of your waiting entrance, a groan escaping his lips with every soft jerk of your hips into his touch yearning for contact. Unlatching his lips to raise up to hover his lips over yours, Aemond watched your body writhing uncontrollably while your eyelids fluttered from your heightened oversensitivity.

“So eager for me,” he moaned gratuitously. “You really need me this much? Don’t worry, you’ll have me soon, issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

With his last syllable, two fingers swiftly buried knuckle-deep into your heat with a sharp hiss and another buck of your hips in return. Aemond’s eye fluttered closed to the sweet music of your moans while his fingertips deftly stroked your walls, wasting no time in pumping within you at a pace you were not quite ready for.

Stealing chaste kisses with every explicit purr from your tongue, Aemond hardly noticed the droplets of anticipation from his own length dragging onto your thigh as he leaned into you. Instead, his lips journeyed to join his pistoning fingers and lightly pecked your sensitive bud. Your hips keened furiously, weakened cries of his name spilling out as your eyes roved into the back of your head.

“Stay with me, sweet one,” Aemond purred against your clit, the tip of his tongue tracing your sensitive nub as his fingers curled feverishly inside you just enough to bring your attention back to him between your thighs. “I’ll fuck you soon, I promise.”

Aemond licked a flat stripe over your folds before withdrawing his fingers and suddenly dipping the tip of his tongue into your waiting cunt, your walls clenching tightly around the new intrusion while your head threw back into the pillows. Drinking in your moans as the sensation overwhelmed you, he lapped at your core and bucked his hips into the sheets beneath with every flutter of your walls around him. Both hands ventured to spread your folds before him, allowing him easier access to lave deeper inside you.

“Aem… I’m…,” you stammered, hands clawing at his shoulders and clamping down on your bottom lip to drown out your ragged breaths. “Please, just…”

“Cat got your tongue, sweet girl?” He muttered between your thighs, his eye lust-blown to a pitch black as he gently rutted into the sheets beneath. “You come undone for me so easily.”

Reacting to your fucked-out state so soon, he picked up the pace of his tongue swirling around your core, lapping feverishly while the pad of his thumb trailed to rub gently over your bundle of nerves, sending your hips keening up into his face and earning a hungry growl from the prince eating you like a man starved. Your spine flexed with the pressure building up inside you, the sensation of a spindle tightening within that would soon snap against the rising tension.

“Aemond please… I’m gonna…”

The staccato flutters of your walls increased around his tongue, encouraging Aemond to ramp up the thrusts of his tongue inside you, licking flat stripes into your core until you toppled over the precipice of your peak, the coiled tension inside you bursting its banks and releasing a tidal wave onto his waiting tongue with repeated cries of his name. Aemond’s eye widened as he consumed the sight of you clenching around him and mewling softly as you rode out your high with the sensation of his breaths against your cunt and both his palms pressed onto your inner thighs, revelling in the gentle shake spreading through your body.

Planting a farewell kiss to your aching folds, Aemond rose to crawl up your body when the sound of an approaching voice burst through the chamber door, resulting in the image of Aegon frozen in the door frame, eyes on stalks as he calculated the sight before him.

“Have I had one too many cups,” Aegon slurred slightly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow beneath his dishevelled silver waves. “Or is my brother fucking a Strong in my bed?”

Aemond gulped, sloping his body in a bid to shield your modesty. “‘Twas mere coincidence, brother, I do apologise.”

“Oh no, don’t apologise,” Aegon dismissed, a wavering hand flailing in the space before him. “I may not be all that keen on witnessing my brother in such a compromising position, but the lady on the other hand…”

Aemond lowered his shoulder to conceal you further, still shaking softly in the afterglow of your orgasm, head sinking into the pillows and eyes still flickering closed.

“Well,” Aegon slapped his thigh. “I guess I should, umm… I’ll sleep in the…”

“Actually, Aegon,” Aemond interrupted his brother, “Perhaps you could assist me further in this venture.”

Aegon puffed his cheeks. “Go on, dear brother.”

“I’m afraid my sweet girl here is in quite a… delicate condition, Aegon,” Aemond pressed, gesturing down to you still blissed-out beneath him, softly groaning and legs twitching as you eagerly awaited Aemond’s return. “Could you mayhaps help me send her over the edge?”

A satisfied chuckle thrummed through Aegon’s throat. “Brother, I know I requested a favour in return for my efforts tonight but, this… have you even consulted the lady?”

“P… please,” you purred weakly, raising a hand out toward Aegon in the open doorway. “Prince…”

“As you can see, brother,” Aemond observed. “At present, the lady is quite absent of mind. Your encouragement would be… gratefully received.”

“As you so wish,” Aegon hesitated for a fraction of a second before clicking the chamber door closed behind him and hurriedly disrobing on his way across the room. As he arrived unclothed at your side, Aegon swept a hand to brush your sweat-slicked hair from your face. “Poor fucked-out little whore, do you need help reaching your peak with my brother?”

“Pl… please,” you begged wearily, hands flailing to grip onto Aegon’s alabaster skin and drawing him in. “Please.”

The brothers shared a sinister chuckle as Aegon scooped his arms around your waist and settled in the space behind you, bare legs enclosing you on either side and his hardening length pressing into your back.

“You’re going to take everything my brother gives you, isn’t that right little girl?” Aegon sneered into the shell of your ear through an accomplished grin, his manner far more degrading and humiliating than his brother’s which somehow only sought to arouse you further. “Take every inch and still beg him for more, do you hear me?”

Swallowing back a flush of envy as he witnessed his brother’s hands roving over your body, tousling into your hair and tracing your curves before venturing to part your thighs, Aemond’s attentions returned to your soaking cunt, stifling a groan as he noticed the glimmering trail of your own slick coating your thighs.

“Say the word and I will stop, my lady,” he reassured, grasping his length and nudging the tip at your waiting entrance. His eye searched your own faltering ones for a go-ahead signal, finding you making a frantic nod to proceed with all the energy you could muster. In one slow, glacial buck of his hips, his cockhead slipped inside your searing heat and elicited strangled gasps from you both in tandem. Your head dipped back into Aegon’s chest where the elder pulled your hair to face him, consuming your lips in a haunting kiss at the same moment his brother filled your cunt to the hilt. He tasted of bitter wine and desperation, his lips pressing into yours to make the most contact possible. Aegon hummed contentedly into your mouth as you blossomed for the two silver princes, your body and mind caving to their will at every turn as if you belonged to them.

“She’s so desperate for us, brother,” Aegon observed, pulling from the kiss and watching you gaze up at him through glassy, lust-blown pupils. His vision journeyed down to your lips, parted and plumping to a cherry red after his onslaught. “Give this hungry little cockwhore everything and take no mercy.”

Your gaze snapped back to Aemond with a sharp, devastating thrust into your cunt, his thick cock stretching your walls as if a sculptor crafting his design to his own will, modelling your insides to take him and him alone.

“My sweet girl,” Aemond cooed, a stark contrast to the humiliating tones of his brother. Bracing himself with one fist balled into the sheets beside you, his hips gathered a steady pace into your core as his free hand raised to cup your chin and captured your lips with his. Smashing into your face and plundering your mouth with an intrepid tongue, Aemond moaned softly against your lips. “You feel like the seven heavens around me.”

“Is she tight, brother?” Aegon groaned behind you, palming at your breasts in his impatient exploration of your body as if his turn to dominate you could not come soon enough. “Is she choking your cock?”

“As tight as your lips should be, Aegon,” Aemond sassed before returning his devoted attention to ruining you slowly but surely, every determined piston of his hips sending your spine bucking into him, thighs wrapping tightly around his waist to draw him in closer. “Is it too much, darling?”

In truth, it was. Between Aegon’s wandering fingers and Aemond’s relentless onslaught on your insides, you were battling for consciousness. The overwhelming tension within you kept you alert under duress, knowing that you could not give in to the darkness until their shared torment came to an end.

“Y… yes,” you spluttered weakly, unable to gasp out full sentences between Aemond’s full-force thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Good,” Aegon growled lowly, a hand journeying to wrap around the column of your throat and squeezing at each side, stemming the flow of blood to your brain. “Now you’re ours.”

Although reluctant at the inclusion of his brother in the statement, Aemond punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips to press his cockhead against your cervix, making you wail out his name for its echo to carry around the stone chamber along with the lewd slaps of your coupling.

“You’re not going to marry the Velaryon bastard, are you?” Aemond queried while ramping up his pace to an unbearable tempo, his throbbing tip stroking the entrance to your cervix.

“N… no, ser,” you complied, hands scrambling to clutch at Aemond’s poker-straight locks, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and tugging him toward you, helplessly signalling your cliff-edge nearing once more and your desperate need for more contact to push yourself over the precipice.

“Good girl,” Aemond swallowed, swooping down to capture your lips with his and clenching his eye closed to savour the warmth of your cunt bowing to his will.

Aegon’s hand tightened around your throat, exposing your neck and leaning in to drag his teeth over your sensitive skin. His free digits trailed between the valley of your hips to stroke your bundle of nerves, gloating at the keening of your hips into his overstimulation. “Now let go for us.”

You flexed and writhed between the two princes, screaming out into the void as they chased you to your peak, molten flame coursing through your veins as if you might lose consciousness at any moment. Aemond’s thrusts refused to relent, plunging deep inside you while your walls flushed waves of your own pleasure out to greet his throbbing member. Explicit splashes filled the room as he continued to ride out your orgasm in pursuit of his own, plummeting into you with a force that left your vision blurred with stars like the night sky.

“That’s it,” Aegon encouraged, his fingers still working your clit to oversensitivity and enjoying the way your thighs twitched away from him. “Aemond’s going to fill you up now, what do you say, Strong?”

Your fucked-out state could barely hear a word coming from behind you, which earned a hard squeeze on your windpipe.

“I said, say thank you to my brother for filling you up, little bitch,” Aegon spat into the shell of your ear, sinking his teeth into your earlobe.

“Th… thank you, ser,” you spluttered out mid-consciousness, your walls still fluttering so delicately that you could just make out Aemond’s twitching cock pulsing inside you, ragged thrusts betraying his own climax as he spilled his seed into your warm chambers. His own distempered breaths melted with your own as he bumped his forehead against yours, pressing a light peck to your nose while you both steadied yourselves and Aegon released your throat.

“You swear you will not return to Jaecerys?” Aemond pressed once more as he slowly withdrew his length from your swollen folds, a wave of post-coupling clarity washing over him and a sense of dread rising to the surface that him and his brother may have scared you away for good. “Please, don’t go to him.”

“Never, Prince Aemond,” you reassured while you regained breath. “I’m yours, beloved.”

“Well, you say that now,” Aegon interjected behind you, threading his fingers into your brunette hair and tugging you back to face him. “Your evening is not quite over yet, Lady Strong.”

His lips crashed into yours and melted your resolve once more, your spine caving and sinking into his touch. Your spit-slicked lips felt swollen against his own narrow mouth, his kiss so feverishly intense as if he craved you with every beat of his drunken heart.

Your attention turned back to Aemond as the mattress lifted between your thighs, signalling his departure. He rolled back on his knees and grasped your shoulder to prop you up while Aegon moved from beneath you, taking his place caging you between his thighs and planting butterfly kisses on your head trailing down to the nape of your neck.

“It’s alright, angel,” Aemond comforted, long slender fingers entwining in your hair and cupping your neck beneath.

Aegon cleared his throat as he arrived between your parted thighs.

“Lady Strong, you’ve seen how… precious my brother can be,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow, palming at his length and crawling to approach your cunt, reddened and enraged but by no means unwilling to sustain a third orgasm. “Are you ready to find out what it’s like to be fucked beyond your senses?”

You swallowed hard, glanced back at Aemond and nodded contentedly.

As the river bends to the will of fire and blood, two Targaryen princes parted your Strong resolve, never to return to its former path.

“Good girl,” Aegon growled deep in his throat, his aching cockhead nudging at your folds. “Hold onto Aemond for me, this might hurt a little.”

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asoiafreadthru · 3 months

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A Game of Thrones, Catelyn III

She spun back toward the window to scream for help, but the man moved faster than she would have believed.

One hand clamped down over her mouth and yanked back her head, the other brought the dagger up to her windpipe. The stench of him was overwhelming.

She reached up with both hands and grabbed the blade with all her strength, pulling it away from her throat.

She heard him cursing into her ear. Her fingers were slippery with blood, but she would not let go of the dagger.

The hand over her mouth clenched more tightly, shutting off her air. Catelyn twisted her head to the side and managed to get a piece of his flesh between her teeth. She bit down hard into his palm. The man grunted in pain.

She ground her teeth together and tore at him, and all of a sudden he let go. The taste of his blood filled her mouth.

She sucked in air and screamed, and he grabbed her hair and pulled her away from him, and she stumbled and went down, and then he was standing over her, breathing hard, shaking.

The dagger was still clutched tightly in his right hand, slick with blood.

“You weren’t s’posed to be here,” he repeated stupidly.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

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Midnight Blades

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: Your father's kingdom had always been enemies with the Targaryen's and so you were trained from childhood to be prepared to defend yourself. This skill is needed when the second born son of King Viserys comes to assassinate you one night. This is a Dark!fic with slightish dub con to some sexual acts. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, dagger fighting, violence, blood play, rough sex, anal. WC: 2587

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

The room was dim, not a single candle burning on the autumn night. It was only the soft moonlight through the open window that allowed Aemond to weave his way silently through the furniture to where you slept. Not a sound was made from his careful steps nor did a cricket chirp, it was as if the entire world held its breath.

Cold Valyrian steel pressed to your throat and your lips twitched at the touch of the sharp blade. One clean slice and your life was forfeit, one prick in the right spot and your sheets would soak up your life blood as it spurted from your throat. It would bring the Targaryen prince infamy to kill the princess of his family’s enemy.

“Unless you wish to lose your manhood, you should sheath your blade, Aemond One-Eye,” you said as you opened your eyes to see his silhouette above you.

“You are in no position to give orders, princess.”

“Is that so, prince?” You pressed the blade that you never slept without up from your hip, the sharp tip piercing the sheets and the leather trousers at the juncture of his thighs.

The moon broke the clouds and his hair caught the light enough that you could see his features, and the hint of amusement on them.

“Even if I die, I can promise you that your life would certainly lack the finer pleasures in it.”

His lips curled up in a dark smile before he traced his blade down the valley of your breasts, taking the cover of your sheets down with it. “What does a protected, innocent little princess know of such things?”

Your back arched into the kiss of metal and your nipples were bared to the night air, quickly pebbling at the loss of warmth. “I’m not as protected as you might think, nor am I innocent. It is just as easy for me to evade the guards leaving as you did coming here. So, there are a great many pleasures I know, none of which I have found within these walls.”

“That is quite the secret to tell your enemy,” Aemond murmured as his eye traced the shape of your lips before drifting back to your breasts. “You should really keep such things to yourself.”

You chuckled and dragged the flat edge of your blade over the hard length tightening his trousers, watching his lips part with a sharp intake of breath. “You can shout it to the world, tell everyone you meet how I thoroughly enjoy mounting a man and riding his cock until the sun breaks the horizon. Tell them all how I love to see their teeth marks left on my skin and feel the ache in my cunt for days when they are finished fucking me.”

Even in the dim light you could see his pupil explode with dark desire and his blade drew a thin line of blood above your heart with a trembling hand, as if it was taking all his strength to fight the urge to carve it from your chest. He bared his teeth at the sight of the red welling on your skin and growled into your ear, “No one would believe the word of your enemy.”

“I know,” you said with a smirk that taunted him more than your dirty words. Your warm blood rolled over your skin to drip on the white sheets and you ran a lazy finger through the thin cut, hissing at the sweet sting it elicited. “You stained my sheets.”

Aemond scoffed and threw your blankets from your body to see the thin blade that had threatened him. “I have stained many ladies’ sheets.”

“Of that I have no doubt, but I do owe you now.” You leapt from the bed and he was quick to react, but not quick enough. Your bare feet met the cold, stone floor at the same time you struck. The blade was more like an extension of your arm than a separate weapon for all the years you had trained with it and like most men, Aemond underestimated you.

The prince laughed as you stepped back and licked your blade, tasting the dragon blood on your tongue as more of it seeped into his black tunic. The scar would match yours perfectly and you grinned as he tore the ruined clothing from his body to bare the wound to you. “Now we are even.”

His eye trailed over your body, leaving flames in its wake as he finally seemed to notice your lack of dress extended past your breasts. That intense stare lingered at the juncture of your thighs where you stood with your legs parted hoping to cool the needy throb in your core. Finally he managed to drag his eye back to your face, the promise of violence in that blue orb. “There is no even, someone must always win.”

You twirled your dagger and let the familiar weight of the handle fill your palm again. “Oh, I intend to.”

Your feet were swift and silent as the dance began, your partner prepared this time and ready to prove his adept skills as he parried your attack. To and fro, you made ground and ceded it. His offensive attack was as strong as his defence and you had to hand it to whoever trained the prince, they did a damn good job.

“Give it up, princess, this is a battle you won’t win,” Aemond goaded you as he dropped his dagger to his side.

“I have the finest history tutors in the land,” you purred as you lowered your own knife and circled him, small knicks bleeding from both of your bodies. “You are awfully confident for a man who himself has not yet seen a battle.”

His eye followed your graceful steps until you were in the blind spot left by the carved sapphire set between a thick scar. Self preservation had him turning to follow you, the eyebrow above his deep blue gem cocking up as he spoke, “You studied me.”

“Don’t feel special, I research all of my enemies.”

His steps mirrored yours and the tension built as the heavy silence seemed to vibrate the charged air. This time Aemond attacked first, closing the distance with one step of his long legs and feigned a stab at your shoulder only to drop to his knees as you lifted your arm to parry. He had the opening he needed.

The pain was instant, a burn that flashed up your inner thigh and told you that it was not a deep wound. You didn’t even bother to check it as you felt rivulets of blood rolling down your leg, adding to the droplets that already littered the stone floor.

“What did your research surmise?” Aemond asked as he fingered his blade, playing with your blood and smearing it between his thumb and forefinger.

“You are arrogant.”

“I am a prince, it is our prerogative.”

“And stubborn,” you added, pointing your dagger at his scarred eye. “You have a chip on your shoulder for the scar you wear but even if you were to carve your nephew’s eye out and eat it, the rage will never be sated. Unforgiving Aemond, that is what they should call you, for you never forget a wrong against you, no matter how slight. Tell me, when was the last time you ate a juicy roast pig?”

His sapphire eye caught the moonlight and reflected in the many facets of the gem as his teeth ground together. The cold fury evaporated in an instant and a carefree smile once again spread across his lips. “I must commend you and your spies for the thorough research, princess. But, you forgot to mention how handsome I am, scar and all.”

You smirked and rolled your eyes. “I knew there was one starting with H, of course, it couldn’t be humble.”

A roar of laughter filled the room and before you could think better, you dropped your dagger and closed the distance to press your hands to his lips. The clatter of metal on stone rang out and you froze against his body, an ear tilted towards the door as you listened out for the guards.

A moment passed, then two. All was silent in the palace, no alarms were raised.

Aemond made no effort to move, not even taking the opportunity to end your life while you were unarmed. It was only when the fear of the guards arriving wore off that you realised your entire body was pressed against his, his bare chest warm against your and his cock hard beneath his pants.

You slowly lowered your hands from his lips and let them fall to his blood smeared chest before dragging your nails across the defined muscles and down his navel. His chest rose with a deep breath as your hand dipped under his waistband and palmed his erection, a soft groan teasing your ear and sending a throb straight to your core.

“You will still be my enemy in the morning,” you murmured as his teeth grazed over your racing pulse and his own dagger fell to the floor.

“You are still my enemy now,” he replied as his fingers dipped between your legs and felt the slick arousal at your entrance.

You shoved him back towards your bed, instantly missing the touch of his fingers but in need of something far larger. Patience was not a strength of yours as you tried and failed to quickly unlace the cords that kept the leather trousers between you and your release. Reaching under your pillow, you grabbed the spare knife hidden there and cut the ties from him.

You shoved the short blade back where it belonged under the watchful eye of Aemond before dropping the trousers beside his ruined tunic. Every muscle was honed to perfection and scars littered his pale skin, adding to the image you already had of the warrior swordsman. You traced the larger scars on his chest with your tongue and nipped at another across his nipple until he hissed and his cock twitched where it rested against your stomach.

With a growl, he turned and threw you onto your bed, pinning you beneath his body and shoving your legs wide open with his knees. Two digits curled into your dripping cunt and your head tipped back with a silent cry as he roughly fucked you with his fingers, palming your clit with each roll of his wrist until you came hard enough to bite through your lip to keep quiet.

“Fuck, I need more, I need you to fuck me,” you begged as he kept his fast paced fingers riding through your pulsing walls.

The wet sounds filled your room and you felt your cum leaking down your slit and to the bed.

“I’ll fuck you, princess.” He chuckled darkly and your core clenched in anticipation. “Consider this my first battle won.”

Before you could question him, you felt his thick head pressing against your ass and gasped as it stretched you open. White hot pain flashed before the sudden fullness drew a heady moan and his fingers began to move in time to his thrusts. Your breath came in fast grunts as his long strokes felt like they could reach your lungs and knock the air right from them, each one louder than the last.

“Shhhh, don’t want to get caught now…” he whispered before he withdrew his fingers from you and pushed them into your mouth to silence you.

The taste of your arousal on his fingers had your eyes fluttering shut and you swirled your tongue around each finger, cleaning it until he gave a satisfied growl of approval.

“So. Fucking. Filthy.” Each word was defined with a hard thrust that rocked your bed against the wall and left your legs shaking around his narrow waist. “On your knees.”

You felt incredibly empty without him and quickly obeyed, needing him buried deep inside once again. There was nothing gentle about Aemond and gentle was not what you wanted. You wanted rough, you wanted hard, and you wanted pain.

A sharp slap sent flames across your ass and the moan that was about to erupt was silenced when Aemond shoved your face into the sheets and slammed his cock back in your ass. The air was thin through the sheets but it only added to the experience of feeling high with the room spinning around you.

“If only the King knew what a whore he had for a daughter,” Aemond growled in your ear as he pulled your back flush against his chest and curled his long fingers around your throat. “Taking a Targaryen cock in your pretty ass. I might just conquer your kingdom and keep you as my personal fuckhole.”

Your lips parted with a wordless cry and your body trembled as his words stoked the fire warming your belly, the muscles tensing as another orgasm spread like a wave from your core. It grew and grew, cresting with each harsh thrust that you pushed your hips back to meet until it crashed. His fingers tightened as his pace faltered and he shuddered his release, his cock pulsing inside you and filling you with warmth before letting you gasp for air.

He pushed you back to the bed as he withdrew himself leaving you empty and your limbs weak and heavy from the release. With a feline smile you rolled to your back and stretched to feel the sweet tenderness in your muscles before curling up to watch him dress.

“Is that all you Targaryen men have got?” You propped up on your elbow and rested your chin on your hand as he swiped his dagger from the floor, tucking it into the sheath at his hip. “The men in my realm can fuck all night before they are spent. But, I guess that is why we battle like we fuck - outlasting the House of the Dragon and such.”

Aemond stalked across the floor and grabbed your chin in his hands as he bent at the waist. “Still that tongue before you find yourself without it.”

“I think you would rather like what my tongue can do,” you purred as you laid back on your pillow and blinked up innocently at the prince. “Maybe another night when you have bathed and rested.”

“There will be no other nights,” he sneered but his eye betrayed him as he drank in the sight of your body sticky with blood and his cum leaking from your abused hole.

He turned away and you caught his wrist before he was beyond your reach. “One last thing before you go, Unforgiving Aemond.” You drew the short knife from under your pillow and slashed through the leather covering his thigh. “I owed you one.”

The prince hissed at the shallow cut to match the one gave you before he smiled and gave a small regal bow out of your reach. “Well played, princess. I’ll remember that when our paths cross again.”

You closed your eyes with a yawn and patted around blindly for your blanket as the adrenaline faded and sleep called. “I’ll be ready.”

A breeze danced over your body a moment before your blanket drifted over your skin but when you opened your eyes to catch him, the prince was already gone. The scent of sex and drying blood the only sign he was ever there at all.

Click here for part two.

#aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #dark!aemond #dark!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic

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bruhstories · 2 years

Text

perfectly imperfect

summary: otto hightower gathers more allies in support of his nephew after the destruction of the dragonpit. y/n reyne, lady of castamere, offers her hand in marriage to aemond targaryen to secure the safety of her land and people.

pairing: aemond targaryen x reyne!fem!reader (aged up)

warnings & content: canon-divergent, graphic descriptions of violence, aegon makes fun of disabilities, aegon is a dick to women, typical asoiaf shenanigans, unprotected sex, p in v, loss of virginity, fem bodied reader

wc: ~3.7k

a/n: listen, i did not plan on simping for aemond, okay? i was actually planning a daemon fic but i got carried away. also, there are NO spoilers for episode 10. i know it got leaked, i haven't watched it yet.

It seemed as if Aegon had won a trophy in Helaena when compared to Aemond's betrothed. He had complained about his sister-wife when he was a child, complained that she wasn't beautiful enough, that she was strange, with her fascination for insects, particularly spiders. Aegon could not fathom why his wife was drawn to such peculiar practices, but part of him was grateful he ended up marrying Helaena and not Y/N Reyne.

Aemond, on the other hand, made no verbal complaints about his soon-to-be wife. He had always obeyed his mother's rules, and he knew his marriage to the Lady of Castamere was nothing but political — an alliance with a powerful and rich family would only benefit in supporting Aegon's claim to the throne. All he had to do was put an heir in Y/N and secure his Targaryen lineage. He didn't have to love her, but he would respect her.

After the destruction of the Dragon Pit, Otto knew he had to act swiftly, asking lords and ladies all around Westeros for their support. It was Y/N Reyne who offered her own hand in marriage in exchange for the protection of her lands and people, and Otto and Alicent agreed. A small price to pay for the riches of Castamere. With her silver and gold, they could fund soldiers for the impending war between the Blacks and the Greens.

Not long after Aegon's coronation, Y/N Reyne travelled to King's Landing for a quick wedding. There was no time for feasts and parties, there was no time for her to get to know her husband — she wanted her people safe, and Otto wanted supporters.

The Lady of Castamere arrived at the Red Keep on horseback with a promised 200 soldiers, chests of gold, silver and rubies. Greeted by the king himself, Y/N bowed down, offering Aegon a dagger encrusted with small rubies on its silver handle.

"It's not Valyrian steel, your grace, but it was made by my finest blacksmiths." She removed the hood of her cloak, exposing a scar that went from her cheek, down her neck, the rest hidden behind her chest plate.

Aegon scrunched his nose at the sight of her scar, but the look of disgust came after she removed her leather gloves, revealing a missing ring finger on her right hand.

"You'll make a fine wife for my brother." The king sneered, and Alicent smiled. Finally, her son was speaking like a true royal. "Seeing as you're both cripples." Aegon laughed, toying with the dagger in his hand, bored and perhaps drunk.

Y/N pursed her lips. It took a lot of willpower not to bark back at him. She had sworn her loyalty to him, after all.

"I see your grace has a sense of humour." The Lady of Castamere smiled, the scar more visible when her cheeks puffed up.

It made Aegon's stomach churn to see a flawed woman. At least Helaena tried to look feminine, dressed in the finest of silks and wearing the most expensive jewellery, like a true queen. Yet Y/N was boyish, wearing metal plates and leather trousers. In the king's mind, she should've been in a carriage, not on a horse. She should've worn a dress, not an armour. She should've let her hair flow, not wear it in a plait.

The silence in the Red Keep was deafening, until Alicent offered to take Y/N to her chambers and Otto ordered Ser Criston Cole to take the westerlands soldiers to the East Barracks. The Lady of Castamere was taken aback when Alicent had asked her about her wedding dress, as Y/N had not brought one.

"I assumed it would be a quick wedding." She shrugged.

"I understand, but the king would not like it if you came to your own wedding wearing... that." Alicent sighed, exhausted by Aegon's shenanigans. "Come, we'll find something in Helaena's chambers."

All of the queen's dresses were beautiful, most of them silver or gold, but they did not fit Y/N. Her frame was quite athletic, as the scar on her skin was won in battle, and she was much taller, making the dresses look like they were tossed on a fence, not worn by a woman.

"My lady, I am truly sorry-"

"No, it's fine." Alicent chewed on her lower lip, an idea creeping in her mind. Y/N could wear one of Rhaenyra's old dresses, preferably one that wasn't black. In a bitter twist of fate, Rhaenyra's clothes did fit Y/N, and it only made Alicent more conflicted about her friendship, about everything that was happening.

It was overwhelming to see her son's future wife wearing her best friend's clothes. In the dusty golden dress and her hair in a braid, Y/N reminded Alicent of the day she had asked Rhaenyra about her and Daemon, a day that changed the course of everyone's lives. Who knew back then that their friendship would turn into animosity?

"My lady? Is something the matter?" Y/N took Alicent's hand in hers.

"No. No, you look perfect. Please, I have one last request." She smiled, but there was so much sadness hidden behind that smile.

"Of course."

"Untie your hair. Let it flow down your back. Just for tonight. After your wedding you may do with it as you please."

It was a strange request, but Y/N did not dare question it. She untied the bow holding her hair in place, running her fingers through her locks. Satisfied, Alicent hurried her out of Rhaenyra's chamber and into the Throne Room, where the king, the queen, the Hand, the High Septon, and Aemond waited.

That was the first time Y/N met her soon-to-be husband, the patch on his eye making him look both mysterious and menacing. She then understood what Aegon meant by cripple. Y/N bowed in front of the king and queen, taking her place to Aemond's right side. The younger Targaryen showed no emotion whatsoever at her presence, instead took her hands in his, listening to the Septon's prayers.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband." Y/N uttered her vows, noticing the disinterested look on Aegon's face.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife." Aemond did not hesitate snaking his fingers behind Y/N's ear, pulling her into a soft kiss, interrupted only by the king's own drunken chuckles, mixed with hiccups.

"You are now man and wife — one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." The High Septon concluded, followed by dead silence.

Everyone knew what would happen next — consummation. Y/N was clever enough to know that she had to give Aemond an heir, but part of her hoped she would not be with child. She wanted to fight by her husband's side, not stay in the Red Keep or Castamere and raise children. Nevertheless, she was urged by Otto to follow Aemond in his chamber, and she reluctantly did.

To her surprise, her husband gently held her hand on the way up the stairs, and while she has been in battles, lost a finger, and had her face mutilated, the thought of losing her maidenhead made her feel sick. Before her mother died, she had prepared Y/N for the consummation of her marriage — how to seduce her husband, how to please him, what to say, where to touch him. It all seemed easy in theory, but putting it in practice was much, much harder.

There was a lump in her throat that she couldn't swallow, and although she felt cold, beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. Y/N thought she knew fear, but nothing compared to this. It did not help that Aemond did not utter a single word after speaking his vows, and perhaps it was for the best. There was nothing he could say that would make her feel less anxious. When he began to remove his cloak and unbutton his doublet, Y/N froze.

"Wait." She finally spoke, and Aemond did wait. He wasn't necessarily impatient to consummate his marriage, unlike his brother who would fuck anything that had two legs and a pretty face. "Before we proceed, I have to say this."

"Go on." Aemond neatly folded his cloak, placing it on a wooden chair, the half-unbuttoned doublet exposing his chest.

"I'm a fighter, not a mother. I will gladly give you an heir, if that is what you desire, but I want to fight side by side with you, my lord husband." Y/N hurried to where he stood, stripping herself of her ego by pleading with him.

"Why?" There was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The only other person who shared Aemond's passion for violence was Ser Criston Cole. Not even his brother was seduced by violence, let alone a noblewoman.

"You are a dragon." She replied. "I am a lion. We are not meant to be kept as pets. You, out of everyone, must understand the thrill of the battle, especially when you fight for what you believe in." Y/N spotted the wine on the table and poured herself a cup, only to ease her mind — and her body.

"And what do you believe in, then?" Aemond watched her sloppily drink the wine, the red liquid spilling down her chin, down the crook of her neck, staining the dress of the woman he so much hated.

"Violence." The Lady of Castamere slammed the cup on the table, feeling herself a tad more courageous. "Pure, ecstatic violence."

It was quite clear that her mother's seducing techniques would not work on a man like Aemond, and they did not need to work, because Y/N's honesty completely enchanted him. To have someone share his passions was more than he could ask from a wife. Once, he was fascinated by, perhaps enamoured with Helaena, but she was soft, and had he married her and grown to love her, she would've softened him. Y/N, on the other hand, was the spark he needed to ignite the fire flowing in his veins. He was a dragon, after all.

"I do not desire an heir." Aemond admitted. He couldn't see himself a father, partly because his own father seemed to prefer his nephews instead of his sons. The fact that Y/N was not interested in being a mother only solidified his love for battle. "And I do not care if you give me one."

Aemond's words awakened something in Y/N, something she had never felt before. It most certainly wasn't love — she couldn't possibly love a man she had just met. It was something else. Lust.

"So, will you allow me to fight, then?" Her voice went up an octave, excited, like a child receiving a toy.

"Gladly. Tell me," Aemond decided to consummate the marriage by discussing their experiences in battle, "have you killed before?" He poured himself a cup of wine. The young Targaryen wasn't keen on drinking, like his brother, but he enjoyed the occasional cup of Arbor Red. And he enjoyed drinking it over talks of spilled blood.

Y/N nodded, taking a seat at the table, finally feeling relaxed.

"Once." She watched her husband sit on the chair next to her, urging her to tell him how and when, and to not shy away from details. Y/N explained that it truly was an accident. Or, better it started as an accident. "Because father never let me fight, I used to dress like a boy and play with wooden swords. But because I was also a spoiled child, I couldn't fathom losing." She sighed, and Aemond was beginning to pick up on where her story was going.

"You don't seem like a spoiled child." Her husband watched her unwind, taking her shoes off and kicking them away.

"I suppose I never wanted to be one, but I liked the perks that came with it. That day, I was playing with the stable boys, and one of them beat the life out of me. I didn't mind the physical pain, but I felt humiliated." Y/N scoffed. "When I attacked him, he removed the hood from my head and instantly recognised me. I was fortunate enough that the other boys left, but out of fear of father finding out what I was doing, I pushed him so hard he fell and hit his head in the stone wall."

"But it was accidental." Aemond mimicked his wife by taking his boots off. He felt strangely comfortable around Y/N, discussing issues he could never talk about with his family.

"Indeed." She agreed. "But I was afraid he would heal and tell the maesters who did that to him. When I caught a glimpse of a dagger, I picked it up, straddled the boy and stabbed him."

"How many times?" His voice was dangerously low, and although Aemond was leaned back in the chair, his fingernails dug into the wood of the armrests, excited to hear more.

"Enough for him to never recover. There was so much blood." Y/N gingerly touched her face, as if she could still feel the hot crimson liquid trickling down her chin. "Warm blood — on my hands, my clothes, my face. I should've felt guilty, but I didn't." There was no hint of remorse in her voice, and her eyes darted to Aemond's lap. It did not surprise her that he was aroused by her story, the bulge in his leather trousers growing more noticeable every time she spoke about blood.

"Then what happened?"

"I left him there, ran back to the castle, burned the clothes and went to bed." Y/N laughed, not at the poor boy's death, but at how selfish she had been. "I was young and stupid."

"You talk as if you're an old hag." The corners of Aemond's lips turned into a smirk.

"It happened a decade ago."

"Tell me, then, if you had your current wisdom, what would you have done?" He leaned forward, studying his wife.

"I would do it all again." Y/N smiled, the wine taking over her brain. She played into her husband's game by imitating him and leaning closer to his face. "I would perhaps get rid of the body this time." Y/N whispered into Aemond's ear.

He had heard enough — enough to desire her in bed. It could've been the wine, it could've been that he hasn't laid with a woman in a long time, but Aemond grabbed Y/N by the back of her neck, pressing his lips onto hers. She allowed him to slide his tongue between her wine-stained lips, and even dared to pull him closer.

Her fears? Gone.

Her morals? Gone.

Her last shred of dignity? Gone.

Aemond pulled away, earning a soft sigh from his wife, only to pull her up from the chair and push her onto the table, the cups clattering onto the floor.

"You..." He whispered, struggling to pull her dress up. "You were made to be mine." Aemond resorted to tearing the dress apart. He didn't like it, anyway, and he knew it brought sorrow to his mother.

Y/N melted under his touch like steel in dragonfire. She hastily pulled his green shirt over his head, taking a moment to appreciate his looks. It tickled Aemond's ego. He did not give two shits on people's opinion of him, but seeing the lust in her eyes only fuelled his inner fire.

"I-" She pressed her palms against his chest. "I am a maiden." Y/N told him, as if he expected her not to be one.

"I can't promise to be gentle." Aemond kissed her again. "But I can promise you will enjoy it."

That was a foreign concept to her. All the stories she heard from her mother were about pain, and how it was a woman's duty to bed her husband and not take pleasure from it. Only whores enjoy it, her mother would say. A whore she would be, then.

Once both of them were stripped of their clothes and morals, Y/N squeezed her thighs together, partly because she wanted to tease her husband. And Aemond was too far gone to respect his wife. His elbow pushed between her thighs, opening her legs while his hands dug into her hips, pulling her closer to him, like a starving dog.

"It will hurt." Was his attempt to comfort her.

"I know." Y/N nodded, her fingernails digging into his upper arms, bracing for pain. "I'm ready."

With her consent out of the way, Aemond slowly slid the tip of his cock between her already slick folds, stopping when he saw the discomfort on her face.

"Relax." He demanded, but it came from a good place. Being more experienced, Aemond wanted everything but to hurt her. When she nodded again, he pushed further, only to hear his wife scream in agony. "Bite into my shoulder. I don't suppose you want to wake everyone up."

Reluctantly, Y/N obeyed the order, her teeth sinking into his skin, and when he bottomed out, she arched her back in pain, wriggling and writhing under him. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, despite Aemond stopping every movement to allow her to adjust to his size. What was worse was gone, and Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

"By the gods, it hurts so much!" She cried out, gasping when she saw the mark she left on his skin.

"I know. But it will not get any worse than this." Aemond assured her. "Do you trust me?"

"I do." Y/N sobbed, but he was right. The pain slowly dissipated, and her muscles relaxed, no longer feeling on edge. It still hurt, yes, but it did not compare to the sheer pain she had felt moments ago.

When Aemond began rolling his hips, something awakened in the Lady of Castamere. The slight discomfort was still present, but it was quickly replaced by an unknown feeling which Y/N realised was something primal and instinctive — pleasure. Not even the thrills of fighting could compare to the pleasure she felt when Aemond thrusted harder and harder into her sloppy cunt.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He practically growled, surprising himself with his own words. Aemond wasn't the type of man to talk during these intimate moments, and while he enjoyed the occasional visits to brothels with Aegon, his wife was superior to all the whores he'd ever fucked.

Even her gestures were drawing him to her — the way Y/N rolled her eyes back, how she gasped, how she scratched his skin, leaving her mark on his body. Sure, Aegon might be disgusted by her scar and missing finger, but to Aemond, she was perfectly imperfect.

"So g-good!" Her thoughts were fuzzy, her words barely coherent. All Y/N could do was take him all in and revel in the bliss Aemond offered her.

But he wanted more, and when he pulled out, she complained. It bewildered her how much she actually enjoyed herself, to the point she cried out when she couldn't feel his cock stuffing her.

"Turn around." Aemond ordered, but he was already in the process of flipping her over, his hand pressing her face on the table.

Instinctively, Y/N lifted her ass up, like a bitch in heat, her fingernails leaving scratches on the wood.

"Please, put it in." Her cheeks were squished on the hard surface, body hot to the touch. There was no more room for decency and grace when all she wanted was for her husband to fuck her stupid.

"Already worshipping my cock, eh?" His lips pressed a kiss on her shoulder before he released the grip on her neck to lift her leg on the table. But he delivered, and he pushed his cock into her yearning cunt, a string of moans escaping her lips.

Y/N arched her back, not believing it would be possible for her to feel better than before. Oh, how wrong her mother was. She could feel him deeper, and he was anything but gentle and respectful.

The more he thrusted, the more she bucked her hips, using her trembling arms for support. Aemond's chambers echoed with her moans and his grunts, with the sound of skin on skin, and the disgusting wet noises that filled the Street of Silk.

And then it happened — Aemond's pace quickened, his fingers bruising her hips, and Y/N could feel her climax boiling into her core, awaiting release. Her spongy walls clenched around his cock, her head felt lighter and her chest heavier.

"Gods, Aemond, I can't-" She fell flat on the table, the filthiest guttural sounds emanating from her.

"Fuck." He could feel himself closer to his own climax, but he swiftly pulled his cock out, spilling his seed onto her lower back.

The warm liquid made Y/N prop herself on her elbows, curious as to why he did not finish inside of her.

"No heirs tonight." Aemond said, as if hearing her thoughts. "You're not a cow for breeding, you are my wife."

"I could've taken the tea." She spotted a piece of fabric from her wedding dress and took it, attempting to clean herself.

"You could've, but then everyone would find out." He snatched the fabric from her hand and wiped her skin clean. "And what would my grandfather think, then? That you're not a woman of your word, or worse, that you're plotting against the king."

Aemond was right. The maester would surely let the Hand know, and then she would either be imprisoned or killed.

"Very well. No heirs tonight." Y/N took the soiled fabric, tossing it into the fireplace.

Aemond brought Y/N one of his robes, draping it around her shoulders, his hand resting on the small of her back. Strangely, he felt the urge to hold her close to him, this woman he met and wed on the same day. He felt the need to protect her, despite knowing very well she did not need his protection.

But the only people he ever showed affection were his mother, and occasionally his sister. He did not know how to be a husband. But to show his wife that he trusted her, Aemond quietly took his eye patch off, revealing a sapphire gem in place of his missing eye.

"Disfigured." He uttered, watching his own reflection in the mirror next to the fireplace.

"No, perfect." She smiled, tilting her head so that he could better see her scar. Aemond brought his index finger to her cheek, tracing the scar down her neck, down her collarbone, in-between her breasts.

"One flesh, one heart, one soul." He repeated the Septon's words, and they began to make more sense.

"Now and forever."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #asoif/got #asoiaf

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darlingofvalyria · 6 months

Text

As the Princess of the Realm's most favoured maid, there are certain liberties you are privy to demand. Jealousy of the people surrounding your lady is not one of them. Amused, Rhaenyra wishes to show her jealous little darling that there is nothing to worry about.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ MIND MANIPULATION, BLOOD PLAY ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,763 ] [ masterlist ] | Vampire!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Maid!Reader

contains— smut, fluff - monsterfucking, hurt/comfort, jealousy, allusions to murders and kidnapping (not reader), mind manipulation, mentions of blood - this is a darkish fic - nsfw: monsterfucking, v and v sex, blood play(?), thigh riding, dubcon - no betas.

a/n— countess bathory rhae version. + Quick note: I don't actually remember/know if a crown princess is higher in stature to a queen consort. I know a queen at least is higher than a crown princess... but in this fic, i'm making it so that a king's direct/crowned heir is higher in status to that of a queen consort, as in what i want you to understand here that a king's chosen heir has bigger power than someone who is only married to royalty and title. this is of course different than the show but eh. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You understand why they salivate after her like starved dogs for a hunt. Prowling, on the verge of humping the very ground she walks on.

Your princess is every consonant and vowel of her royal visage and title, adorned in jewels and gold, Valyrian steel interlaced across her throat and waist. Fat rubies in her ears, weighted layers of gold gleam across her collarbone with a Valyrian steel necklace that strung an almost black amethyst drop nestled in her bosom.

Rings of all kind adorned her fingers as she held a goblet, amused by whatever topic the Riverland Lord was saying with gusto, fat stomach straining against a leather belt.

In any feast, she is the star, unable to be shadowed by her enemies now that her confidence had bloomed. She presided every conversation, lords and ladies following her red mouth as much as her words, dominating circles of power with ease that surpassed her gender.

The Heir to the Iron Throne. The Realm's Delight.

You had never been prouder to say you serve such a woman, body and soul.

And at the same time, you cannot help the feeling of jealousy to flash like a quick strike of a dagger. It is not your mistress' fault that people stave off the attention she gives them. It isn't their fault either as you understand the sentiment. Once you've played in her hand, you are evermore enraptured by her.

But you're different. In a way.

As soon as the lord— a Lord Erodd Mudd, a vassal of House Tully who had proudly proclaimed to be an eager follower of the future Black Queen, henceforth his vassals flooding gifts and compliments to your princess — had gotten too close for comfort and too red from the overflowing Arbor Red, that as soon as you see the quick flash of Princess Rhaenyra's comfort threatened, you spring into action.

You move about dancing bodies and beautifully crafted ladies to get to her, your eye meeting her sword shield, the Ser Strong, with a nod. You know your strengths and weaknesses; wrangling a drunken lord physically is not one of them. Neither is a violent drunk, and there had been enough unsavoury gossip of the Lord Mudd for you to be on edge the minute he approached the princess.

You take a low bow in front of them at your sudden interruption, your voice calm but firm. "My princess, the Prince Joffrey is ready to be put to bed."

Rhaenyra smiles, gladdened of your quick feet and quicker thinking. "Thank you—"

"Audacious!" Lord Mudd squeaks, the spittle and stench of alcohol almost makes you grimace. Almost. "The princess is talking to a lord, she does not want—"

"— the princess does not permit others to speak on her behalf, much less about what she wants or thinks," you can't help but snap. "Please refrain yourself from doing so, my lord."

He purples in offence, fist shaking that you sidle up to move in front of the princess. "Oh why, how dare—"

You let out a breathless exhale at the appearance of Breakbones and his meaty hand on the lord's shoulder. "My lord. I'm afraid you've enough to drink. The night grows long." As the lord opens his mouth to retort, Harwin's smile sharpens is enough of a warning that he swallows and jerkily nods.

He bows to Rhaenyra. "G-good night, your grace."

Rhaenyra smiles amusedly, as if she is letting you in on a joke. "And to you, my lord. I will have a maestre prepare a concoction my... little brother uses in a time of head aches. He so prefers the sweet Red such as you."

As he bows again gratefully, Lord Mudd manages to shoot you a final glare before being escorted by Ser Harwin. For a brief moment as the revelry continues on, most guests now well into their cups and dreams to kiss your princess' arse, she laughs quietly in the privacy of your closure.

You snort softly. "I am glad the night has amused you thus far, my princess."

She giggles again. "How can I not? You had been glaring at the poor fool for the better time of the night. He had thought that he had offended me in some way, and was trying to appease with all sorts of ridiculous promises."

"Hm. What can a small vassal house by the name that means 'wet dirt' could possibly offer the princess of the realm?" You can't help but be haughty. Though you do recognise you are being a bit unfair to the lord, for he isn't just the only one who had pried the attention of the princess all night.

"A pretty new maid," Rhaenyra muses, making your blood freeze. "He said he's got a pretty collection of wenches, all well trained by his mother, whom I do know has a heavy teeth with her servants. Lord Tully has endorsed them so. Lady Tully as well. Oh, and that he has daughters fit to be ladies in waiting, should I want for more... high browed ladies."

You inhale deeply. "It is indeed... a good idea to expand your ladies. You are the Heir, higher in stature to the Queen Consort who has an army of ladies both in Great Houses and Vassals." You nod jerkily. "It is a smart idea, my princess."

Rhaenyra smirks, enjoying far too much the inner turmoil of your little head. You don't notice it, as you had perfected serving her for such a time and she is sure onlookers would see only a lady conversing with her maid, but when you are upset and trying not to show it, you blink three times as if wrangling your thoughts in order. There is only a small dip in your serene mouth that always makes her want to press it. Move it around. Then maybe bite you.

But if she touched you now, she would not stop. She knows her hunger very well, and in preparation for the three-day celebrations as well as handling her duties between council meetings and audiences with the common folk— she had not drank in a while.

If she touches you now, there would be no care for titles or eyes.

When she shudders faintly at the image, your keen eye sees it immediately. You see the faint pallor, the inch of peakiness. She had been consuming more and more raw meat, but animals barely curb the thirst.

"Shall I prepare your feast, my princess?"

She blinks at you, surprised. "My feast? Surely this is enough."

You're unable to stop your sigh as you look away. "My princess, surely, you don't think such a feat should go unrewarded? Lords of Great Houses are swayed to your cause. Their vassals are following suit. Even if a Great Council is demanded once more in your reign, the tide will turn for your favour."

"You do not know that." Rhaenyra laughs lightly as you are already shaking your head. "We should not tempt fate."

"You had been doing your duty unto the realm as its heir and its delight. We are tempering any whisper of revolt. Your win is marked in stone," you insist. "A reward is only just."

You scoot closer, pinching your voice low. Rhaenyra holds her breath with a sharp intake of air, a coil, nothing but a whisper, of your scent finds her nostrils and her hunger tightens in her stomach that her fangs sharpen. She bites her bottom lip hard.

"My apologies," you whisper. "But I know your hearing turns mortal when you have not eaten in a while. You must eat. The bustle for the celebration has been a good excuse to hire more alongside what we needed."

Her eyes flash. "... Maidens?"

"At least four of them, my princess."

She gasps, inhaling quickly and your scent comes first, the sweet imprint of your blood hums her own, but her eyes widen at the thick stench of maidens right in her room. Your gift. For your beloved. You smile, despite the niggling, pinch of jealousy that has a thick hold on your neck and Rhaenyra can smell it.

"The revelries will continue on," you say with finality, bowing. "The Prince Jacaerys is doing well with the Northern delegates thus far, and the Young Prince Lucerys has charmed the pirate lords from the Free Cities, as well as the Dornish Prince and his... mistresses. We are well here. I will keep an eye on your heirs. Enjoy yourself, my princess."

The revelries go well into the Hour of Owl before you give nod to the last of the guards and servants tasked with ensuring the more raucous guests find their way to their beds, moving along the quiet flutter of candlelight and sharp, slanting shadows like a wraith. Or a ghost. No one pays you any mind, and they know better.

You sweep straight into the princess' apartments, locking the doors behind you. The iron stench of blood is already thick here, seeping through the corners and clinging to the tapestries. You're used to it, even if the first times had been shaky in your memories. But your actions are a routine, moving to the tub filled thick with blood, almost to the brim, moving a finger through it, beads of blood clinging to you when you raise your hand, falling in slops back to the tub.

You hum along your duties, the actions of a routine is familiar... if not surgically placed into your mind, though the uncomfortable reminder strikes your head in a low, dull thud. Worrisome thought is a blunt knife to the steel guard your princess has wrought in your head.

For your protection, my sweet, Rhaenyra had purred, feeling her nails scratch in the fragments of your malleable brain.

Candles are flickering by the time your princess strides into her room, the heavy door deadbolting with a heavy thud. The stench of blood and her scent— grapefruit and vanille, a touch of something more ancient, cloying and heavy — thickens as you bow, your fingers in unlacing and getting her off the bloodied dress. It’s relatively clean, and she throws you a smirk for it. She knows you hate having to share just as much as she, and knows even better you would never make much fuss, but your chest warms at her thoughtfulness regardless.

She sinks with ease, a low, satiated hum escapes her lips.

“I will assume this is another present?” she teases. “No maidens?”

“Not after the Lannisport incident, no.” You regard her weightily but she only laughs. Sunk in blood, her paleness almost makes her glow. A goddess if nothing else. But her cheeks are also fuller, vibrancy clinging to her gold spun hair and gaze. “These were just as much eager to serve the crown as the young women were eager to serve their princess.”

Rhaenyra’s laugh is spoilt as much as it is indulgent. “And I am assuming you never told them the length or width of their servitude?”

She really does feel much better if she is in such a teasing mood.

“No,” theres a petulant, almost offended notch in your tone that you dont hide as well, if youre ever truly trying to hide it. The day wanes and the moon waxes, and you have been obedient all day.

Rhaenyra bites her lip. You have been good. And deserving. She leans forward, pressing herself back. “Come.”

You still, holding onto her oils. “I still have to wash your hair, princess, it has been an arduous day."

“It has, and you have done so well in pleasing me that I require you here, with me.” Her voice pitches, irises molting to a startling black. Your spine straightens and your gaze glosses. She hums, delighted to see that the full force of her prowess is back. Though it isnt truly much. The strings from your mind and body is one that she has owned long before. “Take off your dress, sweet girl, thats it, faster— and here, right on top of me.”

You are awake and dreaming, its a state you know quite well, but you move where she wants you, your strings hers for the taking, and you are up to your navel in blood before your mind catches up with thought that you are bare, bare before your princess as she looks up, her hands, soft and cold and wet with blood, moulding against the divots of your soft flesh.

She pulls you down with ease, so careful with your skin. Her hunger though fulfilled, the remnants of the creature within her still breathes. Your heartbeat is a siren song and the urge to devour you, to sink her teeth right in that throbbing, fluttering pulse— four maidens down her belly and her hunger for you is still so strong.

Your mind is your own when you have settled righto n her thighs, bracketing her between your own. A shuddering gasp leaves your mouth as she draws her hands from thighs to your centre to your breast to your jaw, pulling you to meet her mouth in a soft exploration between tongue and teeth.

It is kissing for beasts, for creatures trying to find pleasure unknown to them but hungering for it; her tongue tangling with yours, licking at the roof your mouth, her teeth, sharpened, tugging and grating against your soft lips. It is gluttonous as it is guttural, and you feel debased. But you like it, you like the clouding of your mind from pleasure, chasing the hums from her throat and smiling from her little laughs.

It is no wonder that your body craves, hips moving in an insistent, errant sway against her thigh that she laughs once more, finish suckling a bruise on your arched neck.

"Sīr needy hae iā līve, So needy like a whore," she purrs against your skin. "Are you my," she grips your buttocks and pulls you to her, though you stumble, you are still relatively on your knees and your pearl that is craving for attention hits against her stomach and you gasp, "little whore?"

"Yes," you murmur, arms wounding against her neck as she adjusts you more comfortably on her lap, watching intensely at your pleasure as she sits you down and starts moving your hips in a rhythm. "Y-yes I am."

She snakes a hand between you to pinch at your clit. You jolt.

"Manners."

"Yes, my queen!" You sob, head falling on her shoulder as your hips go faster, the blood is spilling, the smell of iron is so strong it fills your lungs, but your first relief is near and Rhaenyra hates denying you pleasure.

Even her punishments have always been to over feed you your own pleasure, indulge in the staccato wails broken by whines as your last peak has barely finished before she is making you reach it again.

"There she is, my sweet girl."

She helps your thighs, moving you faster and faster as she drinks in your skewered brows and hanging mouth, taking a breast into her mouth and laving it with her tongue, groaning at the blood and suckling deep. You will be blooming with bruises come morn and she cannot wait to see the spring she has created on your skin. You are so delicate, so... human. Your fragility is a beauty she enjoys.

Like right now, when your pleasure catches up to you fast and she has made it a mission not to touch your cunt at all, maintaining your movement even as you whine deep in your chest, your forehead falling to her shoulder as you twitch and shudder. When you garble her name, falling your please, p-please, 'smuch, she stops, running her hands instead to your sides, cupping your breasts faintly before she's nudging against your nose until you give in with what she is silently asking: soft, tugging kisses.

"Deep breaths, sweet one," she whispers against your mouth when she pulls away, "I will take more of your pleasure. All the sweet maidens in these lands are nothing to the taste of you." For emphasis, her other hand is already between your thighs, brushing insistently against your pearl.

Teasing, always teasing. You shudder.

"Your pleasure is much your reward as it is mine. Now, once more. On my fingers." She bares her fangs, another light laugh that tugs at your core because it is full of promises. "Then against my cunt."

Because Rhaenyra gives as much as she takes.

And she wants everything you... 'willingly' give.

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