Nana-here - Tumblr Blog

Ai Yazawa: ‘NANA’ (2004)

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH !

⚠️ HELLUVA BOSS SEASON 2 TRAILER SPOILERS ⚠️

GOOD FUCKING BYE.

“i just want someone to care. i just want someone to want… me.”

“i destroy everything. i make everyone’s lives worse.”

im done.

IM FUCKING DONE.

FF WRITERS TAKE NOTES

(TikTok was by @ ghouliafied 🫶)

me and bestie in another life

“no matter who i’m in love with, you’re my only hero nana” 💔

NANA, Ai Yazawa

Someone pls end my misery

idk who his stylist is… but I wanna make out with em-

y'all,

The smile..

i just think that he has. a gender.

Ateez memes! Please reblog :} Bonus:

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponent al, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick thribbing, first clenching, ear rining, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, cant walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail stractching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, you could dracarys me like how you dracarys the Riverlands, or take me as a prize of war and i'd still ride you.

whenever i say “screaming crying throwing up” this is what i mean

I will need a couple days to recover.

Please respect my privacy during these troubled times.

It’s fuck Israel forever and always

Free Palestine 🇵🇸 from the river to the sea

so i made more of these

morning tee!!!

This chapter is so yummy !!!!!

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! Here is the next chappy hehe, goodness me, I am so glad that we all enjoyed the last chapter haha! What a ride this has been honestly, you all crack me up ahaha <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 99: To Set The Future Sway 

Aemond Targaryen had been ten years old when he lost his eye.

That year he had been gifted new tomes from his grandfather Otto, and his mother had lemon tarts freshly made for him as a treat, the boy too shy to tell her that they were not in fact his favourite, but yours.

He had snuck down to the dragon pit that day with you to eat them, watching as Syrax’s golden scales glimmered in the flames of the pit, large glimmering dragon purring and growling in the darkness.

It had been a great challenge for a child so young to be put through such a horrific and traumatic experience as having ones eye taken. What was more, the actions of his family afterwards, and the dealings of their response thereafter did naught but rub salt in the proverbial wound. 

Neither adult had reacted in a way that helped Aemond. In fact, it only served to prove as a further detriment to him, and his view of the world.

But more than that, watching you, his only companion at such a formative age, stand alongside his attackers, bastards, and declare for them instead of him had hardened something inside of the young Prince. Made it curdle and fester, calcifying rapidly as the spite that had grown within him became malignant. 

You had protected them. Them. They who had mocked and teased him for years, them and his brother; who stood idly beside him, having not come to his defence out of the fear and wrath of their father.

His view of the world, of people, of his family and what little friends he had, had been inexplicably scarred that evening, much like his face. He walked with more careful steps, more angry movements, and had grown into a bitter and spiteful man, only aided by his mothers disdain and words of encouragement in his ears. 

But Aemond had not let his disability strike him down, he had simply grown himself around it. He trained harder, for longer, making a promise to himself that he would never be bested like that again, never be struck down without striking first. 

And to never hold back.

Where others would look at him in fear, he would play to it, own it, make himself a man to not be trifled with. A man his brother even feared at times, not that he could fear him any longer. A man that women would whisper about in court, and the men would avert their eyes from. 

He needed it that way. 

To feel safe.

After the many years of your separation, being dragged to Dragonstone without even a chance to say goodbye, seeing Aemond again in the Red Keep had struck many chords within your chest. 

Grief. Sorrow. Anger. Rage. Remorse. Guilt. 

Fear. 

But as you looked into his seeing, and unseeing eye in this moment, you felt none of those things. 

Instead, you felt something entirely different. 

Shock. Disbelief. Pride. Adoration.

Love.

The Conquerors Crown that sat snugly against Aemond’s head, did not look at all heavy where it had on Aegon’s. It seemed as though it was an extension of Aemond. An extension of his every being, a manifestation of the man he had built himself to be.

The smooth Valyrian steel did not make his long silver locks stick up in different ways, his tendrils were still held in place, held by the braids you had encouraged him to wear.

Aemond’s violet and sapphire gaze had not left your face once since seating himself upon the Iron Throne, nor when you had placed the Conquerors Crown atop his head. The King’s fingertips had brushed the skin of your cheek, smearing the wetness that had landed there. 

The blood that had landed there. 

But Aemond was not unmarred by the killing of his brother. He too wore the red substance on his face and robes, the lightest of arterial spray that has streaked up his face diagonally, in the motion that his sword had cut through the flesh and bone of Aegon’s neck.

The small specks of blood on his cheeks were drying rapidly from the heat of his face, oxidising and growing darker, small cracks and flakes appearing in the smattering.

And yet despite this, despite the fact that you most certainly should have felt some sort of horror and disgust towards him, you could not, and your heart had fluttered in your chest as you looked at your husband in triumph. 

In hunger. 

He had done this for you.

A final show of his devotion and love.

Your head turned to look down the steps of the Iron Throne, gaze skimming over a distressed Alicent Hightower, who sat hunched over her eldest son crying, whilst Otto and Ser Cole stood nearby. And then your gaze shifted, over to the Lords and Maester who looked at both scenes before them with uncertainty. Fear.

Turning back to face your husband, you called out loudly into the chambers.

“King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, Son of King Viserys the First, King of the Stormland’s, Westerland’s and the Reach, Ruler of Oldtown, The Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, King of the People of Kings Landing, and Protector of His Realms.”

The Small Council muttered amongst themselves as you looked out at the room beside him. All Lords, guards and knights bent the knee, bowing their head down towards their new crowned King. Even Ser Otto Hightower bowed, but Alicent looked up at her son in disbelief.

You turned back to your husband, hungrily watching him, a wave of warmth flooding you. 

He had done this for you. 

He had killed Aegon for you. 

Aemond was King.

Your husband.

“My King.” You breathed quietly, eyes roaming his face hungrily.

Sensing your intentions, Aemond’s voice boomed into the chambers.

"Clear the room.” He commanded, voice crisp and clear, and all men obeyed.

Alicent however, did not, and had to be dragged from the corpse of her eldest, sobbing into her fathers arms as she muttered prayers to the Seven through hiccups, and curses at the two of you.

The chambers were emptied, bar you and Aemond, and the corpse of the once King that still lay, untouched on the stone floors before the throne. Your eyes cast backwards to look at the body, a sick smile spreading across your lips, before you looked back at your husband, who devoured you with his lone eye.

Your core clenched, watching him intensely as heat settled into your gut. 

He had killed Aegon for you. Before everyone. Before his mother. 

His last sibling. 

And for you. 

All for you. 

Your Aemond.

Aemond pulled you forward with his hand, and you climbed up onto the throne in his lap, knees pressed against the leather of his cloak below you. Your fingers raced to untie his breeches, neither of you daring to break the eye contact you held.

His length was hard and heavy in your palm as you pulled it out of its confines, tip already leaking heavily with precum.

Killing his brother had aroused him. 

Being crowned had aroused him. 

The violence of it all, the triumph, the ending of years of suffering and mocking making way to a new time of power and strength. Autonomy. Each aspect of it had made him throb in his breeches before he had even sat on the throne. 

You pumped him in your hand quickly, a breathy sigh falling from his lips as his large palms skated up your thighs warmly, calluses scratching your soft skin, before they dived beneath your skirts, feeling your already drenched folds.

It had aroused you too.

Aemond smirked up at you, cheek twitching as two digits rubbed through your folds slickly, “All this for killing my brother?”

You sighed, squirming in his lap, pleasure sparking up through your gut, "All for you.” You breathed.

A finger pushed through your folds and into your core, hooking upwards to rub against the spongey spot Aemond could find within seconds, “So wet for your King.” He purred, shifting his hips upwards as you gave him a particularly hard squeeze.

The words caused a shiver to race down your spine, your hips lifting, Aemond pulling his finger from inside of you as you lined him up with your sopping entrance. Your uncle watched your face, a hand coming to bush against your cheek, the blood upon it drying and beginning to flake as you sunk down onto his length with a sigh.

Aemond groaned loudly in the chambers as pleasure shot through you, Aemond’s cock reaching deeper with the angle, brushing against your fluttering walls, the stretch of him sparking delicious pain through you.

Slowly but surely you began to ride him, hands atop his shoulders as you looked at him. Despite him sitting and you on his lap, he was still taller than you, but your faces were levelled as you ground down on his length, his head dipping, feeling your wetness begin to pool in his lap.

The throne room was filled with the sound of your wet heat and the moans and groans that came from the both of you as you fucked yourself atop him. Rewarding him for his actions. Rewarding yourself for getting him to do so. Desperate to reach your peak as adrenaline still coursed through you.

“My King.” You whined, eyes closing momentarily as you threw your head back, sensitive bud brushing against the soaked material of his breeches.

Aemond groaned loudly, hands coming to grab the flesh of your ass as he guide you down onto him harder and faster, “Say it again.” He groaned, eye on your face.

“My King.” The head of his cock bullied the deepest part of you, every single inch of him brushing against your most sensitive places as you felt him in your stomach, your release beginning to climb within you rapidly.

Aemond fucked up into you harder, feeling your walls begin to tighten, hips lifting slightly on the seat of the Iron Throne, your fingers digging into his shoulder for purchase.

“My sweet, Lady wife.” He purred, rushing forward to capture your lips with his. 

It was messy, and rushed, full of passion, and devotion and love. He nipped your lips and you whimpered into his mouth, one hand skating up to brush against the skin of his neck, pulling him closer.

The change in angle shifted, and Aemond’s length beat into the spongey spot within you, the pressure rippling up through your body as you reached your peak suddenly.

You cried out loudly, writhing atop his lap as he fucked you through it, hips clapping up into yours.

“My Queen.” He grunted, rutting into you viciously and prolonging your release. Aemond thrusted a few times more before he tumbled over the edge with you, hot ropes of his seed filling your walls as you clenched around him.

“Fuck.”

You breathed heavily, warmth flooding your limbs as you slumped against him, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he gently rocked you back and forth atop him, riding out his peak for as long as possible. 

As you stilled atop him, core still gripping his length tightly, you felt the adrenaline begin to simmer, your body and mind rapidly tiring from the weight of it all.

You pulled your face away from his chest and looked up at your husband. 

Your King.

King.

Your fingers brushed against his pale cheek, where the lightest dusting of freckles that had faded with time were still there, only now, they were covered with a dusting of blood. Your eyes raised higher, and you looked to the crown that sat as it was meant to be atop his head. 

He was so handsome. So beautiful. And yours.

Always yours. 

From the training yard, to the passageways, to the library, and the kitchen, and the garden, Aemond Targaryen had always been yours. And would be yours forever more.

Fire and blood, as the Gods had made it so. 

You would burn together.

Your chest swelled with warmth, looking at the deeper flecks of lilac that sat in his iris whilst his mouth was slightly parted, breathing shallowly as he watched you. You leant forward, pressing a kiss to each cheek, feather light as it were, his body shivering beneath you, and then atop his seeing eyelid, feeling the long white lashes tickle your lips.

Then, to his scar, kissing a pathway to travel up the length of it gently, careful to not hurt him. You had felt him tense beneath you when you did it, but the more you pressed a kiss to the length of the healed wound, the more and more he relaxed.

Finally, you pressed your lips to his own.

“You were made to be King.” You purred as you kissed him, hand cupping the side of his cheek as he leant into it. He hummed deeply, chest vibrating against yours as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass.

Desperate to show him the warmth that you felt for him, you kissed sweetly at his mouth, soft quick ones that left him chasing after you for more, “I love you.” You cooed, hoping that he felt your thanks.

Your praise. 

Your adoration.

His lips parted against yours as he smiled, and you pulled back, bare inches to see it, warmth creeping back into your core. 

The King leant forward to kiss you, his lips breaking the tenderness for a moment to breath into your own, “And you, my Queen.”

Your walls tightened around him, arousal sparking back inside of you. Aemond tilted his hips up slowly, grinding into you with purpose, and you felt him begin to harden again.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

Morning tee! Been in a weird mode for days !!!

But I caught up and omg?!? Y/n is brave because if that was actually me? I’d be jumping out a window rn real quick! No hesitation !

And finally HE IS DEAD !!! Can we celebrate? Or is it too early- knowing you, we cheer and another chap pop up and we’re all in pieces trying to fix us back together !

But anyways ! This chapter? The end? It’s too sexy to even comprehend !!!

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, this has certainly been a build up, say 98 chapters long? Thank you all so much for your love, and messages, and support, I really hope you enjoy the way I eventually end SF&A. This was originally two shorter chapters, but I decided to combine them together instead. Bold italics are inner thoughts and flash backs as per usual. I have so much more I want to say but won't because you want to read it, and obviously we will talk after!!! Enjoy <3

Chapter 98: Hand Turns Loom, Hen Kasta naejot Zōbrie

When your mother had been crowned, you remember the day clearly.

How all the Lords and Ladies around you, knights, Maesters, maids; all those in her presence bent the knee.

All but Rhaenys.

How the sound of their rustling robes, their shifting pommels of armour, or clanking of their swords filled the air around you. 

How your heart had swelled with pride, how deep and pure it had been. How you had felt adoration, devotion, and had no second thought about digging your knee into the ground below, bowing your head to your Queen. 

But now, your knees would not budge, not even if you had wanted them to. 

They did not bend, or creak, or crack.

They locked. 

Refusing to drop down to the stone floor below. Refusing to meet the cold, hard surface, which would no doubt send crawling ice up your knees and body, but not only that, it would be to give in. 

To give up.

To bend the knee to a monster.

And you had endured far too much to do that.

Too far to turn back now.

You would not bend the knee to Aegon, and so there you stood, in the throne room, before the Iron Throne, and the Small Council, refusing to kneel.

Refusing to swear him as your King.

Refusing to back down. 

Gods be good.

Be on my side.

You could feel the heated gaze of your husband, and yet you did not tear your own away from the man before you, who took slow and calculated steps, each one echoing into the sparse hall as his boots thumped against the stones.

You did not try to move, nor would you have had the chance with the guards behind you, their presence coming closer. The warmth of their bodies behind you made the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end.

His violet eyes bore into your own.

His own flesh and blood.

His niece.

Your uncle.

Someone you had grown up beside. Someone who you had played with, and laughed with, and fought with. Someone who had grown into the monster he was today. And so he stalked towards you, and still you did not kneel.

Aegon, watching your refusal, looked to the guards on either side of you, and nodded. 

Dracarys, Lucerys whispered in your mind.

Your knees hit the ground with a resounding crack, pain shooting up the both of them as the guards had grabbed you by each shoulder and forced you to the stone floor. Aemond shifted in your periphery, and you saw Alicent go to him quickly, grabbing his arm to keep him back, and yet you could not take your eyes away from the man who stood before you, hand resting atop the hilt of his sword, Conquerors Crown atop his silver waves. 

This was it.

Today the Stranger comes for me.

Aegon smiled down at you as he watched you come to the realisation. And yet still, you made no move to swear yourself to him. No move to call him King. No move to save yourself. And although you had been forced to your knees before him, you had not bent them of your own accord.

“The punishment for a crime like this is death.” Aegon boomed to the chambers, voice echoing off the stone walls, his steps becoming slower as he came closer towards you, "I could have you hanged on the wall, or send you to the butchers block. Perhaps I could even feed you to Sunfyre.”

“Aegon.” Aemond's voice came from behind, clipped and short, held back by the last threads of his resolve.

You let yourself look at your husband, and saw that he had made his way closer, though Alicent still stood in front of him, hand on his chest as an act of a human barricade between her two sons. 

Holding him back.

“Silence.” Aegon boomed, “Ser Otto, if Aemond speaks again, have him arrested and taken down to the cells where he can stay until the sentence has been served.”

You had thought to look to Aemond with your eyes for help, to beg for him to come to you, but all you had seen was the same man who had left you the last time you were here.

There was no saving you this time.

Dracarys.

The Small Council remained silent, not even Otto Hightower seemed to think he could talk reason into the King, and so he stood, eyes looking over the top of you at the opposite side of the throne Aemond was. 

The King hummed, looking down his nose at you as a wide smile cracked across his pink lips, “Or…" He breathed, "You could take your place at my side as my wife.”

Wife. 

Wife.

Ice ran down your back as you looked at him, your heart beating rapidly in your chest, fingers tingling from the grip the guards had on your shoulders and arms.

It was in that moment, that you knew there was no going back from this.

Dracarys.

“Annul your marriage to my brother in the eyes of the Seven, and I shall take you as my second wife.” He purred, the proposition sounding as though it was a benevolent offering, when all those who were present truly knew the more sinister reasoning behind it, “You may atone for your sins and crimes by birthing me heirs, as is your purpose, whilst also upholding the terms of the treaty. An honour given to you which you don’t deserve.”

You jolted forward, grunting, trying to rip the arms of the guards from you so that you could launch yourself forward. Muscles in your arms burning from the struggle.

You were going to die.

And you would not go down without ripping his throat out with your teeth. 

The guards hands tightened further, seams of your gown ripping as you struggled from below. Your eyes flicked momentarily to Aemond again, who looked as though he was fighting a battle of his own, but you knew, deep down you knew, he would do nothing.

As he always had.

And so you kept your eyes on the brother in front of you.

“My Husband-“ You began, venom dripping from your tongue.

“-Is my brother.” Aegon snipped, “And swore himself to me as King. He is bound by duty to the realm, and duty to the Crown. Aemond should be honoured that I would take his wife as my own. You would be wed to a King, not a second son.”

You sneered, trying to throw yourself forward at him, but Aegon did not flinch, and the guards pulled you backwards hastily, knees grazed by the stones below.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, teeth grinding against each other, heat in your cheeks, and blood thumping in your veins.

Dracarys.

The King laughed, head thrown back and violet eyes shut before he locked them back onto you. He smiled appreciatively, eyes roaming down your face, to the tight bodice of your dress and the way your skirts clung to your waist, all the way down to your knees on the stone.

“You are ready to serve me, as you are.” Your eldest uncle turned his head to look back at Aemond, “I will make her a good wife, one that can be tamed. One who will obey and follow orders, and all the while the treaty will be held. I am far more capable of tending to her needs, and a marriage to me is far better than death.”

You swirled your tongue in your mouth before spitting upon Aegon’s leather boots, “I will kill myself before I ever let you touch me again. I will throw myself from the window Helaena did rather than have your monster grow inside of me. And then my family will come you. Fire and blood, they will come. And you will die.” 

The pain came before you registered what had happened, the sting spreading across your cheek as your head snapped to the side of the room, eyes trained tearily on the floor.

Alicent was heard in the background, hissing to her younger son, "Stop!"

Your ears rang, and you tasted the coppery tang of blood in your mouth.

You slowly turned your head back to the King, hair having fallen over your face from where it had come loose from your braids. You spat a bloody glob of spit at him again, attempting to aim higher, but the blood merely sprayed towards him and landed at his feet.

Dracarys.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled back into a sneer.

“The Princess must have a weapon on hand. Strip her.” Aegon commanded, eyes jerking towards Ser Cole, who shuffled awkwardly on his feet.

Your head snapped towards the knight, “Touch me, and I will kill you. I’ll fucking kill you, Cole.”

Ser Criston Cole, a man sworn to his King, known as King Maker, stood dumbly as he looked to you and then to the man who commanded him. His tan skin was flushed at his neck, a pinkish purple spreading up from beneath the breastplate he wore, and his piercing eyes darting back and forth in decision. 

This was not the first time that Ser Cole had been commanded to act in way that was not in protection of who he was sworn to. 

Once before with Alicent.

And now with her son.

The Dowager Queen made quick steps towards you both, “Aegon.” She growled, leaving her younger son behind as her feet echoed on the stone floor, "Stop this madness."

You desperately tried to wriggle out of the guards grip, hissing and grunting, knees digging painfully into the stones as your dress ripped beneath.

A knight came towards Alicent, hand held outwards towards her in preventing her from coming any further, “The treaty, Aegon. Think of how Rhaenyra will react when she hears about this!”

Aegon snapped his head towards his mother, “Fuck the treaty.” He sneered, looking back at Ser Cole, “I command you to strip this traitor, and reveal the weapon she no doubt hides on her person.”

Ser Cole swayed, his long, white cloak grazing against the cold stone floors as he started to slowly approach you, eyes on you with a look of regret. A look of apprehension.

One of pity. One of guilt. One of disgust.

They were going to strip you.

Before all the eyes of the Council.

“You’re a monster.” You hissed, ripping a hand from one of the guards, reaching out to grasp at the King’s robes who stood in front of you, fingertips grazing his breeches. 

For the first time, Aegon flinched backwards, and the guards rushed forward again, yanking you backwards and holding your arms behind you as you cussed, and cursed at them all, pain rippling through your arms.

“Kostagon se Jaes' ossēnagon jeme! Kostagon pōnta ivestragī nyke urnēbagon jeme zālagon. Kostagon pōnta tepagon nyke se kustikāne naejot gaomagon ziry nykēla. Jaelan naejot urnēbagon se ōños fade hen aōha qogralbar laesi skori gaoman ziry.”

May the Gods kill you all! May they let me watch you all burn. May they give me the strength to do it myself. I want to watch the light fade from your fucking eyes when I do it.

Aegon leant forward, looking down at you as you struggled, voice quieter now, tutting, “I still remember how wet your cunt had been. How much you bled, and cried. How you called out for my brother. For your father. Kepa!" He mocked you, your stomach roiled and rage nipped at you hotly.

Dracarys.

"I wish it had been me,” He smiled cruelly, “I wish I had taken your maidenhead, like I should have taken it years ago. I should have fucked a bastard into you before you left the Keep.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, lips curling back in disgust.

Baring your teeth back at him, you pulled at the guards grip, “You are nothing but a worthless, drunken, whoring King, who took naught but a moment until you spilled yourself inside of me. You are the most pathetic excuse for a man."

The King's face rippled with anger, brows drawn as his chest began to heave.

Ser Cole stood to the side, uncertain of what to do, unwilling to move again until commanded, Ser Otto watching with a stoney face, the Small Council shifting on their feet, all the while Alicent stood behind, guard preventing her from moving forward. 

The chambers fell still, and Aegon sucked in his cheeks, gathering the spit inside of his mouth, pursing his lips to spit upon you. 

A wet warmth landed upon your cheek.

-

It had been a warm day in Kings Landing.

The small folk had flocked to the beaches, dipping their toes and their clothes into the cold waves, desperate to cool off.

The Red Keep was no different.

Men and women gathered in the shade, or sat in their chambers, fans in hand, whilst servants served them cool cups of ale and wine.

Aegon, being the eldest, had devised a plan to keep cool that day. You were all to hide amongst the secret passageways, the cold stone walls protecting you all from the heat outside, but being the kids that you were, it would not stop you from playing. 

“Let the girl get the treats.” Aegon smiled, light leaking into the passageway from the room beside it.

“Why do I have to go to the Kitchens?” You argued, annoyance rolling through you.

Aegon looked to your brothers, and then shortly to Aemond, who all stood in front of you in a line, “Because you’re a girl. One day you’ll be someone’s wife and have to fetch things for your husband. I’m giving you practice.” 

Luc and Jace looked at each other, and snickered, though their laughter fell when you gazed at them angrily, “If you want the treats so badly, why don’t you get them. I’m not a maid.” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. 

Aemond shuffled beside his brother, looking down at the dusty floor, scuffing the tip of his shoe into the surface.

Aegon smirked, “You’d be a pretty maid. Mine are all so dull and plain.”

“I’m not going.”

Aegon looked at the three boys beside him, “All in favour for Y/n going to get us treats?” His hand shot up as he loudly proclaimed ‘Aye.’

Jace and Lucerys followed suit, hands lower and voices even lower, their brown eyes refusing to meet yours. 

All turned to Aemond, who did not speak, and had raised his violet eyes towards you. 

“Come on brother, don’t be a twat.” Aegon chided.

“He’s not a twat, you cunt.” You snipped back.

Aegon laughed, “Come on, niece, play nicely. I’ll even give you a kiss.” Aegon puckered his lips towards you, making kissing noises whilst Jace and Luc scrunched their face in disgust and laughed.

“Leave her alone.” Aemond growled, finally speaking up.

The eldest Prince looked at your two brothers before bursting into laughter, “Sticking up for your love, Aem?”

“Shut up, Aegon.” You snapped.

“Make me.” He grinned, stepping towards you as he pushed you to the ground, you landed on your back with an grunt, staring daggers at Aegon as you jumped up, moving to punch him. 

Your eldest uncle was jolted from the side, falling into the narrow walls of the pathway, a cry falling from his lips. His pale hands scrambling to catch himself as he fell into the stone.

Aemond stood, chest heaving as he watched his brother come to the realisation that he had pushed him.

“You little-“

Aegon jumped at Aemond, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar, jerking the younger boy around. 

Jace and Luc watched on with wide eyes as you raced forward, "Let go of him!” You screamed.

Aegon’s arm cast out to the side and pushed you to the floor again, your head hitting the stone wall behind you. 

You blinked, eyes filling with tears. 

Aegon immediately let go of his brother and looked down at you. A tear rolled down your cheek as the back of your head throbbed, a hand coming to rub against the spot of impact. 

Aemond raced over to you, kneeling down to check your head. 

He turned to his brother, “I’m telling mother.”

Aegon sensing that there was no more fun to be had, spun around and left the secret passage, your brothers following closely behind, casting short glances to you to see if you were okay. 

You sniffed, trying to blink away the tears in the shadows, but Aemond didn’t point them out. He came to sit beside you, back against the bricks, and you let your head drop onto his shoulder. 

“Your brother is such a dick.”

Aemond sighed in agreement.

-

The floor of the throne room was cold.

Icy even.

Despite the beams of sun that landed colourfully onto the floor, streaming in through the stained glass windows, the stone would never warm. They would stay the same, icy, coldness that they always had been. 

Unforgiving. 

And they were just that, unforgiving.

Laid down beneath a tower of melted and twisted metal, made from an unforgiving King. A throne that lacked a soft edge, a show of compassion or kindness, even to those who were seated upon it.

The Iron Throne, for all intents and purposes, was just that. 

Unforgiving.

Sharp and cold, made entirely of blades from those who had been conquered, those who had been slain, those who had fallen. And now your family sat atop it. A show of your ancestor, Aegon the First and all of his triumph. All of his power.

All of his mercilessness.

The skin of your cheek felt wet, Lucerys had stopped his whispering, and the world around you was oddly quiet. As though your ears had been stuffed with cotton, the muffled sound of the room around you making it hard to discern what was happening. And yet still, there was this odd feeling that spread around your chest.

Like the stone floors of the Iron Throne chambers, it was cold.

Icy.

They had always been a brilliant violet colour.

Your families legacy paired with the silver locks. And Aegon’s eyes had always been so telling of his moods, just like his brother. Telling of his thoughts, like a window to his inner workings and mechanisms.

It was always so. 

They would dance when he was mischievous as a child, and as he got older, they would deepen with unspoken grief and paranoia. 

But when Aegon was angry, they would become alight. Seemingly brightened by the flames that would lick him hotly at his cheeks, the colour lightening and eyes having more movement.

It’s how it always was.

And as you looked into Aegon’s eyes, you realised how much they had changed already. 

The rage that had been dancing and swaying behind his eyes not a moment before, was now gone. Like a fire that had been snuffed out, a light that had been trampled upon, a lamp that had been extinguished. And now they looked up at you blankly, as you blinked down at them from below.

The noises around you became louder as you continued to stare.

A woman was screaming.

Why was she screaming?

Guards were crying out, men were cursing, and all you could do, was look at the head on the floor in front of your knees, and the blood that slowly leaked from its neck and mouth, seeping into the material of your skirts. 

You wished she would stop screaming. 

Someone kept saying your name, but you could not tear your eyes from the man below you. His silver waves were tinged with red as the blood spread into his silky strands, his mouth agape, but silent.

Finally silent.

His eyes were what really changed.

They were dull.

Lifeless, and almost grey looking. 

Gone.

Aegon’s body was slumped beside it, arms and legs bent at unnatural angles, and blood leaking out onto the cold stones below. The thinner sections of blood had already begun to coagulate, the coldness sucking out any warmth from it and seeping into the porous surface beneath. 

Life that spread and was soaked up greedily.

Like so many times before, the stones were fed with the essence of another. 

How many more would face the same fate?

The coldness in your chest melted away, and a warmth spread through it, travelling up your throat, until it left your lips in a breathy laugh. 

And then it kept coming. 

And it did not stop.

You stared at Aegon’s head and laughed. 

It was not something that you could have stopped if you had wanted it to, it did not even feel like you were in your own body, looking down from somewhere else in the room, perhaps even over your own shoulder. But the more you laughed, the louder the woman’s screams became, until someone spoke your name again, but louder. 

You blinked, finally tearing your eyes away from the corpse of your uncle, the man who had raped you. The man who had driven your aunt to death. The man who had usurped the throne from your mother.

The man who had dealt so much cruelty. 

And your eyes were met with, not the dull, lifeless violet that you had once been staring at, but instead a vision of violet and sapphire. 

Aemond.

The Prince stood in front of you, looking down with a hard and stony face, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a line. Like his brother, his eye was the window to his soul, and flickering in the background was rage.

His shoulders were stiff, his body was tensed, and yet a hand was held out, steady towards you, palm up, scar revealed. The other was holding his sword tightly, body in a fighting stance, the blade dripping with thick viscous blood.

The blood of his brother.

Movement was all around you, and the woman still would not stop screaming.

Aemond barked at the room, “Hold!”

And the room fell still again.

All but the woman who screamed, and the men who cursed quietly beneath their breath.

You stared at Aemond's hand, the scar on his palm looking soft and pink, travelling up the length of pale skin. And with your own, you lifted and placed it in his, the strength of his arm pulling you to stand.

You knees popped and stung as you stood, the skin rubbed raw by the stone floors, dress ripped in some places. Guards stood dumbly on the side of the room unsure of what to do, all in shock.

Your husband flicked his blade to the side, blood spraying off of it onto the stones.

More food to feed them.

Aemond sheathed it back into its holder on his hip with one hand, the other holding yours firmly. 

God you wished she would stop screaming. 

Aemond bent down to the corpse of his brother, no regret, or grief on his face, instead a steady blanket of disgust and hatred instead. With his long fingers, he scooped the Conquerors Crown from the stone floor, looking down at it as he turned it slowly in his hand above Aegon.

The metal glinted, and the ruby in its centre glowed when the light shone over of it.

“What have you done?!” The woman screamed again, your head turning to see Alicent being held back by her father and guards, “What have you done?!”

Ser Otto Hightower, stood with nothing but shock in his eyes as he looked between his two grandsons, the one on the floor, and the one standing above him. His arms were wrapped around Alicent’s chest, keeping her pressed against him as she thrashed.

“He was to be our undoing.” Aemond stated bluntly, voice loud within the chambers.

Ser Cole did not move. 

The Small Council did not move. 

And all that could be heard was the screams of a grieving mother.

“Ser Cole.” Aemond gave the man what appeared to be a silent order.

Cole was a man who had been a father figure to him. A man who had trained him in swordsmanship and battle. A man who he had grown beside and watched support his mother.

And Ser Criston Cole obeyed, staying where he was, and all other guards and knights followed. 

Your eyes roamed down his body, to where the white cloak, pinned to the pommels of his armour, soaked the blood of the King on the floor below. It tinged the white a deep red, and bled up the material, as though it had been thirsting for blood this whole time, much like the stones.

Aegon was dead.

And Aemond had killed him.

“What have you done, Aemond?! Your brother! The King!” Alicent cried, voice distressed as she screamed at her only surviving child.

Aemond ignored his mother, turning to you, a singular word falling from his lips.

“Come.”

The throne room was filled with your footfall as Aemond led you towards the Iron throne, Alicent’s cries which had turned to soft sobs, and the whispers of the Small Council.

No-one brave enough to speak up, or out against the Prince.

Aemond walked up the throne steps, as though he was born for it, as though he had practised each step with perfection. Each step taken was with purpose, as though he knew it was his true duty and right.

And you followed after, hand still in his, mind still in a daze.

You stared at the Iron Throne as he turned softly to sit himself upon it. 

He looked comfortable.

At home.

Perfectly fitted for it, as though he was made for it. 

With a look of determination, he handed you the crown, the heavy metal resting in both of your hands as you look down at it.

Alicent cried louder.

The room was still.

You locked eyes with Aemond’s violet and sapphire gaze.

And lifted the crown to place it atop his head.

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond listening to the reader? Testing her knowledge and conflict resolution skills? Testing her intelligence and ability to help ? OOF, pussy purring. Hehe, here's another chapter, Enjoy <3

Chapter 95: An Offering 

The intimate Dining Hall was full of the Small Council, but instead of the usual calm and relaxed chatter amongst each other, there was tension and unease that spread like wildfire across the table.

It was something you had not quite seen before.

“The rising rebellions can be seen as just an act of the small folk fighting amongst each other.” Ser Otto Hightower argued, looking at Lord Jasper Wylde across the table with something that couldn’t be described as anything else but exacerbation. 

They had been going at it for quite some time, back and forth, all the while, Aemond and yourself watched on silently with the King. 

“And what could be said for the tradesmen who travelled up the Red Fork, only to be commandeered by a small fleet of fishing boats ‘by order of the King’.” Lord Jasper Wylde snapped, cutlery crossed over his half eaten meal.

“Rhaenyra and her council will have to see reason, and know that there were no orders for such an attack.” Otto replied stiffly, eyes flitting over to you, then back to the Master of Law.

Jasper Wylde gave a mirthless laugh, “You expect her and her rabid husband to accept such a thing? They will see this as an act of war. There will be retaliation!”

You frowned, hands twisting against your cutlery at the insult thrown at your father.

“Then let us go to war.” Aegon said boredly, twirling the goblet of ale in his hand, “We have the largest dragon. It is not as if we aren’t waging a silent one with my half-sister and her bastards. We already have her prized daughter here as a bartering piece.”

The taste of copper filled your mouth as you bit your tongue.

“We cannot afford another war.” Otto sneered at his grandson, “To expect that we can would be a farce.”

Aegon sighed loudly, and leant back in his chair, “Then hang the men responsible.”

Lord Wylde all but spluttered into his cup, “And show our men that we see their loyalty as a crime? Your Grace, we must treat this with the utmost delicacy. We already stand on razors edge, one false dip could send us careening over a side that we cannot come back from. Rhaenyra has more support from noble Houses and the common folk than we do. And as it stands, they have the numbers.”

A throbbing headache began to bloom behind your eyes at the constant bickering of men who, for reasons unknown but the cock between their legs, had more power than you. You rested your elbows on the table and rubbed your face with you hands, sighing.

“And we have Aemond.” Aegon mused, sipping his ale, “Brother, I think it is time you see to the rebellions in Riverrun.”

“Your Grace-“ Aemond began, your eyes snapping up to him as your heart began to thump in your chest.

He was going to be sent away again.

“You will treat with the common people and the Lords of the noble Houses at Riverrun who are loyal to me. See to it that you ease their concerns and answer their questions.”

Aemond's jaw ticked.

Aegon smiled at the table, clapping his hands together, “Right, that settles it then. The Prince will go speak with the people.”

Lord Jasper leant forward on the table, “A great bloody war dragon seen flying atop Rhaenyra’s lands could be seen as a threat or act of defiance. Sending Aemond and having him be seen to be treating-“

“- Hasn't stopped him from flying to Harrenhal to fuck his whore. Dead whore, sorry.” Aegon turned to face Aemond, who was still beside you, “We have trade boats go up the Red Fork, do we not?”

“Yes.” Aemond spat.

“Then make it seem as though you are doing business. Talk about taxes or whatever you spoke to me of the other day.” The King's hand fluttered in the air in irritation and dismissal.

Arrogant Cunt.

Aemond’s jaw clicked audibly, and you did not move to console him with his hand as you usually would. You left him to sit in his anger whilst you sat with yours, hands pressed together in a tight ball atop the table.

“This could take some time to find the men responsible and speak with them.” Aemond began, tone clipped, “If they have travelled back down the Red Fork, who is to know where they may be.”

“Then you best hurry and find them.” Aegon snipped, patience dwindling, and cup of ale empty.

“It may take more than a moons time.” Aemond’s voice came out as a growl.

“Then make quick work of it so it is not.”

Aemond sucked in a sharp breath, adams apple bobbing with the heavy swallow he took, “Might I take my Lady Wife with me for the journey. It would be good for the people to see-“

“-No.” Aegon smiled sweetly, “She is to stay in the Keep.”

“Your Grace-“ Lord Jasper Wylde began, but Aegon’s quick snap of his head to the Master of Law soon silenced him completely.

Your breaths came in short and broken stutters, panic rising inside of you. 

Aegon had been quiet too long. 

Far too long. 

And now, he had shown his hand.

Your palms began to sweat, and so you dropped them into your lap, wiping them against the skirts of your gown nervously.

Aemond was going again.

Perhaps, for a long time.

And although there was no whore to greet him, his absence would come at a cost.

Your safety.

You blinked angrily at the King before standing slowly, holding your smiling uncle’s gaze for a beat more before you turned on your heel, and left the chambers without so much as a word of goodbye.

The walk back to your chambers was a daze, and you did not even register that Aemond was following after you with quick and angry steps.

You moved into the chambers, moving to slam the doors shut, which Aemond caught with his fist, closing it behind him. Your heart raced in your chest as you breathed.

Panic.

Anger.

Fear.

“Don’t go.” You turned to face him, watching as he moved across the chambers angrily, chest rising and falling shallowly.

“Don’t go.” You repeated, voice steady.

Aemond watched you.

“He’s going to have me again. You know this, don’t you?” You breathed, trying to keep your composure, and swallow down the fear that climbed up your throat.

Aemond didn’t respond.

“Don’t you?” You sneered.

Aemond blinked, “I won’t let him.”

You shook your head agitatedly, “And how will you do that? You are leaving for more than a moons time! How in the Seven Hells do you expect to be able to keep him from me.”

"Mother knows-"

"Fuck your mother." You sneered, "She let him have me in the first place. She knew and she let him. Just like she has let him with all the other girls before me. With Helaena. With the maids. The young girls in Flea Bottom. Like how you are to let him."

"You think I want to fucking leave you here with that cunt?"

"You do naught else but obey his command like a fucking dog! You are his pet that he throws a bone to, and you wag your tail and thank him. Will you do jumps for him next?"

Aemond shot across the room, hand grabbing your chin roughly as his fingers pinched your skin, breath fanning across your face, "Do you enjoy pushing me to this? Pushing me to anger? Do you have any idea of what I could do to you?" His voice lowered.

"I know all too well of what you are capable of, and I also know what you are incapable of. Namely, keeping your wife safe from your brother. Standing up to the King who doesn't even do his fucking job. You are a slave to your family, and the only thing of value you have to them is your anger."

Aemond jerked your head away roughly, pain striking in the back of your neck as he sneered in your face, "And what of you? Clever remarks and snarky words with no real power? Do you expect me to kill him?"

"Yes. For I would have for you." You snapped, and Aemond's eye twitched, anger simmering dangerously, "I expect you to fucking do something. Anything! If he comes to me, Aemond, my blood is on your hands."

The One-Eyed Prince stood in the centre of your shared chambers, staring at you with a look you could not decipher. 

"Do you hear me?" You spat.

"Do you realise if I refuse his command, he will lock me away as a traitor, and then you will be left to him. Alone. And no one will be there to help you, or tell him no, or keep his depravity away. You do not know him as I do. You have not seen what he has done to others. His attack on you was nothing in comparison to what Helaena had faced. Do you know he watches his bastards in the fighting pits? Watching as he is pleasured by others. I am doing all I can to protect you."

You swallowed thickly, feeling fear prickle across your skin and in the back of your skull.

"You are not doing enough!"

"It will never be enough."

“Take me with you.” You stepped towards him, knee knocking against his, desperation on your lips, “Take me with you. I will ride with you. Do not leave me here.”

Aemond looked away, jaw tensed, “You know I cannot.”

You moved swiftly, grasping his hand to bring his gaze back to you, “Then let us run away together.”

Aemond’s violet eye locked onto your face, the iris alight with fire.

Your hand gripped his tightly, “Give me Vermithor. We can go where we want. Anywhere. Be who we want to be. Fuck duty. Fuck the Crown. Fuck it all. I only need you. Just you and me. We could go anywhere. Dorne. Essos. We could explore the world that has not yet been discovered. Start a new life together.” 

The Prince looked shocked. 

Shocked by your desperation. 

Shocked by your proposition. 

And shocked that you wished to take him with you.

“What holds us here but pain and misery? We could go anywhere we wanted. We ride the largest dragons in the world. Who could stop us? We could start anew. Start a family that isn’t threatened at every moment. No more war. No more Aegon. Just us.” The words kept tumbling from your lips before you could hold them back, like sand slipping between the cracks of your fingers.

“I promise you, he will not touch you.”

Scoffing you stepped back and away from him, snatching your hands away from his, eyes searching his face.

Anger rose above the fear. 

“And what are you going to do? Lock me in these chambers so that no one can come in nor out? Are my days to be spent in the walls? There is no preventing him from getting me. He is the King! The only way for him to not have me is if he was dead. And he’s not. You’re leaving me to be raped by him once more.”

You spun on your heel, feeling the betrayal of tears begin to prick at your eyes, “What if I become pregnant with his child? I cannot go through that again. My heart feels as though it is going to burst forth from my ribs. I am at the end of my rope, kepus. My blood is already on your hands.” 

You walked towards the bed sensing finalisation of what was to come, the cruelty, the abandonment, all of it. And it was too much to bear. You needed to be away. You needed to feel safe. You needed to breathe, and the gown around your body restricted you from doing so.

You ripped at the laces of your gown, letting it fall to the floor at your feet before climbing into the sheets in a desperate attempt to cover yourself and hide.

"You are condemning me to his will." You whispered, memories of his body atop yours flickering behind your eyelids, the sound of his grunts, the smell of his wine laced breath.

The tide overflowed, and tears began to fall, small broken sobs being ripped from your chest. You curled onto your side, hugging your arms to yourself as you thought of what was to come. 

The inevitable. 

And there was nothing you could do. 

Nothing that he would do.

The bed dipped beneath Aemond’s weight as you cried, and the warmth of his arms surrounded you as he pulled you against him, tucking your head beneath his chin to let you cry. 

“This will be our undoing.” You cried, “It will ruin us.”

Aemond stayed quiet, and held you closer, the steady beat of his heart calming you only just.

Soon, you drifted to sleep, tears staining your cheeks in the arms of the man who would leave you to the cruelty of his brother come the morning.

And when the sun rose, and your eyes blinked open, you felt the grip around you tighten further, and the mumbling of your husbands voice atop your head. 

“…Se vīlībāzmio…Tepagon nyke kustikāne…Tepagon zirȳla… Kustikāne… Kepa… Dohaeragon…” The warrior... Give me strength.... Give her.... strength... Father... help...  

Aemond was praying.

“They won’t listen.” You murmured, “No matter how hard I pray, they won’t listen.”

Aemond’s chest rose beneath you, stilling, before he let out the rough breath.

You turned in his arms, face looking up to his, “Valzȳrys,” Husband, You whispered, “Kostilus.” Please.

Aemond’s lips twitched, the corners pulling down into a subtle frown. 

His answer.

I can't.

The lump you had swallowed in your sleep formed in the back of your throat again, and your eyes began to sting, "Jorrāelagon nyke istin tolī pār.” Love me once more then.

Once more before Aegon.

Once more before I die.

Once more before I throw myself from Maegor's Holdfast.

Once more to feel your love.

Aemond rolled you onto your back, climbing on top, not wasting a single moment after your request. It was rushed, it was raw, and he gripped your chemise and ripped it up and off your body to dive his fingers between your legs. 

And yet, you weren’t wet enough for him, fear and sorrow taking your mind elsewhere, so he took his fingers away and spat into his palm, rubbing his saliva over your cunt before pulling his cock out with the other hand.

You tilted your hips up to meet him, and Aemond slid inside of you in one quick movement. 

The stretch stung, but you revelled in the pain as he began to fuck into you quickly, frustration and anger wound tightly in the movement of his hips. You let the tip of his cock beat against the end of your walls and you clenched around him tightly, gasping in the sheets beneath.

His lips met your neck, kissing and sucking against the skin as he marked you, teeth nipping your throat as he continued to thrust against your walls. 

Aemond sped up, one hand snaking down your body to hike your leg up on his hip to piston himself deeper within you, low whines falling from your lips as you arched up into him, the familiar blooming of warmth settling in your gut.

The chambers were filled with the desperate slapping of his hips meeting yours, the soft slick sounds of your cunt squelching between you. 

“Fuck.” Aemond growled, pushing to the limit, his release coming on suddenly as he filled you up with his seed. 

You panted below him, your own release unattended to, and dwindling as he stilled within. You blinked up at the ceiling, Aemond’s head tucked into your shoulder as he breathed before he slowly slid out of your walls. 

You whimpered beneath him, feeling each ridge of his cock catch against the sensitive walls of your cunt. But instead of Aemond pulling out completely, he stilled, leaving the head of his cock within you before thrusting back inside, slower this time.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he shuddered above you, pushing into your wet heat, his seed leaking down out of you and onto the bed below with each thrust.

His hips were pressed snug against you as he rolled, pelvis snagging your pearl with each roll, building your release inside.

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, He breathed into your neck, pressing wet kisses into the crux of your shoulder, “Shijetra nyke.” Forgive me.

You whined, tilting your hips to meet his with every thrust, feeling your release mount.

“Iksan vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry, "Shijetra nyke. Shijetra nyke.” Forgive me.

Forgive me.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you held him tightly against you, and soon the coil within you snapped, your body pressing up into him as you writhed beneath, his second peak being pulled from him by your fluttering walls.

You lay beneath him, quivering from your release, and feeling the warm glow seep from your body slowly, and coldness seep into your bones.

He was going.

The first tear fell, and then the next. 

They fell until you could not stop them, and they rolled down your cheeks fatly as you blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving. 

Aemond pulled his neck and looked down at you from above, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes, “Nyke kivio.” I promise, The Prince cooed, letting you sob beneath him, still pressed inside of you,  “Nyke kivio, kesan sagon arlī aderī. Nyke kivio ao. Nyke kivigon naejot ao. Daorys kessa ōdrikagon ao hae bōsa hae iksā ñuhon.” 

I promise, I will be back soon. I promise you. I swear to you. No one shall harm you as long as you are mine.

You shifted beneath him, his softening cock sliding out from inside of you as you turned your head away from him, covering your face. His heat stayed above you for a moment, and then disappeared, the bed dipping as he moved out of it. 

This was it.

Aemond was leaving.

And Aegon would have you again. 

There was no escaping it. 

The sobs that fell from your lips were not hidden, or quiet, but filled the chambers loudly. It was the sorrow of being alone. The sorrow of what was to come. The inability to avoid it. The yearning for him to stay.

Shuffling moved about the chambers, and footsteps came to the side of the bed quickly. A hand pulled yours away from your face, and you blinked up at your husband who sat on the edge of the bed looking at you. 

He was dressed, and looked a blur of black leather from behind your tears. 

He was going to leave. 

He was leaving. 

Aemond whispered your name, twice, waiting for you to truly see him, and see what he was holding out to you. You blinked your eyes, clearing them of the tears as your vision cleared.

There, in the open palm of his wide and pale hand, skin raised beneath by the scar of your union, was a dagger.

Your eyebrows were drawn as you sat up in the bed, looking to your husbands impassive face and then back down to his palm.

“It's yours. Take it.” He whispered to you, “Please.”

The blade itself had the clear markings of Valyrian steel, its metal having its own distinct and cloud like pattern along the blade, a dark silver mottled with even darker flecks.

The handle however, was gold. 

Two dragons curled around each other on the hilt of the blade, their necks and tails almost chasing each other, never quite in reach. And in each claw was a stone.

One of onyx.

One of emerald.

The dragons mouths were opened, sharp pointed teeth bared to the world. 

You looked back up at Aemond.

“Perzys Ānogār.” He whispered.

Fire and Blood.

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

ITS LATE BUT IDC WE ARE FED!!!

Is this… an aemond redemption arc?

thanks for the chapter, bestie !! And good night, tee <3

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Thank you all for being so patient for the next chapter, I have had a lot of life things going on in the background and I am utterly exhausted! BUT in saying that, I have written to the VERY END of Smoke, Fire and Ash, and oh boy.... I cannot wait for you all to read it. So updates should be particularly frequent now! Can't thank you enough for all the support and love you have shown me and this fic <3 I don't know what I'm going to do when its done, probably cry in a corner for a while LMAO... Anyway! Enjoy!!!

Chapter 94: Sway 

It was difficult to explain the place where you and Aemond were together. 

The space that you had both meticulously crafted to house the two of you despite all circumstances. The space that was built on rocky foundations, cracks in the walls hastily filled to preserve the structure, and yet despite this, the two of you continued to place more and more stones upon it. But the beams were bowing under the pressure and weight of the stones you continued to pile on top.

And as you sat in the Library together, the dust of the weeks past settling around the both of you, the pair of you were embarked on a new journey together.

Do you continue to build upon the foundations you already had? With the crumbling being inevitable and looming over the two of you?

Do you start again? Work your way back up to the top, no doubt taking time and patience, which it seemed neither of you had? Ignoring the crumbling structure left behind which shadow would forever more be cast across the new one?

Or do you reinforce the foundation you already had with bricks, and mud, and anything that would stick?

Aemond sat on the chaise opposite you, nose buried in a large tome that he flicked the pages of every so often. One hand on his knee, rubbing a thumb and forefinger together in thought, a nervous habit that he seemed to inherit from his mother, bar the picking of skin. 

There was no denying that he had changed.

The man who you saw for the first time in years, before Viserys had passed, was not the man who sat in front of you currently.

The man you saw at Storms End, the man on the night of your wedding, the man the day you were taken to the throne room, was not who sat before you. 

Since your confessions, since your anger, and fear and sorrow had bled out of you in a stream of words that you could not stop, Aemond had changed.

He had become more doting towards you, spending most of his time with you, his violet eye almost constantly on you, or a stray hand, elbow or any part of his body would find some way to be in contact with you.

When he performed his duties, the countless hours of reading and writing, he opted to do it more and more within your chambers or the large wooden table of the Library. On occasion you would even join him in his study, where he would attend to meeting with Lords and heads of Houses, never once dismissing you, and allowing you to sit in the background and listen. 

But today, he sat and read, and you opposite him, though your eyes trailed over the words on the page, you found that you could not focus upon the story in your hand, eyes straying to look at the man in front of you. 

What you had said, was true.

You knew that now.

Everything that you said was straight from your heart. The same heart which bled for the circumstances of your life. For your losses, and for the pain that you endured and would likely continue to do.

It was a daunting thing. To admit to someone who had taken so much from you, to admit to someone who had hurt you so much, that you loved them. 

But these small confessions, these small offerings of truth and honesty seemed to pull Aemond closer to you. Even in your bouts of cruelty, even in your anger which boiled over, and the blade of your tongue pointed sharply at him, he still allowed you this anger.

He allowed you to feel it. 

“Is it not to your liking?” Aemond commented, eye not straying from the page he was upon. 

You cleared your throat, shutting the tome and placing it upon the small table in front of you, “I find I cannot concentrate on anything Law related.” You stood from your seat and moved across the Library floors, Aemond’s eye lifting to watch you as you came closer.

You sat down beside him, your hands in your lap as he took one in his own, the other resting atop the browning page of the tome.

“Will you read to me?” You quietly asked, squeezing his hand back in yours.

The Prince wore green robes today, though they were such a deep green, that if you had not been sitting at his side, you would have mistaken them for a black.

His violet gaze rolled over your face before he dipped his head, returning to his reading. 

“It is the duty of the Crown to care for its subjects. Trade upon the Narrow Sea will aid the economy of the realm, and prevent such times in when the vaults become empty. Any gold that is not spent wisely can be counted as a loss to the people and their trade.” His voice was soothing and deep, and he read slowly for you, pronouncing each word with care as he kept his hand in yours, thumb stroking over the skin of your knuckles. 

“If in the case a King is in need of the Prince Regent, there may be certain actions that can be taken. A Prince Regent, or in some cases, a Princess Regent, is a Prince or Princess who, due to their position in the line of succession, rules a monarchy as regent in the stead of a monarch. This is always the second in line for the throne, or third if the second is unable. If the heirs of the monarch are too young to rule, incapacitated by illness or ailment, or have been sworn in as a knight of the realm, then the kin of the King may take his place. They shall rule on the throne as the King would, treating with Lords, Small Council meetings, and caring for the state of the realm and its subjects. He or she may be required to settle petty grievances from smaller or lesser Lords, or land rebuttals from common folk. The Prince or Princess Regent may only rule as a result of the sovereign's incapacity, be this illness, injury, state of mind, or their absence from ruling by distance, exile, voyage.”

“Why are you reading this?”

Aemond clicked his tongue, “I need to know what else I am responsible for.”

Your eyebrows creased, “But you have not been named Prince Regent.”

The air around you was static, and the hand in your lap stopped smoothing the skin of your knuckle.

“Despite Aegon not naming me Prince Regent, it is known by the Lords and Small Council that I act as one. It is my duty to treat with the Lords who come to Kings Landing, and know the comings and goings of our small trading fleets.”

You scooted closer to Aemond, resting your head atop his shoulder as you looked down at the old and worn pages.

“My mother had named me her Hand before I wed you.” You told him quietly.

Aemond hummed, pressing a kiss atop your head, “She was wise in doing that.”

“She did not name me her heir.”

“No.”

A gentle quiet wrapped itself around the two of you as you waited for Aemond to continue his reading, eyes having found the line he was up to. The warmth of the fireplace had nothing on the warmth that radiated from your uncles body beside you.

“Lord Corlys Velaryon’s fleet has resumed their trading again.” Aemond informed you, your eyes blinking from the information, “They are no longer anchored around Dragonstone or Driftmark.”

“That is good news. They will need the gold for my mothers Kingdoms.”

Aemond hummed and resumed his reading, thumb starting its ministrations against your knuckles once more. 

It was easier like this.

The calm.

The quiet between the two of you.

The bickering and fighting, anger, and rage of the both of you devouring each other had taken its toll. It was as though neither of you wished to disturb the peace you had finally settled into. Unwilling to disturb the dust that had settled after long last.

You watched the log of the fireplace slowly crumble away beneath the flames that ate it, little bursting crackles of fire rising to the top of the hearth and disappearing beneath the chimney. Each time you watched the flames, you thought of your dragon. 

How you missed him. 

It felt wrong to not be with him, or see him, or ride him. It was as though a part of you had been ripped away from your body. Like a limb that you still felt the phantom sensations of.

Because in truth, you still felt him, at the edges of your bond, angry, irritable, impatient.

Once Aemond had finished reading from the tome, he escorted the both of you back to your chambers where you had a quiet dinner, and an even quieter evening, settling amongst the pillows and sheets in his arms as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Aemond was to be in his study, and had insisted upon you joining him there. Before you left your own chambers, he told you to bring a book from the pile of your favourites with you to spend you day, and had even dared to ask if you wished to have the embroidery loom that Alicent had gotten some maids to deliver to your chambers be brought with you. 

You decided upon a book and the loom, and walked beside him to the study, which was in the same wing of the castle the throne room was.

The walk was quick, and soon Aemond was sat behind a large mahogany desk, quill in hand, parchment spread across the table, with three to four tomes open on the desk at varying pages. 

You sat in the chair opposite him, where Lords would usually be seated, and watched him as he worked, the loom on your lap, needle and thread pinched between your fingertips.

Deciding that it was best to leave him to his work, you began to attempt to embroider something. 

It was not for a lack of trying, it was more to do with a lack of practice or will, and if you were to be honest with yourself, the fact that you were particularly distracted by the man who sat before you, eye narrowed upon the parchment he was writing on, his long fingers wrapped delicately around a quill. 

It was the way his fingers held it, the way it moved it, such deep, quick, strokes from fingers that knew you most intimately. From fingers that could bring you to your peak quicker than your own could. 

You straightened yourself in your seat, the wood of the chair creaking slightly as you crossed one leg over the other, attempting to alleviate the sudden ache that had settle between your thighs.

Aemond’s violet and sapphire gaze flicked up to yours, watching as you shifted before they dove back down to resume their writing, the needle of your loom pricking the tip of your finger. You hissed, and brought the finger to your lips to suck, leaving the needle and thread to dangle carelessly in your lap.

It was as you were sucking the small bead of blood that leaked from the tip, that you felt the heat of Aemond’s eye. 

You looked up at him, so see that the grip on his quill was no longer a delicate one, but had tightened, and the lid of his violet eye, hooded. You sheepishly gave him a smile, dropping your hand back into your lap as you readjusted yourself again. 

“What are you writing?”

Aemond’s held your gaze for a beat, his eye boring into your own intensely before he looked back down at the parchment, quill scratching roughly into the paper with more edge than it had done before.

His hand lifted, dipping the quill into the ink pot, “Lord Redwyne of the Arbor has begun trade with your mother and Lord Corlys’ fleet.”

You frowned, “But House Redwyne swore and oath to your brother.”

Aemond’s pink lips pursed, “They did. Though it would seem that gold may be a higher incentive for such loyalties.”

You felt giddy, but kept your face placid, “Sailors need their wine. Do they only trade? If it is only trade, then they have clearly not declared for my mother as their Queen. Gold is gold.”

“Gold is gold.” Aemond hummed, “And we have plenty. I am making offers to give them more than what Rhaenyra has offered.”

“An incentive for loyalties.”

Aemond hummed in agreement. 

As you watched him continue to write, you could not help but notice something you had known for some time. Something you had voiced before, but not seen in action until now.

“You are a better fit for the throne than Aegon.”

Aemond’s sharp gaze met yours, and you watched as his eye narrowed upon your form, cheek twitching.

“You already act as King. You make informed, calculated, educated moves.” You opened your mouth again to continue, but the way Aemond was looking at you, told you to stop.

And so you did.

“Apologies.” You said meekly, looking back down at the loom in your lap, picking up the needle and thread that had been forgotten as you move to press it into the material.

“You would be a better fit than Jacaerys.”

A sharp sting settled in your chest, and a weight in your gut. Now you knew what Aemond had felt in that moment. Not a sense of loyalty, or blind rejection. 

Bitter resentment.

Because despite it being the truth, despite it being a compliment most assured, it was the reality of it that cut deep.

The chambers were quiet, and you felt your husband staring at you for some time before the scratching of his quill began again. And in no time at all, to fill the space, he began to tell you about the Redwyne House, as though memorised word for word from a tome.

Most likely memorised word for word from a tome, if you knew anything about your husband.

“The seat of House Redwyne is the Arbor. It is an island located off the southwestern-most part of Westeros. One day I will take you there on dragonback. It is beautiful, if not for the heat in the summer. They make the best wine in Westeros, and have been serving it to the Targaryen dynasty for hundreds of years. Though I know you have a taste for spiced Dornish wines, and on occasion the honeyed wine we get from Essos.” Aemond spoke to the pages, your eyes watching his lips as he spoke.

Each word, each piece of knowledge that he revealed to you, only made the insides of your thighs grow wet with your slick. You didn’t know what was happening to you, but the intelligence of your husband was a refreshing change to the idiocy of the rest of the King’s men. 

“The Redwynes control the Redwyne fleet, the largest fleet in Westeros, which could rival Lord Corlys’ but they have no thirst or desire for war and fighting. Lord Redwyne has informed us that they have two hundred warships and as much as five times as many mercheant carracks. Not including the wine cogs, trading galleys and whaling ships they have at their disposal.”

You squeezed your thighs together, watching as Aemond moved the full parchment to one side of the desk and picked up another, “They would seem to be a formidable foe if they had the thirst for power. Gold is their power. Much like the Lannister House. Though they are lions, I would say their scratch and bite has been reduced to that of a kitten.”

You body felt as though it was burning up, loom long forgotten in your lap as your squeezed the edges of the wood for grounding. Aemond, not even looking up from his page, must have noticed your predicament.

“Come here.” He mumbled, quill scratching into the parchment, not even looking up at you as he commanded you to him. 

You all but jumped from your seat, walking around the table to stand beside him, looking down at him as he continued to write, the parchment and his words far more important than the needs of his wife in that moment. 

The One-Eyed Prince shifted to lean back in his chair, opening space for you to crawl into as he dipped the quill into the ink pot again. Gathering your skirts in your hands, you crawled onto his lap and straddled him, facing him as your knees rested upon the large wooden seat beside his hips.

One hand came to hold the meat of your side as you settled your core against him, feeling the hardness of his length beneath you. You inhaled sharply and moved to roll your hips, but Aemond's hand tightened on your hip, and with his other hand, he began to untie his breeches, eye coming to watch your face. 

You bit your lip as you waited, hands coming to rest on his shoulders, nails digging into the material of his tunic. The desire that rolled through you multiplied as his hands reached into his pants and pulled out his cock, the tip slightly pink and leaking with arousal.

He held it up for you as you rose on your knees, lining himself up with your dripping core before you slowly slid down on his length. Aemond hummed deeply as you slid down him, feeling his girth stretch you open.

When your hips met his, and the delicious fullness overwhelmed you, you sat for a moment, shifting your knees forward so that he could reach you deeper. 

A small mewl fell from your lips, and the hand on your hip tightened. You moved to rise on his length to begin riding him, but Aemond's hand on your hip kept you down on top of him. The Prince leant forward, the shift causing his cock to brush against the spongey spot within. 

“Please.” You whined, rutting your hips forward, core fluttering around his cock.

“In a moment. I need to finish my work.” He grunted, picking up his quill to begin writing again. 

“Aemond.” You griped, grinding your hips down on him, the hand on your hip bruising your skin.

A puff of air passed Aemond lips, “Sit there, look pretty, and do as you’re told." He grunted, "You be good, and you will get what you want after.”

You grumbled, clenching yourself around him to try and satiate your need and lure him in, which only amplified your want.

“Be still.” He growled, resuming his writing, “Aegon has plans to clear the poverty of Flea Bottom.”

You huffed, trying to keep your hips still as you felt his length throb inside of you, “I don’t want to talk about Aegon right now.”

Aemond, ignoring your complaint, continued, “He has plans to demolish the poorly built shacks in the slums.”

You shifted slightly before giving up, sinking down onto Aemond's length with a huff as you rested your head against his chest, his arm circling around your waist to keep you against him, “But what about the people who live there?” You mumbled against his tunic.

“Exactly. He has no plans for them. Said they’ll ‘find some other hole or dwelling to squeeze into.’” The soft scratching of the quill stopped, waiting for your response.

You turned your head and let your eyes stray to the page behind you.

He was waiting for your response. 

“But Flea Bottom is overcrowded as it is, it-“ You swallowed thickly, feeling Aemond shift his hips up slightly into you, “It would start fights amongst the small folk there and rise to the top.”

Aemond thrusted up into you again, the head of his cock brushing against the sensitive patch inside of you. A soundless sigh fell from your lips, slick coating the base of his cock, “Clever girl. And what else?” He asked, voice smooth and even.

You licked your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sat up straighter, looking over his shoulder at the wall behind, “A revolt could start. The small folk could turn against us.”

Aemond’s hand on your hip guided you down onto his length as he pushed himself into you deeply, the hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your sensitive bud, “And that would not be good for public relations, would it?”

You moaned softly, hands winding their way into his hair to grip tightly, “N-no. It would fray tensions even further, bringing more support for my mothers rule despite the treaty.”

Another thrust, yet this time he stilled, smoothing the skin on your hip with gentle fingers. You felt like you were going to implode, the tension already winding rapidly, and yet his movements not quite giving you what you needed. 

“And what would you do about Flea Bottom?”

You tried to shift your hips again, to find that you could not move with the hold he had on you. You whined into his neck.

“I asked you a question.”

You huffed, “I would build proper foundations in the slums, offer new housing. It would create trust and graciousness with the common people to the Crown.”

Aemond’s hand slid from your hip as he wrote with his other, his long fingers dipping beneath the skirt of your gown, brushing against your inner thighs teasingly, “That is the smart thing to do. But where do we get the gold, or stonemasons?”

Your hips thrust forward, trying to chase his hand, “You have plenty of gold.”

His hand slid to the meat of your inner thigh, resting heavily against it, “Not what I asked you.” 

“Aemond.”

“Y/n.” He mocked you, “We both know you are clever, unless you are cock dumb. Tell me what you truly think. Tell me what you would do in my position. Then, I will reward you.”

You thought for a moment, cunt throbbing around him, “Raising the taxes would only create more stress upon the people who do not have the coins to spare.”

“Good.” He encouraged you, hand sliding back up to your core, hovering just over your pearl.

Emboldened, you swallowed thickly and continued, “And if you were to raise the taxes upon Noble born, it would also cause for troubles. Gold is gold, and their allegiance would be swayed.”

“Yes.” Aemond’s long finger pressed down onto your pearl and you jerked in his lap, a small grunt falling from his lips, Aemond slowly rolled your bud beneath his fingers in gentle circles, “So what can be done?”

Pleasure wound its way up your body as he waited for your response, your mind going slightly fuzzy as you tried to reason with your thoughts.

“If you raise the taxes, but only slightly with Noble born, make it almost unnoticeable. Even if it is by one or two more gold dragons, it is still more gold in the Crowns hand. But don’t raise taxes on the common folk,” Another swirl around your bud, but harder, “There are more of them than us, and despite most Lords believing their worth and word to not be worth what they have at their disposal, you’ll find that ruling with a love from your people is far better than with fear.”

Aemond continued to write behind you, dipping his quill into the ink pot, loudly and slowly scraping it, tapping the metal nib against the glass loudly. His fingers increased their speed, your walls tightening around him.

“We live g-gluttonous lives in the Keep. If we were to cut back, ah!” Aemond fingers sped up their movements, gathering the slick that had pooled into his lap to bring back to your pearl, the coil in your stomach winding, “If we c-cut back on our supplies then we could, -ngh, we could-“

“Yes?”

“We could cut costs there, and use gold in the vaults for said things on-ngh the infrastructure of Flea Bottom. It could in turn create new b-businesses, which means-ah-more people paying taxes, more gold-fuck-in the vaults and more gold to spend. Masons are easy to come by, give the-oh Gods-small folk the tools and means, and-“ You moaned loudly, feeling the coil begin to snap.

“Keep going, come on.” His fingers sped up, his cock firmly seated inside of you, stretching you and pressing against your walls in all the ways you needed.

“They could b-build themselves, or-or you could ask loyalists to offer their hand.”

Aemond dropped the quill into the holder, eye finally on you, “Good girl.”

His fingers pressed into your pearl sharply, and the coil snapped. 

You writhed atop his lap as your release shot through you, walls clamping down on his length as you moaned in the chambers. Your limbs tingled with sparks of pleasure, wetness seeping onto Aemond’s robes below. 

Your eyes scrunched tight, and Aemond moved forward to kiss at your temple as his hand begin to soothe your back. You slumped against him, cock still inside of you, hard and wanting as you breathed heavily, the world spinning on its axis.

“Olvie sȳz.” Very good, Aemond purred, your eyes blinking drearily against his chest.

You swallowed again, feeling Aemond lips press into your hair, “You could cut back on imports of apples from Cider Hall. House Farroway often sends extra anyway, and I see the apples rot and go to waste here. If we cannot give them to the people, then we should not spend so frivolously.”

“I shall write to House Farroway and notify them of our change in barrels needed.”

Your brows furrowed. 

He had listened to you?

You shifted in his lap again, feeling Aemond still very much hard and deep within you.

Pulling back to look at his face, you placed your hands on his shoulders, "Let me help you.” You whispered.

But to your surprise, Aemond took one of your hands from him and kissed the open palm as he shifted his hips, hard member slipping from your core. You whimpered, feeling each ridge of his cock brush against your overstimulated centre.

“Later.” He murmured, before pulling you back against him. 

The sound of parchment and quills was all that was heard for the duration of the day, with you seated still flush on Aemond lap.

“There have been rebellions in the Riverlands.”

The words made you come alive.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

Sobbing hardcore on my bed rn !!!

Holy Hell.... I just finished writing S,F&A....

GOOD AFTER NOON FROM ME TEE!!!

I can’t believe this masterpiece is coming to an end and this chapter?! I’m dead ( I can’t do this anymore! I need them happy )

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond and reader really be going through it together, call that shit trauma bonding ok? I'm so tired but also so keen to pump out these chapters for you so that we can finish this month long journey that has been Smoke, Fire and Ash. You are all the best!!! I love you so much! Enjoy <3

Chapter 93: Stoking the Flames 

What are women but an object for men to possess?

A body they can press their hands into, and mark with their teeth. Giving them validation that they are men, man enough, above status, better born.

Noble.

A vessel for their cocks, ears to hear their woes, and arms to hold them tenderly when needed. A body for them to take out their anger, a body for them to act upon their lust. A way for them to let out the rising tensions within their own bodies without repentance. 

A good wife should never say no. A good wife should never fight back. A good wife should have 'yes' at the very tip of her tongue, 'thank you' in the back of her throat, 'please' at the ends of her fingers, 'more' between her thighs.

A good wife should be smiles and curtseys, kisses on both cheeks and eyes, embroidery wheels, and laughter. The womb for his child, the mother to raise them, the teacher to teach them, the cook to feed them, the cleaner to keep the house tidy for them all.

A tongue that is bitten and raw, teeth that are chipped and broken, words unspoken and kept between brittle fingers and chewed lips. A body bent to his will, when he wants, without question because he is your husband, and that is what you are meant to do.

But you were not a good wife. At least, not in a way of being complacent and weak.

You were far more than that.

And Aemond now knew this.

Your confessions to one another seems to have begun to pull the seams between the two of you back together. Each thread being tugged, to make you whole.

To burn together. Not apart. 

As one.

And despite the horrors that you had faced, despite the losses that seems to continue to mount against you, you knew that you had a duty to your mother. To the realm. To your husband even. And this duty extended itself to dining with the King without argument. To dining with the people who watched as you were dragged to the throne room, all teeth and claws, to watch your ally be slain before you. 

A warning. 

A threat. 

Their victory. 

The Greens believed in their heart of hearts, that the Maester was the only eyes in the Keep. Or at least, you suspected Aegon to believe this. Alicent, despite her sometimes lack of spine and wherewithal, had a paranoia that often worked to her favour, not to her mental health, her chewed and battered fingers and all round jumpy demeanour could attest to that, but perhaps to the way things always seemed to fall in line around her, no matter how messy.

The maids were silent as they doted on you, as though the simplest of touches would pull a carefully laid brick in your very being, and the rest of you would fall down, tumbling to the surface below with a crash.

It was a black gown you wore, not only in support of your mother, but in mourning of the mother you would not become. 

High necked, and tight sleeved, the bodice wrapped around you tightly, false dragon scales lining your bust with a dark leather, the sleeves cuffed over your middle finger in a sharp point. Skirts of sweeping black, and hair braided tightly behind your head, not a hair out of place, not a strand left loose.

Stiff. 

Strict.

Together.

A vision of power, despite how powerless you felt.

Aemond wore black leathers, a similar scaling press at the front of his own chest, buckles of gold reaching right beneath his chin. His own hair pulled back into a half braid at the back of his head, large rings upon his fingers, and his sweeping black leather coat that used to strike fear in you. 

And so you walked, as one, in unity.

One in loss.

One in mourning.

One in fire and blood, and rage and grief. 

Walking as one to the Small Dining Hall where you knew the both of your strengths would be tested by the King and all those surrounding. By the Council. By the Dowager Queen and the Hand. All eyes would be upon you, and all lips would no doubt utter false senses of condolences and meagre hints of regret.

You were exhausted.

Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

And as Aemond walked you through the corridors, he kept with your pace, his hand in yours, letting you squeeze his tightly. Preparing yourself for the inevitable.

When you had entered the Hall together, the room instantly became silent, and the thundering roar of blood in your ears filled the noise instead. Each step that you took seemed to echo, and each breath that you breathed seemed to rattle within your lungs. 

All eyes were on you. 

Not Aemond. 

You.

And your eyes were on Aegon. 

He matched your stare with equal verocity, violet eyes glinting in triumph. 

I won, they said.

And he had.

For now. 

No one spoke a word as you sat in your seats, nor did they stop their silent staring at you either. It was worse, you thought, this false pity. Worse than the usual disdain or hatred.

It made you feel weak. 

“Princess,” Aegon began, tone low and filled with false sorrow, “You should be resting in your chambers.”

You cleared your throat softly, shifting in your chair as you watched the tables reaction.

Everyone seemed to be on edge.

“I have rested plenty. I have a duty to my husband, and he a duty to his King.”

Aegon nodded solemnly, as though he was not the catalyst for your losses, “You are a good wife to be sure. And strong.” 

You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around at the Lords and Lady Alicent, who watched you with cautious and sad eyes. The table was full of food already, piled high with meats and legumes, gravies and sauces, and large decanters of wine and ale. 

Turning to Alicent, you gave her a terse smile, “Lady Alicent, might you say a prayer to begin?”

Alicent blinked at you doe-ishly for a moment, before nodding, holding her hands in front of her, “May we pray to the Father,” She began, and all Lords bent their heads to look at there hands in prayer, whilst Aegon kept his eyes on you, “And ask him to guide the child lost to the Stranger gently where it may rest."

You let your gaze meet Aegon, and fire erupted within. His lips were pulled forward in a pout as he looked at you, then to your husband beside you, who’s head was diligently bowed, and eye slid shut.

Alicent continued her prayer as heat rose within you, “May we pray to the Mother, for mercy and peace, and ask her to give blessings for a new heir.”

You swallowed thickly, hands in your lap tightening into fists, “May the Crone guide us forward, and show us the path to strength and unity.”

The prayer ended, and all eyes fell upon you again, some looking away as your gaze met theirs, others offering you a sad smile in brittle support.

“I pray to the Father,” Aegon began, hands tucked under his chin as everyone warily looked at him, “I ask that he delivers divine justice, and judgement upon my actions, and pray that he forgives me of my misdeed which led to the loss of an innocent babe.”

You breathed heavily, teeth clenched as he looked at you.

“Very good, My Lord.” Otto Hightower praised stiffly from his side, whilst Alicent looked as though she had turned a shade of grey.

Aemond dropped a hand into your lap, stopping the way one of your own pulled at the skin of the other meanly. His large fingers pressed between yours, squeezing it in a subtle show of strength, a show of support. A sign that he was there with you. 

An attempt to ground you.

“I pray that he delivers such justice indeed.” Came you cool response, reaching forward to pour yourself a goblet of wine, bringing it your lips as you did not trust yourself to hold your tongue. 

The Lords around the table began to eat, and their own chatter rose amongst each other, replacing the once stale, stagnant air. And as they spoke, Alicent asked after you. 

“Might there be anything that you need, Princess? Perhaps we could go to the Sept together and pray.” 

An attempt at kindness. 

But kindness did not come to the Lady Alicent easily.

You swallowed, feeling Aemond’s hand still in your lap, “That is kind of you, Your Grace. But for now, I think I need time to spend with the Old Gods first.”

The older woman gave a crooked smile, “Of course.”

You all ate, yourself and Aemond staying quiet, listening to the filler conversations that the Lords tiptoed around, all the while Aegon continued to stare at you in a way you could not describe. 

Was there remorse there behind his eyes?

“My condolences to you, brother, and to you niece.” Aegon spoke quietly to you both, “It is no easy thing to lose a child.”

Jaehaerys.

Aemond’s eye was cast down at his plate, before he gave a solemn nod. 

The hand in your lap tightened.

“Have you written to your mother and father to tell them of the loss?” Aegon inquired, placing his cutlery softly against his plate, he was treading carefully. 

Too carefully. 

He was worried for your parents reaction. 

“I had not the chance to tell them I was with child, and it would seem silly to send them such notice of losing one they didn’t know I had.” Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth.

“Of course, it would be difficult to say such things over parchment. A far better conversation to have in person, when one can convey the misfortune of it all. Not at all what I had intended, I would never wish anything like the loss of a child upon a mother.”

You ground your teeth down in your jaw, Alicent and Otto watching you and Aemond carefully. 

“Your apologies are too kind, Your Grace.” The words were sour in your mouth, "You were not to know of the outcome of such a thing.”

Aegon’s violet gaze searched your face before he asked a new question, “And how are you faring? Is the new Maester tending to your needs?”

The new Maester. 

“He is perfectly acceptable.” Came your stiff response.

Aegon smiled, “Good. Did you know that he was the one to treat Aemond’s eye when he lost it?”

Aemond’s hand twitched in your lap, and it was your turn to soothe him. 

“I did.”

“Then you are in good hands.”

“Indeed.”

You finished your meal, and as the Lords continued to dance around you, you decided that you had had enough. Standing from your chair, you offered no bow, no apologies, but instead stiffened your posture, holding your hands in front of you as you had been taught to do, and excused yourself from the Dining Hall. 

Aemond followed you, curt farewell on his tongue.

Your maids dressed you for bed as soon as you entered the chambers, and soon enough you are beneath the sheets, calling out for Aemond to join you. He crawled in from behind, the heat of his body engulfing you. You rolled in your spot, turning to face him before you asked him to hold you. 

Aemond pulled you tight against his chest, lifting your leg over his hip to slot his between yours. Not in a sexual way, but in a way to have you as close as possible, to have all of you pressed against him. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you lay in the dark of the chambers. 

“I wish things were different.” You whispered to no-one. It was just something that you wished. Something that you needed to speak into existence, for you feared if it was not said, it would not be true.

Aemond only pulled you tighter against him, small hum vibrating his chest as he kissed the top of your head, keeping his lips against your hair.

“I wish he was dead.”

Spoken into existence again. 

Aemond’s chest stilled, before breathing again gently.

You licked your lips, inhaling the scent of your husband. Musk. Sandalwood. Smoke.

“I wish Aegon was dead.”

You felt hot air blow against the top of your scalp, but Aemond did not move to stop you, and so you let the roll of thoughts tumble out of your mouth. The thoughts and words which had been hiding in the back of your throat, your tongue bitten and bleeding, teeth chipped and raw.

“I can still feel it.” You breathed, heart beginning to race in your chest, "I can still feel the way he felt inside of me. The way he forced himself inside of me.” Aemond’s hands tensed on your flesh, and you felt the familiar sting of tears on your eyes. 

“I remember it all. The fear. The terror. The pain.”

Another sharp blow of air atop your head.

“I called out to you, and he would not stop. I tried to stop him. I tried-“ You hiccupped, feeling a sob wrack your body, “But he was so strong, and I couldn’t move, and all I could do was pray you would come home and save me.”

Aemond murmured your name so quietly that you would have missed it if his breath were not above your ear.

“I hate it. I hate him. I hate that I know what he felt like. I hate that he was inside of me. How he laughed at me. How he mocked you. I think about it and I feel sick. I feel so sick and horrified at the thought of him in our bed again.”

Tears slid down your cheeks, and you felt Aemond press another kiss to your head, though his body was stiff, and vibrating with energy.

“Sometimes,” You licked your lips, tasting your salty tears as your voice crackled, “Sometimes I’m thankful we lost the babe.”

Aemond’s chest stopped again, no hot air of his breath moving across your scalp.

“B-ecause,” Your voice wavered, more tears beginning to fall, landing in the crux of your neck wetly, “What if the Moon Tea hadn’t worked. What if it was Aegon’s.” A sob fell from your lips. “What if-“

“Shh.” Aemond whispered atop your head, shifting so that your body was now atop his. You curled atop him, his hands coming to hold you against his body as you felt his chest rise and fall raggedly beneath you.

“Ēdrugon, byka mēre.” Sleep, little one, The One-Eyed Prince whispered atop your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead gently, “Ñuha idaña perzys, ȳdra daor pendagon hen ra.” My twin flame, don’t think of such things.

“Nyke vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry, You sobbed into his chest, feeling him hold you against him impossibly tight.

“Shh, konīr iksis daorun naejot sagon vaoreznuni syt.” There is nothing to be sorry for.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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IM UP PULLING AN ALL NIGHTER SO:

HEYYY TEEE!!! MORNING TO YA!!!!!

This chapter has me like:

Cause OMG?!

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Angst, grief, sorrow, fighting.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, here is the next chapter hehe, bit of a sad one but what do we expect from SF&A at this point? Lmaooo. I've almost completely finished writing the whole series, so updates may become more regular as I pump it all out for you. What a journey this has been! Enjoy <3

Chapter 92: Burn Together

To say that things went back to normal would be a farce.

It was all a farce. 

The fake smiles. The small nods. The words of affirmation and condemnation. The false sense of security and even falser acts of content. It was all wrong. It was all changed. And it was all too much.

You spend much of your days in the Garden, sat where you were usually seated, staring out at the water as you tried to uphold some sense of strength. Tried to show some vision of superiority and that the loss of the child was divine intervention. As though the anger and hurt had gone, as though the sadness and regret had left, because you knew it was for the better, or perhaps the Gods had told you so. 

Words came to you rarely as you began to shrink into yourself again, but with each shrinking moment came the bursting strikes of life. Not happiness or joy, not frustration or longing, pure and uncontested rage.

Rage that it happened.

Rage that he had done nothing.

Rage at your stupidity.

Rage at your desire for more.

Aemond did not try to pry words from you, nor did he even try to touch you. He simply let you exist around him, giving you the space to come to him when needed. Late at night, in the darkness of the chambers you would roll to face him, and the most bitter of sobs would leave your lips. 

At first Aemond had been uncertain, and stayed still amongst the sheets, unsure of whether or not to hold you or offer you support. But when you had rolled and pressed yourself into his side, his arms had curled around you in a way that felt natural, as though your body was made to fit between his in such a way, and let you cry against his chest. 

Your clothes, your maids noticed, had begun to wear large on you, finding that you had no want to eat nor any appetite to do so. Even with the gentle encouragement of them both, you still did not find the heart to do it, looking at the bowl of star fruit in front of you, stomach full of lead. 

But Aemond allowed you to do it. 

He allowed you to grieve, but at some point, everyone has their limit, and it seemed that tonight was the night for his. 

“You need to eat, Y/n. You need move past this grief. Do not let it consume you.” He implored, grasping at your cheeks.

You pulled away from him, looking up at him with a shaky lip, “Nothing you do will ever make this okay! Nothing you say will take away what you have already done, or what you are to do.”

“What are you talking about?” He questioned, deep lines in his brow.

“This! Us!” You broke, “All of it. It seems as though the Gods have destined us with nothing but pain and agony, and how much more must I bear? My heart cannot take it, Aemond.” A tear slid down your cheek, “I am tired, but more than this I am so alone. So very much alone even with you standing in front of me. Even as I can reach out and touch you with mine own hands. Even as you promise me sweet nothings, I know that it will never be enough to satiate the hungers of the punishments I will soon be lashed with.”

Aemond shook his head, stepping forward towards you again, “Do you think I am going to hurt you? I’m not going to punish you for losing the child. It was not your fault.”

A sob fell from your lips, “Then why do I feel one coming? Why do I always feel as though I am one hair away from your cruelty? We take one step forward together and five steps back. I have given you everything, and yet what do you give me? Nothing. You did nothing. You stood there and watched as I was brought before Aegon. What if it had been me? I thought it was going to be me! And you stood there like a craven and just watched.”

His violet eye blinked at you, the sapphire beside it, still.

You sucked in a breath again, “You watched as your precious wife, the mother to your child, was brought to the throne by force. You watched as Aegon threatened to take my tongue. And what did you do, Aem? You stood there and did fucking nothing!” Anger rose within you, bubbling viciously beneath your skin, “You stood there like a craven as your brother accused me of treason! Your wife! Your supposed love! Your one childhood companion who did nothing but defend you, no matter the odds or punishment! It has always been me. I have been the only one to ever love you. The only one to ever care. The only one to ever defend you. How many times did I do that for you? From the training yard, to the dragon pit, to the Sept. And when the time came for you to defend my honour, you were that same, scared little boy who would hide in the tunnels after his brother would tease him.” Heat rose on your cheeks as you looked at your uncle, his face stern and his eye narrowed.

"You expected me to do what?" Aemond snapped, "What did you expect me to do in that moment? I was not even told you were being brought to the chambers. I could not have possibly done anything that would not have made it worse. If Aegon had seen me react, he would have delighted in the sight and been moved to do more."

You scoffed, “I am burdened with being wed to a coward who hides behind the illusion of duty. A man who cannot even stand up to his drunken, pathetic, whoring brother.” You forced out a humourless laugh, watching as Aemond became irritated, “My husband who rides the largest dragon in the world, my husband who is a skilled warrior; sits and waits to be told what to do like a dog. Doing everyone else’s bidding.” You stepped closer to him, eyeing him down, “If I had not seen your cock, I would have suspected you were a eunuch.”

“My duty is to my brother, to my mother. To my blood.” He sneered.

“And what of my blood, Aemond? What of our union? What of the prophesies from the Gods? Did they not command you to act as you watched me be dragged by men into the throne room? That babe may have been the Prince that was Promised, and now it is gone. Because of you.”

Aemond huffed, “I could do naught! He is my brother. He is the King.”

“And I am your wife! And the blood of the dragon between us runs thicker than the water of the womb you have shared. Like a scared little boy. Never have I seen you so pathetic. You left me for dead.”

Aemond scowled, “I would never do that to you.”

“And yet, you did. You left me at the hands of your brother. And you watched. You have only lost one eye, yet you are so blinded by your duty to them. I feel as though I have died already. I died the moment I watched you do nothing, as those men touched me, as the pain creeped into my womb. I died the moment I realised I meant nothing to you, and that you would let my fate fall into Aegon’s hands. Is this a cruel joke from the Stranger? Is my true reality too grievous for my soul to take? Am I destined for all eternity to love a man who does not love me back?”

“I do love you.” Aemond insisted, frustration in his tone.

“Then why do you let them hurt me?!” You cried, “Why do you hurt me? The Gods play tricks on my mind and my body, and punish me for your actions. She was your whore. Your bastard. And yet I was punished for it. Not you. Me.”

“I lost the child too, do you not think that it pains me so?”

“I know it does not! You did not feel it as I felt. You did not feel the life leave my body, or the pain that came after. You did not feel it pass through me.” You sniffed, another tear falling.

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked down at you, voice dangerously low, “I thought I lost you both.”

“And that is where the sickness and depravity of the Gods come to fruition. It is a never ending cycle of hurt and be hurt. I do not know what they have planned for me, but I fear it, Aemond. I fear the path they have paved for me. That child was from them, I know it. I felt it in my bones. And yet we lost it. Will they punish me now for being so careless? Will they punish us both for not ensuring its birth? I cannot continue to wreak the consequences of the men around me. I will break. I will break like poor Helaena did. But even to that, there is nothing I can do because I fell in love with a man who’s actions wound me most terribly. There is this small, foolish piece of me still holding onto hope that the Aemond I grew up with would still care for me as he did.”

“I do. I love you deeply. I would do anything for you, surely you know this.” Aemond began, stepping forward to hold your face tightly in his large palms, thumbs brushing the tears that fell from your cheeks.

“It is okay,” You heaved a breath, “Please just tell me if it is a farce.” You grabbed his wrists almost desperately, “If you only say it so for the treaty. I will understand, I will even make my peace with it.” You said desperately,  “But please, I cannot survive my heart being torn apart by you any longer. I cannot do it, Aemond. I won’t. I will throw myself from Maegor’s Holdfast, I promise you this. I will set you free from these marriage bonds if you so wish, and my spirit from this earthly plane.”

Aemond stepped towards you, grabbing your shoulder and neck, fingers framing your chin, “Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, “Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao.  Kesan va moriot jorrāelagon ao.  Se qēlossās kostagon ropagon hen se jēdar, se nyke iēdrosa jorrāelagon ao.” I have always loved you. I will always love you. The stars could fall from the sky, and I would still love you.  

Aemond’s eye narrowed as he spoke, brow furrowed in a way that creased the scar at his brow, “Eman jorrāelatan ao pār nyke ēlī ilagontan laesi va ao.  Se kesan jorrāelagon ao ēva ñuha mōrī jelevre.” I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. And I will love you until my last breath.

A loud sob left your lips as your heart clenched in your chest at his words.

"Hen se gūrēñare yard, naejot se havor tistālion, ēza va moriot issare ao.” From the training yard, to the kitchen, it has always been you.

“Aemond.” You hands tightened around his wrists in a way that would have been painful as you clutched him for dear life.

The Prince pulled you forward towards him, clutching you against his chest as he let you cry, wrapping his large arms around you, blanketing you in a feeling of safety that only he could bring to you.

You cried into him, feeling the last of your resolve fall away, and the rawness of your grief exposed to the chambers. He held you to him tightly, afraid to let go, your hands tightly wrapped in the front of his tunic.

When Aemond finally pulled back, he brought his lips to yours. It wasn’t burning with passion or desire, it wasn’t laced with regret and grief, instead, his lips moved against yours like a gentle whisper of assurance, a smaller whisper of truth, and the almost invisible whisper of a promise, all of which was overpowered by one thing, and one thing only.

Love.

Your uncle pulled away, looking down at you with nothing but adoration as he spoke again,“Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre. Spool hen kasta, spool hen zōbrie. Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon. Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.” 

Two great dragon flames, together as one. Spool of green, spool of black. A great fall to tie two threads. Fated to burn together.  

Tears continued to fall, but not because of grief. Not because of the sorrow that swallowed you into its dark pit, its wispy tendrils pulling you beneath its icy surface. Not because of the regret that you had, or guilt that you felt for the Maester.

You cried because you knew it was the truth. 

You knew it to be.

It had to be. 

All of this could not be for naught.

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, He whispered again.

You gave him a sad smile in return, “And I love you, but I don’t think I will survive this.”

“I will not let them hurt you.” 

You looked at Aemond carefully, watching as the words left his mouth, at the way his eye held conviction, at the way his mouth held an almost Godly truth.

The way he said it to be true.

As though speaking would make it so.

“You already have.”

Aemond dipped his head towards you again and kissed you, pulling you against his body once more as you wrapped your arms around him, sighing into the kiss, feeling relief in his touch, safety in his arms, warmth in his reach.

Slowly Aemond moved you backwards towards the bed.

Your heart did not race nor skip, your breath did not hitch, and you went with him willingly, hands reaching the bottom of his tunic to begin unclasping the latches that held it together. 

When the last clasp was undone, your hands skated beneath gently, softly, slowly, and moved up his torso, feeling the hard lines of his body, and the warmth of his skin, and the subtle breaths that he took as you made your way to his shoulders, hands moving beneath to slide it off his his body. It fell to the floor, the next his under tunic, and before long, your hands reached forward to unlace his breeches. 

Aemond spun you softly, pushing your hair away from your neck and forward over your shoulder, kissing the bare skin as he unlaced and the back of your gown, the heavy material sagging on your body until it slid to the floor beneath you. 

Breeches and chemises were lost, boots and stockings tossed, until finally the two of you laid atop the green sheets of your bed, his callused hands skating over your skin in reverence, with undying patience and care. 

First he took you with his mouth, bringing you to your peak with the help of his long fingers, stretching you open for him and whispering words of praise against your slick skin. When you peaked with a cry, he kissed his way up your body, through the valley of your breasts until he hovered above you, seeking permission to move as he lined himself with your core. 

You tilted your head upwards, chasing his lips as he slid inside of you slowly, the both of you moaning into each others mouths. Pleasure coursed through you with every thrust, heat blooming in your core as he made love to you for the first time.

It was not possessive or rough, violent or haste, it was slow, and sensual, hands mapping out bodies, savouring the flickering sparks that spouted beneath your skin. The small sighs that he made, the moans as he dipped his head into your neck.

All of it devastatingly pure.

The tears came without you even noticing them there, Aemond finding them upon your cheeks with a moment of concern. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks as he stilled, the length of him throbbing inside of you, desperate to keep moving. 

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head vehemently, “I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time apart.” You whispered, hips moving up to meet his, encouraging him to move again, “I wish the war had not happened.” Aemond slid through your folds as you babbled beneath him, “I wish that we had not done the things we had done.” 

Aemond bent his neck to kiss you again, tongue chasing yours before he pulled away, the breath having been stolen from your lungs.

“We cannot go back, we can only move forward.”

You nodded, weakness and sorrow buried down beneath you as you looked at him with determination.

“Burn together.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

MORNING TEE!!!

aemond hate club back in session ?!?

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Miscarriage, death of a foetus, blood, depression, anger, angst, grief.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello sweethearts, please read the trigger warnings for this one. Tread carefully as always, and I love you all. I have absolutely LOVED seeing you all talking and thinking and even plotting on what is happening! Makes me so happy <3

Chapter 91: The Absence of Three

Aemond escorted you back to your chambers as you whimpered and hissed in pain. It was so overwhelming, and unlike anything you felt before. The pain came in waves, and it felt like your hips were being crushed together, your whole core clenching in agony. 

Aemond kept asking you what was wrong, kept whispering to you what was happening, and each time he came to your side as you clutched the back of the chaise, another wave crashing through you, you grit your teeth and pushed him away with a curse.

“I shall fetch the Maester.”

“He’s dead.” You growled, hands rubbing against the front of your dress as anxiety climbed higher and higher within you.

“I shall fetch the other.”

“No.” You snipped, doubling over again. 

And then you felt it.

Something wet and warm between your legs which felt familiar and foreign all at once. But you knew. Of course you knew. Because your body knew.

Aemond watched in confusion as you reached a hand beneath your skirts, grunting as you moved under the different layers. 

Just as you mother once had.

Your fingertips pressed against the warm, wetness, and with slow movements, you brought it back out and away, your hand hovering in front of you. 

But you knew. 

You already knew.

They were covered in blood. 

“What’s happening?” Aemond asked, spotting the blood.

But it was too late.

And you knew.

And he knew that too, but he was in denial. A sick and twisted attempt to undo what had been done, to have faith in his precious Seven that the child would be saved.

But deep down, he knew, just as you did.

It felt like the day your mother had lost your sister. Now only you in her place.

Is this what she had felt? Was this the agony she had endured?

But Rhaenyra's pregnancy was further along than yours, and she had to give birth to the body of your sister who was already still. 

Would you face the same fate?

Agony rolled through you again, and you sobbed. Aemond rushed to your side, holding your back and one arm as you grunted. You squeezed his hand as the pain did not let up, nor ease.

As if thinking he could help, the fool that he was, the man that he was, for men don't truly know the horrors of being a woman, Aemond raced towards the door and called for the knight to bring the Maester.

You laughed humourlessly at him, watching as he turned around in confusion, your knuckles white against the back of the chaise.

“It’s too late.” You sobbed angrily, pushing away from the chaise as you stumbled towards the wardrobe, bending over as your hand reached behind it, Aemond watching with a hawklike expression. 

“What are you doing?” His brows were furrowed from across the room, rooted to the spot as he watched you rummage at a wall.

“Something I should have done in the first place.” You spat back at him, pain, and anger, and grief moving through you. Your fingers finally found what they were looking for, grazing the small vial that you had wedged there, not too long ago. 

Aemond took slow steps towards you, suspicion in his eye as you whimpered once again. With great determination, you pulled the vial from the wall, uncorking it with your teeth and bringing it to your lips.

The ruta root slid down the vial and into your waiting mouth. 

Aemond stormed towards you, snatching the vial from your hand as he looked at it. You chewed hastily and swallowed, ignoring the foul taste on your tongue.

Aemond looked ready to break, his hand grasping your cheeks painfully, forcing you to open your mouth as his eye searched inside, finger following to try and feel or scoop what you had eaten, only to find nothing but remnants of the root. 

“What have you done?” He asked in a rush, panic in his voice.

He thought you were trying to kill yourself.

“Ensured that it’s dead.” You sneered, the vile, bitter taste of the root on your tongue.

“What?” Aemond breathed, “Where did you get that?” The Prince panicked, looking at the vial in his hand once more as he turned it over rapidly.

“A parting gift from our Maester.” You grit, pushing away from him, and limping back towards the fire.

You stood by the chaise again, leaning against its back as your fingers dug into the wood. You bent forward, hand against your stomach in pain as another wave of agony rolled through you. 

Aemond rushed towards you, trying to guide you to sit, but you slapped his hands away, irritation and pain and anger continuing to swallow you whole. The Prince stood and stared at you with his brow drawn, obvious fear in his eye as he watched you whimper and whine. 

It was all too much. All too much.

Everything was too much. But your body took over, inhaling deeply despite your lungs feeling withered, and your throat feeling shut. A pain that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Something that was concentrated and spread out, as though it was creeping up along your spine and into your ribcage.

Aemond moved from your periphery as another sob left your lips, a tear falling from your eye to drip onto the stone below.

When he came back to you, he did it carefully, whispering your name to coax you to look at him. And so you did. You looked at him with watery eyes, and a face full of agony and grief, and eyes flickering with rage.

Slowly, as though approaching a startled animal, Aemond lifted his hand. In his palm was a small cloth. A handkerchief or napkin, or perhaps even just a scrap of material. You did not know, nor did you care, as he moved to gently wipe at your face, swiping the light sheen of sweat that had gathered on your brow, and the stray tears that streaked down your cheeks.

Aemond waited for the Maester to arrive, tension in his shoulders as he hovered about you, unsure of how to tend to you as waves of contractions wracked your body.

“You did this.” You whispered, not looking at him, eyes locked on the fire place, where two dearly missed figures had begun to appear, “We lost the babe because of you.”

It was all a blur when the new Maester arrived, ordering you to lay in bed as he tried to give you Moon Tea to help with the continuation of the miscarriage. But you refused it,  pushing it away from you, knowing the ruta root would do the job.

Aemond had ensured the Maester that he would get you to drink it, and had spoken quietly to him at the side of the room as to what to do if you became worse, or pale, or fevered with chill.

It was, in that moment, that you realised that this was the Maester that had once had sewn his face shut. A Maester who had tended to Aemond and his healing. A Maester that Aemond clearly trusted. 

You lay in the bed in pain, feeling the wet blood between your thighs as you cried quietly.

It felt so familiar. To be in that bed, crying and bleeding.

Was it a curse? Was this what you were destined to? To be burdened with the pain of being a woman?

To be born a woman is to be cursed.

Another wave coursed through you and you curled on your side, clutching at your stomach as you tried to hum to yourself softly, anything to distract yourself from the pain that slid through you like a knife, your body reacting on its own, clenching and tensing. 

Aemond sat himself on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he watched you cry and groan, shifting with the pain as your body began to get the urge to push.

It was so strange. It was just as Alicent said.

Your body would know what to do. 

But it was too early.

And it was too late. 

And the child that had begun to grow within you was gone.

Aemond brushed the hair that had stuck to your face from your sweat or tears, hushing you as the contractions rolled through you hotly.

You sobbed, grasping his hand as you squeezed, hoping to channel the pain through him.

“I’m sorry.”

-

The next days blurred together, and you found that you barely had the strength to leave the bed. The pain slowly subsided, but the sorrow had burrowed its way inside of you like mould. No matter how much you had tried to scrub it free, it would always come back.

The Maester had come to check on you multiple times a day, checking your condition, and ensuring that you passed the embryonic tissue completely.  

It was after the third day that you found the strength to leave the bed. And it made you ache even more for you mother, as she lost her father, the throne and her daughter all in one day. She had to burn her daughter, and stand before the council, all in one day. She was crowned, all in one day.

She was stronger than you. 

Stronger than most.

And you wished she was here. 

As you shifted amongst the sheets, you moved to stand, but the sound of the sheets rustling caused Aemond to jump from his seat, padding across the chambers towards you as he offered you an arm, and held the top of yours gently. 

Whincing, you shied away from his touch, “Please, don’t.”

“Let me help you.” Aemond insisted, and reached to try and grab your arm again.

Anger erupted from you, “You’ve helped plenty.” You snapped.

You moved slowly, grasping a cloak from its spot in the wardrobe, throwing it over your shoulders before slowly shuffling out of the chambers.

Pain was still in your body, grief was still in your chest. 

You moved down to the Godswood, where you would always go and sit. To talk to the Gods. To talk to yourself. To simply be. But all you could do was think.

Did you do this to yourself?

When you thought of such things beneath its branches?

When you thought of losing the child to spite him?

Had you wished for this and the Gods had delivered?

That silken stillness of grief was back.

The leaves above you were quiet, no breeze to rustle them, nor birds to sing amongst their branches. It was all so quiet. So still. The world seemed to have stopped. Or it had stopped for you.

You sat for a time in your grief beneath the leaves of the Godswood, wondering what your child could have been, what they would have been like.

But it was not just the child that had been lost. You sat with the knowledge that the Maester was no longer here. And your allies in the Keep had dwindled dramatically. 

Perhaps now, more than ever, was the time to ask for the star fruit. 

But the eyes on you would be sharper right now, and your movements had to be more calculated and secretive moving forward.

They would all be waiting to you to act.

Or waiting for your family to react. 

It was no longer as safe as you thought at the Red Keep.

Not that it ever really was. 

Beneath the shade of the Godswood was where you sat until a familiar head of chestnut brown came to stand before you, a usual vision of green.

Alicent looked down at you sadly, and gave her shallow condolences.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, keeping your eyes to the branches of the tree instead of letting them drop to the woman before you.

If you looked down, you were sure tears would spill over. 

“How are you faring?” She asked tentatively, tone gentle.

All that the Dowager Queen got in response, was a soft rustle of the breeze and the silence of nothing. She stood for a moment more, if only waiting for your resolve to break, for you to turn and face her, seek her out as a daughter, like the one she was missing. 

But you didn’t. 

And so the older woman left you to be alone with the Old Gods.

You counted your breaths, and mentally filled the cracks in your chest with a thick, goopy paste, similar to the one the Maester had given you.

You thought of each stroke of your hand, filling in the gaps with the paste until there was nothing left to show. As though the cracks were never there to begin with.

Each stroke of the paste you counted, and each stroke you inhaled deeply.

On the twenty-seventh stroke in your mind, the twenty-seventh breath in your lungs, and the twenty-seventh count in your head, the gentle sound of feet atop grass pulled your attention away from the mental image and repetitive motions.

But the person did not come to stand in front of you, nor did they move to stand beside you, or even pass through the small courtyard. Instead, the feet stopped on the opposite side of the tree, and the rustling of robes indicated they had sat down beneath the Godswood.

Just by the action alone, a habit, muscle memory, memory itself, you knew it was him. 

Aemond had sat beneath the crimson leaves and white speckled bark of the ancient Weirwood tree, behind you and hidden away, much like how he did as a child. And though, you could not see him, you could feel his presence greatly.

It struck a cord in your already string plucked chest.

“I did not tell Larys.” He whispered to you, voice almost lost to the wind.

“I told no one of what you did.” Your uncle paused, and you rested you head back against the bark, looking up into the shadowed sky, “He must have found out through his spiders.”

And once again, you believed him. 

It wasn’t him.

He had not told Aegon.

Larys had.

You are both silent for some time, basking in the familiarity of it all until you heard him shift, and soon a shadow was cast across you, for however brief it was, before he sat himself down. His shoulder gently brushed against yours as he sat close to you, yet made no move to touch you with his hands. 

And you were thankful for it.

As you sat in the silence, your mind raced away from you again, the sticky paste that you had crammed into the cracks, slowly dripped away to reveal them once more. With each drip of the paste, another crack was revealed, and with each crack revealed, another chip of your resolve crumbled away.

You realised that Larys didn’t care for Alys. 

You had threatened him, and told him there were things that he didn’t know in your stupidity. In your anger. And in your moment of triumph against him;

You had hinted that you had an ally. 

And so he had spun his web, and waited for his prey to lay a foot on one of his strings.

The Maester got caught in the web that was crafted to catch him.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the branches together in the quiet knowing of your shared loss. Another thing that you would both endure. Another piece of grief to bring you two closer together.

“I don’t think I can survive much more loss, Aemond.” You whispered, surprising yourself to find your voice.

The One-Eyed Prince turned his head to finally look at you, hand coming to your lap to hold yours, touching the scar from the ceremony gently as he always did, almost as if he doesn’t believe that it is real.

As if he doesn’t believe that it is there. 

That he would wake up one day, and you would be gone.

“I am sorry for my part in it.” His voice was steady.

Your heart clenched.

“No you’re not, because you wouldn’t let me suffer the way you do.” The words passed your lips, gentle and quiet, fragile as snow, the words lingering in delicate silk around you. A fatal movement of a hand could cause them to break, to crumple and fall apart. Even the breeze could blow too steadily, and whisk the silk threads away. 

But they held strong. And they hovered above the two of you heavily.

“I am truly alone in this Keep.” You breathed.

You could feel Aemond’s eye on the side of your face, his hand tightening around yours.

“You are not alone.” He countered, head turned to look at you completely.

A small laugh escaped you, too tired to hold it in, too weary to stamp it out, and so you let it be, let it crackle from your dry lips that were bitten raw.

You looked down to where he held your hand. A hand that had hurt you. A hand that had taken from you. A hand that had given. A hand that had held, and caressed, and stroked. A hand that now loved, and cherished you.

The hand of the man who has so many sides.

“You and I both know that that is not the truth,” You confessed, “As much as we both wish otherwise.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

GOOD MORNING TEE!!!

THAT MAESTER IS A FUCKING G!!!!!

I hope all the greens die-

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Violence, blood, gore, death.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, bit of a longer chapter than usual. My posting might be staggered as I have some life stuff happening that is unavoidable. Enjoy <3 apologies in advance

Chapter 90: Omission

Waking the morning after such a harrowing blow was delivered, was interesting to say the least. Aemond was still holding you to him, and when you had shifted in his grip, he did not press a kiss to your forehead as he usually would.

Instead, he released you, and rolled to the side of the bed to dress himself in the crinkled white tunic upon the floor and his discarded breeches.

You sat up in the bed as you watched him, the weight of the necklace against your throat reminding you of the reality of the situation. You let yourself smile victoriously as his back was turned before scooting to the edge of the bed. 

Your entire body ached, and when you had swung your legs off the edge of the mattress, pain struck through your core and body. You hissed loudly, one hand coming to press at your stomach, the other grasping the front of your throat, Aemond’s roughness ebbing into the flesh.

Aemond watched from the side of the chambers as you moved to stand, wincing at the dull throbbing through your body. He had been rough, almost frighteningly so, and yet it felt good, and you had still come out having won.

You pulled your chemise over your head, breathing through the stiffness of your joints before pulling the robe around your body tightly. Aemond had sent word for the maids, and by the time you had come to the table, they had arrived with food in tow.

Pulling a chair out to sit at the table, you sat down, wincing and tensing at the pain that rocked through your core. You shifted yourself forward, leaning on an angle to take the weight and pressure off of your bruised centre.

Aemond watched you intensely the entire time, eye flitting to the necklace that was still clasped around your neck, and no doubt the small smattering of bruises from his hands.

As the maids placed the food down in front of you, they placed a small pile of mixed meats, pork sitting in the centre. You had to fight the urge to gag as you looked at it and smelt its pungent scent. Raising a shaky hand, you lifted to your lips and looked to the girls.

“Amala, Could I ask that you please not bring pork anymore?” Your voice crackled slightly. 

The maid looked to you in concern, before she rushed to grasp the plate, lifting it up and way from the table, “My Apologies, Your Grace. I will ensure that you are given pork no longer.” Her eyes dropped to your neck, then back to your face.

You nodded thankfully, dropping your hand back into your lap as you swallowed dryly, “Thank you.”

Aemond watched you, almost in amusement as you ate breakfast together in your chambers.

“Are you feeling alright?” Smugness in his tone as he looked at the way you sat.

“Perfectly fine.” You snipped, attempting to straighten your posture, only for you to grimace at the sharp ache.

“Perhaps I should have forced you to eat the pork as punishment.” He mused, forkful of tomato lifting to his lips. 

You sneered at him, feeling sick at the thought, “Perhaps I should feed you to Vermithor.”

“Temper, temper.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hm.”

The day continued on after you ate and were dressed for the day, necklace still around your neck like a medallion. There was an unspoken tension between the two of you, but by and large, it was ignored. You moved to the library together, Aemond mocking your slow walk as the ache between your thighs nipped at you the entire way there. Once in the library, you sat opposite each other for a time, book in your lap, before Aemond stood, moving to a large oak table where scrolls and a quill were waiting. 

You watched him for as he wrote, eye concentrated on what was being written as one long hand held the quill, and the other flicked through various other letters and tomes spread amongst the desk.

The only sound in the library at that time was the crackling fire, the turn of a page, or the incessant scratching of a quill.

“How did you do it?” Aemond’s voice cut suddenly through the library. His concentration did not leave the page as he continued to write, the unanswered question hanging above the two of you.

“Do what?” You replied dumbly, watching as his eye flicked to yours in annoyance if ever so briefly, before back to the page.

“Alys.”

It came out like a purr. Or a restrained growl. And in that moment you thought of how it would have sounded for her to hear his name in her ear. 

Did he sigh into her skin like he did yours?

Did 'Alys' fall from his lips like a prayer?

Did he beg?

Make demands with it?

As the thoughts curled and multiplied, you were more gladded for her being dead than ever, jealousy twisting in your chest. You didn’t respond to Aemond’s open ended question. And you wanted him to sit in the silence a while longer. To sit in his own questions of ‘what if’s?’.

How did you find her?

How did you send word?

What did you ask?

What did you do?

It was all on the tip of his tongue, but Aemond settled with something more forthcoming.

“How did you get her killed?” 

Your gaze was met with a violet and sapphire one, the quill in his hand being lifted from the parchment as he stared at you in waiting.

Waiting for your confession.

Waiting for your response.

Waiting for an inkling of regret or another show of pride.

But you wouldn’t give it to him. 

The thing strangest thing of all however, something that Aemond would not ever tell you, was that he was impressed. Proud even, amongst the pure and utter rage within and a lingering piece of grief that he swatted away like a fly.

Upon realising you would not elaborate on your ability to have a woman and her unborn child killed, Aemond turned back to his page, pressing the quill into the parchment with little more force than needed and mumbled, “There is a traitor in our midsts.” 

Anxiety crawled through your veins, and you took a dry attempt at swallowing the cotton that had formed in your mouth.

“Larys.” You breathed into the library.

Aemond lifted his head at the sound of your voice and looked at you, as you twisted your hands in your lap. You blinked at him thrice, as you continued to twirl your fingers around each other, "When you left, I spoke to him.” 

Not a complete lie, you thought. You had spoken to him once about Alys.

The One-Eyed Prince’s gaze was piercing, turning his undivided attention to you, he stayed silent to encourage you to continue, the quill now resting beside the ink pot.

Taking a steadying breath, you continued, “I was desperate. Every time you left I feared- Aegon would come for me again.” Your voice cracked.

Not a lie.

“And he did come, and I did what I had to do in your absence.” Lie, you watched his face drop, "I didn’t want you gone, especially since I knew I was with child. Aegon only sends you to Harrenhal because he knew about her. He knew it would upset me, he knew it would tear us apart and leave me alone with him.” The air around you grew cold, and you fought off the sudden anger that rose, “And I couldn’t live another day knowing that you were in the bed with another woman.”

“You’re mine, as I am yours. Fire and blood, Aemond. And when I told Larys, he assured me that he would take care of it... For a price.” You looked away from your uncles gaze and to your hands, pulling a piece of skin from the cuticle. 

“A price?”

You swallowed.

“What did you give him?”

You don’t answer, and let Aemond stew on the false possibilities.

Did you offer him money? 

No. You had none but what was in the Keep, and Aegon could give plenty more. 

Was it secrets?

Possibly.

Or was it your body? And the promise of something else?

Anger moved through Aemond at the thought of you giving yourself to Larys to secure him at your side.

The Prince nodded, reaching to pick up the quill once more, attending to his duties. His brothers duties. Which made him all the more bitter and resentful, the sound of the quill scratching harshly at the parchment replacing the once almost quiet. 

You watched with great attentiveness at the way his brow was drawn, and his lip was twitched. But the Prince did not rebuke your improvised lie and answer, and until his hand had reached for another piece of paper, you did not look away, sure that he would speak again. 

He didn’t. 

The day ended slowly, what with all the tension and sudden anxiety that bled from you. But if Aemond was suspicious of your response, he did not show it, and even brushed hair from your shoulder as you walked together back to your shared chambers. 

You dined side by side, and when you went to bed, Aemond had tried to lay between your legs. You had winced, and complained that you were too sore from the evening before, and in a way of apology that only Aemond seemed to know how to do, he slid down the bed and brought you to your peak upon his tongue. 

The next morning when you woke, it was as though things were moving back to the way things were before Alys. He held you, and kissed the top of your head, but you knew that he would still be angry.

Yet the small confession you had made the nights before, the shortest of three words. Seven letters. That was what pulled him back. That was more powerful than any dragon, or magic, or Gods known to the realm. 

He would forgive you, you knew this. But it would take time, and as always, time was what you had. 

Amala and Joanna made sure to not have pork brought to the chambers and you were thankful for it, not worrying that the meat would upset your stomach greatly. Aemond ate with you, and offered small conversation, telling you of where he was up to in ‘The Lovers of Queen Nymeria’. You hummed in agreement to what he discussed, and when the time came, he left to his duties with the King, leaving you to your own devices in the chambers. 

Even still, you wore the necklace and refused to take it off.

A warning to all that you were still a threat if pushed.

You were sitting atop the chemise, legs tucked beneath you when the doors of the chambers swung open. Your head snapped to the entrance to see Ser Cole and two other guards storm the chambers, coming towards you. 

You stood from your seat, book dropping to the floor below.

“What is the meaning of this?” You demanded, watching as Ser Criston stood by the door still, watching the guards come to grab you. 

You jerked, trying to get away from them, but there was nowhere to go. Large hands grasped your arms tightly and painfully, and your heart rose into your throat.

You fought hard in their hold, trying to rip your arms away from them as they began to drag you out of the chambers. 

“Stop! Let go of me!” You yelled, feet trying to dig themselves into the stone below. 

The two men dragged you past Ser Cole who looked down at you from his nose. 

“What the fuck is going on?” You snapped, trying to twist your arms from their bruising grip as they continued to pull you down the corridors, Ser Criston following behind you. You kept your head turned towards him, watching him for answers. 

“Wheres Aemond?!” 

Ser Cole didn't spare you a second glance.

Fear trickled down your spine. 

Aemond. 

The guards continued to pull you down the stairs, none of the men answering your burning questions and demands, uour heart beating against yourubs. 

“Unhand me, you cock sucking cunts.” You growled.

The large doors to the throne room opened, the men pulling you inside with more force than necessary. Ser Cole announced you to the room, the guards dragging you up towards the Iron Throne.

Aegon seated atop.

“Vestan jiōragon hen, ao doru-borto qogralbar orvortas. Ossēninna ao!” I said get off, you stupid fucking cunts. I will kill you. 

Aegon laughed heartily atop the throne, staring down at you from the thousands of melted swords, crown atop his head. His green robes shimmered in the light, and the golden clasp across the pummels of his shoulders pulled down heavily on the silk.

Aemond stood at the bottom of the steps to the left of throne, looking just as confused as you were. But the fleeting look of trepidation across his face disappeared with a tightness of his jaw and a flicker of rage.

“Y/n Velaryon. You have been accused of treason-“ Aegon began jovially before the small council.

“The fuck is this?” You called out angrily interrupting, still trying to rip your arms from the mens grip, their fingers pinching your skin. 

But Aegon ignored your cries and continued, “Of conspiring with Queen Rhaenyra against a true Targaryen heir.”

Your eyes flicked back and forth between Aemond and Aegon, confusion and fear settling into your skin. 

“Treason? Aemond? What does he mean? What heir?” You struggled against their arms, desperate to get away, “I have done nothing, you thick bastard!”

Aegon raised his brows at you, lips pulled down in a frown as he flicked his hand upwards. From the shadows came forth a man, the beat of his cane against the floor echoing in the chambers. 

You growled as Larys Strong moved closer to the bottom of the throne, looking at you with what could only be described as his own form of victory.

But at the sight of Larys, you felt your heart quicken.

“Ao doru-borto orvorta, konīr iksis daor Targārien dārilaros yn ñuhon. Iksan lēda riña iēdrosa!” You stupid cunt, there is no Targaryen heir but mine. I am with child still! You sneered at the King, venom dripping from your tongue. 

Aegon looked to Ser Cole, who still stood behind you, "If the Princess speaks again out of turn, cut out her tongue.”

You blanched, mouth open as you looked at Aemond in fear, pleading him with your eyes. 

Aemond did not move. 

He simply observed. 

You fool.

You stupid fool.

He would never betray them for you. 

“Do you deny the charges brought against you?” The King’s voice echoed through the room, and you watched as Alicent shifted anxiously atop her feet from the side of the room with Otto Hightower.

“I deny all. I know not of the charges you speak.” You grit out, hands in fists as you stiled in the guards arms.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You have conspired against the Crown, and murdered an unborn Prince.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You swallowed thickly. 

“I know not of what you speak of. I am still pregnant with the child.”

Aegon huffed, “Not that child, you dolt.” You sneered at him, “The bastards.”

Your eyes flicked to Aemond’s and betrayal sunk into your chest. 

He told them. 

“Larys, tell the council what you told me.” Aegon demanded, his violet eyes still on yours as you gazed upon your husband who stood and did nothing. 

Liar. 

Betrayer.

Coward.

“I know what whispers I have been told, Your Grace.” Larys began, both hands on his cane in front of him as he looked at you, “Though, I know the Princess is not truly to blame.”

“What?” A small whisper of disbelief left your lips.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The Halls doors opened again loudly, and the sound of more guards entering came from behind. You stretched your neck back to try and see who was being brought into the chambers, but Ser Cole blocked your path of vision. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you listened to the footsteps, feet that did not fight, feet that didn’t not scuffle, nor get dragged across the stones.

Feet that came to stand directly beside you.

You came face to face with the Maester. 

Horror curdled inside of you as you looked at him, his eyes soft as he gave the most imperceivable nod.

A silent, it’s okay.

But it wasn’t okay.

And it would never be okay.

“One of my spiders witnessed the Maester send a raven from down near the abandoned docks at night.” Larys began, and your teeth ground together painfully, “Now what could a Maester need at the hour of the owl alone that the King could not provide? A Maester who had nursed the Princess back to health, and recently attended to her needs involving her current state.”

Aegon hummed.

Aemond was deathly still. 

“Well?” Aegon called into the chambers, booming voice echoing through the space, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Your head turned to face the Maester, watching as he merely blinked at the man in front of him, no words leaving his lips. 

Ser Cole stepped forward, looming over the older man who was forced to his knees by the guards, the thump of his bones being jarred into the stones surrounding you.

Your gut turned, and your breathing shallowed.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Answer the King.” Ser Cole demanded, “For your treason.”

If they killed him, you would lose everything.

“It wasn’t him!” You called out, “He had no part in this. I forced him. I forced him to do it! The Maester had no play in this." Your eyes pleaded with Aegon before flicking back to Aemond, who had not shifted an inch from where he last was. 

“Aemond, please. Tell him!” 

Your pleading was ignored.

Panic continued to rise within, the walls around you seemingly getting smaller, and the sudden appearance of a silver and brunette head came behind Aemond. You blinked, feeling tears fall down your cheeks. 

“Kepus! Ēza gaomagon daorun pirta.” Uncle! He has done nothing wrong.

Aegon laughed at you, leaning an elbow against the arm of the throne, sharp blades catching his robes as they moved, “Let the Maester speak for himself.”

Your eyes jumped back to the Maester, the guards holding you further away from him as you tried to go towards him. The old man breathed, blinking at Aegon with no sense of fear. No sense of impending doom. No worries, or anger. He just simply was.

He had made his peace.

No.

“You are no King.” The words echoed through the chambers, and you watched Aegon’s face of joy twist to anger.

The King stood from the throne, slowly stalking down the steps of it towards you both. You wriggled in the guards grip again, trying to get to the Maester and put yourself between him and Aegon.

The Blackfyre blade at Aegon’s side swayed with heavy intent as he came towards you both, one hand atop the winged hilt, the long blade peeking beneath the green coat that he wore. The closer he got, the more your eyes focused on the way his hand moved to grasp the sword your grandsire once had, unsheathing it in the throne room.

Your eyes flicked to Aemond, who seemed to twitch in his spot, a small step taken forward towards you, his hands in fists before the Maester spoke again.

“Long live the Queen.” He sneered at Aegon.

You turned your head to look at him as Aegon’s arm swung into the air and was cast back down just as quick.

Your ears began to ring, and all you could feel was your lungs that burned from the breath that was stuck in your throat. 

Dracarys, came the whisper of Lucerys, right by your ear. 

You blinked.

The room was so cold.

So cold.

And so strangely quiet.

Blood had begun to pool from the Maester’s limp body, oozing out of the stump which once held his head atop. Bones and gore were exposed to the stone floor. And the more you looked at it, the more you could not look away.

The old mans eggshell grey robes soon bled to a deep red, and then deeper yet, almost black as the wetness sunk in. The head faced away from you on the stone floors below. 

Pain rolled through your stomach as you looked at the body. 

At the man who had helped. 

At the man who had now died for you. 

You couldn’t hear anything. 

You couldn’t do anything.

Nothing but feel. 

Grief. 

Sorrow.

Hopelessness.

And rage.

Dracarys, Luc whispered again louder.

The pool of blood continued to grow wider, its thick substance spreading across the large stones, having fallen where Vaemond Velaryon once had, both of their lives sinking into the cracks of the Red Keep. And there they would stay for eternity more. 

Their names would disappear. 

Their memories would go with them.

But their blood would stay within the walls that they were spilt in. 

Just like the many men who had built the Keep.

Another ripple of pain coursed through you, and your hand flew to your stomach, the guards having let go of you.

Dracarys.

“Shut up!” You screamed, looking at the blood, the room suddenly becoming unbearable loud, as though cotton had been pulled away from your ears. 

Aegon’s laugh throbbed in your head as you looked at the corpse, chest heaving.

Your hand spread against your stomach tightly as you began to feel sick.

Something was wrong.

You doubled over and whimpered as yet another wave of agony rolled through you, your heart racing in your chest at the sickness in your stomach.

You gasped loudly in the chambers, loud footsteps racing towards you, and yet you could not tear your eyes away from the Maester who lay beside you.

“Y/n?” Aemond’s soft voice floated into your ear with concern. 

“Something’s wrong.” You uttered, hand pressing against your stomach as another powerful cramp rolled through you.

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GOOD MORNING TEE

Literally y/n after everything.

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: The long awaited chapter... Hehehe, I have seen so many theories, so many denials, everyone seems to think that I am lying about Alys' death. I can assure you, she is gone. >:) Bit of a longer chapter this time hehe <3 Enjoy you heathens

Chapter 89: The Merciless Princess

As you sat at the table, elation and excitement rolled through you. You let a laugh of delight fall from your lips before you shoved the necklace into the sleeve of your gown, walking back to your chambers.

You felt a spring in your step, and were far happier than you had been before. 

Alys was dead. 

Your parents had seen to that. They had killed her and his bastard that grew within. She would be a threat no longer, and Aegon could not use her to his advantage anymore. 

What was more, Aemond could not seek her out any longer. 

And that made you ecstatic.

Once you arrived to your chambers, Aemond was sat in his chair, head turning to watch you enter, energy radiating off of you as you smiled at him, before sitting at the chaise opposite. 

Aemond seemed uncertain by your sudden bout of elation, but when you had offered him a small, and shy smile once more, he returned it, though it was short lived. Aemond shifted in his seat as he uncrossed his leg, both hands rested atop the arms of the chair, whilst one tapped each finger atop his thumb and then back again in thought. 

“Aegon wishes for our presence this evening.”

Aegon could wish for whatever he wanted in that moment, and it still would not dampen your mood.

You smiled again at your husband and nodded, not arguing. Aemond looked at you oddly, brows drawn and lips pursed. When had you ever not argued about such a thing?

Standing, you moved towards him and pressed a kiss to where his brow was creased, soothing the tension there. When you pulled back, you let a hand rest atop his shoulder, “We shall do as the King commands of us. I am sorry I saw you off in my bad temper, that was not fair of me. I know that Aegon commanded you to leave, and you would not leave me unless you truly had to. I do not wish to fight. I am tired enough with this babe growing every day.” You let a hand rest against the front of your dress in show. 

Aemond placed his hand atop of yours, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. One corner of his pouted lips lifted, and he gave you the tiniest of nods. You let him hold his hand against you a moment more before you turned away to flit around the chambers, opening the door to ask the knight to bring your maids to ready you for dinner.

As you shut the door behind you, and moved towards the vanity, you sat yourself down on the seat and looked into the mirror. Your cheeks were rosy, and your teeth were showing with the grin you could not keep from your lips. 

Aemond appeared behind you in the reflection, slowly stalking towards you with a sway that only Aemond had. Almost cat-like in his movements. He looked at you confused. 

“What has you so happy?”

You turned back to face him. 

If only you knew. 

“The Maester confirmed I was with child when you were gone. We should expect the babe to come in five, maybe six moons.” You spun around to look back at him though the mirror as he came to stand beside you, a small smile of his own winding on his cheeks, “He warned me my moods may be up and down, and right now? I'm overjoyed. I could not have asked for any greater sign from the Gods than the one I got today.”

Aemond let a hand brush against the back of your head, “What did the Gods show you?”

“Your heir.” You lied.

Your bastard dead.

Your whore dead.

Aemond moved forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your face, his sharp nose buried into your hair. You hummed and let a hand reach up to caress his cheek, before you turned to face him, drawing his mouth down to yours. 

With lips slotted against each other, you poured the excitement that you felt into him. Not that he knew what truly brought your joy, but he took it nonetheless, kissing you back with passion and haste, his tongue teasing the front of your lips. You opened yourself willingly to him, wrapping your hands around his neck. 

Aemond groaned into the kiss, hands skating up your sides, tracing over the swell of your breasts in your dress. You hummed a short laugh into his mouth before pulling away, lips tingling from his touch, and a warmth settling in your core. 

Aemond smirked when you turned away flustered, pulling the earring that you wore from your ears, placing them into a small golden dish. 

“You’ve missed me.” He purred. 

“Like a hole in ones head.” You quipped back, a small chuckle leaving your lips. 

Aemond laughed a quiet laugh, before he pressed another chaste kiss to your cheek, before moving himself to sit by the fire again. Soon the maids arrived to the chambers to ready you both, Aemond opting to wear his black leather tunic and sweeping black coat. 

The Prince sat as he watched the maids begin to brush and braid your hair, refreshing your face with a wet cloth, and a light rouge being applied to your lips. You turned away for a moment, feeling his heated gaze. The sky had darkened, and soon you would be dining with Aegon. 

And soon he would know. 

“Go ahead without me.” You implored, “I will meet you there. I need to ask of some things from the Maester.”

Aemond came towards you and nodded, a small hum in agreement leaving his lips before he pressed his to yours once more. It was a soft kiss. Not so much filled with passion and fire as the last, and just as fleeting. The Prince straightened himself and left the chambers, the door shutting with a click.

Joanna and Amala dressed you in a tight black gown, your breasts that had begun to swell sitting heavily atop, with more cleavage shown than usual. The shoulders were embroidered with a fine netting, making them to appear as though they were dragons wings. 

As the girls tightened the back of the gown, you held the chain in your hand tightly, the Valyrian steel warm in your palm. As you held it, you felt the grooves of the chain, and the roundness of the emeralds rubbing against the scar of your palm.

You grit your teeth as you realised it was almost identical the one he had gifted you.

Swallowing that anger, you turned to Amala, who smoothed the skirts of your gown. Opening your palm you held it towards her, “Can you help me put this on?” You asked, a small smile on your lips as your heart beat against your chest. 

Amala stood straight and grasped the necklace from you, “Princess, this is beautiful.” She commented, moving to stand behind you as she opened the clasp, dragging the necklace across your skin.

“It is, isn’t it? It was a gift.”

You could hear Amala smile behind you, “How lovely of him to be so thoughtful, Your Grace.” 

Your teeth ground together, but you kept the smile upon your lips, “Yes, it was. My Lord Husband is a generous man.”

When you were dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. 

You looked like your mother.

You looked like your father. 

You looked like the blood of the dragon.

And you were. 

Because seated along your collarbones was the proof of it. The evidence of it. The Valyrian steel shone in the light of the candles, and the emeralds appeared to be deeper than what they were, as though there was magic within them. 

But there wasn’t. 

Because the witch was dead.

You smiled brightly again, feeling a surge of pride and conviction within you before you turned to leave the chambers, feeling the weight of the necklace sit heavily on your neck. The knight bowed to you as you exited, and walked ahead to escort you to the Dining Hall, no doubt commanded to by Aemond.

And with each step you took, you felt giddy at the thought of your uncle seeing the stones atop your chest. Of Larys recognising it. Of watching Aemond come to the realisation of what you had done. What you had achieved. A promise that you delivered.

As you stood in front of the large wooden doors, you took a deep breath. 

Was this how it felt for Alicent when she wore green to your mothers wedding?

Was this how she felt when she declared a subtle war to the King and his daughter?

But you were not waging a war with Aemond. 

You had won it. 

The doors were opened, and you tipped your chin upwards, holding your head high as you were announced to the chambers, the room quieting as you entered. Your blood strummed in your veins with every beat of your heart, and excitement crackled at the tips of your fingers. 

The silver head of Aemond turned to watch as you came and sit beside him, a gentle smile gracing his face as he looked up at you in adoration. You smiled back down at him knowingly as he stood to pull out the seat for you, a soft ‘wife’ falling from his lips. 

You kept your eyes on his face. 

Waiting. 

And then, it happened. 

His eye grazed down to your chest, to where your breasts spilled heavily out the top, and then to your neck.

You watched his face drop. His lone eye snapping back up to yours as you smiled wolfishly at him.

A short and smug hum flitted from your lips as you leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before leaning back again, greeting the rest of the table with a nod of your head. Your eyes skated across the chambers, feeling the heat of Aemond’s gaze until you found your intended target.

Larys sat, eyes glued to the two of you as he was seated beside Alicent. With a subtle hand, you moved to tuck a strand of hair that was not there behind your ear, hand trailing down over the front of the necklace. Larys did not react, though if you had to guess, you would say he was schooling his reaction far better than Aemond was trying to. 

Anger positively radiated off of him. 

And Aegon seemed to notice. 

And if Aegon noticed, then everyone noticed. 

However, you pretended as though you didn’t feel the sudden and inexplicable shift of your husband beside you, dining beside him with a smile on your face as you listened to the Lords chatter amongst themselves, occasionally joining in. 

Aemond had not said a word the entire evening, his gaze burning a hole in your chest and the side of your face as he stared at the necklace. You watched as his hand gripped his goblet tightly, knuckles white, bringing it continuously to his lips more than Aegon did. 

Reaching out, you tried to soothe his hand with yours, running your fingers over his knuckles with a shit eating grin. 

You knew it was not smart to push his temper, but you couldn’t help it.

You had won. 

And there was nothing he could do to take that from you. 

Nothing he could do to bring her back.

And the greatest joy of all, was that he didn't even know it yet.

When the evening grew late, and the men all nursed their ale, some leaving, and others continuing to talk amongst themselves, you had made a point of staying longer than you usually would have, forcing Aemond to sit beside you and stew in his anger, and rage, and no doubt a multitude of questions without being able to act upon it. 

For if he did?

Then all would know you had bested him.

And Aemond was not one to show weakness.

A false yawn fell from your lips before you turned to kiss Aemond’s cheek, the skin hot to the touch and and jaw tensed. You turned to face what little men remained, and bowed to Aegon, begging his pardon and that you would bid them all a good night. Aegon grinned, sensing the tension between you, and was all too happy to send you on your merry way back to your chambers.

Aemond all but leapt from his seat, the chair scraping harshly against the stones as you lazily, and slowly took your time to stand, making a point to look at all the Lords and smile, which you had not yet done before, before turning to leave with him. 

It was tense, and you could feel the fury rolling from Aemond in waves, but not even his anger could take away your victory. The joy of knowing you took something away from him. The joy of knowing that you had won. That you had ripped something from his grasp that he used to seek refuge in.

No, not something.

Someone. 

His whore and his bastard. 

Two birds, one stone. 

Or more likely in the case of your father, two birds and the Dark Sister blade.

The Prince stormed ahead of you, but you did not chase after him, instead leisurely walking behind, enjoying the way his hair swayed with his gait, and his pale hands were tight in fists at his sides.

When finally you entered your shared chambers, Aemond having disappeared within the doors before you, your husband spun on his heel, the leather of his boot crackling against the stone as he stormed towards you, crowding your space as the door shut.

“What did you do?” Aemond demanded, brows drawn as he looked at you.

You cocked your head, “What do you mean, husband?” You responded, sickly sweet voice dripping from your lips.

“No more games. What. Did. You. Do.”

You sighed as you looked at your uncle, his eye crazed and chest heaving, as his gaze dropped to the necklace and back up to your impassive face.

Moving to the side of the chambers, you picked up the decanter, ignoring his questions as you poured yourself a goblet of wine.

The air around you shifted as Aemond charged towards you, ripping the cup from your hands and slamming it back down on the table, drops of wine spilling over the rim and onto the table. 

Calmly, you raised your head away from the spilt wine and looked at Aemond, who gazed at you murderously.

"Do you remember the Septa teaching us about the second wife of Maegor the Cruel? Alys her name was.” You mused, tilting your head as you looked at him, “The people called her the Whore of Harroway, such a familiar ring to it don’t you think? There are so many strange familiarities of it all. Alys Harroway gave birth to stillborn babe. Grotesque and twisted-“

“Enough with the juvenile history lessons.” Aemond interrupted.

“-And Maegor flew into a fit of rage after he was told she had been unfaithful. Any man, woman, or child was put to death with even just a drop of Harroway blood.” You shook your head, “Such a horrific end to her life, too. Alys was tortured for fourteen days, and fourteen nights by Maegor’s third wife, Tyanna. Then, when she died, they cut her into seven pieces, and mounted the pieces on spikes above the Seven Gates. Tyanna, of course, later confessed to poisoning the unborn child, but Alys’ death was merciless.”

Aemond stepped towards you, eye on your neck, “Where did you get that?”

Your hand rose to touch your chest softly, feeling the stones against your collarbones.

“This? It was a gift.” You moved to grab the goblet again, hand reaching in front of you. Aemond's own shot out and grasped your wrist tightly, pain shooting up your arm as he roughly tugged you towards him.

“What. Did. You. Do.” He growled, breath fanning over your face.

“You’re hurting me.” You sneered, trying to wrench your hand away from him, failing, “Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Let. Go!”

“What did you do, zāldritsos.” His voice lowered, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Fire and blood. I made a promise to you, did I not?” You smiled up at him. 

Aemond stilled, grip faltering.

You saw your chance and ripped your hand away from him, grabbing the wine, and pulling it up to your lips. You sipped heavily, feeling the sharp spiced wine travel down your throat.

“What have you done?”

“Who knows if Alys Rivers was unfaithful, and that babe inside her deformed. I wish I could tell you that she did not face the same fate as Alys Harroway,” You grinned viciously at him, “But I can’t.” You whispered, “My only consolation I can offer you is that there is no more Strong blood, besides Larys. Just like you wanted.” You sneered, slamming the wine down as you got up in his face, raising your head to look up at him, his eye wild as he looked down at you, lips twitching.

“You fucking cunt.” He sneered, hand shooting out to grip your throat tightly, squeezing the air from you. 

You should feel fear. 

You should feel regret.

But all you felt was triumph. 

You beamed brightly at him as he squeezed your neck tighter, fingers pressing meanly into the sides of your throat, the size of his hand almost holding the entirety of it, lungs feeling tight and head feeling lighter.

“I couldn’t let you father a bastard. What would the court say? What about your honour?” You wheezed, and his hand tightened again, bruising your flesh as his face came forward, nose jabbing yours as he breathed raggedly in anger.

“You’re mine." You hissed, "Did you trust think I would continue to let you traipse around the realm to fuck your whore? I have given you an heir. You needn’t any other. I had disposed of your whore and unborn bastard so that you needn't fear about our child's succession. She's dead. Your precious Alys is dead, and you can thank me for it.” You purred, though it came out rough and crackled at the back of your throat from his grip on your neck.

Aemond watched your face, eye flickering back and forth on yours before down to his dead lovers necklace, fingers twitching against your neck, gaze flickering momentarily to your lips. 

“I love you.” You wheezed.

Aemond blinked as the words left your lips.

And silence filled the chambers.

The air in your lungs had stopped, and your eyes had widened.

The space between you was gone, and Aemond crashed his lips against yours, kissing you bruisingly, his grip on your neck not faltering as stars began to flood your vision. Aemond opened his mouth and bit down on your lip roughly, a squeak of pain flitting into his mouth, which he soothed with his tongue. 

You rose on your feet, hands coming to hook around his neck, to pull him closer, but also to seek purchase as your vision blackened. Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling cruelly at the roots as you brought him closer to you.

Five fingers released their pressure on your throat, and air came rushing back into your lungs. You gasped into Aemond’s mouth, which he swallowed down greedily. 

The large man's hands came to rip at the front of your dress, your breasts spilling forth from the broken silk, where his head dipped down to pull a sensitive nipple roughly into his mouth by his teeth. You hissed in pain, feeling his other hand move to squeeze the other painfully.

Aemond’s hands dropped down to the back of your thighs and hoisted you up, your legs instinctually closing around his waist as he turned and began to walk towards the bed, teeth piercing your neck, shoulders, and the tops of your breasts as he moved.

Any piece of bare skin revealed to him, he would bite down, bruising the flesh.

Your stomach dropped as Aemond threw you onto the bed without a care, your body bouncing onto its surface. His hands gripped your ankles and ripped you down the end of the bed, grasping at the rest of your dress in his hands before tearing it up the skirt. Adjusting his grip he grabbed it again, tearing it apart to reveal your sopping centre to him. 

Aemond stood back and looked at you as he began to undo the ties of his own breeches impatiently, pulling his cock out roughly as he began to tug it in his palm. He was already painfully hard, the tip leaking pre-cum. 

“Come here.” He commanded, still pumping himself roughly in his hand. 

Scooting down the bed, you let your legs hang off the edge as Aemond gripped the back of your head, pulling you down towards his length. Opening your mouth you took him on your tongue heavily, lapping at the underside of his shaft. 

Aemond sighed, thrusting into your mouth forcefully, cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Fucking cunt.” Aemond grunted, thrusting into your mouth as you gazed at him tearily, spit coating your lips and his cock. 

Heat bloomed inside of you as he looked down at you, anger still tight in his shoulders as he continued to thrust himself in and out.

Aemond used your head to fuck his cock into your mouth, hands gripping your hair and side of your face, sliding you up and down his shaft roughly, aggressively, without a care for your gags and splutters, strings of spit beginning to drip down onto the stone floor below.

“Cunt.” The Prince growled, pulling out of your mouth as you gasped for air, looking up at him as tears streaked your cheeks. 

Your dress was torn to shreds, your hair messed from his grip, lips swollen and wet from his actions, tears dripping down your cheeks and yet, he praised you.

“My beautiful cunt of a wife.” He gripped your jaw in one hand, squeezing painfully as your mouth dropped open, the joint groaning in protest. 

Aemond leant forwards and spat onto your tongue. You flinched feeling it land in your mouth warmly before he slid back inside rapidly. Aemond fucked your throat without abandon, slapping your cheek as you closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose, desperate to get any air that he allowed you. 

His hand smacked against you again, and you looked up at him angrily, brows drawn.

“The Merciless.” Aemond mocked, pushing you off of his cock as you coughed, rubbing your throat as it felt raw from his hands and cock.

Aemond shoved you back against the bed, flipping you over as he fisted his length against your backside. You arched you back, angling yourself before he thrusted into your heat with no preparation. The sharp sting wound its way through your body, but pleasure soon replaced it. 

You did this. 

You made him this angry. 

Another victory.

Aemond fucked into you at a brutal pace, your body jolting beneath him with each thrust, hoarse gasps leaving your lips as he grunted and growled from above you.

“Fucking take it.” Aemond sneered, the head of his cock beating against your cervix painfully.

You grit your teeth, hands clawing the mattress as he used your body. But even then, you could feel the slickness between your thighs of your own bodies reaction. A whine left your swollen lips, muffled by the sheets of the bed.

“Such a fucking whore. So wet and tight.” The clapping of his hips filled the chambers alongside the wetness of your heat.

“You like this don’t you? Being treated like a cunt. Just a fucking hole to put my seed in.”

You whined beneath him, head turning to the side to look up at him as you grinned meanly back at him, your core clenching around his length.

Aemond sneered, slapping his hand on your face, using it to push his weight into the mattress for leverage as he fucked you. Pain pinged down your neck, but you ignored it, focusing on the way his cock bullied your spongey spot within, and the anger that poured from him.

“Fucking cunt.” Aemond swore, hand still pushing your head into the mattress as one of his legs propped up onto the bed, leveraging his thrusts to be harder and deeper.

“Fuck.” You garbled beneath him, feeling his cock in your stomach. 

“Shut up.” He snapped, grabbing your hair in both hands as he wrenched your head back, thrusts unwavering in their strength or pace. 

“Do you even deserve it? Do you even deserve my seed?”

You moaned beneath him, knuckles white as you felt pleasure bloom within your gut suddenly, wet seeping onto the mattress below you as you reached a painful peak. The wet sounds from your cunt got louder, fluttering walls sucking him in as he grunted. 

“Fucking filthy, look at you soaking the bed. Fucking disgusting whore.”

You groaned loudly, your body going limp underneath him, strength having seeped out of your bones, leaving you to be a puddle beneath him as he continued to drill into you cruelly, his pace beginning to falter. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Aemond moaned, hunching over you, moving his head to bite at your shoulder. His mouth opened against your flesh before his teeth bit down, skin breaking underneath and pain rippling through you. 

“Ah!” You cried out, core clenching down on him tightly, bringing him to his release. 

Aemond thrusted into you deeply, pushing against your cervix as his seed filled your womb. He breathed heavily atop you as your eyes slid shut, utterly exhausted and not willing to move. 

Or more like, unable to move. Your limbs felt as heavy as a stone.

Aemond laid atop you for some time before he slowly slid out of your folds, hissing as you twitched around him. The heat of his body left your spine and you kept your eyes shut, regaining your breath as you basked in the victory of the day, and the pleasure of the evening.

Your throat and shoulder throbbed, and there was a dull ache that spread through your core, but despite this, it felt like you were floating.

Some time later, Aemond’s presence came behind you and you flinched as you felt pressure between your thighs, Aemond rubbing his seed into your sensitive folds with two long fingers. You jerked beneath him, a whine in protest falling from your lips. 

“Shh, my merciless thing.” 

Aemond sounded tired. Less angry. 

But there was still an underlying rage that lingered in the back of his throat, just barely contained, clipped and strained.

"Perfect fucking cunt. And mine."

Aemond dipped his head down and lapped at the bite on your shoulder, licking up the blood that had rose to the surface. You hissed as he pressed his tongue into it, a stinging pain blooming over the mark.

Aemond nipped the mark again, causing you to cry out.

His presence loomed over you as his two large hands scooped beneath your body, and hoisted you up the bed. 

“Do you need the privy?” He asked bluntly, ripping the sheets from beneath you more roughly than was needed.

“Mmm.” You mumbled, still feeling like you were floating away, little sparks floating through your limbs. 

You kept your eyes closed as Aemond tucked you beneath the covers, pulling the sheets up to your shoulders before he followed you, pulling you against him in the bed. You don’t remember him taking your dress from you, but as you curled into his side closer, you found your bare skin against his.

"What am I going to do with you, hm?" He whispered.

Aemond pressed a kiss to your hairline, though his lips were firmer than what could have been considered gentle.

You could still feel him seething with anger. 

The Prince’s fingertips danced over the bite mark on your shoulder, brushing over it in thought as he held you to him. Each brush of his fingers causing dull pain to crackle over the surface of your flesh.

And before long, sleep came to call, and begun to drag you under. Aemond’s hand grazed your neck, and you sighed.

You fell to sleep, naked in his arms, with his fingers tracing over the necklace that had once belonged to Alys Rivers.

"Perzys Ānogār."

Fire and Blood.

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