Smoke, Fire and Ash

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/46336447.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandom: House of the Dragon (TV)
Relationship: Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Original Female Character(s), Aemond
Targaryen / Reader
Character: Aegon II Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Original
Female Character(s), Reader
Additional Tags: Dark, Dark Character, Dark!Aemond, Dark Aemond "One-Eye"
Targaryen, Angst, Character Death, Canonical Character Death,
Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con
Elements, Blood and Gore, Kidnapping, War, Creepy, Manipulative
Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Obsessive Aemond "One-Eye"
Targaryen, Reader-Insert, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Forced
Pregnancy, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Death
Threats, Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, toxic
behaviour, Stalking, Incest, Sibling Incest, Cousin Incest, Brother/Sister
Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest, Canonical Incest, come on its hotd, HotD,
House of the Dragon (TV) References, Dom Aemond "One-Eye"
Targaryen, Knife Play, Blood, injuries, Attempted Murder, Attempted
Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Abortion, Abortion, Miscarriage, Stillbirth,
Child Death, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, Mental
Instability, Anxiety, Depression, Insanity, Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder - PTSD, really sad, Not Good, toxic relationships are bad,
abusers are bad, a hint of stockholm?, youll need a pack of cigarettes
and a bottle of wine for this one, im delulu for Aemy, Parent Daemon
Targaryen, rhaenyra targaryen - Freeform
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Smoke, Fire and Ash
Stats: Published: 2023-04-08 Updated: 2023-08-31 Words: 363,476 Chapters:
106/?

Smoke, Fire and Ash

by ASumOfWords

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)
Notes

This is my first time ever writing and posting a fic. I have been reading fanfic on this
platform for years and the hellscape that is tumblr since I was 12. I have been encouraged
by my best friend to post this, who I actually wrote this self-indulgent fic for.

This is Dead Dove: Do Not Eat territory. This is a Dark!Aemond fic. If any of those tags do
not sit well with you, DO NOT READ. Viewer discretion is advised. This is a House Of
The Dragon work, there will be canonical incest, there will be violence, and death and non-
con/dubcon. This will not be happy and fluffy. It is tagged Dark for a reason. But with all
that being said, I hope you enjoy this devious little story as much as I have indulged in it,
dreamt of it, written and edited it, and most importantly been in my Mind Palace with it.

Now without much further adieu,

I hope you enjoy!

 Smoke

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing this season. The breeze carried a bite to it
that most people who were born there had only seen once or twice before. Some whispered that
Winter was coming, but the prospects of that happening once more was less than the more
unfortunate events happening presently.

In the courtyard of the Red Keep, the cobblestones were freshly swept, rich greys stark amongst
the vibrant green grass, the servants having worked tirelessly through the night as to not be seen
and ruin the illusion of its perfection and all those within it. That biting wind lifted the soft red
leaves from the Godswood, making them dance around each other to land softly on the grass
surrounding.

Your skirts moved with the breeze, blowing lightly between your legs, making the long sleeves of
your gown brush softly against your sides. You walked slowly towards the Godswood, looking up
at the swaying branches, gazing at the deep cracks and ripples in the bark.

The afternoon sun shone gently through the crimson leaves at the top, the warmth lightly dusting
your cheeks and forehead.

The Godswood was where your mother Rhaenyra would read to you as a child, softly brushing
your locks, and whispering tales in High Valyrian in your ear. You sat yourself down in your
favourite spot, and leant back against the tree, feeling the rough bark poking you through your
dress. Closing your eyes, you let the cooling sun lay a blanket of warmth over you, listening to the
soft rustling of the leaves above.

This was your place.

Your comfort.

Somewhere to read, somewhere to lay. To cry, to laugh or sing. You had always come here. And
you were known to be found there too. Your special spot was nestled between two large roots that
worked as a support for your body like a cocoon. You sat there silently, thinking of your mother
and younger siblings.

You were the eldest, and it had been years since you had been back to the Red Keep. The night
Lucerys took Aemond’s eye was the night everything changes, and so you had all left for
Dragonstone and had stayed there ever since.

Venomous rumours of your parentage were openly whispered by the Queen and court,
unfortunately for your brothers, eyes were more likely to be on them due to their appearance.

Prince Laenor had been an amazing father. Loving, kind, patient and forever doting, though at
times detached and not there. You could not fault him. And you would not. How could you? He
helped to raise you in a difficult situation, and was always soft towards your mother.

You knew however that he had not sired you, and though you were raised by Prince Laenor, and
had referred to him as father when growing up, and still think of him as a father to you and your
siblings, Daemon had always called you his, telling you of a secret visit he paid to your mother
when she was still engaged to the younger Prince.

The rumours of you and your siblings' legitimacy were for the most part true. You knew that Sir
Harwin Strong was your brother's father, their likeness was uncanny but these, as your mother
called them 'vile accusations' did not bother you, for you knew that she loved Sir Harwin and
Prince Laenor; just in different ways.

Just as you knew that Prince Laenor loved your mother in a different way also.

You knew that the young Velaryon was not interested in the touch of a woman, but he still raised
you as his own and was a kind and loving man. As for your uncle Aegon, all knew that he had
fathered many a bastard, perhaps hundreds, and yet he was not looked down for it.

Aegon did not face the stares and whispers, the japes and the disgust that your younger brothers
and mother face, that even you face at times. Women are destined to carry the sins of men, and
bear the punishments that no mortal man would ever be made to. That was the reality of it. But
most, like Queen Alicent, let their tongues sharpen the peoples knives, and the dull of mind speak
all too much, and all too frequently, with little to no substance.

As you thought more of your family and memories growing up in the Red Keep you felt yourself
tire, drifting into a light sleep, the afternoon sun having a soporific effect on you.

A sharp pain rippled up your leg from your foot, the pain jerking you awake. Your eyes snapped
open as you peered up to see a dark figure standing in front of you.

The moon reflected on long silver tresses of hair, peeking out from beneath a black hood. The
garden was now dark, except for the few torches lit along the pathways of the stone walls. The
warmth of the sun had left too, leaving the cold to seep up through the ground beneath you.

"Mm." Came a smooth guttural hum from the tall figure before you.

Aemond stared down his nose at you, lips upturned in amusement. You hurriedly pulled your legs
underneath you and stood, one hand reaching back to steady yourself against the bark of the
Godswood.

Holding your breath you looked your uncle in his lone eye, the lost one covered by a dark leather
patch he always adorned. The long snaking scar that travelled from cheek to forehead looked more
sinister in this light. It appeared deeper and more ragged as shadows fell upon his face from the
licking flames of a nearby torch.

Aemond had become fond of torturing you in many ways.

Growing up the two of you were almost inseparable, but time changes many things, and some
wounds won’t heal. As a child he would sometimes read to you or correct your High Valyrian, you
would play together, or hide together, and more often than not eat together. But now since the loss
of his eye and the fraying tension of both of your mothers relationships, his disdain and hatred for
you had festered into an obsession.

It had been so long since you had seen him, only having been back in King’s Landing for a few
days, but already Aemond’s interactions with you put you on edge.

Still staring at him, you pulled your hand off of the bark to brush down your skirts, pulling them up
quickly to step over the root of the tree, only to have him abruptly step forward. His cloak swayed
towards you to brush against the bottom of your dress, the rush of air caused his distinct scent to
surround you. His sharp movement made you step backwards against the tree, foot slipping on the
root below, your hand moving back against the bark to steady yourself.
His lips quirked upwards into a smirk, a huffed breath blowing out through his nose in amusement.
You corrected your footing and stood straight, looking up into his eye.

“What is it, dear uncle?” You asked, sarcasm thick on your tongue as you tilted your head
sideways in frustration. You wished he would let you be.

Slowly the One-Eyed Prince leant forward, gaze still locked on you, searching your face to seek
out your unease. The movement made his cloak gape at the sides, and the soft glint of the hilt of
his sword upon his hip caught your eye. Aemond followed your line of sight, and smirked deeper,
the corner of his upturned lip stretching further up his face.

Leaning back he pulled his body away from you, allowing you to release the breath you had been
holding.

“Dinner is to be served soon, and you are to join us, sweet niece.”

With the billow of his cloak, he stalked back along the stone path, a menacing sway, and into the
archway of the building.

Slumping back against the tree you took a deep breath, pulling up your skirts once more and
stepped over the roots. As you walked briskly along the cobblestones to the archway, you could
smell the subtle hints of your uncle.

Sandalwood, the soldering smell of ash and fire, and the deep scent of leather.

On any other man you would find this combination to be alluring, though from him it made you
uneasy. It smelt of him. It made you think of his sneers and teasing. It made you think of how
much he had changed, how very little you know of the man he had now become.

Everything about it set you on edge.

Aemond was desperate to make you react. Desperate to have you make a fool of yourself in front of
the Lord’s and Ladies of court. In front of your Grandsire the King and Queen Alicent. He wanted
you to react to goad your brothers into reacting with you. He wanted to cause chaos and discord.

Taking a deep breath, you continued through the Red Keep to your chambers, mentally preparing
yourself for your rapidly crumbling family dinner.
 Chapter 2 : Steam
Chapter 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)

Chapter Notes

I originally started posting this fic on tumblr, you can find it on @asumofwords if you
want to see other things I share there too! This is a slow burn fic too, I am world
building and building on not only the readers character but Aemond and everyone else
with events to make them true to their character !

The walk back to your chambers was not a particularly long journey, and though you had spent
years away from the Keep, you still were confident in knowing your way around. It was like
muscle memory. As you walked you could not help but notice a different energy. The hair on your
arms stood up, as the ever present feeling of being watched surrounded you. The soft sound of your
footfall echoed in the mostly empty wing of the Red Keep where your chambers resided.

The art on the walls of the Keep had been changed to Queen Alicent’s tastes. Bland colours and
entirely not Targaryen, replaced the once brightly decorated halls and walls of your old home.
Even the sigils of House Targaryen had been replaced with the unsightly seven pointed star of the
faith Alicent was blindly devoted to.

You followed the torches until you reached the heavy oak of your doors, having them opened by a
Knight of the Kings Guard; his white cloak standing stark against the dark corners of the corridor.
As he pushed open your door you asked him to summon your maids.

“Could you please fetch Aella and Saria for me? Have them prepare some water for a bath.”

He bowed his head, “Yes, My Lady”, before pulling your doors shut.

Your chambers were the same as the ones you had as a child, most of the furnishing and decor had
not changed, though some things had. The room, however you could tell, had been unused since
your departure many years before.

The windows looked out towards the sea, and you looked out to see the moon softly reflecting on
the water, flickering with the waves. A shadow soared above, a great beast flapping its wings to
push itself and its rider higher into the sky. Its looming shadow slipped between the clouds rolling
in, and you prayed a storm would blow in from the sea and knock Aemond off of Vhagar, and
down into the ocean below him.

Vhagar was the largest dragon in the world, fitting for your uncle as he had the largest ego in the
world. You often joked to your brothers that he was most likely compensating for his manhood.

Unlike his brother, you had not heard of his conquests with any women, or men. He was entirely
elusive, a man with little or nothing to say, that many knew naught about, except for his anger.

Lost in your thoughts, Aella and Saria knocked on your chambers and you bid them to enter. Aella
was young, no older than two-and-twenty. She had bright curly red hair that was always tightly
pulled away from her face in braids that formed a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a
deep brown and she had a dusting of freckles upon her nose and cheeks.

Saria was the opposite. A few years older than you, her hair was as black as night, and silky
smooth, worn in a similar style to Aella, but with flowing bangs that framed her face. Her eyes
were a bright blue and her skin was a deep olive.

Aella and Saria came with you from Dragonstone and had served you for many years. Both were
kind and trustworthy, and you would sometimes dare to call them your friends.

The girls carried two large metal buckets each; steam rising high out of them. The two maids
walked across the stone floors and placed them against the far wall. More maids from the Red
Keep walked in, carrying more steaming buckets of water and a large metal tub, placing it next to
the burning fireplace, and began to fill it.

“Will you be joining the King for dinner, My Lady?” Aella asked, lifting one of the buckets, letting
the water carefully fall in as to not splash upon her or the ground.

“I will,” You replied, “I have not seen the King for many years. I’ve missed him,” You paused and
thought, “and Prince Aemond extended a very warm invitation for me to join.” You looked up to
see Aella and Saria give you a knowing look.

They had both witnessed the one-eyed Prince torment you since your recent arrival, and have
listened to your younger selves stories of his sudden random bullying before the loss of his eye.
Such a sudden shift in him which had surprised you both.

Some days it was as though he had forgotten that he hated you then, talking to you excitedly about
something he had learnt in the library, before realising his mistake and scowling, stalking off away
from you.

You had never truly understood the shift, but it was only ever in the open, before the eyes of court
that he did it. If you were tucked away in private, he would speak to you kindly as he always had.
You had shrugged it off as a child, but as you had gotten older, you realised that perhaps Alicent
had been the reason for it.

The extra maids took the empty buckets out of your chambers, bowing to you as they left, closing
the heavy doors once more.

“I wish to look my best this evening. It has been a long time since I have been in the presence of my
family, and I want to make sure they know of how I have grown.”

Saria came behind you and began to unlace your dress, pulling it softly over your head.

Your slip was loosened by a tie at the front and it dropped down, pooling at your feet. The large
copper tub had steam rising over the top, the light from the fire reflected off of its side, creating a
beautiful light that danced upon the wall.

Lifting your foot you stepped over and into the water, letting the stress and anxiety of the day melt
away as you sank deeper into the tub. Leaning up against the high lip of the back, Aella lifted your
braids from your neck and over the top, slowly untangling your hair and brushing out the strands.

Saria walked across the room and over to a large wooden wardrobe, which sat beside the bed.
Dancing dragons were carved into the doors, with the faint remnants of paint covering them with
soft gold leaf detailing and lining the trim of the wardrobe.

It was one of the last things left in this room that was actually yours, making you think that perhaps
Queen Alicent did have a heart after all. Opening the two doors, Saria reached in and began pulling
out gowns to present to you.

“What about this dress Princess?”

In her hands, she held a deep red gown with a high neck. The shoulders pointed upwards and held
the sleeves of the gown together with gold chains. The long sleeves were inwardly lined with a
golden silk and there were black embroidered Godswood branches reaching along the hem and
bust of the gown.

“Beautiful but no, I am wanting black for this evening.”

Aella continued to braid your hair back, whilst you rested in the tub.

Saria went back to the wardrobe and brought forth another dress. This time it was a black, short
sleeved one. Gold embroidered flames licked at the bottom of the gown, which split at the front up
towards the fitted corset of the waist. A golden skirt peeked through the split, which shimmered
like the fireplace.

The neckline was modest and although it was one of your favourites to wear back home in
Dragonstone, you felt that the dress was more of a summer gown, and the coolness of the night
that nipped at you made you think this dress would be too thin.

“I think I want something more mature. They haven’t seen me since I was young, I am older now
and wish to show it.”

You closed your eyes sinking further into the water to think for a moment, Aella pouring oils into
the bath to soak your skin.

“Are any of the new dresses from Dorne?” You inquired, opening one eye to look at Saria. The
dark haired girl paused in thought, then hurriedly walked back to the wardrobe.

The next time she stood before you, she held a new gown you had not worn nor seen before.

“This is new from Marba, the tailor in Dorne.”

It was a dark black, sweeping gown. Its neckline plunged sharply into a deep V, dark black leather
wrapped tightly around the waist and was embroidered with black vines that looked like dragons
tails. The sleeves were long and open, that hung off by the shoulders that were lined with drooping
gold chains. The inner lining was a deep blood red.

It was unlike any gown you had seen before.

Slowly you stood, Aella holding out her hand for you to take to help you out of the tub. Steam
slowly rose from your body as she pressed a warm towel to dry you, softly pushing your
undergarment over your head to wear. You walked towards Saria, who held out the dress for you to
inspect.

Up close, the black embroidery shimmered like threads made of onyx, and the leather was finely
stitched together to pull the waist into a tighter shape. The chains on the sleeves were thin and
wound together like long chainmail braids, so delicate it draped softly and weightlessly as to not
misshape the gown.

The plunging neckline was like most dresses witnessed in Dorne, but not nearly as often in King’s
Landing.

“It is beautiful, thank you Saria.” You smiled, “Help dress me, I’m sure they are expecting me
soon.”

Saria held the gown and helped you into it, lifting it over your head and pulling it down. The inner
lining was soft on your skin and the leathered waist was a new, but not unwelcome weight against
you. Slipping your arms through the sleeves you heard the soft jingling of the chain detailing. They
looked similar to a warriors chainmail, and you thought for a second that you looked as if you were
dressed to go to war.

Though this thought was not entirely unsubstantiated.

Queen Alicent, your two uncles and aunt all still to this day wore green, were referred to as the
Greens and were still waging a silent war against your mother and you all.

You thought of how your uncle Aemond would react to seeing you in a dress like this, but that
thought was short lived as Saria began to tighten your gown, pulling in your waist which then lifted
your breasts. You giggled at the prospect of irritating the prudish Queen Alicent, as Aella began to
fuss with the finishings of your hair.

The dress fit you perfectly, and your hair was swept back in small intricate braids which were held
together by golden charms, the rest of your hair sat softly down your back.

“You look beautiful Princess,” Aella spoke breaking the silence, “They are sure to see how you
have matured with your years away from the Keep.”

She and Saria smiled softly and dabbed small drops of perfumed oils behind your ears and upon
your wrists.

Ensuring that you were ready, Saria and Aella began to clean your chambers as you walked to your
door, having the Knight open them for you.

Taking a deep breath you stepped out and began to walk behind the armoured man. His white cape
swayed behind him as you walked down the corridor to feast with your family again, after many
years apart.
 Chapter 3: The Feast
Chapter Summary

I hope you enjoy this as much as I have written it lol

Pushing yourself forward, you continued along the cold stones towards the more intimate Dining
Hall. You remembered that as a child you would play with your siblings there, chasing each other
around the table and hiding behind the warm toned drapes, clutching at the soft threads whilst
giggling madly, waiting to be found by Jacaerys.

Your younger brother Lucerys was always fond of hiding beneath the table, believing the heavy
dark oak would hide him, but you could always see him there, covering his mouth to prevent the
peals of laughter that threatened to overflow and give away his hiding spot.

You thought of the days you had spent with your aunt Helaena, sitting on the stone steps or on the
window seats, listening to her describe the newest bug she had discovered, letting them crawl over
her hands gently.

Helaena had always been what others called strange, but to you, she was one of the kindest and
wisest people you knew. You believed she had Dragon Dreams; for sometimes her ramblings
foretold a future event that was unexplainable. You remembered as a child, your mother telling you
stories of Daenys the Dreamer, who foretold the destruction of Old Valyria and as you got older,
you began to suspect the same for your aunt. Not many people understood her, and it saddened you
to see the way people treated her.

You had missed your aunt dearly, and wished that she hadn't turned against you, much like her
brothers Aegon and Aemond.Yet beside all of this, she had been nothing but kind to you and all the
creatures she collected, holding them gently, never once being bitten or stung. Helaena had a kind
and pure heart that not many possessed.

A sharp breeze blew through the open arches of the corridor, blowing your loose hairs softly across
your face. The knight beside you kept silent. You don’t remember him from your time in the Red
Keep before, and assume that he may be new to the Knights Watch, surely poisoned by the
whispers of the Queen.

As you turned to look at him he bowed his head, and although he was keeping a respectful air
around him, you sensed that he did not wish to engage with you, and so you looked forward as you
reached the large doors.

They were higher than your chambers, arched and rounded at the top with intricate swirling
carvings along the border with two more Knights of the Kings Guard standing besides them. The
deep wood had two golden handles; both dragons poised to look like they were ready to fight. The
knights grasped at a dragon each and pushed open the door.

The room was gently lit by a multitude of torches that lined the walls, and tall standing candelabras
that lined the entrance way. You held onto your long skirts as you walked up small steps to the
elevated room, looking towards the long table you remembered fondly.
This room and all within it, were oddly unchanged by the Queens redecorating. Perhaps your
Grandsire wished to keep some semblance of normality for his sanity, or perhaps they simply
didn’t use this room any longer, forgetting of its existence entirely. Too many memories.

Looking up, you caught the slanted smile of your Grandsire. He looked pale and gaunt. Your father
was correct in saying that the Gods had not been kind to him over these years. His once thick white
hair, now lay limp and thin upon his head, barely reaching his shoulders, and only few strands
remained upon his scabbed head. Half of his face was covered by a golden mask, a mould of his
younger self.

You wondered what could be hidden behind the shining plate.

He cocked his head, sighing lovingly, “My dear child, how you have grown.”

His eye softened and that small smile spread, revealing a mouth full of missing and rotting teeth
behind his cracked lips. He swept one arm wide open. The other appeared to be missing or tucked
away, the material of the arm of that side pinned back so as to not flail around.

A low chuckle emanated from him and you felt your heart soar. King Viserys had always been a
strong advocate for your mother and siblings. His fierce love for you irking his younger wife.

You quickly walked towards the table. Two large candelabras sat halfway in the middle on each
end, casting a soft light, with dancing shadows on the sides of your family's faces.

“Grandsire, I have missed you dearly.” You sang, as you walked around the table, holding your
head high and ignoring the heat of the eyes stuck to your form.

Walking towards the King, you let your sight wander to Alicent, who sat beside him. Her eyes
watched you closely as you stepped forward to clutch gently at your Grandsires outreached hand.
Leaning forward to kiss his cheek gently, you pulled back to gaze at him once more smiling.

You looked again towards the Queen, who wore a tight lipped smile and unsurprisingly, a dark
green gown with gold trim. It had a conservative high neck and tight sleeves, and around her neck
lay a large golden 7 pointed star, a promise and projection of her suffocating devotion to faith.

You lifted your lips softly towards her, lowering your head letting out a polite, “Queen Alicent.”
acknowledging her presence.

She held her head high, eyes unwavering from yours.

“Princess Y/n, it’s wonderful that you could join us this evening.”

She smiled but it did not reach her eyes as she looked down at the plunging neckline of your dress
and your chosen colour black.

Returning your attention back to your Grandsire you gently squeezed his hand grinning, and leant
forward to place another kiss upon his uncovered cheek, before walking back around to your
designated seat.

As you walked you kissed your mother, softly resting a hand on her shoulder. She too adorned a
dress of black, with red and gold embroidered dragons that sat in her middle. Her silver white hair
lay delicately atop her head in a series of braids and twists and the rest flowing down her back.

Your father Daemon leant back to place a heavy and calloused hand upon yours that still rested on
your mother, “Y/n.” He spoke casually and lowly, so that only your mother and yourself could
hear.

A comforting sound; his own reassurance that this would be okay.

Taking your hand off of your mother, you finally let your eyes roam over the table. Your uncle
Aegon looked as though he had been bathing in wine and whores all evening. His eyes sunken and
lazy, with a drunken smirk sat upon his pale face. His hair was dishevelled and short, wild waves
flicking in different directions, and the top lay heavy on his head from oil and grime. He, like his
mother, was dressed in deep green.

Dark leather pants and a white undershirt was tucked messily into them, half creased from drunken
movements. He looked as though he had been recently woken out of an intoxicated stupor.

Over the top of his white shirt, a dark green silk coat was unceremoniously unbuttoned at the front,
gold detailing wound along the cuffs and neck having small seven pointed stars adorn them. Half
of his undershirt lay unbuttoned at his throat, as if it was a hot summer's day and he was trying to
get a reprieve from the sweltering heat. Lifting his goblet towards his mouth he smirked at you and
took a large sip.

To the left of him sat your aunt. She too was in green, but of a lighter shade, almost yellow. This
gown was more whimsical than strict like her mothers. It had lighter green detailing of leaves from
the godswood, and her hair lay loose down her back, tucked behind her ear by a few braids. The
same hairstyle she had worn since she was a child.

Her hands sat in her lap, twisting and turning. A nervous habit she had not lost from her childhood
that she inherited from her mother. Helaena lifted her eyes from her hands and looked at you,
giving a shy smile before quickly looking back down. You knew in that moment that she did not
hate you and it made your heart race that you had not lost your aunt.

Your brother Jacaerys sat beside Aegon, wearing all black with hints of red and beside him sat his
betrothed Baela. She too dressed in a deep black, with her curled white hair sitting delicately atop
her head. Both smiled at you as did your younger brother Lucerys and Rhaena.

Your seat sat at the head of the table, on the end, whilst the chair on the opposite side with the
Greens was vacant. You wondered if your uncle Aemond was going to jump out of the shadows to
scare you once more, or perhaps he had fallen off of Vhagar afterall, and sunk to the bottom of the
ocean like you had prayed.

Maybe the Gods favoured you after all.

Your brother Jacaerys stood to pull out your chair for you and gently sat back down in his, taking
Baela's hand in his own. You were proud of both of your brothers. They were kind and clever,
raised perfectly by your mother to treat women well.

You could not say the same about Alicent's children.

Aegon, though married to Helaena, still whored about, fathering many bastards and was rumoured
to be a cruel and childish prince. Your uncle Aemond did not have any rumours of bastards, but
more than enough proof of his cruelty towards others when provoked.

If Aemond did not show for supper, it would make the night a lot easier to suffer through.

You could cut the tension with a knife. Your father Daemon sat picking at his fingernails in
boredom whilst your mother spoke softly to her father. Queen Alicent sat stiffly beside him, staring
daggers at her drunken son Aegon, who had slumped further into his seat, and let his wandering
eyes stalk one of the maids that was refilling his cup.

The Green Queen was clearly becoming more agitated whilst waiting for the arrival of her son
Aemond. Her eyes continued to flit towards the door, hoping that her gaze would suddenly
summon him into the room.

Helaena seemed to become more anxious and turned further into herself, not uttering a word to
anyone except murmuring beneath her breath. Your Grandsire obviously sensing the rising tension
pulled away from his conversation with his daughter Rhaenyra.

“Let us not wait any longer.” He said with a slight chuckle. Prince Daemon let out a huff of a laugh
and reached for his goblet.

The Queen's hands fidgeted in her lap.

Lifting her head, Alicent summoned the maids and servants to begin the feast. Small conversations
littered the table as you waited, but the Greens for the most part kept to themselves.

The table soon began to be filled with a large feast. Poultry and meaty legs of ham were placed
along the table, dripping in gravy and juices from the meat. Steaming vegetables of all shapes and
colours were placed surrounding, the herbs and rich butter wafting through the air.

Reaching for your goblet, you lifted it towards your lips and took a long sip, knowing that you
would need more wine in your chambers after this dinner, and made a mental note to get Saria or
Aella to fetch some before bed.

By now, Aegon looked as though he was falling asleep in his chair and Helaena seemed to be
relaxed by this, occasionally lifting her gaze to steal short and shy glances at you.

Daemon reached forward and began to serve himself before everyone else, Queen Alicent
interrupting his movements as she began a loud and obnoxious prayer, stopping him from helping
himself further.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” She began, curling her hands together,
“May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long.”

You softly scoffed and looked up to see your mother looking exacerbated.

“And to Vaemond Velaryon,”

Gods be good.

Your father Daemon let out a sharp snort through his nose at the mention, throwing his head back
to roll his eyes up in disbelief and amusement. Vaemond currently lay in the sept being prepared to
be sent back to Driftmark for burial. His tongue would no longer offend your mother, or you. The
Rogue Prince and you exchanged looks, he did not hide his laughter and you struggled, biting your
lips.

“May the gods give him rest.”

He has all of eternity to rest.

As she finished the prayer, Daemon reached forward to take a large sip of his wine, now hiding his
smirk behind the goblet, whilst Alicent looked angrily at Aegon who seemed to have finally
nodded off during her prayer.
As she opened her mouth to chastise him, the heavy wooden doors pushed open, revealing the
neatly brushed and pulled back silver hair of Prince Aemond.

The doors clunked shut, rousing Aegon from his drunken stupor, and Helaena shifted in her seat.
 The Pink Dread
Chapter Notes

I am a slut for a slow burn, and even bigger slut for world building and character
building so strap in for the ride that is going to be this fic.

Your uncle casually walked up the stairs, not acknowledging his tardiness, long legs pulling him
towards the table. He wore black leather pants and heavy leather boots. You could hear the
intention in every step he took, though you knew this to be an illusion.

If he didn’t want you to know he was coming, you wouldn’t.

He wore a tight leather tunic that buckled high on his neck. On his hip lay his sword, which if you
didn’t know any better, you would think it was attached to his flesh. You thought to yourself he
must eat, sleep and bathe with it on his person.

Aemond was the only member of the Greens that did not follow their coloured attire. No green
could be found upon his body, except for a small golden ring that sat on his pinky, with a large
emerald sitting in its centre.

He wore a simple black leather coat that flowed gently down his slender and toned body. Slits cut
through the material neatly on the back, so that the coat would move without catching, and allowed
for the long end of his sword to peek through.

Walking round the table, he sat at the opposite end facing you. Keeping his eyes on his mother, he
muttered a soft “Forgive me”, before sitting down slowly. Once seated, the Prince's one good eye
slid across the table to stare directly into yours, slowly looking down your body. That same sly
smirk sliding across his lips, sending heat down your neck.

Breaking away from his eye contact, you sought out your mother who was looking at you
knowingly.

A silent command to behave.

You reached forward for your goblet and drained it. The tart red liquid sliding down your throat,
leaving a burning warmth in its trail. Leaning back you held up your cup to gain the attention of
one of the maids, who stepped forward to refill it, before bowing and stepping back against the
wall. You softly thanked her, taking a smaller sip and placing it back down upon the table.

King Viserys stood slowly, his large chair scraping slightly against the stone flooring. Reaching
forward with his one arm, he clasped the goblet and raised it,

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” He breathed heavily, leaning slightly to his left to
gaze upon your brothers, “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and
Rhaena,” A slow smile rising on his lips, “further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

King Viserys paused to look across the Green side of the table. Alicent sat pin straight with her
hands still in her lap, Helaena had raised her eyes to shyly smile at her nephews and cousins, whilst
Aegon was looking into his goblet as if he wished to fall straight in.
Aemond however, was still staring directly at you, not having moved an inch, lips upturned
challenging you to look away, and so you did.

“A toast to the young Princes... and their betrothed.” Your Grandsire concluded joyously.

“Hear, Hear!” Was heard across the table, albeit its enthusiasm lacking from certain parties.

Carefully King Viserys sat back down, with Alicent and Rhaenyra clutching at opposite sides to
guide him, their eyes flitting to each other in a silent understanding.

After a few moments of discomfort, your mother abruptly stood, pushing her chair back and
reaching forward sharply to grab her goblet. The Greens flinched at the sudden movement and you
felt pride in knowing your mother still commanded the room in one way or another.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen.” She started, Alicent’s head whipping to your
mothers, eyes holding a deep scepticism.

“I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good
wife.” Rhaenyra looked across the table, gazing at her father and letting her eyes land on Alicent’s,
"She has tended to him with... unfailing devotion, love, and honour.”

The Princess spoke gently and honestly, “And for that, she has my gratitude…” She paused as she
let her eyes flit back across the table and then down at her goblet,

“And my apology.”

Queen Alicent’s face softened, as she looked from her lost childhood friend and back down to her
hands.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.”

There was a sorrowful air to her voice, “We are both mothers…” She looked to her own, then back
to Rhaenyra, “And we love our children.”

She slowly stood as your mother sat back into her seat, Daemons hand coming to clutch hers and
held it on the table in show.

“We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Alicent picked up her goblet which she had
not touched thus far, “I raise my cup to you... and to your house.”

She paused and breathed in deeply, as if preparing herself for her next words.

“You will make a fine queen.”

Rhaenyra stared at her in shock, but then a small smile worked its way to her lips.

Your father, younger siblings and cousins grasped their cups and held them high, loudly
proclaiming “Hear, Hear!”.

Taking a deep sip alongside them, and glancing along the table, you saw that Aegon was still
gazing deeply into his cup. Helaena however, was proudly holding out her goblet and softly spoke
with us, taking a gentle sip before placing it back down and keeping her gaze upon you.

As you all settled back into your chairs, music slowly began to fill the room and the sounds of
chatter and clinking cutlery filled the atmosphere. It was strange to be back there, to be in a room
with people who had grown and changed so much. People who you had grown apart from to the
point of living away at Dragonstone.

Outside a storm slowly rolled in, the low rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning filling the
room.

Aemond still sat in the same position, not having moved, and not having lifted his goblet, with
Alicent watching him intently. Every moment he stared at you, you felt anger rise inside of you,
making you clench your teeth in annoyance. What was his issue with you? Surely his mother had
taught him that it was rude to stare.

Some tension however, had slowly lifted after Rhaenyra and Alicent’s words; a subtle treaty and
perhaps a new beginning.

Pulling some turkey leg onto your plate and helping yourself to some steaming vegetables, you
slowly began to chew, listening to stories from your Grandsire and siblings, watching them bounce
off of each other, whilst Alicent occasionally joined in to share the sudden joy.

Aemond continued to watch you, unblinking like a predator hunting its prey from across the room.
He had not touched any food, nor gone to serve himself a meal.

His plate remained empty.

He simply sat and stared.

You knew that he was doing this to get you to react, to push you into causing a scene, but you
could not ruin this night for your Grandsire or mother, who needed it more than anything. So
instead, you opted to keep your eyes on your end of the table for the duration of your meal despite
the prickling sensation of his gaze.

You looked about the table, watching as everyone interacted in their own ways. This could have
been your lives if Alicent had not become poisoned by her fathers ambitions. It was strange to see
what could have been. What should have been, if only she had let it.

Otto Hightower had ruined the bond her and your mother had, causing a fracture throughout your
family. It was a bittersweet moment and you felt yourself yearning to speak to Helaena again after
many years apart.

King Viserys had become increasingly unwell during the feast, the pain from his ailment making
him weak and groan. Alicent and your mother both called the guards to come escort him back to
his chambers.

As he came past you, you stood and kissed his face and hand gently, bidding him a goodnight,
praying that the gods would be kinder to him.

You all watched as your Grandsire was escorted back to his chambers and feeling emboldened by
the wine in your system, you quickly walked down the table. Your skirts flowing behind you as
your hair was swept up with each determined step. Once next to Helaena, she looked up at you and
smiled brightly.

Reaching your hand out you spoke loudly, “Care to join me for a dance, Aunt Helaena?”

Beaming up at you she nodded vigorously, taking your hand firmly and quickly jumping out of her
seat. You both walked to the centre of the room and began to twirl around each other, giggling and
smiling, much like you used to as children.
After a quick spin you went forward and grasped her hands, gazing at her, “I have missed you so
much Helaena, life is not the same without you!”

She sadly smiled back and squeezed your hands, “I’m sure it isn’t too unbearable.”

“There are far too many men at Dragonstone, I feel as though I’m being suffocated by them!
Please promise me that you will come visit! I couldn’t bear to go another year without seeing you
again.”

You pulled her in for a tight hug which she reciprocated softly. As you held each other in the
giddiness of your reunion, Helaena murmured into your ear gently.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards”.

You pulled back to look at her. Helaena’s face was blank. You nodded to show her that you had
heard her, and she went back to smiling once more. This was not the first time she had uttered her
dreams to you, though you always struggled to decipher them. At first, when you were both much
younger, and she would mutter you, you found that if you worried over her, she would become
agitated and flustered. The best thing to do was acknowledge what she had said, and try to decipher
it at night as you lay in your chambers.

You never quite get it.

After a few seconds of holding onto each other, your brother Jacaerys stood and walked towards
you both, asking gently if he could dance with his aunt. Giving her hands one last squeeze and
smiling lovingly at her, you gave her hands to your brother.

As you walked back to your seat, you felt a shift in the room. A new tension, but this time it wasn’t
directed towards you. That heated gaze, and prickling upon your skin from Aemond’s glare
disappeared, which put you on edge. You watched as Aemond now had his attention fixated on
your brother and his sisters' peals of laughter as they danced together.

Alicent and her father Otto, smiled watching and laughed alongside the table.

It was odd to see Aemond suddenly shift his fixation. He watched Jacaerys as if he was a danger to
Helaena, as if Jace would even dare to harm his aunt. He watched as though Helaena was in
danger, as though the mere touch of Jacaerys was a danger. As though he had Grey Scale.

It was odd.

You sat back down in your seat as more food was brought out to the table, far more food than any
of you were capable of eating or needing. Most would go untouched, as the majority of the table
reached for the cups and goblets over their knives and forks, wine and ale flowing heavily.

All drank greedily, faces flushed, except for Aemond, who’s lone eye was fixed on the back of his
nephew. His lips were no longer upturned in a smirk, and now a scowl made the scar across his
face wrinkle in places.

Wishing to take the heat of his glare off of your brother's back, you spoke out to your uncle.

“Prince Aemond, were you riding Vhagar this evening? I thought I saw her soaring up into the
sky.” He did not turn his head as you addressed him, and so you continued, “When you didn’t
arrive on time, I worried that a storm had come and taken you.”

Your father Daemon stared at you, emotions unreadable, and your mothers glance warned you to
not poke at the beast; perhaps that is what Helaena was trying to warn you of. But his shift in
attention to Jace put you on edge, and you wished to take it away, redirect it if you must.

Slowly Aemond turned his head to look at you, feigning disinterest as he reached forward to grasp
at his goblet with his long slender fingers.

“I was merely enjoying the night sky, dear niece. It’s not everyday you have the world's largest
dragon, and I make a habit of reminding myself of that.”

He stared intently at Lucerys and Baela, taunting them. Baela’s hands were clenched in her lap. A
sore spot for the two girls. The One- Eyed Prince let his gaze drift to them, and then back to you,
before taking a shallow sip of his wine.

His attention was now back on you.

You leant back to continue, “We can thank the Seven that you weren’t caught in the weather. I had
a terrifying vision of you falling from Vhagar, and sinking into the depths of the sea.”

You smiled gently at him as you reached for your goblet.

“Thank the Gods you made it this evening to join us all again. I can scarcely remember the last
time we were here all together.”

You slyly took a sip of your wine, your mother growling your name lowly in warning at you, whilst
Daemon sat back and smirked.

Alicent sat up straighter, clearly sensing the tension that had begun to escalate and eyed her son
cautiously. His smirk dropped from his face.

The last time you were all together was when he lost his eye.

Slowly he tilted his head, continuing to stare at you, but this time with liquid courage running
through your veins you refused to look away. Instead you stared right back; challenging him.

He must have found it deeply amusing as he smirked sharply, a deep “Hm” coming from his chest,
and he took another yet deeper sip from his goblet. He had grown fond of his non answer, that deep
hum nestled in his chest.

It irked you.

Still staring at you, your uncle swirled the remainder of his drink, shifting his eye to it before
looking back up at you, but as he opened his mouth to speak, two servants placed a large roasted
pig upon the table in front of him. It was cruel really, and too perfect for the moment for you all to
not see it.

You believed in that moment that the Gods planned for this.

Your lips pulled up in a smirk as Lucerys softly giggled beside you. It was an odd thing, to have the
upper hand on Aemond once again after all these years. And as you threw a glance at Aegon, you
saw his lips quiver and you knew that you had him.

You let yourself look at the man you had once proudly called your uncle and began to address him.

“Is that not your first dragon, uncle Aemond? What had you named it again? The Pink Dread?”

Small giggles ran across the table and even Aegon smirked, looking at the perfectly roasted pig
sitting in front of his brother. It was a low blow. One that even almost surprised you. You
remember that day very well. You had not been in the pit with the boys, instead in the gardens with
Helaena as she found a new millipede to hold. Aemond had come to you later, upset and angry, and
you had been there to soothe him.

He had not always been cruel, but time can twist even the kindest of people.

Slamming his hands upon the table, Aemond stood up sharply, making your father sit higher in his
seat. The room quietened as Aemond violently reached forward to grab his now almost empty
goblet, raising it forward towards you.

“Final tribute,” He spoke loudly with sinister conviction, that sly smirk finding its way back onto
his face, “To the health of my nephews, Jace….” He looked across to see my brother paused with
Helaena, still hand in hand, “Luke and Joffrey” He paused, and slid his eye back to you.

“Each of them handsome, wise…” Paused again, then continued, his smirk deepening whilst
Alicent shifted in her seat.

“Hm… Strong.”

“Aemond.” Alicent snapped sharply at him.

Your hands balled into fists in your lap as you tensed your jaw. A flittering thought crossed your
mind to grab the fork closest to you and jam it into his only good eye.

Let him mock you then.

He continued.

“And to my darling niece,” He stared at you, slowly sipping on his drink as his mother begged him
with her eyes to stop, her hands clasped tightly, fingers digging into each other. Aegon sat in quiet
amusement sipping on his goblet which had been refilled as he watched you.

“Some cast doubts about her strength, but I can see that she is just as strong as her brothers.” Your
uncle raised his goblet and took a large sip, smiling at you.

That bastard.

Alicent reprimanded him, apologising profusely to yourself and your mother. All you felt was a
seeping white heat travelling over your body. You saw red. How dare he not only call yourself, but
your brother's bastards so confidently.

"Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys, and their Strong sister." He purred.

"I dare you to say that again." Jace called across the room.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?"

After all these years away, all those years to move past from your childhood, he seemed to have
festered like a fungus. Had the loss of his eye made the world so dark around him that he became
rotten in it? Was your friendship as children nothing to him?

You wished to squish him under your boot.

Teeth ground against each other as you tried to keep yourself seated, heat rising up your chest.
Don’t do it, don’t. Stay seated. Do it for mother. Be good. Behave. You unclenched your hands,
small crimson beads rising to the surface where your nails had ripped through your skin.

But then it happened all so quickly, that not even you could prevent it.

You watched as Jace ran forward and punched Aemond across the face, your uncle barely moving
from the hit. Aemond smiled a vicious smile as he turned his head back. Not a single drop of wine
spilled from his cup as he pushed your brother to the ground with one hand.

Fuck this.

Shooting up from your seat, the small drops of blood began to drip down your hands, catching your
mother and Alicent's eyes. Luke shot up to help Jace, but Aegon intercepted, slamming him down
onto the table.

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra quietly warned.

But your father Daemon subtly nodded, silently giving you the permission you had been seeking,
for he had caught you eyeing the fork in front of you. Snatching the cold utensil you clutched it
tightly in your fist staring Aemond down from across the table.

You wanted to lodge the fork into his throat.

“Say that again. Say that again I dare you!” You yelled across the table, and all fell silent again,
except the soft pattering of rain hitting against the windows as the storm outside grew louder.

Helaena flinched whilst Queen Alicent softly reached towards your side of the table, palm open
towards you, trying to calm you, reassure you, apologise, placate you.

“Princess Y/n, pl-“

You interrupted her,

“No. I want to hear what my uncle has to say.” You heaved a breath, “Speak Aemond, so that we
may hear your treasonous lies again.” The words rushed out of your mouth, before you could stop
them.

The wine and adrenaline coursed through you, guiding your anger. How dare he? The little craven.
Fucking bastard. If only you had your own blade with you, you would take his other eye. There
was no question that you had the fire of the dragon within you. You were a Targaryen through and
through.

Aemond stayed silent as he watched the reaction of the room unfold. You had given him exactly
what he wanted, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hurt him. His lip twitched into a smile, white
teeth peeking through his lips and that was the final nail in the coffin.

Your chair flew back behind you and crashed against the floor loudly as you began to storm
towards him, fork clutched tightly in your hand, blood dripping down your palms to create a small
trail behind you. You dodged the other guards which held your siblings back, racing up to your
smiling uncle, weapon tightly clenched in your fist.

He stood still, smirking, sipping on his goblet, unmoving as you rushed forward to push the fork
up under his chin, the four prongs hard against his throat, yet not puncturing him. He did not even
flinch. It was as though he anticipated it.
“Say. That. Again.” You hissed, looking up at him, chest heaving in breaths.

Yet, Aemond One-Eye still simply stared down at you smirking, as he slowly lifted his goblet once
more to his lips, taking another sip in a silent challenge to you.

You swiped your free hand up and knocked his cup out of his hand, sending it flying onto the table,
spilling its contents onto Aegon's already creased shirt.

Several chairs pushed backwards along the stone floor. Jacaerys moved to come towards his
younger brother Luc but halted as a booming voice broke the silence.

"Keligon." (Stop.) Daemon's voice came from behind you. He sighed loudly as two warm arms
wrapped around your waist, one slowly reached forward to grasp at the hand wielding the fork at
Aemond’s throat.

Daemon pulled on your arm, whispering quietly into your ear, “Ivestragī ziry jikagon.” (Let it go.)

You did not budge. You would not budge.

And although your fathers presence grounded you slightly, you still had no desire to see Aemond
walk away from his comments unscathed.

Daemon sighed.

The Prince roughly pulled the fork away from his nephew's throat as he pulled you back and away
from Aemond. As Aemond watched the interaction between you and your father, you noted that his
gaze flickered back and forth, and his brow pulled down in concentration. His shit eating grin, now
gone from his face as he stared up at your father behind you.

The Rogue Prince stared back.

Prince Daemon looked to Aemond, lowering his voice so that only you and the man before you
could hear, “Issa ñuha tala." (She is my daughter.)

The younger Prince continued to stand still, although his confidence began to falter, as his eye
flicked between the two of you. Looking at your features intently.

“To your room! Now!” Alicent commanded before he could respond.

Aemond still did not move. His slid eye down your body, which shook in anger, letting the warmth
of his gaze linger on your chest, before slinking back up to your eyes.

“Now.” Alicent repeated, suddenly behind her son.

“Rȳbagon naejot aōha muña, riñītsos” (Listen to your mother, boy.) Daemon mocked, leaning back,
releasing you from his hold only to push you backwards behind him.

You stumbled over your feet at the harsh push, your chest heaving in anger as you stared at the
One-Eyed Prince.

“Hm.” Came that same grating hum from your uncle, before he slinked around you and walked out
the doors.

You watched him as he left, the leather of his coat sweeping behind him as he swayed with each
step. Alicent continued to apologise profusely to your mother, whilst she tended to Jace and Luc's
anger.

Daemon took hold of your shoulders and turned you to face him, “Ao tolī.” (You too.) He spoke
softly brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Kessa, kepa.” (Yes, father.) You nodded.

Daemon leant forward and brushed a soft kiss to your hairline and bid you goodnight. You turned
to face Helaena who sat in her seat looking at her hands, repeating 'Beware the beast beneath the
boards' over, and over again into her lap.

Softly apologising to the room, you bowed your head and began to walk down the short steps, the
two knights opened the door for you to walk through. You took one final glance towards the room.

Helaena had turned around to give you a whisper of a smile to which you returned one gratefully.
Alicent and your mother stood off to the side, hands held together speaking softly as your brothers
and cousins were dismissed to their chambers after you.

You took a deep breath and stepped out, feeling that you didn’t entirely ruin the evening, and made
your way to retire to your chambers for bed angry and exhausted.
 A Storm Brewing
Chapter Notes

Lord have mercy... A bit of a shorter chapter this time but a storm is certainly
brewing....

The hallways to your wing of the Red Keep were cold and dark. Light from the storm outside
illuminated the walls with the occasional strike of lightning, which were followed by deafening
cracks of thunder. The rain pounded down, the noise roaring through the Keep.

Wind gust through the open corridors, their previous gentle breezes becoming icy with the
downpour, pushing the rain sideways into the Red Keep.

Walking through an open corridor you felt sprays of water reach your arm and side of your face.
You pushed yourself against the side of the stone wall to avoid the icy downpour. Never had you
witnessed quite a storm like this. Perhaps Winter was coming after all.

Your Knight followed behind as you sped to your room briskly, trying to get to the sanctuary of
your chambers. Your hands stung where the blood had begun to coagulate, and your mouth felt dry
from the wine.

Winding up a large stone staircase, you gazed at the stained glass windows. Dragons and trees,
Gods and ancestors all stared back at you in bright coloured glass. They lit up with every flash
from the storm raging outside, casting colourful lights across your body.

With your skirts clutched in your hand, you made your way further to the top where a landing was,
overlooking the grounds below. As another flash of lighting lit the room, you swore you saw a
shadow in the corner of your eye.

You blinked, turning your head in the direction, but all you were met with was an empty archway.
The flashes from the storm cast strange shadows about the Keep, so you shrugged it off. Though
there was still the eerie feeling of being watched, your hair stood on end.

When you finally arrived at your chambers, the Knight opened the door for you and bid you a good
night, shutting the door tightly behind you. You felt uneasy after the night's events, and were
thankful that the fireplace was burning hot, its large licking flames devouring the large logs in its
hold. The fireplace cast a warm light across the room.

Walking over to a plush green armchair beside the fire, you sank heavily into its feathered down,
looking into the flames. You wished that your heart would cease beating rapidly in your chest, but
your body remained at high alert.

Something was off.

Every boom of thunder and flash of lightning seemed to increase your anxiety. You were not
usually afraid of storms, but tonight you felt it hid something sinister in its shadows.

Putting your elbow on the arm of the chair, you rested your chin on your palm, looking out of the
window to watch the storm outside, rain cascaded down, lightning streaking across the sky in long
tendrils, fingers reaching out to consume the clouds around them.

The rain's downpour distorted the view through the window, fat rivers of rain running down the
glass outside. From where you could once see the ocean with the moon sitting atop, there was now
only black, and nothing further than the streams of rain dribbling down, or striking lightning.

It was hypnotising to stare out into the darkness, its fierce beauty enamouring you, however you
couldn't help but feel that the storm was staring back at you. Every flash of lightning, a show and
performance for it to snatch your attention from all else around you.

A distraction.

You stood, lazily pulling your body out of the chair, walking over to one of the tables in the room.
It held a large decanter of red wine, and goblets surrounding it. Picking up a small cup, you poured
yourself a night kip to soothe your nerves, forgoing turning straight to bed, and walked back to the
armchair.

As you sat back at the fire and slowly sipped from your cup. Saria and Aella came to your
chambers, entering to prepare you for bed. Your father had summoned them to check your hands.

Kneeling in front of you, Saria held a small bowl of warm soapy water and a washcloth. Dipping
the cloth into the bowl, she began to slowly and delicately wipe at your palms and wrists, taking
away any dried rivulets of blood whilst looking at the small cuts.

“They’re only small, I will be fine.” You huffed, draining the rest of your cup, staring back out into
the window.

Saria nodded, drying your hands and standing to take the bowl and bloodied cloth away, whilst
Aella began to undo your braids and undress you.

Her small hands were delicate and soft, ensuring to not pull or tug aggressively at your now tangled
hair. Aella and Saria were quiet, sensing that you did not wish to converse with them further.

Once your hair was out of its braids, falling in waves down your back, you were dressed into your
sleeping gown and led back to bed. However, the urge to sleep escaped you and so you asked the
girls to fill your goblet with more wine and bring it over to you in bed.

A book from your wardrobe that had been left untouched, was brought over with the wine and a
smaller candle to allow you to see. Once in your hands, you thanked the girls and dismissed them.

The book was small, with faded red leather binding it, now turned an almost blood orange. Gold
lettering in High Valyrian covered the front and a small golden dragon was inscribed beneath.

‘Se Jaesa Hen Perzys’ it read; The Goddess of Fire.

It had been one of your favourite books your mother Rhaenyra read to you as a child in this very
room. Tales of fire, and ice from the North, of Gods and monsters, and how the Valyrians became
what you were today; of Dragon Blood.

The pages were frail and worn, from years of reading. Sticky fingerprints left behind from when
you had been eating dates in your mothers lap and enthusiastically asked her to reread a page,
grasping at the delicate paper and smudging some ink.

It smelt the way old books smelt; loved. Some pages were ripped, water stained or loose, but it was
your special book. You did not have any need to read it, its words memorised in your head. You
simply wished to hold it. To wait out the storm, and feel at peace once more.

As you slowly sipped on your wine and rubbed your fingers softly on the spine of the book, you
felt your eyes begin to grow heavy. The candle beside your bed had melted almost to the bottom of
its wick, its wax polling below it.

You wriggled softly as you sunk into the plush pillows and duvet of your bed. Behind your eyes
you saw the flashes of the storm, and felt the calm of the book held in your hands gently lull you
into a heavy sleep.
 An eye for an eye
Chapter Notes

I think I speak for most of us when I say I would not mind one bit if Aemond snuck
into my bedchambers..... Good LORD. The tags are tagged for a reason, so you have
been warned ! A side note is, I have posted Aemond's POV from chapters 1-4, and will
be soon posting his POV for this chapter too hehe. You should be able to find it as a
part 2 to the Smoke, Fire and Ash work. Anyway.... enjoy ;)

A loud crack ricocheted through your room.

Jolting forward in your bed you frantically searched the room for danger. The lightning flicked
across your walls, mind still foggy from sleep before it slowly realised there was no danger, only
the storm.

You felt your heart beating frantically in your chest, causing the back of your eyes to throb. Pulling
your duvet back, you swung your legs out of bed and dragged your feet across the room to pour
yourself some water.

Flashes of light from the storm lit up the room casting shadows, increasing your unease.

Stepping back to stand next to the fireplace, you looked into what was now mostly ashes as the fire
had begun to dwindle. You sipped from your cup, wishing the throbbing behind your eyes would
ease. You felt the telltale signs of an oncoming hangover.

Another crash of thunder made your body clench. The feeling of being watched again rolling over
your body, ears straining to listen for noises.

Walking towards the window, you look out, and although the rain was not as heavy as it was
before, it still poured down. The sky lit up in zigzags of crackling bursts of lightning, crawling
across the sky like cobwebs. A large storm indeed.

Turning back to seek the sanctuary of your blankets, you looked into the dark room. The hair on
your arms standing up as your breath caught in your throat.

In an armchair on the far corner of the room near your bed, there was a shadow. You blinked your
eyes rapidly, willing the trick of your eyes to go, but the shadow stayed. You thought it must be the
way the storm is casting light, or perhaps the wine had muddled your mind.

Taking slow and cautious steps forward, clutching onto your glass you moved, breath shallow to
not alert the shadow of your presence.

“You’re quite the heavy sleeper, Princess.”

A sharp gasp left your lips as the glass in your hand fell to the floor by your feet. Little slices of
glass cutting your feet in the process as it shattered beneath you.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you struggled to pull air into your lungs. Opening and
closing your mouth, you tried to find a way to speak, yet another boom of thunder crashed and
lightning lit up the room, illuminating your uncle who sat comfortably on the green armchair,
goblet of wine sitting lazily in one hand.

“Do not tell me you have gone quiet now, hm? You had so much to say at dinner.”

You could hear the smirk in his tone.

“How long have you been in here?” You hissed, hand coming up to clutch at the front of your
dress, willing your heart to slow.

Aemond stood languidly, taking lazy and smooth steps towards you, looking down at his wine,
swirling it in his hand. His long fingers delicately grasping the rim of the drink as he did so.

With every step he took, the better you could see him. His shirt had now been unbuttoned at his
chest and his coat long forgotten. The sleeves of his white dress shirt had been rolled up to his
elbows, showing off his toned arms and veins which stood out on his pale skin.

“Your handmaidens took such lovely care for you, even fetching your favourite book.” He spoke,
casually with no emotion, emphasising the last word.

“You know,” He took another large step forward, still observing the wine as if the conversation
bored him,

“Sometimes I would sneak into your room when you were gone and read it.” His eye still on his
drink.

Taking a step backwards, you felt a piece of glass slice through the bottom of your foot, embedding
itself inside. Pain shot up your leg and you whimpered, taking quick hopping steps backwards,
walking atop more in the process.

He still stalked forward, his eye suddenly looking up into yours. Your unbalanced steps took you
backwards until your back pressed against the wall next to the fireplace.

Only then did he stop walking forward.

“You reminded me of something at dinner.” He reflected, brow lifted in thought,

“I had not truly seen my dear niece since the day I lost my eye.”

He walked to the side placing his goblet upon the table next to the decanter, stopping to pause and
look out at the storm flashing across the sky.

Your feet throbbed and you felt the warm sticky essence of your blood begin to seep out
underneath them, causing the floor to become slippery and wet.

“We were children,” You said quickly,

“Lucerys was just a boy.” You looked him in his eye, begging him to leave you be.

“Hm.” He hummed, still staring at you.

“I was a child too,” He uttered, looked down at your injured feet, lips curling up in a smirk, then let
his eyes trail slowly back up your body to your face. You felt naked in your thin nightgown,
goosebumps rising along your skin.

“I think most people forget that.” He hummed in thought.

Quickly his demeanour changed, a sneer on his lips. He leant forward and hissed,

“I should take out your eye."

Pressing back into the wall you begged your heart to calm, slowing your breaths. How many years
had you been preparing for this? How long had you known that this day would come? How many
times had you dreamt of it?

You tried to swallow but your throat was dry. Sucking in a sharp breath you pushed your body
forward to stand straight, weight painfully on your feet as you felt shards of glass sink further into
the tender flesh of your soles.

“If you want to take my eye, then so be it. Then maybe you will stop this obsession. How many
years have you waited, uncle? How many? Too many for a sane man.” Your voice shook as you
spoke.

“Hm.” His eye looked you up and down, measuring you, to see if you were true to your words, or
if this was a trick.

Head tilted to the side he continued to stare at you. Your breath had evened out but your heart still
raced. He took another slow step towards you and then another, the light of the small fire
illuminating his face. You held strong.

Lifting your chin high, you continued to stare right back, when suddenly his hand slowly rose to
the back of his head.

“I want you to see what my sweet nephew did to me.” He said, fiddling with the buckle at the back
of his head.

Slowly the leather straps became looser, sagging against his hair. At this, he pulled the leather
patch up and away from his face.

You stilled as you took in your uncle.

The scar cut cleanly up his cheek, through his eye, slowly fading into his forehead. The socket
looked shallow and cold, darker than the rest of his face, the scaring changing its shape.

Nestled in the empty socket where his eye once was, sat a shimmering sapphire stone, carved and
polished to be the perfect size of the eye that he lost. Where the light of the fire shone against it,
beautiful shades of lavender and turquoise shimmered back.

It was beautiful.

Your lips parted and your hand came up out of reflex, fingers extending as though to touch it.

Your uncle was a handsome man, his jaw had gotten stronger with age and his lips more full. His
eyebrows were drawn down into a hard line as his one good eye looked to where your hand had
come up.

Aemond rapidly crowded your space, stepping forward pushing you back into the wall of the
fireplace, his forearm pressing heavily against your throat.

You desperately tried to suck in a breath, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. His eye
searched yours as he huffed a heavy breath out of his nose. Then slowly he started to push harder
against you, your hands flying up to clutch at his arm.
“Aemond…” You wheezed quietly, digging your nails into his arm trying to get him to ease his
weight from you.

His other arm reached behind him, slowly pulling forward a blade, the light glinting off of the tip.
The blade was long and thin, a small sparring blade one would normally hide in their boot. The
handle was gold with three serpents winding up the hilt to wrap around a large red stone at the top.

“Hm.” He scoffed, raising the blade to slowly trail it up your cheek, resting it under your eye.
Gently he released the pressure against your throat, but kept his arm firmly against you as you
sucked in a greedy breath.

“I won’t blind you, I’m no monster.” He smirked, lightly pushing the blade on your skin.

“An eye for an eye. Justice my mother never got.” He purred.

You felt the sharp tip of the blade press harder into your face, a small bead of blood rising to the
surface. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, reopening them to stare back into his one
good eye and the shining orb that sat in the other.

“Then do it.” You resigned, waiting for the sharp blade to slide through your flesh, pulling your
eye from its place.

He stared at you more intently now, still holding the blade tightly against your skin, eye flicking
back and forth to yours.

His face slowly came forward, his sharp nose almost brushing against yours. He huffed a breath,
its warmth flowing over your mouth. His one eye looked down at your lips then back up to your
eyes.

Turning his head towards your ear he leant forward and whispered breath tickling your neck,

“Perhaps you are a Dragon after all.”

And with that he pulled back, glancing at your lips once more, releasing the arm against your neck.
You gulped down air, lungs throbbing and throat dry. A slow smirk spread on his face once more.

The knife pressed below your eye and slowly slid down, not breaking the skin, leaving a trail of
goosebumps following in its wake. Trailing the knife down along your neck, his eyes looked to
your heaving breast and then back up to your face.

He towered over you, looking down his nose whilst he tucked his blade back into his pants behind
him.

You frowned at him, suddenly confused by his change of mind. Was he unsatisfied? Was this too
easy for him, had he wanted you to cry in fear? Beg for mercy? Was he to go after Lucerys now?
Or Jace?

He watched as apprehension flickered behind your eyes.

“Worry not niece, I wouldn’t want to ruin your beautiful face.” He drawled, looking at you more
intently.

“Dōna riña,” (Sweet girl) He said quietly, softly touching where the blade touched your face with
the tip of his finger,
“Ao va moriot gōntan emagon se perzys.” (You always did have the fire.) He continued, taking
another step back then turning towards the door, hair flipping over his shoulder in a flurry.

“Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?” (What do you mean?) You exhaled, stepping forward towards
him reaching out to grab his arm.

He continued to walk towards your door away from you, the same guttural hum coming from his
throat.

The reality of your injuries came jarringly quickly as your feet ached. Every step you took left
small bloody footprints leading away from the fireplace in chase of your uncle.

“Kepus?” (Uncle?) Your outreached hand grasped his wrist, stilling him before he turned just his
head towards you.

"Take my eye now. Let us end this game you play."

The One-Eyed Prince looked down to where your hand was digging its fingers into the skin of his
wrist. A sharp tug pulled his arm free from you and he continued to walk to the door, ignoring your
demands and faltering steps.

“Craven!" You shouted at him as he finally reached the door.

Anger and fear blended together inside you as your panic for your brothers began to rise. Your feet
bled heavily from the new movements, sticky pools gathering under your feet as your heart
thrummed in your chest.

He turned one last time to look at you.

“Sȳz bantis zaldrītsos.” (Goodnight little dragon.) He hummed, before the door was opened by
your Knight.

Aemond paused in the doorway, not turning to face the knight as he spoke whilst looking out
towards the corridor,

“Fetch my niece her maids,” The Prince spoke flatly, “It seems as though she has had too much
wine and has injured herself.”

And with that he turned and walked away from the room, the Knight bowing as he shut the door to
your chambers.

The storm outside raged on, whilst the storm within you built.
 The Little Dragon
Chapter Notes

Another day without Aemond in my room and I am withering away :(

The door shut with thud, and a whoosh of air slipped past your lips that you had been holding.
Your hand came up to gently touch the skin beneath your eye.

He had not maimed you.

Aemond had taunted you instead like a cat with its prey. His intimidation caused you to chew your
lips raw. You gulped in air, bringing your hand down to look at it, only the smallest pinprick of
blood sat on your finger.

You stumbled back, the adrenaline from the evening slowly dwindling and fatigue from the night
rapidly growing. Your feet throbbed and head strummed as you stumbled on your feet, vision
swimming as you moved.

Limping over to the arm chair you dropped into the seat holding your head in your hands.

Why did he leave you unharmed? What did he want now? Was this all just a game? How did he get
into your chambers?

The knight could have let him in, or at least known he was in there. This meant that Aemond could
come back into your chambers at any time or moment, his unknown intentions causing you to
become frantic.

You felt bile rise in your throat, as your stomach turned in knots.

Would he return back into your chambers when you slept? How long had he been watching you?
Do you tell your parents? Or would the news create more tension and divide?

You felt your head spin from all the thoughts that raced into your head.

The doors opened suddenly and you let out a small shriek, Aella and Saria standing at the door in
shock.

“Are you alright my lady?” Aella asked in a hushed voice, eyes scanning the room before looking
down towards the small bloodied footprints that were littered across the floor.

You blinked.

Were you?

How could this be okay? What could you even say to her question, for you did not even know
yourself. You looked to the girls blinking, yet not finding the words to respond.
Aella and Saria slowly walked over, bringing a small footstool with them and two bowls. Saria
picked up one foot and rested it on the wooden stool, sucking in a sharp breath, “Have the Knight
fetch milk of the poppy.” She rushed, turning to Aella.

“No. I don’t wish to sleep.” You quickly spoke.

“Your grace you must sleep.” Aella insisted.

“I will not.” Your tongue sharp from stress and pain.

Aella bowed her head and began to sit on her hands and knees, slowly wiping the floor with a wet
cloth, cleaning the blood away from the tiles with each swipe. You watched as streaks of blood
moved across the tile back and forth, her hands dipping them back into the bowl before rinsing,
wringing and wiping again.

Saria was quiet as she gently washed your feet, pouring water over the soles to clear the clotting
blood, shards of glass becoming visible as they were embedded in your flesh.

“We may need the Maester, these wounds look deep, Princess.”

“No Maester. I do not trust the snakes in this keep.” You sneered.

Saria became concerned, having slowed her movements on your feet. Then turning to face Aella,
she murmured for her to collect the items whilst she tended to your feet.

“Boil some water, bring it up as fast as you can. Go down to the Maesters quarters, collect what we
need, needle, thread, you will know the rest.” Saria spoke, still looking down at your feet,
inspecting them as she turned them gently in her hand to show Aella, who looked pale looking at
the gashes.

Aella stood quickly, moving to leave your chambers.

“Wait,” You stopped her, “You can’t let anyone see you. If you are caught, say that Saria has hurt
herself.”

You were to keep this quiet, the risk of exposing Aemond’s behaviour would lead to a war, your
father would demand his head. And showing your wounds to the vultures that circled your
Grandsire would only show weakness.

Only Aemond would know of your injury.

Aella nodded and slipped out the door quietly, returning a short while later with the boiling water
and a large copper bowl. Kneeling next to Saria, she placed the bowl near the stool, placing the
needle and tweezers inside. The older girl dipped a cloth into the steaming water.

Her slender fingers sunk into the boiling water, her face scrunched slightly at the sting. You leant
forward to prevent her from doing it again but she gave you a reassuring smile.

Saria began to softly dab at your feet again, the burning hot cloth sending searing pain up into your
cuts. Gritting your teeth you hissed, and Aella grabbed your hand gently, allowing you to squeeze
it.

Saria started on your left foot first, a large chunk of jagged glass sat deep inside the heel, sticking
out at an odd angle, as blood began to ooze out of the wound slowly. Grabbing the tweezers, she
stuck the long points into the open gash.
You sucked in a shaking breath as you whined, peeling the odd sensation of the tweezers sliding up
against the glass. Slowly she pinched the shard of glass, tweezers slipping slightly as she pulled the
shard out. The sharp edges sliced through your flesh as she pulled it free, agony ripping up through
your foot.

Blood dribbled down your heel and onto the stool, dripping thickly onto the floor beneath it. Saria
moved onto a smaller shard next to that and then two more small pieces. All whilst you let silent
tears fall down your cheeks.

Going back with the cloth she gently wiped the new blood away and held your foot up higher, the
gentle wipes of the cloth causing a stinging, irritating pain to crawl through your feet. You grit
your teeth and grunted.

“You’re doing so well Princess.” She praised, looking up at you as she did, eyes kind.

“Ha,” You scoffed, huffing a breath out blowing a small strand of hair away from your face, “I am
crying like a child.”

“Not at all your grace, the feet are sensitive, and the wounds are quite deep.” Aella chimed in,
smiling gently at you as she went back to scrubbing the blood off of the floors. She looked more
comfortable looking at the floors rather than your feet. Lifting a hand to roughly wipe the tears
from your face you took a deep breath in.

“Right. Let's finish.”

Saria nodded, grabbing the needle from the bowl and threading it gently, resting your heel back
onto the stool in the process. She looked up at you for confirmation as you nodded back, looking at
the fireplace which slowly licked against a new log that had been placed on top.

You felt a pulling popping sensation as the first part of the curved needle penetrated your flesh, the
sharp pain spreading to your toes. You ground your teeth together, clenching your jaw as she pulled
the thread through the wound, the strange feeling making your skin crawl. You sniffed and
continued to look into the flames.

After finally sewing the large cuts in your left foot, she then began on the right. There were no
large gashes that needed to be stitched, but Saria still had the task of painstakingly pulling out the
smaller shards of glass, gently wiping the foot clean in the process.

The water in the bowl beside her had turned a soft pink by the time she had finished. The girl
rinsed her hands, wiping them with a cloth to get the blood off. She reached to her side once more,
grabbing the long cream bandage strips that were bundled tightly in a ball.

Saria unravelled the bandages slowly, wrapping it around each foot methodically, making sure that
each bandage was sufficiently tight and protective of the open cuts. Soon both feet were wrapped
tightly, the pressure of the bandages causing your feet to throb with your pulse.

Saria once finished, collected the items around her, placing them into the bowl of water, wiping the
stool clean of blood. Aella finished scrubbing the floor and began to help tidy with Saria.

Releasing a breath you leant your head back and sighed, closing your eyes, listening as the girls
moved about you. Deep steady breaths. Do not think of the pulsating fire in your feet. Do not think
of how Aemond looked as he held the blade to your face, or how it felt to have him so close to you.
Do not think. This was your new mantra.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

“Would you like help to bed, Princess?” Saria enquired, appearing in front of you.

“No, I wish to stay up.” You replied, fatigue heavy in your voice.

Saria and Aella bowed and began to collect their belongings, quietly slipping out the room to leave
you with the storm that brewed inside of you.

Do not think. Do not think.

Do not think.

Your feet throbbed and your throat felt raw. Your entire body felt heavy, but the fear he would
return once you closed your eyes kept you awake.

So you sat up straighter and looked out at the storm.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

Do not think of Aemond.

Do not think of how it would feel to twist a blade into his throat. Do not think of the evening's
events. Do not think of the morrow. Do not think of taking Aemond’s only eye for your own. Do
not think of gifting it to your mother.

Do not think of his lips.

Do not think of how he devoured you with his gaze.

Do not think.

So instead, you recited a song that your father Daemon would sing to you often, a song made for
dragons and those with their blood.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis,”

(Fire breather, Winged leader, But two heads, To a third sing)

You rolled your head back to stared at the ceiling, breathing in deeply as you continued,

“Hen ñuhā elēnī : Perzyssy vestretis, Se gēlȳn irūdaks, Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos
laehossi, Hārossa letagon”

(From my voice: The fires have spoken, And the price has been paid, With blood magic, With
words of flame, With clear eyes, To bind the three)

You paused, shutting your eyes once more, letting your head slump against the wing of the chair.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

“Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī.”

(To you I sing, As one we gather, And with three heads, We shall fly as we were destined,
Beautifully, freely.)

You sighed, finishing the song, before starting once more.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

You continued to sing until the sky changed from a dark grey to a warm blush, the sun rising higher
in the sky, the storm having moved on during the night. The pain from your feet ached up into your
legs, and your lips were swollen and raw from biting them.

You watched as the sky turned a beautiful red, to soft warm yellows, then finally to a striking blue.
Voices could be heard from outside as people began their day, the birds whistled their morning
song and you did not think.

However, the day break brought a new warning.

Another yet to come.

 Penance
Chapter Notes

I had a dream about Ewan Mitchell and Matt Smith last night. I am still not okay

Saria and Aella entered your chambers, extending an invitation from Queen Alicent for you to join
your family and break your fast. You sat, staring at the vanity mirror, gazing at your tired
reflection, whilst Aella braided your hair gently.

Small braids were pinned at the back of your head by red jewels, whilst long thin braids hung down
your front. Your feet were throbbing, but you would not show it, you refused. You were sure that
Aemond had asked his mother to invite you, and you intended to go.

Saria helped you dress, choosing another Dornish gown. It was a long, black, tight fitting dress that
had a leather bustier that extended high up your neck. The dress was sleeveless with silver chains
that draped delicately off of your shoulders. Whilst Saria buckled your dress together, Aella came
forward to help put on your shoes.

She eyed you carefully whilst she slipped your feet into high leather boots. Nausea rolled over you,
pushing your toes into the shoes was agony. You could feel the stitches pulling at your tender
flesh, ripping apart the coagulated blood that had begun to heal.

Do not think.

Sharply inhaling, you jammed your feet the rest of the way in and Aella began to lace them. Tears
pricked your eyes as you angrily flicked them away.

Once Aella had finished lacing your boots, you stood, pulling your heavy body upright pushing
your weight onto the soles of your feet, ignoring the outstretched hand of Saria.

Your first step was shaky, almost falling at the ache that clawed its ways up your legs.Y our arm
shot out to clutch the table beside you, as Saria rushed to your side, offering a hand to you for
balance.

As you walked towards the door you felt the smaller cuts reopen, a stinging pain that throbbed
with every beat of your heart, the bandages underneath slowly wetting.

The walk felt vastly longer than the evening before. The torture of your open wounds causing you
to curl your fingers into tight fists, your nails digging into the fragile skin, though the pain in your
pains grounded you from the pain in your feet. With every step, you felt the bandages and
stockings wet from the blood that seeped out of you, prayed to the Gods to get through the day.

You arrived at the arched doors, and unclenched your hands, collecting yourself as you smoothed
your dress. Deep breaths. Do not think. Do not react. Do not give them the satisfaction. Do not let
him see your weakness.

The two Knights opened the doors, announcing your arrival to the room.
Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

Queen Alicent looked to you, sitting in the middle of the table, anxiety evident on her face;
Another green dress. Your mother sat next to her and your brothers opposite, with their betrothed
beside them. Helaena sat where she had the previous night, though was leant on an angle as she
awkwardly talked with your eldest brother. Aegon was nowhere to be seen, assumedly in a drunken
slumber or the depths of a whore house.

Your eyes flicked over to him. Aemond sat next to his mother, dressed head to toe in dark black
leather, a tight vest buckled at the front, with long sleeves that sat snug on his arms. He wore his
signature coat and eyepatch; his hair in the same style as the day before.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not.... One gaze at your smug uncle and your mantra went up in
flames. Your jaw clenched.

“Princess Y/n," The Queen greeted you, "We are blessed with your presence on this fine morning.”
She spoke slowly, looking out the window as she did in show of the good weather, and proof of the
storms passing.

As you walked up the stairs you responded “I would not give up the opportunity Your Grace.
Family means everything to me.” You gave Helaena a bright smile.

You took the seat opposite Aemond next to your aunt as you smiled at your mother and siblings.
Food was already on the table; it seemed as if they were waiting for you. You must have walked
more slowly than you had thought, the pain still radiating up your legs into your hips.

Placing your hands gently in your lap you looked to Alicent,

“I beg you excuse my behaviour for last evening, it was a long journey to the Red Keep and I was
exhausted after the trip. I found myself full of wine and if I am to not lie, emotional being in the
presence of my family after so long apart.”

Looking to Aemond you gave him a small shy smile, his eyes hardening knowing exactly what you
were doing,

“I prayed to the Seven as I went to bed and begged them for your forgiveness and theirs for any
dishonour I may have caused.” You looked back to Alicent, a small solemn look crossing your
face.

Alicent leant forward, holding her hands gently together atop the table,

“My dear, you have caused no such thing. The Seven may have heard your prayers, but there was
nothing to forgive. You had a tireless journey, and the ale did flow heavily. You have no need for
shame.” She finished, sliding her eyes over to Aemond who was still intently looking at you.

“I thank you, Your Grace, I am glad I have not caused any offence. Truthfully, I was very much
looking forward for all of us to spend time together again, and when I got the invitation this
morning, I almost broke down in tears.” You beamed up at her, a small gentle smile spreading
across your face.

“It is beautiful to have everyone back at Home once more." She looked at your mother and gently
grasped her hand.

You had her.

You channelled the pain in your feet, allowing for small tears to well in your eyes as her gaze
softened on you at the sight. Shaking your head you sniffed, and roughly wiped your face with the
back of your hand, making a show. As you turned your head away to wipe them, you threw
Aemond a sly smile.

“Shall we say a prayer?” The Queen addressed the table, a rhetorical question on her behalf as she
began anyway.

“Oh Mother, guide us, and give us your blessings and good health. May the Seven continue to
watch over us all, and we pray that our Lord the King's health improves.”

As she finished, your younger siblings began to speak to each other and serve themselves large
portions of meat and tomatoes, sipping from goblets.

You reached forward and placed some eggs and meat on your plate, taking some large fluffy slices
of bread with you. Picking up your goblet, you drank slowly, taking small sips of the freshly
squeezed juice.

Helaena turned to speak to you, asking how you were feeling, her knowing eyes piercing into your
skull. You told her that you felt just fine, minus a splitting headache from the wine, playing up the
hungover and embarrassed trop. She smiled and held your hand, squeezing it gently as she ate from
her plate

“I have missed you Y/n.” She whispered, “It’s quite boring here without your reading. Aegon
doesn’t read, but I go to the Godswood often where we would sit.” Her face was bright with joy.

“I remember rain sneaking up on us once after we had napped in the sun. We squealed, running
inside the keep, our dresses completely soaked! Do you remember when the old septa yelled at us?
Oh how unlady like for us to run in the Keep! ” You grinned, shaking her hand as you both
laughed.

Conversation flowed gently amongst the table for all except Aemond, who sat silently in his chair
opposite you, staring at every movement you made. You felt as if you were being circled by a
vulture, or more appropriately; a Dragon.

You were growing irritated with his presence; the pain in your feet, lack of sleep and splitting
headache adding to your agitation. Sharply looking at him, you gave him a sickly sweet smile. If he
wished to pretend, then you would do well to do the same; only better.

“Dear uncle," You drawled, "I am sorry again for my behaviour last night. I had far too much to
drink, and was feeling sorrow knowing that I had missed so many years with you. You have grown
from being a small boy into a man.” You sipped at your drink, softening your eyes to him, begging
him to challenge you.

His cheek twitched, then he hummed.

“Apologise not niece, for I should be asking for forgiveness. I only wished to congratulate you on
the beautiful woman you have become. Any man would be blessed by the Seven to be betrothed to
you.” He purred, lightly grabbing his goblet and lifting it to his mouth, siping it slowly, before
placing it back down, humming again in thought.

He continued.

“I saw your maids go to your room last evening in a hurry carrying medical supplies. I worried you
had injured yourself.” His voice became louder, catching the attention of the table as he paused to
stare intently at you.

“Are you well?” He hid a smug smirk behind his goblet, cheek twitching in excitement.

“Y/n, you didn’t tell me you were hurt?” Your mother interrupted, concerned in her voice. Alicent
looked at her son then back at you.

“I am fine,” You pointedly looked at your mother, glancing to Alicent and then back to Aemond,

“Saria had cut herself badly in the kitchen preparing me a light snack, I find myself hungry when I
drink. I told them to come to my chambers so that we may treat her, so as to not disturb the Maester
at such a late hour knowing he tends to Grandsire so diligently.” You cooly said, offering a small
smile to your brothers who looked at you oddly.

They knew.

“Is the girl alright?” Alicent asked, ever the diligent Queen.

“She is fine, no stitches needed." You watched Aemond as you spoke, "We washed and bandaged
her and then I sent them both to bed. The evening had had enough excitement for all of us it
seemed.” You folded your hands onto the table and leant forward,

“Thank you for your concern uncle. I know that after last evening, I don’t deserve your thoughts or
your worry. I hope I did not ruin your restful night.”

Aemond hummed.

“Then I am glad you are in good health, Zaldrītsos” (Little Dragon.)

You tilted your body away from him and turned to your mother,

“Where is Prince Daemon?”

“He is out riding Caraxes.” She replied, “You know the Prince, he is ever restless. I think he has
missed flying above the Red Keep.” She responded, a tight smile on her face that didn’t reach her
eyes. He must be avoiding spending more time with Alicent. All knew his disdain for the Green
Queen.

“I have missed flying here too. Perhaps I will ride Sȳndor today.” Your fingers twitched, an
overwhelming need to be in the sky surrounded you. You wished to be away from the stuffy
propriety of the Red Keep.

“I will come with you!” Lucerys exclaimed. He had never flown in the Red Keep before, as he and
Arrax were too young.

“You may go with your sister.” Your mother said gently, “It has been a long time since y/n has
been here, and I’m sure she has missed it as much as Prince Daemon.”

You smiled at your mother, thankful for her kindness.

“I would love if you joined me, Luc! I can show you around. Take you to a secret beach only those
on Dragonback can reach.” You smiled, as he sat high in his chair beaming, looking to Jacaerys
who smiled back.

“You’re welcome to join us, Jacaerys.” You offered.

“I'm going to sit out on riding today, I fear the travel has caught up to me as well.” He replied,
eyeing Aemond suspiciously.

The One-Eyed Prince didn’t even look at your brother, instead keeping his focus on you.

Your feet were sharply knocked, and pain radiated through you, as his boot silently kicked out at
you from beneath the table. You grunted, curling your feet beneath you, clenching your teeth as
white hot searing pain coiled its way around you, making you hold your breath. A small smirk
slithered onto his face.

Do not think. Do not react.

Helaena who sat next to you, had heard your grunt and reached for your hand, stroking her thumb
across the top of yours she muttered beneath her breath.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards.”

You turned to look at Princess Helaena who was watching you intently. Her gaze lowered, looking
down at the floor. You followed her line of sight. Her eyes trained on your feet.

“Would you like to go for a walk Y/n? There is so much I wish to tell you, and I’m sure you have a
few stories of your own to tell.” She softly asked, eyes still stuck to your feet.

“Of course,” You sighed, biting your cheeks to hold in a sob of pain, “I have missed my aunt
terribly, and would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity.” You pushed out a laugh; it sounded
strained.

You forced yourself to chew and swallow the remaining food on your plate, filling your stomach.
The food felt heavy as it settled, nausea coming with the pain in your feet. You felt your forehead
begin to sweat.

After you finished your meal you excused yourself and began to walk back to your chambers,
feeling Aemonds eye on the back of your head.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

You pushed through the pain, grinding your teeth together as you forced yourself to walk normally,
pushing your full weight into the tender soles of your feet. With each step, you felt the stitches
pull.

As you walked, you heard a rush of feet against the stone floor behind you. Turning back sharply
you saw Jacaerys, eyebrows pulled into a frown and lips sat in a hard line.

“What did he do to you?” He demanded.

“Shh,” You silenced him, quickly looking around, “These walls have ears brother, watch your
tongue.” Your eyes searched his, grabbing his hand to urge him to walk faster whilst you entered
your chambers.

Once the door was shut you let out a sob, hand coming to angrily brush the perspiration on your
face away from the exertion of the walk. You limped towards the armchair in front of the empty
fireplace, your brother hurriedly following you, grasping your elbow for support.

Dropping into the chair you stretched your feet outwards, tears falling from your eyes. Jacaerys
knelt in front of you and held your hands. He was always a kind brother. Your mother had raised
him to be a gentleman, and he was patient and fearless like his father.

“What is wrong sister? Please tell me.” He asked in a panic, holding your hands tightly, slowly
brushing his thumbs back and forth.

You shook your head. If Jacaerys knew he would go after Aemond, and Aemond would not hold
back. The years have made him bitter, and unforgiving. The young boy you once knew, now had
no mercy.

“Please y/n, tell me what ales you?” His hands came to cup your face, holding your gaze on him.
Shaking your head, you let out a shuddering breath.

“Did he do this to you?” He demanded. You didn’t respond, looking down into your lap, letting
tears roll down your cheeks. His attention was drawn away from your face.

On the floor beside your boots, a small puddle of blood had begun to leak out, pooling onto the
tiles, the viscous liquid seeping into the cracks.

“I’ll kill him.” He hissed, voice low and full of venom. He stood up abruptly, and your hand shot
out to grab him.

“No! He did not do this.” You lied, pleading him with your eyes to cease his prying.

“Then tell me what happened, or I swear to the Seven I will take his other eye.” He hissed.

“It was not him. I had gotten back to my chambers, and was still drinking, I dropped the glass and
sliced my feet. I was drunk, the storm had made me uneasy, and I was clumsy from exhaustion.”
You explained, praying he believed you.

He stared keenly at you, checking your eyes for signs of deceit.

“Please, he did not harm me.” You sighed a breath, clutching at his wrists,

“I came straight to my chambers last night and drank too much. I didn’t want to fetch the Maester
out of embarrassment. I had made a fool of myself and wished to drown in wine alone.” You
evaded.

“Do you swear he did not touch you?” He asked, holding your face in his hands still, eyes
searching yours.

“I swear to you, he did not lay a hand on me. The last I saw of him was when we dined. Please,”
You held his wrists tighter, “Don’t tell mother. She needn't any more stress put upon her
shoulders.”

His face softened as he watched you plead him, his hand coming to brush a tear from your face.
The dark haired boy leant forward, kissing your forehead,

“I won’t tell, but only if you do not go flying today. You will only injure them more.” He looked
down at your feet, “Are the cuts very deep?”

“I will live, lēkia.” (brother) You insisted squeezing his hand,

“But Lucerys will be so upset if I don’t take him.” You looked back down at your lap. You didn’t
want to upset your younger brother.
With a sigh he kissed your hand, “I will take him, and say that you are ill from last night, and that
you would take him on the morrow.”

“Thank you.” You weakly smiled back. You leant on your chair and closed your eyes, sighing.

“I will fetch Saria and Aella to bring you the milk of the poppy.”

You started to protest but he interrupted you,

“Have you even slept? You look haunted.” He asked. You uttered a small no.

“You will have milk of the poppy. They will clean your feet once more and you will rest.” He
spoke with conviction, “I can’t survive this vipers nest without you.” He added, softer this time.

Giving you a crooked smile he stood, kissing the top of your head and you nodded defeatedly; and
with that he left your room.

Saria and Aella came and cleaned your feet, changing your bandages. A stitch had come loose, but
you refused to restitch it, you would rather the mangled scar than have the sensation of the needle
again.

You drank the milk of the poppy and dressed for bed, the girls assisting you to lay in the soft
covers. Your eyes began to drift shut quickly after, the pain in your feet leaving, and soon you fell
into a deep and dreamless sleep.
 Milk of the Poppy
Chapter Notes

Aemond seeing the reader after so long kind of reminds me of Sirius Black when he's
like "I did my waiting! 12 years of it! In Azkaban!"

You were awoken by the soft stirrings of Saria and Aella placing your dinner on the table. You
pushed yourself up in the plush of the sheets, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, the dull ache of
your feet slowly coming back with your consciousness.

The smell of the cooked meats and vegetables wafted across the room towards, making your
stomach grumble. You sniffed, moving to the side of the bed before pulling yourself out.

Slowly you limped towards the table, breathing sharply out your nose through the pain. Hearing
your approach, your two maids turned quickly.

“My Lady, you should rest!” Aella said, running across the room to hold onto your arm gently.

“I am sure I will survive this short distance.”

Reaching the table you plopped down into the high back wooden chair. Its upholstery was a soft
orange with golden flowers embroidered on it. Upon the table sat a roast with warm fresh bread
and a flagon of ale. A smaller golden goblet was placed in front of you.

“I had the Maester bring more Milk of the Poppy for you, Princess.” She explained, “You need rest
to gather your strength.” The small golden chalice held the familiar scent that seemed to follow
your GrandSire.

“I have strength enough plenty. I am a Dragon not a mouse,” You snapped, patience and
composure dwindling, unravelling like thread. You sighed, uttered a small apology, and thanked
her.

She does not deserve your fire.

Reaching forward you picked up the flagon of ale, pouring it into a glass provided. The bread was
warm, fresh from the ovens, the crust perfectly crunchy, which tore apart softly with your hands.
You slathered the bread with butter and popped it into your mouth.

As a child you recalled the bakers in the Red Keep. Whenever you became upset, your mother
would call for bread to be brought up to the room with spreads. It always calmed you and gave you
something to do with your hands. Anxiety from the whispers in court, and tension having used to
distress you. The bread was so soft, it melted on your tongue.

Swallowing on your mouthful, you looked to your maids,

“How does my family fair this evening?” You inquired.

“They are all dining in the hall, Princess.” Saria began, “Princess Helaena seemed sad at your
absence, but Our Lady, Princess Rhaenyra, assured everyone you would be joining them for
celebrations soon.”

“Oh?” You looked up, interest peaking, “What celebrations?” You inquired.

Placing a small cut of potato into your mouth and chewing, you continued, “I have yet to be
informed of any joyous occasion.” You grumbled, moving on to shred a large piece of meat apart
on your plate with a knife.

“Oh!” Aella exclaimed, “Her Majesty the Queen wanted to hold celebrations for the engagement
of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. As you all were not present at their initial ceremony in the
Red Keep, the Queen thought it would be nice for you all to celebrate their union as one.”

“Not present?” You scoffed, “We were not welcomed to our own families union. I am sure it must
have just slipped Queen Alicent’s pretty little head.” Your mood had soured.

You did not wish to celebrate the union of your cruel uncle to your sweet and kind aunt. Helaena
did not deserve such a punishment from the Gods. To be wed to Aegon is to be wed to a monster.
You could only hope that Helaena could avoid his cruelty.

You ate your dinner at a languid pace, barely touching the ale in front of you, save for small sips to
help the food go down. The girls asked if you would like to be readied to retire for the night,
however you had not been touched by fatigue, your rest from the day giving you energy at such a
late hour.

They bid you goodnight and left to their quarters, leaving you to your own bitter thoughts. Your
mantra had already unstuck. You felt yourself growing restless in your chambers, the incidents of
the past days turning in your mind.

Lifting yourself from the table, you hobbled towards the window and looked out into the night.
The sky was clear and the moon high, the light of it reflecting off of the sea, appearing to dance
with the current. How you wished to go out and fly, but you knew it was best to stay in and heal.

Looking back to the table you eyed the Milk of the Poppy, surely you could drink some now to
relieve the pain and not sleep straight away. Walking over, you grasped the small golden chalice
and lifted it to your lips, taking a deep inhale at first, before sipping half of the rich liquid.

Limping over to the bed you placed the chalice next to you, feeling the effects of the medicine
begin to take place. The awful throbbing in your feet soon began to ebb and fade, leaving a dull
pulsing feeling. Your head felt lighter, and your body heavy. Your restlessness however, did not
leave you.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, holding your head in your hands. You could see that your
mother had missed the Red Keep and your Grandsire The King, and you could see the sorrow she
had for losing her childhood friend, the Queen, to the poisonous lies of Otto Hightower.

You had a sneaking suspicion that you may be at the Keep much longer than you or your father
had anticipated, and although your younger brothers were excited to be home, you could also sense
the unease.

Anxious thoughts spun their way into your head like tangled webs and you felt yourself grow
irritated. A sheen of sweat began to cover your skin as your heart began to race. You clawed at
your chemise, pulling it from your body and throwing it upon the stone floors.
Pushing your hair away from your face you sat back on your bed, your chest rising and falling
rapidly. Snatching the golden chalice you brought it back to your lips and threw the tart liquid
down your throat, a small burning sensation following.

With a snarl you hurled the cup across the room, a metallic clang ringing through the chambers at
impact. How dare they. How dare they all treat you this way. Your mother would soon be Queen,
and you wished to see her set fire to the serpents that seemed to be all around you.

As you watched the cup roll on the floor you sunk back into your bed. Looking up at the ceiling
you prayed that you and your family would survive the vipers nest unscathed and that you and your
brothers keep your eyes.

As you drifted off to sleep, images of your uncle's sapphire eye swirled in your mind. Aemond was
not the boy you once knew, but something that had been reborn out of the ashes. The scent of
sandalwood and leather filled your senses, an odd calm blanketing you, as you finally succumbed
to your dreams.

The days passed by slowly, blending gently into each other. You barely left your chambers, opting
to tell your family your moon's cycle had taken a toll on you after the trip to the Red Keep and you
needed to rest.

Each night you ate alone, bathed alone, and slept alone, and each night you drank milk of the
poppy. Saria and Aella tended to you, albeit sometimes suffocatingly, and once Lucerys was told of
your condition he promised to fly with you once you had recovered.

Jacaerys visited on occasion to ensure you were okay, but mostly kept to staying close to your
mother or practising his High Valyrian in the Red Keeps library.

The ache in your feet slowly faded as time healed them, the stitches no longer needed, and the
smaller cuts fully healed into little scars. You often ran your fingers over them as you rested; they
were smooth to the touch, and clean, not at all jagged.

Although your uncle had not taken your eye, he had scarred you, much like your brothers did him.

Helaena visited you often, and you felt no need to hide your feet from her, as you suspected she
knew all along, though you didn't know if she knew the cause for the injury. Though your aunt
may seem to be in her own world, she sees more than most.

Many in the court call her crazy, her odd mutterings confusing or amusing most, but you knew she
was a Dragon Dreamer. Even as a child she spoke of events that were yet to happen, even uttering
that Aemond would have to close an eye for a dragon; and so he did.

Helaena would sit in your room with you and embroider new insects she had found, telling you all
about them and on occasion bringing them with her. Her company put you at ease and made being
in your room easier to manage.

She did not chastise you for not arriving for your walk, and in fact assured you that she knew you
would not have come, and instead she went to sit by the ocean to look for the spiders that lived
amongst the rocks.

You wanted to ask her about Aegon, but you did not know how. He had always been cruel to her as
a child, calling her stupid, and his flagrant whoring and violence assured you that he would not be a
good husband.

Yet if there was anything amiss for her to talk to you about, she did not. Instead, your aunt opted to
only talk about the things that you both did as children, as if the years apart had not distanced you.

She arrived one morning with no new insect or embroidery wheel with her. Pensively, she sat in
front of the fireplace which was empty and looked out the window to the blue skies.

“There is a beast beneath the boards.” She spoke, finally breaking her silence. Not once looking up
at you when talking.

“Beast? In the Dragonpit you mean?” You sat opposite her in the other chair, she still did not look
at you.

“Beware it.” She whispered, “Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black.” She spoke, her
hands picking at each other in her lap.

She had uttered this to you as a child, before Aemond lost his eye.

“Dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread.” You finished for her.

She finally looked to you, “Yes.” Then gazed back out the window.

You sat in silence, both unsure and unwilling to start a new conversation. Helaena was right; a
spool of Green was the ever so ‘perfect’ Hightower's looking down their noses at you, and the
spool of Black was your family.

The Hightower’s never stopped wearing green, except Helaena, who opted to wear more yellows
and light orange dresses.

“An eye was closed, another opened.” She broke the silence, slowly looking at you.

“What was lost is replaced, a spider's web is spun.”

“A tangled web indeed.” You responded, and she nodded.

“A dragon's death for a dragon's breath.” She whispered, reaching out towards you she held open
her palm. You placed your hand in hers.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards.” She finished grasping your hand.

“I will aunt. Thank you.” You squeezed her hand. Silence surrounded you both and she continued
to look at you.

“Aemond has asked after you.”

 Spool of Green, Spool of Black
Chapter Notes

I got glass in my foot once. Not a fucken vibe

Helaena did not tell you why your uncle had asked after you, and you spent the rest of your day
pondering his intentions. You knew that if he truly wished to know of your wellbeing, there was
nothing stopping him from breaking into your chambers again.

Your feet, although for the most part healed, were still sensitive to walk upon, though it was now a
more manageable pain rather than the excruciating agony before.

The large gashes were now shallow wounds that no longer split with every step, or seeped blood
into your bandages. The smaller cuts were now shiny pink scars, raised on the delicate flesh of
your soles when your brushed you hands against them.

Your day was spent like most others, lounging in your chambers, reading, pacing and imagining
the sweet images of the Hightowers demise. You found that the days spent in your chambers had
made you grow more bitter and resentful of them.

How much longer would you hide away in your chambers? How much longer would you cower?
Are you not the blood of the mighty House Targaryen? Are not not the blood of Old Valyria? You
paced as you worked yourself up.

Approaching your door, you asked the Knight of the Kings Guard stationed outside to summon the
maids to prepare for you for dinner. No more hiding, you chastised yourself.

Once Aella arrived first, you asked her to send word to your mother and father that you would be
joining them to sup for the evening and not soon after, Saria arrived to tidy your appearance, re-
braiding your hair and helping you to put your shoes on.

The sun's last rays shone through your window, casting a soft warmth into your chambers. The fire
was lit and crackled softly into the room. The air felt cool on your skin, and you were thankful for
the long sleeved gown.

As Saria and Aella began to tidy your room, you dismissed them, asking for them to be back in
your chambers later in the evening to ready you for bed.

Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon's chambers were not far from yours, sitting in the same
wing of the Red Keep as you. As you walked you thought of the chambers. You had grown up in
them and spent much of your time there. You wondered if Alicent had changed them to spite your
mother or if it would be untouched like yours.

Once you arrived, your mothers knight announced your arrival to the room as you entered. As you
looked about, you noticed the room was the same as before, unchanged by time or petty
grievances, and was still how you remembered it as a child.
The furnishings were worn, deep reds, yellows and oranges adorning the decor. A large fireplace
sat in the front of the room, its fire crackling loudly into the space, flames licking at the wood
inside.

The windows and balcony were all open, letting a cool breeze pass through the room, the white
curtains blowing softly with each caress of the wind.

The chambers layout was similar to yours. Sitting room at the fire, chaise and armchairs with a
small table sat in front of the heat, an intimate dining table further back into the space, then
towards the very end of the room was the bed, large closets on each side and towering art upon all
the walls.

Your mother was sitting on a chaise, Joffrey on her lap whilst young Aegon III and Viserys II
silver hair shone on the floor. Both of your younger brothers seemed to have fallen asleep whilst
your mother had been reading to them.

Looking up at you, Rhaenyra gave you a wide and warm smile. Gently she placed Joffrey next to
her and stood, walking towards you to hold you in her arms.

“My sweet girl, how are you fairing?” She asked, holding you at arms length looking you up and
down, gently leaning in to kiss your cheek thrice.

“Far better than I was before, I found I've spent most of my days sleeping.” You kissed her cheeks
as she began to slowly walk you over to the chaise.

Two of your mothers maids walked into the chambers and Rhaenyra asked them to put your
younger brothers to bed in the conjoined room.

Scooping the two sleeping babes, the maids quietly walked them to their bedroom, whilst Joffrey
kissed your mother goodnight and gave you a rough hug. Joffrey had always been a little shy, but
his love for his family was shown in his actions rather than words.

“Come sit, there is much to discuss.” You mother spoke, patting the spot beside her.

“Prince Daemon should be here soon. He has been hovering around the King all day.” She
chuckled, sitting gently against the plush pillows pulling you to sit next to her.

“I know Grandsire has missed father, you could see his eye light up when the Prince entered the
room. For all their faults, their bond is unbreakable.” You spoke gently. You knew the tension
between the King and the Rogue Prince has been a long one, but deep down, they both loved each
other dearly.

You observed your mother. Her dress was a deep black this evening, with yellow embroidery on
the sleeves and hems. Her hair was more relaxed today than her usual tight braids, instead opting to
have it flow down her shoulder with two simple braids pulling some hair to the back.

“Yes, well, faults not of our own….” She trailed off, thinking before continuing, “It is strange to be
home at the Red Keep," She paused, "I am not even sure I can call it that anymore. Everything has
changed. A once warm Keep is now cold. Even the air around us has changed.”

“My chambers have not changed too much, it has been kept mostly the same. I was expecting to
enter and have the entire walls and ceiling painted green for my enjoyment.” You sarcastically
hummed.

“I would like to think that it was the Queen's kindness that left our little pieces of home the same,
but I feel as though it was most likely done out of cowardice, or lack of care.” Shaking her head,
your mother looked at you a bit more seriously, deeply sighing at you.

“How are your feet?” She asked, voice unwavering and stern.

“My feet? Mother, th-" Your heart started to race in your chest.

“Do you think I am stupid?” She interrupted gently, her head cocked to the side.

“Of course not mother, I am j-“

“I know my daughter, and I can see when she is hurt. Although the Greens may not have caught on
at breakfast, I certainly did. Then to have Jacaerys come to me concerned...” She trailed off,
shaking her head before she reached forward, placing a gentle hand on your knee looking at you.

“You cannot lie to me. I did not come to you sooner as Jacaerys swore to me it was not serious.”
She gave a soft smile, “Tell me this, was it Aemond who harmed you?” Tone serious again.

“No, of course not mother.” You lied, “He is nothing but empty threats. I broke a glass, and cut my
feet the evening of our dinner. I had far too much wine, and was likely in the same state as Aegon.”

Your explanation was stiff and felt rehearsed, “I promise you mother, he did not touch a hair on my
head, lest he feel the wrath of father.” You smiled.

“He should be more worried about me rather than his uncle Daemon. You however, would do best
to avoid your uncle.”

“I have been in my room for days, mother, I am not seeking him out.” You argued, your patience
waned.

“Yes, but much like your father, you do goad him. Do not poke the beast my sweet, lest you feel
his fangs. I suspect Alicent is still holding onto some twisted notion of justice for his eye.”

“I thought I saw that you were both trying to make amends?” You steered the conversation away
from Aemond.

“I will admit, I have missed how we used to be when we were younger, but she is not the same girl.
I fear the Hightower’s carry blood that is easily tainted.”

Clearly wishing to change the conversation, you steered away from talks of the Queen and her son.
You asked her how your siblings have been without you, and if she had been on dragon back
around the Red Keep. She insisted you take Lucerys out to fly with Sȳndor, and you swore that you
would.

Your father joined you shortly after, not announcing himself as he snuck into the room through the
back of a painting near your mothers bed. You nearly shrieked when you heard him behind you.

People would often say that your father moved like smoke, quietly, quickly and then gone without
a trace.

Prince Daemon placed a soft kiss atop your head, murmuring 'daughter', before coming to kiss
your mothers face. The Rogue Prince continued on, walking to the dining table where he poured
himself a large goblet of wine, gazing at you both as he sipped deeply before pouring another,
handing it to you.
“Prince Jacaerys has been hysterical these past days without you y/n.” He drawled, gracefully
sitting in a large red armchair opposite the chaise you and your mother sat.

“With the way he behaved, one would think that something terrible had happened.” He raised one
brow at you and sipped at his goblet, “Don't tell me my drunken cunt of a nephew has been
harassing your chambers?”

Your mother snorted. Shaking your head he continued,

“No? Then what about the one eyed wretch?”

Shaking your head once more you spoke “Neither father, Jacaerys is just overly protective.”

He hummed, speaking as though he was almost uninterested, “Regardless of what your uncles did
or didn't do, my brother has grown complacent, letting them grow into whining cunts like their
mother. Aegon is a coward, but Aemond is emboldened in his treason knowing he has that green
cunt of a whore standing behind him, whilst she feeds my brother full of milk of the poppy."

You stiffen. Daemon paused, took an angry sip of his wine, then continued, "Put that boy in his
place, or take his other eye.”

“Daemon.” Your mother growled.

Your father held one hand up in surrender, changing the subject to tell you both of how the King's
health continued to deteriorate.

“I would not be surprised if the Hightower cunts are slowly poisoning him.”

“That would be treason.” You suggested.

“Indeed, but never have I witnessed my brother so weak of mind and body. They keep him
complacent on the milk of the poppy, making decisions for him, ruling the Kingdoms in his
name.”

You sniffed. You had been given milk of the poppy every evening. Did the Hightower's know?
Were they keeping you complacent? Was this Aemond showing his hand? You knew from that
moment on, you would refuse milk of the poppy, lest you become like the King.

“Have you been rotting in your chambers all this time Princess?”

You give your father a dirty look, “I have been ill.”

He huffs out a small laugh. He sees straight through you.

“So you say, but Sȳndor has missed you greatly. His temper has been almost unmanageable,” A
beat, “quite like yours.” He added teasing you.

“Oh, and I am sure it is not from seeing your great, ugly face, hovering around him daily, father.”
You teased back.

You knew the Prince had a deep love for Sȳndor, much like his love for you. Your father would
have been checking him daily whilst you were healing.

Putting a hand on his chest, “You wound me daughter, after all I have done for you. Perhaps I will
marry you off.”
“You two are insufferable.” Your mother added.

Maids began to bring in your dinner and you all went to be seated. You three sat and ate, speaking
lazily of the day's events, your parents catching you up on the days passed.

Your father asked you to join him in the future to read in the library. There were many books you
had no access to read for years, and you both planned to do some revision. Your father asked about
your mother and Alicent spending time together.

“And what of Alicent? You two have been cosy as of late.” Your father mocked, swirling his cup,
and brushing silver strands behind his ears. “Anyone would think that you have made amends.”

“We have not made amends,” She spoke in exacerbation, “but I can see that she is trying… In her
own way. Only a fool would continue to irk her and her kin,” She sharply looked to you, then back
to your father,

“She has my father wrapped around her finger.”

“Yes well, it’s unfortunate that it’s not the finger on the arm that he lost.” Daemon replied, his
sarcasm ever present, despite all knowing the grief he has seeing his brother so ill.

“Do not jest. We all know that the whispers at court come from her. That she is not so secretive of
her disdain for us. They all still question our sons' blood. She still declares war on us daily! Do you
not see the castle is donned in Hightower Greens instead of Targaryen Red?” And for the first time
in your life, your mother looked nervous.

“I fear she may question Jace, Luc and Joffrey's legitimacy. Even yours Y/n. Aegon and Aemond
openly call them bastards because their Queen mother does. This is something we should all be
concerned about.”

“My Lady Wife, as long as there is still air in my lungs, and blood in my veins, no harm will come
to you or our children. As useless as he is now, my brother will not allow those righteous cunts to
question anything. We are safe.”

“For now.” Your mother says grimly. “That is why I must stay close to the Queen, attempt to mend
what has been broken. I see no other way.”

“Then it must be done, by any means.” Your father added, eyes sliding over to you.
 Godswood
Chapter Notes

Aemond is an absolute menace, will the reader ever catch a break?

You finished your dinner quietly with your parents, excusing yourself for a walk. You could feel
the anxiety pouring off of your mother in waves, causing thick tension in the room.

You had sensed your father wished to be alone with her in order to calm her, and so you left them
both, bidding them a good night. You did not miss the way your mother relaxed when Prince
Daemon held both of her hands, turning his body completely to her as you left.

You walked along the dark corridors lit by flames aimlessly. It was your first time out of your
room in many days, and it felt good to not be confined in your chambers.

The evening air was neither cool nor hot, but a perfect temperature so that you weren’t needing a
cloak, or your dress to be something more lightweight. Though on occasion a small breeze would
roll through the Keep, its icy tendrils caressing the skin that was bare.

As you walked, you let your thoughts run away from you. If your mother was right, Alicent was
readying to question you and your brother's claim again, and a war would surely break out.

Yet, if your father was right, that means that King Viserys would keep you all safe. Though you
could not rely on your Grandsire for long, his illness sadly starting to take him closer to meeting
The Stranger.

In all your life you did not think that Alicent would ever question you, but your mother must have a
good reason for doing so. If Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne was challenged, then Aegon would be
crowned King, and that would surely doom all Seven Realms to be ruled by a drunken and violent
fool. Your mothers supporters would need to advocate for her, and do it quickly. The thought of
this made your stomach tie up in knots.

Your anxiety seemed to guide you to the Godswood, a place where you could feel at ease. You
walked lightly towards the tree, brushing your hand gently against it. Leaning forward you pressed
your forehead against the bark and exhaled a deep breath, asking it to take your worries from you.

You looked up through its branches and leaves to the night sky, stars glittering high above you,
providing natural light alongside the moon. You prayed to the Old Gods, begging they protect your
brothers and mother. Asking them to not let Alicent and the Hightower's win their war upon you.

Walking along the trunk you sat down in your favourite spot, curling your legs up towards you and
resting your head against your knees. A headache began to form. You wished to be back on Dragon
Stone away from this all. You longed to be on Sȳndor’s back, high above the ground feeling the
wind rush past you.

He was the third largest dragon known, and one of the oldest. You had claimed him at a young
age, singing the song your father Daemon had taught you and commanding him to obey. He
resided on Dragonstone with you all and had kept to himself, the ever elusive pitch black shadow,
hence his name.

Sȳndor had never been claimed before you nor ridden, but bonded with you quickly. The dragon
keepers said you had a gift, but you believed that no-one had given him the respect he had
deserved. He was large, almost the size of Vhagar and completely black. His eyes were like
flames, and when he flew it was almost impossible to see him at night. The love you held for your
dragon was not easily explained, he was you, and you were him.

Leaning back against the wood you shut your eyes and breathed deeply. Thinking of Sȳndor had
lightened your mood, and you felt your anxiety slowly drift away from you. You began to hum the
song again, playing gently with the sleeve of your dress, the repetition calming your nerves.

You remembered as a child of how proud your father had been when you had bonded with Sȳndor.
Daemon claiming your voice to have magic unknown to mortal men. ‘A siren’ he said.

The hair on your arms raised as you felt eyes on you. That slimy feeling of being watched making
your feet twinge. You had a visitor.

Not bothering to open your eyes, you called out to the darkness,

“I know you are there. I can feel you watching me.” You spoke calmly as if bored.

“Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī.” (To you I sing, As
one we gather, And with three heads, We shall fly as we were destined, Beautifully, Freely.) A low
timbre sang back.

Stepping out of the shadows your uncle moved into the light.

“A dragon's song. Tell me niece, who are you attempting to tame?” He drawled, eye dragging up
your body.

Untucking your legs, you stretched them forwards leaning higher against the tree.

“There are no dragons here to tame, uncle.” You state, softly brushing your skirts down your legs.

“Here? Perhaps. But I can think of at least one.” His eye followed your movements, travelling
slowly to your face.

“You’ve already claimed Vhagar, there are no others.” You spoke dully.

“I speak not of Vhagar. She was claimed a long time ago. But there are many dragons waiting to be
tamed,” He hummed, “and claimed, but they’re out on Dragonstone.”

He walked forward towards you keeping his distance, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Ah, then you must be referring to The Cannibal,” You tucked hair behind your ear, “You have so
much in common.”

You knew you should not goad him, but it was too easy. Everything about him made you want to
lash out, cutting him with tiny blades. A death of a thousand cuts.

“And why is that zaldrītsos?” (little dragon), He pronounced slowly, taking another slow step
forward.

Light cast across his face. He wore his patch and his hair was completely loose of braids, the front
tucked behind his ears. He wore another set of dark black leather pants and vest, his coat firmly on
his shoulders.

Tonight he did not have his sword with him.

“You are both monsters.” You said flatly, as if you were stating a mere fact, something that you
had read in a book.

“Hmm. Because of my eye? Your brothers gifted me this.” You could see his anger begin to
simmer.

“You mean to kill other dragons.” You rushed with anger, and with this you saw his lip curl up in
a smirk.

“I don’t wish to kill any dragons,” He took another step closer this time, tongue darting out to wet
his lips as he watched your face, eye flicking down to your lips then back up,

“But I may just devour you.” He finished, smirk travelling higher up his face.

You felt your heart beating against your ribs, the feeling of ice cold water running down your head
and body. You breathed heavily, thinking of how to reply.

“Are you here to take my eye again?” You sarcastically spat at him. A full smile graced his face.

Looking at his lips you realised you had never noticed just how sharp his teeth looked. Your
mothers words echoed in your head.

“Hmm.” No reply, just his irritating hum.

“Are you just going to hum?" You sighed.

“Aōha laes iksis ȳgha, zaldrītsos.” (Your eye is safe, little dragon.) He replied flatly, his smirk
slowly disappearing from his face.

“Pār skoros gaomagon jaelā hen nyke?” (Then what do you want from me?) You hissed, leaning
forward.

“I am merely trying to spend time with my niece. It has been years after all.” He began, voice thick
with false offence. The One-Eyed Prince stepped closer once more as he finished.

“And I have missed her.”

“You taunt me.”

“On the contrary, niece, you taunt me. When have you met my questions with answers that did not
mock?” He had you there.

“You have terrorised me and expect kindness? You call me a bastard and expect smiles?”

“Have you met future suitors?” The change in conversation was abrupt and had your mind reeling.

“Suitors?”

“Yes.” Aemond replied, coming close enough that his shoes touched the edge of the tree's roots.
The older man looked up into the branches, long neck stretching as his sharp face was illuminated
by the moon's glow.
“Suitors are men who come to-“

“I know what suitors are.” You snap.

“Gīda aōla, byka mēre,” (Calm yourself, little one,) The Prince tucked his head to look back down
at you, his height towering over yours,

“You are of an age now where I believed suitors would be lined down Dragonstone for the chance
at your hand.” He scoffed.

“Whether I have, or have not suitors is no concern of yours, uncle.” Your thread was fraying.

“T'was merely a question. My sister and brother having married already and your two younger
brothers being betrothed, I assumed there was someone back at the Dragons Den waiting for you.”

It was your turn to scoff, arms coming to cross in front of you.

“Perhaps not a man then….” He trailed off.

“Neither a man nor a woman are waiting for me at home, uncle.” You sigh, perhaps this was
Aemond trying to have a conversation after all. You truly did not know the man before you, his
actions and motives were a mystery.

“Have you ever kissed a man, zaldrītsos?” (little dragon).

Huffing a breath you respond, “Have you?”

“Hmm.”

He looks down at your lips once more, tongue wetting his lips once more and leans into your
space. Eye trailing over your body, his lip twitching as though he was to speak once more, but then
leaning back he hums again.

You search his face, looking for answers for his sudden shift.

“Sleep well, Princess.” And with that he turned and walked back into the shadows.
 Weakness
Chapter Notes

Have you guys listened to the song 'Labour' by Paris Paloma yet? Cause i've had it on
repeat for weeks.

That night you tossed and turned in bed, thinking of your interaction with your uncle and the
warning your mother gave you. You had not even thought of marriage until now. Rhaenyra had
told you that she would not force you to wed as she was, knowing the pain and struggle it could
cause.

You knew that you would not be accepted as Queen after your mother. The Seven Kingdoms
would not have two women ascend the Iron Throne, let alone one without push back. And although
your mother was a staunch advocate for creating a new order, where women could sit upon the
throne, you knew that it would most likely not be done in your case. Especially now with Aegon
being the eldest son of King Viserys.

Aegon became the challenge to the throne the day he was born.

You were thankful for your mother and your fathers kindness in regards to marriage, but you still
felt a stinging ache knowing that you most likely would not be named heir. Still, you studied all
that you would need to rule. You mastered High Valyrian, learnt the ways and customs of the
realms.

Countless nights you spent studying politics, history, war and at your fathers behest, learnt the
skills of the sword and combat. You ensured that even if you would not be named successor, that
you would be ready to be one.

Studying was not just for you, it was for your family. For your mother who will soon become
Queen. For your father who waited years to be the Hand of his brother, the King and denied. You
did it for your siblings, to set an example and for Jacaerys. For if he were to ascend the Iron
Throne, you would stand alongside him.

Laying in bed you wondered if Aemond would be wed soon also. The prince was older than you,
and although men had more liberties in the world, it would soon be his time.

You understood some of your uncle's animosity.

Having Aegon as your older brother would be no easy feat, especially since the second son had
been taunted and bullied by him his whole life. The only thing that Aemond really had was the love
of his mother and sister.

You imagined that he would most likely be wed to another noble, someone that would be
politically smart for the Hightower's. Perhaps a Baratheon. You wondered if the Queen had also
spared him from marrying not out of love, but necessity like she had been forced to do.

It was your first night sleeping without milk of the poppy since you had cut your feet, and you felt
yourself becoming increasingly restless. You worried that you would not settle, and so sitting up in
bed, you began to recite the history of Valyria to yourself aloud.

You recited the Kings and Queens before you, the battles and tales, rises and falls. Slowly you felt
yourself tire, eyes becoming heavier. You recited your family tree next. All branches in your mind,
names and births coming forward with ease.

You thought of what it would be like to meet your ancestors. Would you get along with them?
Would they be cruel? Kind? You believed they would most likely sit with you at Godswood and
read.

As you felt your eyes begin to droop, you fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of dragons and battles;
fire and blood. You dreamt of being a dragon yourself, bright red scales, soaring high up into the
sky. The feeling of being weightless and carefree. You flew around the Red Keep and around
Dragonstone, then all the way to Dorne. In your dream you smelt the spices and felt the breeze.
And you flew until it was night, soaring high above with the stars.

The sudden smell of sandalwood and leather surrounded your senses and you sniffed at the air with
your snout. Then, you felt yourself falling. No matter how hard you tried to catch wind under your
wings, it did not work. You fell into the abyss, and your scales burnt off, revealing your skin
underneath. It felt as if you were on fire.

You slowly opened your eyes, sleep still holding onto you.

The room was dark except for one small sliver of light peeking through the windows. You felt still
in your dream, the weight of fatigue slowly pulling you back down into your dream. The soft duvet
surrounded you, giving you a sense of protection.

Groggily you pushed yourself up to look about the room, a shadow near the bed.

“Go back to sleep Princess.” Came a whispering voice.

That same smell of sandalwood lurking about you. You murmured and sunk back into your bed,
sleepy delirium muddling your mind. As your eyes closed once more, and sunk back into the abyss,
you heard soft deep humming from aside the bed.

Your dreams claimed you once more.

You awoke abruptly, eyes darting about the room. The sun's rays streamed through the windows
with song birds chirping outside, and the faint smell of sandalwood lingering. Your dreams had
made your skin sticky with sweat and your head felt strange.

You blamed the odd sleep to your sudden stop of milk of the poppy. You had heard that it can
sometimes give one strange dreams, and restless sleep. Stretching out in your bed you rose,
walking to look out the windows, the sun slowly rising above the horizon.

Saria and Aella came to dress you and bring your breakfast. Lush fruits from Dorne were piled
upon a silver platter. Bright pinks and yellows of all shapes and sizes wafting sweet scents around
you. Your hunger was ravenous, and so fed yourself full of the sticky nectars.

Once dressed and full of the morning's breakfast, you walked out of your chambers and towards the
library. You noted that the walk would not take you long, though you would have to walk through
the main parts of the Keep to get there.

The Keep at King’s Landing was busy that day. Lords and Ladies passed through, attending
meetings and socialising with one another, their voices carrying loudly throughout the stone walls.
Maids scuffled through the halls attending to their duties whilst knights patrolled the corridors.

The Library was a large room full to the brim of books, and rumoured to be one of the largest in the
Seven Kingdoms. It had high ceilings with dark wood lining the walls, holding the thick tomes and
scrolls within.

Heavy tables sat in the centre and between the many rows of books, with large tomes piled atop
desks nearby for writing. A fire softly crackled on a far wall, large green chairs and chaise sitting
in front.

You spotted your fathers tall figure perched in one, reading from a book in hand. His posture was
relaxed as he lazily read the novel. As you walked, your footsteps echoed heavily throughout the
room.

“You're up early.” Daemon called to you, not even looking up from his novel.

“As are you.” You replied, sitting heavily in a chair beside him.

You leant over and looked down at what he was reading. The writing was small, and looped
prettily in High Valyrian.

“Poetry?” You inquired.

“Of course. I’m not just a pretty face, tala.” (daughter) He leant back and looked over to you, “How
do you think I courted your fierce mother?”

“You give yourself too much credit, uēpa vala.” (old man) You chuckled leaning closer towards
him to get a better look.

You jerked back as his large hand swung up towards you, attempting to swat you with the back of
the book.

“You are cruel to this ‘old man’.” He sulked. A small smirk crawling up his face.

“I only speak the truth, father.”

“Yes, unless it is about how you injured your feet.” The Rogue Prince gave you a knowing look.

“I told you, I-“

“Yes, how convenient that you were drunk and stepped on glass. Of all your years living, I have
not once witnessed you to be a drunken fool.”

He waited for a response and you gave him none. You look at the fireplace avoiding him, and kept
your gaze there, and anywhere but his piercing eyes.

“Tell me, what caused the fight?" He pressed again.

"Gods be good. There was no fight. What is everyone's sudden interest in my uncle's interactions
with me."

"I see the way he looks at you, Y/n.”

Your eyes flick to him then back to the fire.

“Don't tell me you’ve turned mute?”

“I just don’t wish to speak about it any longer. Between mother and Jacaerys, I feel like you all
treat me as though I am made of glass.”

“You are what breaks glass it seems.” Your father snorted.

“You're not funny.”

“No? Then why do you smirk?” He leant forward to stare at you, glint in his eye.

You tried hard to tuck your lips inwards, fighting with the smile that attempted to reveal your
mirth. He always knew how to make you laugh.

“I don’t know how mother puts up with your jesting.”

“Nor do I, but that is what makes us so strong.”

He gave you a wide smile, reaching out to pat your hand and hold it for a second. Despite his
roughness and sardonic nature, Daemon had always been a good father.

“Have you missed being home?” You asked, changing the subject.

“Home? Hm. I don’t think I could ever really call this place home. My brother made it clear that I
was not welcome here many times. I had to make my home elsewhere. I have travelled to many
places, lived across many seas.” He paused, then continued,

“No. This is not home, the people within it however, they are home. You are home. My Lady Wife
is my home, my daughters and sons are home. Even my brother. This pile of stones just holds us all
together.”

“You have turned soft.” You laughed.

“Perhaps it is the poetry." Daemon paused, "I saw Sȳndor flying over the ocean, I think he misses
you.” Your father added.

“I know, I can feel it. I was thinking of going into the Dragon Pit this evening and seeing him.”

“Smart girl, I don’t think I will survive the next visit. It’s as though he awaits for you to enter, sees
me, and flies into a fit of rage. Grumpy; much like his rider.”

“If I get grumpiness from anyone, it is you, kepa.” (father) You tease.

“Enough of that." He grabs your hand, "Here,” Daemon reopened the book, “let me finish.”

Then he began to read aloud.

“Naejot jorrāelagon ao iksis iā qringaomnon," (To love you is a sin,)

“Naejot jorrāelagon mirros qrimbrōstan, zōbrie; Iksā iā issare qilōni iksin geptot ondoso Jaes."
(To love something cursed, dark; You are a being who was left by God.)

“Iksā iā taboo bona nyke jorrāelagon.”

“You are a taboo that I love.” You translated back to him.

You glanced at your fathers face. His gaze had softened toward the pages, eyes half lidded as he
spoke. His brow drawn, as his eyes flitted across the page.

There were undeniable similarities between you and Daemon. You had his fire, and loyalty to
family, both willing to throw yourself in the flames for those you loved. Yet, you had your mothers
tenderness, to even out the flames, the softness in which she raised you.

Some could say you have his eyes, others could argue you had hers. You liked to think you have a
blend of both.

“Se sȳndror isse ao laodigon ñuha ōños." (The darkness in you steals my light.) He continued.

“Aōha vēdros, laesi doru, līrinon bona dōrī renigon aōha laesi.”

“Your anger, eyes empty, smile that never touches your eyes.” You spoke with him.

You look back to the fireplace, letting yourself relax to the sound of your fathers voice. His smooth
timbre lulling you into almost a trance.

“Aōha sōpagon iksis doru, yn iksā ñuhon." (Your laugh is empty, but you are mine.)

“Eman ropatas ezīmagon aōha sȳndor." (I have fallen into your shadow.). He finishes, gazing at
you.

The Rogue Prince watched as you stared into the fire, eyes glazed over. You felt there was a reason
your father had read this specific poem to you.

Every utterance of darkness, of a laugh that is empty, a smile that never touches the eyes, the
anger. You thought of one person.

You turn to him and give him a small smile.

“When will we return to Dragon Stone?”

“I am unsure, my sweet,” He reached out to hold the side of your face, you lean your head into it,
“Alicent has latched onto your mother like a leech. I fear we may be here much longer than
anticipated.”

“It is strange here.” You sigh.

“I know. Quite a shock to see my brother falling apart at the seams. Perhaps his clothes are holding
him together underneath.”

“Do not be cruel.”

“Not cruelty, only truths. I had told him long before that the Gods had been cruel to him. It seems
that they have only gotten crueller.”

You turn to kiss the inside of his palm and look at him, “He is strong, I am sure he will continue on
for many years before the Stranger comes to meet.”

“Dōna riña.” (Sweet girl) He gives you a sad smile.

 Iksā ñuhon
Chapter Notes

We love a Good Dad Daemon

Daemon continued to read to you until you felt your eyes begin to droop. You were feeling
exhausted from your restless night, your body feeling heavy.

Your eyes had slowly slid shut when you felt a soft hand touch your shoulder gently, opening your
eyes, your father was crouched in front of you.

“I think you should retire for the night, though your brothers will be disappointed if you don’t join
us for dinner this evening.”

You stretched your legs out, yawning and blinking your eyes to focus them. Even your father
looked tired.

“I will join you all this evening then.” You replied, slowly standing up, knees popping as you did.

Once stood, you stretched your back, your spine pulling, feeling stiff after being curled up in the
same position for what felt like years.

“Well then, we best get to dinner now.” He reached his hand out to you.

“Now?” Confusion lacing your voice. You felt as though you had only just closed your eyes.

“Yes, you seemed utterly enthralled by my poetry that you fell asleep at once. I did not wish to be
scathed by the sleepy dragon and left you to it.” Reaching out he moved a strand of your hair back
behind your shoulder, “After all you look like you have been visited by the Stranger today.”

You scrunch your face up, yawning once more. You must have slept on that chair for hours, but
you had needed the rest.

“Come, Princess of Sleep. Our Queen awaits us.” And with that he took your arm, walking you
side by side through the now darkened halls to their chambers. You arrived, still linked by each
other's arms.

Your mother looked to you from her seat at the table. She wore a red dress this evening and her
hair was pulled back into many different braids, all twisting and turning to the back of her head.
You brother Jacaerys sat next to her, calmly collected, wearing red and black, giving you a small
yet warm smile.

“You look like you’ve slept the day away.” Your mother joked, Lucerys on the opposite side of her
giggling, his eyes dancing with delight.

“She has.” Your father confirmed, “Can you believe the manners of our daughter? I was reading
and she slept the entire way through. You would think I was Alicent saying a prayer to the Seven.”

Princess Rhaenyra giggled, looking down at her plate whilst Lucerys barely contained his mirth.
“Perhaps she was kept awake all night?” Jacaerys tone dampened the joyous atmosphere, despite it
being at your expense.

“I slept just fine, thank you. Though I find myself growing tired of the same walls and halls.” You
responded, giving your brother an irritated look.

“Does that mean you will take me flying soon?” Your little brother beamed, a smile stretching
across his face, cheeks rosy. You walked to the table and sat beside him as your father seated
himself next to Jace.

Lucerys' excitement was contagious.

“Of course! You have been patiently waiting and I have been almost dying to take you.”

There was food already upon the table, meats and vegetables as usual, with wine and ale in large
decanters in the centre of the round table. There was fruit on the outside of the meats and gravies of
all kinds in small serving bowls.

You began to serve yourself as did the others and slowly began to eat together. Your brothers
shared their adventures of training together in the yard once more and their rediscovery of the
secret passages in the walls.

Your father recalled that he would meet your mother on occasion in those very same passages, to
which she quickly changed the subject, warning us to not use them or tell anyone of them lest it be
an emergency.

You sipped from your wine and smiled. Your family was back where they belonged and it
suddenly felt like how it used to. Conversations ebbed and flowed and laughter was shared. Times
like these were most important to you, your family was everything, and every moment spent
together was precious.

You asked your mother if she had been spending very much time with Alicent and she recounted
the days spent with the Queen Consort. There was still a level of uncertainty on the reason for the
Queen's sudden change in behaviour.

“May we be excused to go to the Dragon Pit?” Jacaerys interrupted.

Your mother looked to him then to you.

“Of course, but no flying, it is far too late now.”

“We won’t mother.” Your brother replied for you, standing to kiss her on her cheeks, and bowing
to your father.

"Can I go?" Lucerys asked excitedly.

"You stay here with mother and Prince Daemon." Jacaerys replied.

"Why?" Lucerys asked, now agitated by his eldest brother.

Jacaerys paused, your parents watching him closely as he thought out his response. Though he only
paused for two seconds, it felt longer.

"I need to ask Y/n about womanly things.... For Baela." A blush rose on Jacaerys face.

Oh.
"It's okay, Luc. We won't be flying tonight, and I made a promise to you." You smiled gently.

You wondered in that moment what Jace could possibly want to ask you. Surely he could have
gone to mother before you? Or perhaps he wanted to ask something more... intimate.

Lucerys resigned and simply nodded at you, a curt smile on his face. You could tell that he was
disappointed and it made your heart pang with hurt. Yet, you would respect Jacaerys request and
not argue.

You stood from the table and bid everyone a goodnight. Smiling once more brightly at Luc, who
reciprocated it more enthusiastically. You hoped that Jacaerys’ talk would not be too
uncomfortable.

As you made your leave, you kissed your mothers face, and whilst passing your father you placed
your hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss the top of your hand and picked up his goblet
of wine.

Once outside the room you turned to your brother, “What's wrong?” You asked.

“I needed to talk to you, besides mother needs rest.” He answered quickly, hands by his side
awkwardly. His posture made him look as if he was waiting for a shadow to jump out from the
walls to attack.

“What did you need to talk to me about that you could not in front of them?”

“Has he come to you again?” He blurted, voice hushed as you walked past servants.

“This? Jace please, no. I can take care of myself if he were.” You huffed, reaching out to hold his
hand, swinging it as you walked.

“You worry far too much!” You added reaching your other hand to stroke his cheek.

“There is something wrong with him.” He growled.

“Oh I am sure, but he would not harm me. I know this now.” You assured him.

“Now?”

“Yes,” You quickly cover, “For if he were to do anything, would he not have done it by now?”

Your eldest brother hummed, “I suppose so.”

“How is Baela?”

Your brother was a good man, and tended to his betrothed diligently, making the effort to ensure
her happiness. Anyone would be lucky to be engaged to him.

“She is wonderful, though I feel she senses the tension here. I think it has put her on edge.”

“Don't you worry about that, it will all be ok. I promise.”

“She is very fond of you. She speaks of you often.” He chirped.

“Me?”

“Yes. You have always been kind to her, though you are the eldest.”
“Well, she is my sister. I feel the same. She is very clever, a force to be reckoned with. She is very
much like Daemon.”

Giving a small chuckle he looked down blushing, “She already is.”

You nudge his shoulder playfully, walking together down beneath the sept all the way to the
Dragon Pit. There were many stairs to walk, and the deeper you got, the colder and darker it was.

You felt goosebumps raise on your skin, the torches on the walls the only source of light. Reaching
out to the side, you pulled a large torch from the wall as your brother did the same holding the
flame in front of you as continued to trek down below.

The crackling heat of the flame caressed your face and you walked forward. The soft sound of your
footfall gently echoing through the passage.

Coming out of the stairs you walked through a winding tunnel that came to an open room.
Sȳndor’s familiar rumble becoming louder as you walked further in.

You walked further and further until finally you saw the entrance of the pit, a large caved opening
up to outside.

“Sȳndor.” You call out softly, hearing a deeper purr in response.

You felt the ground vibrate with movement and the sound of scratching along the floor. A deep
chirp coming from outside of the pitch black pit.

You slowly stretched out the torch in front of you, the roof above dimly illuminated with the
growing flame. The further you walked, the lighter it got. The glow from the moon illuminating the
world outside.

“Iksan vaoreznuni, Sȳndor.” (I am sorry, Sȳndor.) You called out into the open air, a deep
rumbling heard in response.

Your brother stood far behind you, still in the entrance of the tunnel. Your father had told you all
of your older dragon's temper, his grumpiness increasing with every day. Your bond so strong, that
he must have sensed the anxiety and fear of the week.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis,” (Fire breather, Winged
leader, But two heads, To a third sing.) You sang out into the darkness, calling Sȳndor to come to
you.

A loud rumble surrounds you, large flames pluming from his mouth, the reflection of flames on his
shiny black scales broke through the darkness.

Sȳndor’s large snout came towards you, rumbling coming from deep in his chest. His nose sniffed
at the air, pupils dilated as he watched you.

The large black dragon stood outside of the pit near the entrance, waiting for your presence. Like
Vhagar, his sheer size prevented him from entering the pit at the Red Keep, the cave’s walls not
being big enough to withhold the large fire breather.

“Oh, ñuha gevie, Sȳndor.” (Oh, my beautiful, Sȳndor.) You whispered as he rumbled back, his
large horned head turning slightly to look at you.

Sȳndor’s large fiery eyes stared at you, cat like pupil expanding and thinning with focus. Opening
his mouth he let out a piercing shriek, walking further into the torch's light towards you near the
entrance, large black talons shaking the earth with every step.

You moved into the darkness holding your hand out, touching the front of his snout, to stroke him
softly.

Sȳndor was one of the largest dragons in the world. Not much smaller than Vhagar, he towered
over all others. His talons were larger than a horse and his mouth was full of razor sharp teeth.
Some called him Balerion the Black Dreads brother.

Much like Caraxes, Sȳndors face was horned, giving his large head a sharp and jagged shape. His
scales were a deep and dark black that shone in the light.

Despite his size, he flew gracefully, his muscular body propelling him into the air with ease and
almost silently.

A true apex predator.

“Gevie, gevie Sȳndor.” (Beautiful, Beautiful Sȳndor) You called, placing the torch on the ground
behind you.

Reaching both hands up, you held onto the side of his face, pushing your body against it to hug
against him. He was so large that you were just barely bigger than one of his teeth, which sat
sharply in his pitch black mouth.

His soft purring rumbles echoed back into the pit, and you heard a deep sigh behind you. Turning
your head back you saw your brother come out from the tunnel, finally standing outside of the
cave's mouth with you.

“Emagon ao issare sȳrī?” (Have you been well?) You asked the great beast who rumbled in
response, leaning into your body, pushing you off balance.

Giggling you placed a kiss to his face and leant your forehead against him, closing your eyes.

“I am okay, Sȳndor.” You whispered.

“Jikagon ipradagon.” (Go eat.) You commanded softly.

You roughly pet him, fingers rubbing against his smooth black scales. Stepping back, you bent
down to pick up the torch, his golden and red eyes following your every movement.

The large dragon chirped happily as he looked at you. Pushing his head towards you, he snorted a
puff of air around you, eyes focusing on your feet, scanning the rest of your body.

Standing with the torch you lean towards him, rubbing your hand against his strong neck, patting it
hard. Sȳndor let out another rumble and slowly turned away, body drawing back into the open
space. Every step made the ground rumble and you could hear the shrieks of the other dragons
from deep within the pit, responding to the King of Dragons presence.

Turning around you saw your brother staring at you, you huffed out a laugh.

“What?”

“You truly have a gift. Prince Daemon could barely get close to him without being burnt to a crisp.
Your bond is immovable.”
You laugh once more and walk back to your brother. “Was there a reason you needed to come with
me? Or was this an excuse to escort me around.”

A blush rose on his face, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t become a meal for a very old, very
grumpy dragon.”

“The only very old, very grumpy ‘dragon’ around here is Daemon.” You giggled.

“Now that it is someone I do not wish to scathe.” Jacaerys laughed.

 Devour
Chapter Notes

Whelp, I'm horny, and afraid, which to be fair is my favourite combination

You walked with Jace around the Red Keep for the remainder of your evening, stopping to sit by
the Godswood with him, reminiscing on your childhood together.

The night grew long as you sat and spun stories together. Eventually your brother became tired,
vowing to walk you to your chambers before he retired to his own.

As you walked together you held onto his arm, lightly stroking it with your fingertips, hoping to
soothe his anxiety. Jacaerys was sometimes very high strung, you supposed it was to do with him
being the eldest boy.

Once outside your chambers, he offered to inspect the room for you, to which you laughed.

“You are too much Jace. Anyone would think you are beginning to go mad.”

“I am not mad.” He responded defiantly.

“I know this.” You smiled, holding his hand and swinging it, “Go to bed, I can see your eyes
beginning to close.” You cooed.

“They are not.” He argued, stilling your hands.

“Don’t be stubborn. I can handle myself from any ghosts or ghouls that may be lurking in the
shadows.” You joked, smiling brightly at him hoping to ease the tension.

Scoffing, he squeezed your hand and thankfully bid you a goodnight. You watched as he walked
down the corridor towards his own chambers, grinning as you did.

You were truly blessed to have the brothers that you did. Who else could say they had a bond like
yours. Who else could say they had brothers who were kind, caring and patient? You did not know
how Helaena dealt with hers. You would sooner be led to madness if you had to deal with your two
uncles as often as she did.

The Knight at your chambers opened the large heavy doors wordlessly and let you through. The
room was lit by candles and your nightgown was placed delicately on the end of your bed. The
girls must have retired for the evening or been dismissed by your mother.

Walking towards your bed you began to unlace the back of your dress, finding it a little difficult
given the angle. With each tug of the laces, the more your dress gave, allowing you to slump your
posture. Even after your large rest in the library, you still felt fatigued.

Shimmying the dress down your body, you let the heavy material pool at your feet, toeing the
small slippers off along with it. You stretched your toes out, happy to have them out of their
confines. The bottoms of your feet are feeling better with each day, though the scars would serve as
a reminder of that evening.

Reaching up to your shoulders, you began to remove your underdress to put on your nightgown. As
one shoulder was pulled down you heard a deep hum from behind you.

Clasping onto the front of your dress you spun, heart pounding in your chest.

There sat Aemond.

The silver head of your uncle was sitting comfortably at one of the high backed chairs in front of
your fireplace, a large goblet of wine clutched in his hand.

You tried to steady your breathing, voice caught in your throat. The roar of blood was loud in your
ears. You froze, not knowing how to react, your mind running wildly as you stared at the One-
Eyed Prince.

“Don’t let me interrupt you.” He drawled, head turned away to stare at the fire whilst he swirled his
wine. Your uncle looked all the more bored, as if he had been invited as a guest that was forgotten
about.

“Get out.” You squeaked, struggling to calm your breathing.

Aemond did not respond, his sharp eye still staring into the fire as though in thought. You twisted
the front of the dress up in your hands, holding onto it for dear life.

“You didn’t tell them.” He mused, taking a small sip of the wine.

“W-what?” You asked confused.

“You didn’t tell them.”

“I-“ You paused, “No.”

Your breathing began to steady, though your heart still raced in your chest. Your knuckles were
white with the grip of your underdress, a cold chill settling over your skin.

It was indecent of him to be here. To even witness you like this, though as if he cared for chivalry,
he kept his one eye on the flames facing away from you, not one looking at your exposed form.

“Hm.”

You walked to your closet, snatching a black woollen cloak, throwing it hastily over your
shoulders as you stood far away by the bed, hoping to put distance between you and your uncle.

“I’m not going to take your eye if that is what you are worried about, niece.” He stated, lightly
sipping his wine again, eye still fixated on the fireplace that danced in front of him.

You clutched tightly at the soft wool of the cloak against your almost bare skin. Fear worked its
way up your throat. You stood still, unsure of what to do or say. What could you say? Why was he
here?

Suddenly the second son turned from your chair, his long blonde hair shifting over his shoulder as
he looked at you, his heavy gaze looking you up and down. You held the cloak tighter to you.

“Did you not hear me?” You repeated, taking a small step forward, “Get. Out.” You hissed.
Finally fire began to work its way through you, the initial shock of him in your chambers wearing
off.

His signature smirk worked its way onto his face.

“Now why would I do that? I quite enjoy your company. Far better than my nephews.” He mocked.

His presence put you on edge, eyes darting about the room in search of something to protect
yourself with.

“Come sit, zaldrītsos.” (little dragon) He drawled, looking back to the fireplace.

As you clutched the cloak tighter to your body, you felt a sharp pinch on your finger. Looking
down to the pain, you saw that your fist had enclosed around your cloak's clasp. The signet of the
Targaryen House dug sharply into your palm, its pin pricking your finger.

Slowly you moved towards him, taking wary steps as you willed your hands to not shake. No man
had seen you in such a state of undress, and to have your deranged uncle luring you closer to him?
You must be mad.

With every step you took, you inhaled deep steady breaths, begging the Gods that he not hear your
heart thumping behind your ribcage. You felt that with every step you took, you slowly signed
your doom. Your freedom gradually being ripped away from you. And yet you did it, almost
willingly.

As you neared the fire you felt your palms begin to sweat, your nerves fraying at the proximity. He
held his hand out to the chair beside him, eye watching you closely. The sapphire orb glowed in
fires light, different shades of blue and purple shimmering with every movement .

Aemond’s hand still stuck out, presenting the chair he wished for you to sit in, almost gentlemanly.
A lion inviting a lamb to its den, a subtle ‘Here, sit with me, My Lady, so that I may flay the skin
from your body’. When you did not move he sharply stood, the movement making you flinch,
taking an uneasy step backwards.

“Sit.” He insisted, slowly moving to your side table to pour you a goblet of wine.

You stiffly sat down on the cushion, grasping the cloak around your shoulders closer to your body,
hiding your exposed skin from him as you felt the pin begin to break the skin of your finger. You
focused on the sharp pinch.

As he walked back over to you, he held out the goblet of wine for you. You looked at him in
confusion as he continued to hold it out, waiting for you to take it. Did he expect you to trust that
he had not poisoned it?

“It is not poisoned, if that is what has you so concerned. I am no Kinslayer.” Aemond mused.

Gently, you reached out with one hand, the other holding the cloak together at your chest.
Fingertips grazed the goblet before your uncle sharply snatched it back away from you, smirking.

“No glass this time.” He hummed.

Anger and shame bubbled inside of you as you snatched the goblet away from him, pulling it close
to your chest.

Prick.
Aemond picked up his drink and slunk back down in his chair, resuming his position. The Prince
moved fluidly like water. Smooth and delicate, as to not cause a ripple. But the longer you watched
the more you realised he was more of a snake, slow and smooth, calculating when to next strike.

“Are you frightened, niece?” Smirk pulling up his face.

“No.” You breathed, head held strong as you looked him in his eye.

His hand came to gently caress the arm of the chair, long fingers rubbing back and forth on the
dark wood as he stared at you. His fingers were long and strong, nails perfectly manicured like the
rest of him. Your gaze kept on his fingers, as he let two rub up and down on the dark wood in
thought.

“You look frightened.” He said lowly. Voice so deep, and so much softer than you had expected. It
was so different than the night before.

“Why are you here?” You demanded, hand grasping at the pin harder.

“Do I need a reason to spend time with my niece?” He mused, not getting a reaction out of you.
You opted to stay silent, not drinking from the goblet as you would have liked to, and watched
your uncle intently. It seemed to irritate him.

He watched as you stiffened, eyes roaming over him, assessing him for danger. You had always
been observant, a nervous habit you had developed Sensing your unease the One-Eyed Prince leant
forward, “Because…” He paused, watching you clutch the cloak tightly against you, “I wish to
devour you.” His smirk crawled higher and higher up his face with glee. A shiver ran down your
spine.

“You disgust me.” You spat, standing sharply, almost tripping on the long cloak as you did.

He huffed out a chuckle, “Really?” He spoke with mirth.

“You play these games with me, uncle, but you never follow through.” You hissed, leaning
forward.

The older Prince stood slowly, matching your stance, his lithe form towering over you.

He hummed, taking a step towards you, long legs moving slowly and surely like a viper coiling
before it strikes.

“Get. OUT.” You yelled, making him laugh loudly, throwing his head back in entertainment. You
walked backwards, hand reaching the wall of the fireplace behind you.

Trapped.

“Sȳndor seemed pleased to see you.”

“What?” You choked out.

“Your great beast, he seemed pleased when you went down to visit. Your singing truly is
beautiful.” He replied, a soft appreciation on his features.

“You’re sick.” You spat.

Silence.
Adrenaline began to course through you, your blood beginning to boil as your rage built. How dare
he. How dare he come here and taunt you. After everything?

“You play these games as a means to confuse me, but I have no confusion as to what you are.” You
sneered, eyes searching his.

“And what am I, my dear little dragon?” He purred, standing in front of you, looking down his
long sharp nose at you. Every breath he took, caused his chest to brush against yours.

“You’re weak.” You seethed.

Aemond hummed in thought, looking away in contemplation.

“Maybe I will take your eye.” He crooned.

Your hand flew up to his face, the point of the pin from your cloak pressing into the skin below his
lone eye, his impenetrable mask of composure slipping momentarily. A small crooked smile rose
on his face as he waited for you to act.

Your uncle leant forward, pushing the pin into his skin.

“Do it, zaldrītsos.” (little dragon) He stared you down. Your breath was shallow and sharp, hand
shaking.

“Do it.” He growled, snatching your wrist with a bruising force pushing the pin further into the
skin under his eye. Smile gone from his face as he watched you.

His grip on your wrist was bruising. But no matter how hard he pushed it, you found that you
couldn’t. Looking at the pin and your uncle's face you found your anger drain away from you. You
did not want to do it.

You could not do it.

When you looked at him, all you saw was the scared little boy that had his eye taken from him. All
you could see was the Aemond that you used to play with. Your uncle who you had shared a strong
bond with, and grown side by side with.

Someone you had once loved.

Coward, a voice whispered in the back of your mind.

Aemond harshly squeezed your wrist, causing you to gasp and drop the pin on the floor.It hit the
floor and rolled beneath the chair behind you. With his hold on your wrist, he yanked you forward
into him, breath fanning along your face and neck. The cloak slipped down your shoulders.

His violet eye searched your face as he scowled.

“It is you, who is weak.” He whispered.

A fire was lit. Swirling your tongue in your mouth you spat on his face, his eye closing
momentarily before opening, death grip still on your wrist.

A slow smile curled on his lips, “Hmm.”

Other hand shooting out to grab your throat, he jerked you roughly backwards, your head hitting
against the stone wall behind. The room spun, and you felt stars begin to form in front of your eyes,
a deep throbbing pulsed in your skull.

You reached up to claw at his hand around your throat, dark cloak falling to the ground below,
breath wheezing in your lungs. Fear washed over you and you felt your mouth turn dry.

Aemond leant slowly into your space eyeing you.

“You really should be careful, zaldrītsos. Perhaps I am the monster you say I am.” He whispered,
his warm breath puffing across your lips. A stray strand of hair came loose from behind his ear to
tickle the front of your face.

He looked feral.

“Get out.” You wheezed.

“Please?” He mocked, head tilting to the side as he did. His plump lips pulled forward into a pout.

The One-Eyed Prince’s hand on your throat loosened slightly, allowing you to gulp in a breath of
air, a small act of mercy. Suddenly the Prince moved whilst he looked down at you, pushing a
knee between your legs. The sudden movement caused you to let out a small yelp. His gaze
lowered down your shivering body.

The cloak that had given you a false sense of protection now surrounded your feet in a heap, the
thin underdress you wore slipping down from your shoulders.

“My, you have grown.” He purred.

“Please, uncle.” You gasped.

Aemond hummed, releasing your wrist only to tighten his grip on your throat once more. Both of
your hands gripped his large one, wrapped around your throat.

“Did you truly think you would take my other eye?” He taunted, teeth sharp in his mouth.

You closed your eyes, ice cold dread seeping into your heart. You thought this was how you would
die. Half dressed in your chambers, uncle's hand wrapped around your neck.

Weak, echoed in your head.

His free hand tickled your exposed collarbone, fingertips dancing above your skin as you squeezed
your eyelids together, a painful throbbing behind them.

Perhaps he would slit your throat with the sword on his side, or maybe the dagger he carried with
him at all times. Perhaps it was a fate set by the Gods, something you could never escape and
wer4e destined to since birth. His long fingers brushed against your underdress where it had slipped
down your shoulders, finger coming to caress the skin underneath.

Your whole body tensed, goosebumps erupting along your skin.

You could feel his gaze on you, eye greedily devouring you. Slowly you opened yours to look at
him. Aemond was a sight. His eye was half lidded, with a lazy smirk sat upon his face, and a pink
blush dusting his cheeks.

You wheezed in a breath, head feeling light and body heavy. Your uncle kept his eye on you as he
trailed his finger further down your collarbone, moving the loose shift with it.
He continued to observe you, humming as he pushed his knee harder against the crux of your
thighs. You squeaked, clawing at his hand trying to fill your lungs. The pressure against your
centre causing your stomach to do flips.

He leant closer to your face, “Tell me niece, are you truly still a maiden?” He whispered, twisted
joy in his voice.

Running his hand further into your shift, his fingers grazed the top of your breasts, nipples
hardening from the stimulation. He looked down to where the stiff peaks pushed against the thin
underdress.

Your uncle hummed, clicking his tongue as his eye flicking back to yours. You could not bear to
look at him eyeing you so hungrily, so feral.it made your heart race. You quickly shut them once
more.

His fingers hooked onto the tie at the front of your shift, pulling the knot free, making the front of
the underdress sag. You wriggled in his grasp trying to free yourself as he gripped your throat
harder. No air passed through to your lungs.

You felt yourself become dizzier, black spots forming in front of your eyes and felt yourself begin
to pass out, only to have his hand loosen and your body automatically gulp in air.

Aemond huffed a little laugh as you breathed deeply, room spinning from lack of oxygen and the
blow to the back of your head. With a simple tug, the dress pooled below your breasts. The cold air
bit at the now exposed skin and you felt a shiver roll through your body from both the chill and the
heady gaze of your uncle. A deep hum of appreciation came from within his chest as he gazed
down.

You looked away at the wall and focused on breathing what little air he allowed. Why was he
doing this? He was sick. You prayed to the Seven and the old Gods, begging this to end. Begging
that they strike him down.

Aemond's hand trailed along the shift, hand tickling over your nipples and the softness of your
breast. Fingers trailed underneath your breasts gently and almost teasingly. Your stomach
clenched.

His hand then drifted lower on your front until it danced along the bunched material on your
stomach. Fingers grazing the front of your inner thighs softly making you clench your thighs,
squirming in his grip. He looked up at you as his hand continued to caress your thigh. A blush
spreading over your face.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Princess?” He pondered, shifting his knee further into your cunt,
drawing a breathy moan from you.

Your heart was skipping in your chest, and you felt your breath falter. Your stomach tied up in
knots as you began to feel nauseous as his fingers tickled further towards your centre. A warm heat
settled in your core, a familiar desire beginning to grow inside you.

The Prince hummed slowly in your ear as he dragged the shift further down your body, moving his
knee to let it pool at your feet. Tears sprung to your eyes, slowly falling down your cheeks. You
sniffed and turned your head away, choosing to stare out the window.

“Now she is quiet.” He mused, “I told you there was a dragon to be tamed.” Aemond smirked,
hand coming to dance along your inner thighs once more, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its
wake.

His long fingers gently grazed the soft hair on your mound, dipping a single finger to your bundle
of nerves. Your jerked away from his touch, stomach tensed as you tried to wriggle away, a
familiar feeling settling in your core. He squeezed your throat tighter, looking up at you before
relaxing his grip and continuing.

A warning.

His long finger swirled around your bud torturously slow, making you writhe in his grip, finger
slowly travelling further down to your entrance.

Humming Aemond looked back up at you, “You’re so wet for me, sweet niece.” He purred, slowly
dipping his finger into your wetness then dragging it back up to your clit.

Your body reacting on its own.

The Prince continued to gently rub you, pulling weak whispers and sighs from you, a coil slowly
beginning to tighten within. You bit at your tongue sharply, the tears still falling down your
cheeks.

This was wrong.

He was cruel and unkind, and yet it still felt good. Your body reacted on its own, chasing the
pleasure he brought you. Shame surrounded you, as he continued to swirl his finger gently, dipping
it between your folds to gather your wetness and bring it back up to your bud once more.

A long finger dipped down to your soaking entrance again and suddenly pushed inside of your
heat, your hips bucking up against him in surprise. You hissed silently as your uncle's finger went
deeper than yours ever could, pulling a throaty moan from you as he did.

Slowly he pulled his finger back out, “Look at me.” He urged you, your eyes clenched shut.

“I said. Look. At. Me.” He growled and you obeyed, slowly turning your face to look at your older
uncle, a crazed expression in his eye.

Aemond lifted his finger to his lips and drew it into his mouth, sucking on it lewdly. His one good
eye closed as he moaned, the sound causing your core to clench around nothing. His grip on your
throat loosened further and you sucked in another gasp of air.

“Mmm,” He moaned, “I think I will devour you after all.”

Aemond roughly pushed his hand back into your heat curling his finger, a long groan falling from
your lips. His hands were much larger than yours, and his finger stretched you uncomfortably.

You tried to steady your limited breathing, and think of anything but the coil slowly tightening
inside of you. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and you felt yourself getting closer to
climax.

His finger suddenly rubbed up against a soft spongy spot inside you, making you gasp, his eye
sharply gazing to you before chuckling.

The Prince pulled his hand away, swirling once around your entrance before forcing a second
finger in with his first roughly, the movement jarring you.
You whined pathetically, trying to move away from his hand, having never felt this full in your
life, a stinging pain rippling through your core. It ached. It was too much, too intense, and the way
his hand moved within you stretched painfully.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, the stretch burning at you as you tried to draw back, desperate to
get away from him and his attack. Your release so near, and your fear rising at the thought.
Tutting, he tightened the grip on your neck and thrusted his two fingers sharply back inside you,
drawing a soundless yelp from you.

Moving his fingers in and out rapidly he curled them inside, stroking the soft spongy part of your
core, drawing tiny mewls from you. The room was filled with the sounds of your wet heat as he
fucked you savagely with his hand.

The coil wound tighter and tighter, stomach clenching at the rough pleasure he brought you.

"St-" The words were lost in your throat as Aemond brought his thumb to press at your bundle of
nerves, whilst he rapidly moved his fingers deeper within you.

You watched as his fingers disappeared inside, your slick glistening on his hand with each sharp
movement, as it leaked down your thighs.

The Prince let out a breathy moan as he watched his hand disappear inside of you. He loosened his
grip on your neck, feeling your core begin to tighten around his two fingers. He held your gaze as
he leant forward looking down at your lips.

You felt yourself in a haze, mind becoming fogged, the pleasure unlike anything you had ever felt
before and soon you began to chase it.

He reached further than you ever had and moved with a skill you didn’t. You felt yourself slowly
begin to come undone, hips bucking to meet his movements.

“Ah!” You gasped, not looking away from his eye and the sapphire orb.

“That’s it, sȳz riña.” (good girl) He praised, lips brushing yours as he spoke, your core clenching at
his voice and the praise.

Your uncle swirled his thumb around your clit faster, guiding you to finish, forcing pleasure from
your body as you succumbed to his invasion. His eye was blown wide in lust, the purple of his iris
almost completely swallowed by the black pupil.

You felt the coil inside you snap, a blinding pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Konir sagon ziry, māzigon syt nyke.” (That's it, come for me.) He murmured, hand not slowing
down, forcing you through your peak painfully. You gasped trying to suck in air, lips brushing his
as you did.

Aemond caught your mouth with his in a bruising kiss as he slowly began to slow his hand. Your
eyes slid shut, his lips were soft against yours. Your lips moved with his as you kissed him back,
mind hazy from the pleasure.

The grip on your throat loosened completely, and your mouth opened to draw in a deep breath,
sighing into his mouth. He leant his forehead against yours as you came down, breathing heavily,
trying to suck oxygen back into your body.

Then finally, his hand stilled inside you. And the world began to crash down around you.
Your head spun from lack of air and intense release. The back of your skull began to throb once
more from the impact, heart rattling inside of your chest, core spasming around his fingers.

Your heart suddenly felt cold.

You watched as your uncle gently slid his fingers from within you, a slight sting as he removed
them from your core, causing you to grimace. As he watched you, his hand came up to his lips,
tongue darting out to lick at his slender digits before he pushed them into your mouth. Your musky
tang hit your tongue, as you closed your lips around them and sucked.

With a hum, Prince Aemond let go of your neck and turned to leave, pulling his glistening fingers
from your mouth.

The silver haired Prince spun on his foot, hair gently flowing behind him as he exited, the door
softly shutting behind him. Your mouth gaped as you stared where he left.

Shame crawled through your veins and you felt yourself sag. Clasping at your bare chest as you let
out a strangled sob. What have you done?

The first man to ever touch you was your deranged uncle who tormented you and your brothers,
conspiring with the court of your legitimacy.

You felt guilt bubbling up your throat as the dull ache in your core settled in, your centre stinging
with discomfort from every movement. You felt so empty. Like an empty shell.

You slid down the stone wall, tucking your knees into your chest and cried.

What was wrong with you?

This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. This was not what you wanted. You wished to be back
on Dragonstone, far away from here, and to have never been reunited with your estranged family.
You felt disgust blooming in your chest. You had just betrayed your family; your brothers.

What would they say?

What would your mother say?

What would your father say?

You could never tell them. You could never admit to what had just happened. What had just
transpired within your old chambers, somewhere which you thought you were safe. Guilt ate at you
from the inside.

How could you have let that happen?

More importantly, why did it feel so good?

 Green
Chapter Notes

Daddy Daemon is the best daddy, we love to see it

Sleep evaded you as your head throbbed, and the dull ache of where his hand once was kept you
awake. Your throat felt tender to the touch, your fingers lightly poking the skin.

You felt your hair become knotted at the back of your head as you tossed and turned against the
pillow beneath you. Sitting up, you looked around the room.

The fire had slowly begun to dwindle and die out, candles on tables melted almost completely to
the base, their soft white wax pooling beneath them.

Throwing the covers back, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, wincing as you did, the
empty ache in your core strumming in pain. You grabbed the cloak, left on the floor where it had
been dropped and wrapped it around yourself.

Looking about your chambers, you saw the faint glint of the cloak's pin, fallen beneath one of the
arm chairs. You bent to pick it up, fastening the cloak together, before walking towards the large
painting beside your bed.

The painting on the wall had dragons in flight, with various riders upon their backs. Reaching your
hand out you felt along the frame, fingers grazing the grooves of the wood beneath until you felt
the divot. Placing your palm against the wood you pushed, the frame barely budging. Grunting you
pushed again, harder this time, until finally the picture frame swung backwards, revealing a
passageway.

The passage was cold and dark, walls covered in dust and cobwebs. You gently stepped inside,
pushing the frame securely shut behind you.

Reaching your hand out, you grazed your fingers along the wall for guidance. Although you had
not been in these walls for many years, you still remembered your way around.

It had not changed, most likely the one thing left untouched by Alicent Hightower. You wondered
if she even knew of their existence. Her sons most likely informed her. You walked down many
stairs, curving and twisting through the Red Keep. The passage smelt dusty and stale, but strangely
dry.

You walked without thinking, your body carrying you to where you needed to be, until you finally
reached the pit.

Further into the dark you went, walking the way towards the large rooms and pits entrance. Eerie
echoes ricocheted off of the walls from the other dragons, and rocks rolling from under your feet.

Your heart felt heavy in you chest, and you could not help but cry as you walked, sobbing with
each step. Pain rolled through you in waves, not just your body, but your heart too. You felt nothing
but disgust and horror in yourself.

You could not stay in the Keep any longer.

The further you walked the more you could see. A small speck of light was at the end of the
passage and soon enough, it opened up to the entrance of the pit, revealing the open night to you.

“Sȳndor.” You called out into the dark of night. There was no reply.

“Māzigon naejot nyke, Sȳndor.” (Come to me, Sȳndor) You called again, feeling all the more
anxious.

Still, no response.

“Māzigon naejot nyke, Sȳndor.”You called out desperately, feeling your composure fray.

As you waited, you leant heavily against the rocky wall, sliding down it sharp edge as you
continued to cry, heaving in breaths whilst still clutching the cloak around your shoulders tightly.

“Please.” You whispered.

You thought of your uncle's sapphire eye, and the way that it looked at you. The feeling of his
hands as he touched you. The way he had stripped you bare and you had all but enjoyed it.

You sobbed.

Your core felt empty, aching from his invasion. Was this always to happen? Were you to always
feel this heartbreak? Exhaustion took over, but you still could not sleep.

You sat for what felt like hours until you heard a familiar screech come from the sky.

“Sȳndor.” You called out, standing up against the wall, stumbling as you clawed at the rock behind
you.

A loud roar shook the sky, as you slowly watched your dragon descend from the clouds, his large
black wings stretched out, blocking the moonlight as they guided him swiftly downwards to you.

He shrieked into the air, feeling your distress through the bond. The large black dragon landed on
the ground, stepping towards you as he sniffed, eyes dilated.

“Māzigon naejot nyke, Sȳndor.” (Come to me.) You commanded, voice unwavering despite the
tears that still fell down your face.

His horned head lowered as he walked towards you, turning sideways as you rushed up to him,
desperate to feel his protection. Reaching out, you grabbed onto one of his horns for purchase.

Sȳndor stretched out one of his large wings, laying it down onto the ground beside him, allowing
you to climb your way up. As you climbed, you felt him move to assist you, pulling his wing
towards his upper back.

Sȳndor’s back was covered in two long rows of spines and horns, which you nestled yourself in-
between. The large dragon purred, his body vibrating beneath you, echoing out into the open air.

Leaning forward, you grasped two large spines.

“Sōvegon, Sȳndor.” (Fly, Sȳndor.) You yelled out. He stood to his full height, stretching out both
wings, before moving to push his great body off the ground.

His wings beat against the air, pulling you both higher, hair whipping around your face. You
watched as the Red Keep below became smaller as you soared, your anxiety leaving as you went.

For the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

You flew across the water, the moon glistening in the reflection below. The world's troubles falling
away with each beat of wings. You flew for sometime, relaxing against Sȳndor’s back as he
navigated his way to a secluded beach. The sandy shore stretched out far below you, rolling hills of
green nestled beside.

“Ilagon, Sȳndor.” (Down) You spoke gently, your hands gripping his horns tightly, fingers numb
from the cold.

Slowly you descended, your thighs clenching against him for grip. He landed heavily, wings
coming to catch the front of his body as you were jolted forward, laughing as you did.

“Sȳz, Sȳndor. Ao gōntan sȳz.” (Good Sȳndor. You did good.) You praised, patting him
enthusiastically. You climbed down his large body until you dropped to the sand below.

Your toes curled into the damp sand, a smile stretching on your face. What a freeing feeling, to be
on dragonsback, high in the sky away from the troubles of family.

You loved the beach, often flying to them as a child. They were your favourite place to be alone, to
listen to waves crashing gently on the shore and feel the salty sea spray on your skin.

“Gōntan ao ipradagon, dōna Sȳndor?” (Did you eat, sweet Sȳndor?) You asked, gently rubbing the
side of his face. A low grumble coming back in response. He was like Caraxes, in that he was very
verbal.

You leant your head against him and breathed. He smelt of fire and the musk of dragon. Your feet
sunk into the sand, small grains tickling the skin as they fell between your toes.

“Skoros issi īlon jāre naejot gaomagon?” (What are we going to do?) You whispered, his head
gently pushing back into your embrace.

There was something calming about being beside the giant black dragon. An untouchable feeling.
Knowing that no one could harm you in his presence. You could see why people often saw your
family as beings close to the Gods, or perhaps in some tales, Gods yourselves.

You stood against him for sometime, gently breathing next to each other, waves crashing behind
you. Sȳndor chirped suddenly, nudging you with his head as he walked, up to the sturdier grassy
ground ahead. You walked side by side, feeling the sand soft between your toes.

Bending himself down, your dragon lay on the grassy hill, large wings tucked up against his body.
He eyed you as you walked beside him, leaning heavily against his neck. Sȳndor lowered his head
to the ground resting it, and you slid down on the mound of green, still leant against him, soft
blades of grass folding underneath you.

Stretching your legs out, you looked up at the stars, feeling overwhelmed with fatigue. How small
you were in comparison to them. The stars above you twinkled, dancing in the sky.

“Kirimvose, Sȳndor.” (Thank you.) You uttered, eyes slowly shutting as you focused on breathing
and the feeling of the warm scaly skin behind you.
Sȳndor breathed deeply, the sound rumbling within his chest as he rested his eyes, head coming to
curl closer into his body, cocooning you into his neck. You felt safe, knowing that nothing could
reach you when you were with Sȳndor.

The great dragon's presence allowed you to finally relax, tucking your legs up next to you as you
curled against him. Breathing in tandem with his breaths, lulling you into a soft rhythm.

Slowly, you drifted into the first good sleep you had had since arriving at the Red Keep.

You were awoken to a rumbling vibration beside you. Opening your eyes you saw the head of your
dragon slowly moving away from you, stretching as he called out to the sky. The sound loud in
your groggy ears.

The sun was high in the sky, its warmth beaming down on you both. You laid sideways on a soft
patch of grass nestled beside him. You sat up as he began to stand, almost falling backwards from
his presence disappearing from behind you.

He continued to call out, and the familiar high pitch screech of Caraxes rang back. You pulled
yourself up and stood beside Sȳndor as your fathers dragon slowly descended onto the grass
nearby, Daemon sat atop.

Caraxes’ red scales glistened in the sun, long neck stretched out to call into the sky a friendly
greeting to your dragon. Your father jumped off of Caraxes back confidently, hands held in front of
him, pulling his riding gloves off, as he took long strides towards you.

“What are the chances of seeing two very sleepy dragons on this fine morning.” Your father spoke,
head tilted gently to the side. “You look as though you have been held hostage.” He looked you
over, noting your bare feet and woollen cloak, “Where are your clothes?”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you yawned.

“Hello father.” You replied, anxiety beginning to lurk in the back of your mind.

“I am gladdened to see that he did not burn you to a crisp, as he had tried to do to me.” Sȳndor
chirped in response, “I was not looking forward to being the father of a roast.” A little smile lined
his face as he stepped in front of you, Sȳndor purring loudly.

Your father wore his riding leather. Tight black leather pants and a tight leather vest to match. His
Dark Sister blade was on his side with his short silver hair pulled back in a half braid. He reached
out to cup the side of your face, eyes searching yours.

“Zaldrītsos.” (Little dragon.) He whispered and you flinched. Gone were the days when his pet
name for you held warmth. Now the name only brought back the memories of pain caused by the
One-Eyed Prince.

Prince Daemons eyes watched you carefully, watching your reaction to the name. Grasping your
shoulder with his other hand he pulled you tight against him, tucking your head beneath his chin.

You breathed in your fathers scent, calming your nerves, willing yourself not to cry. He smelt
good, and familiar, earthy and warm, dabbed with rich oils.

He kissed the top of your head, still holding onto it, squeezing you tight against him. You felt
yourself sag and wrapped your arms around him, clenching tightly onto his sides.

“Y/n, ñuha dōna, dōna riña.” (Y/n, my sweet, sweet girl.) He spoke gently into your hair, “Skoros
emagon pōnta gaomagon naejot ao?” (What have they done to you?)

You sniffed, pulling back from him yet still holding him close, giving a small smile, “Nyke
zūgagon kesā vēdros nyke.” (I fear you will hate me.) You spoke, feeling tears in your eyes.

“Hate you? How could I ever hate you? You are my blood. Nothing you could do would make me
hate you.” He tucked your head back under his chin once more, stroking your hair gently.

“Although, have you ever thought to brush this tangled mess? You look positively wild.” His
fingers caught in the knotted threads.

You huffed a laugh, wincing once his hand stroked the tender patch at the back of your head.
Daemon stiffened as he felt you tense, his fingers cautiously searching your skull, tracing the bump
softly.

“What happened?” He asked, all teasing leaving his tone. You looked away to the waves.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“I will ask my nephew if you do not tell me.” He threatened, and you knew he would.

“I hit my head.”

“The truth now.”

“I hit-“

“You may be able to evade your mother and brothers lines of questioning, but you will not be able
to avoid mine. Do you think I have gotten this far in my life, been where I have been and survived
what I have, if I didn’t know how to tell when one was lying? Do you think I'm a fool, like my
brother The King? Or perhaps you believe I am soft like Alicent, who does what her cunt of a
father bid her, when he bids her?” His tone was venomous.

You don’t answer.

“Hm? Which is it now? Do you think I am stupid, naive or a delightful mixture of the two like your
aunt?”

“Don't speak about Helaena like that.” You snapped.

“There she is. Now tell me, what happened?”

“I tried to take his eye.”

“Is that all?” Your fathers face looked disappointed, or even bored at the admission. You nodded.

“Did you take his eye then?”

“No.”

“Did anyone see this brazen attempt?”

“No, it was in my chambers.”

“I see.” Daemon hummed, looking into your eyes. He leant forward to kiss your forehead, “A word
of advice from an old man;” He began, eyeing you seriously, “Carry through with your threats.
Men like him do not, and will not forget easily. A beaten dog will always bite, at even the kindest
of hands.”

You look away as your father hums, “You will tell no-one of what happened, not even your mother.
Understood?”

You nodded. Daemon shifted his weight from one leg to another, eyeing you.

“I noticed you have no saddle on Sȳndor.” He looked at the dragon behind you.

“I rode without one.” You spoke confidently, raising your chin.

“How unfitting for a Princess,” Still looking to Sȳndor he held onto your arm, “But an achievement
nonetheless.” He smirked the way a father does when their child impresses them. Surpasses their
expectations.

“Your mother believes she is to have another daughter. What am I to do with two of you, hmm?”
He teased, brushing your knotted hair away from your face, “You will both send me to an early
grave. This pregnancy is much like when she was with you.” He mused, “Quite the temper your
sister, she keeps your poor mother awake at all hours with her kicking.”

“Have you any names for her yet?”

“Visenya.” He smiled.

Daemon stared at you lovingly for some time, eyes roving your face and hair, then down to your
bare feet. “You are so much like your mother. All that fire within you. It’s what made me fall in
love with her.”The Rogue Prince chuckled, looking down at his boots in the sand, “A dangerous
thing that fire, it draws everyone into the flame, like a moth.”

The moth that seemed to be drawn to you was quite bothersome and you wondered at all if your
mother had any others behave that way towards her. Perhaps you could let that moth be engulfed in
flames, surely then that would bring you peace from his hovering.

Or at least his assaults.

You walked along the beach together for some time, listening to your father talk of tales from
battle, his childhood with your Grandsire, and the beginnings of his love for your mother.

You loved listening to your father. He never once played into what is expected of courtesy like in
court, and spoke with utter conviction. Daemon always knew when you needed to be distracted,
and if you were not to lie, he loved the sound of his own voice, and so he would happily give you
an out.

Eventually the sun began to set and you both agreed to fly back to the Red Keep together, creating
a bet on who would arrive first. You raced to your dragons, soaring into the sky.

Caraxes was a much smaller and faster dragon than Sȳndor, who had to fly his much larger weight
through the air, and so your father got to the Red Keep quicker, but not by much.

Daemon escorted you through the Keep, conversation still flowing between you as he tested your
High Valyrian. Once at your chambers, he entered with you, surveying the room, eyeing the
forgotten dress next to the bed and the rumpled chemise atop.

“We were told that we are to celebrate Helaena and Aegon’s union in two days' time. I’m sure it
will be an all day affair.” He whined.

You laughed.

“I plan to drown myself in ale , and retire as early as I can. I wonder if the celebrations will be
spent praying to the Seven with the Queen Consort.” A long groan fell from his lips as he imagined
the affair, “I shall lay on my own sword if that is the case.”

Prince Daemon seated himself at your table, leaning his arms down the sides of the chair, picking
at his hands again.

“I’m sure it will be fine, perhaps it may even be fun?” You mimicked, sitting in front of him.

“About as fun as pulling your own teeth, I am sure. But if it will make my brother happy to have all
of us together once more, then I will do it. Though I ask you to behave this time.”

“Behave?”

“After your attempt last evening, I am sure your uncle is waiting at any moment to strike. Do not
give him the chance.” He paused and smirked, “I remember I used to rile Rhaenyra up for fun, just
to see her flustered.”

“Yes but you love her, and he hates me.”

“Some might confuse the two.”

“A fool would. He is incapable of love.” You argued.

“I don’t doubt that.” A beat of silence, then he continued, “What are the odds that your other uncle,
the drunken fool, will pass out before the night retires?”

“Oh, most definitely before dinner is served.”

“I should hope so, we will need some entertainment for the evening.”

“Poor Helaena. She did not deserve such a punishment. I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors
that she has endured.”

“With any luck, he will drink himself to death for all to see.” A coy smile worked its way onto
your fathers face.
 A celebration
Chapter Notes

Got on the internet today to see some Ewan crumbs, and I have not left my bed since...

You rose with the sun, its golden rays stirring you from your sleep. Aella and Saria came to dress
you and style your hair for the big day ahead.

Your dress was made of two parts. The top was a black leather bustier that came up your neck,
moulded perfectly to your frame with a plunging gap cut out at your chest, exposing the soft centre
of your chest.

The shoulders were flared out sharply to the sides with a dragon of gold and red embroidered on
each shoulder, their tails coming to curl around your breasts. The skirt was long and black with
more embroidery. Two high slits were at the front, revealing red silk when you walked.

This dress had been specially made for such an occasion from the tailor in Dorne. Red for your
Targaryen lines. Black for your mother.

Around your waist was a gift from your father. A long black belt came together at the front with a
large red jewel, from which extended a chain of gold and more red jewels below, cascading down
your front.

An entirely decadent outfit, perhaps far too revealing for the prudes at Court and the frigid Queen
Consort. Though their stiff backs and sneers meant nothing to you now. You would watch them all
burn if you could.

You gazed at your reflection as Saria began to brush and style your hair, gently pulling it
backwards, talking softly to you as she did. She had always been so soft towards you, so careful
with your hair, it was as if you were her sister.

Your hair was half braided intricately behind your head, whilst the remainder fell down your back
in loose waves. Small red jewels were nestled in your braids that caught the light from the sun. You
slowly put in your earrings and your rings, before standing and readying yourself to eat with your
family.

The walk to your parents chambers was short, your soft skirts swished against your legs. You
smiled as Lords and Ladies of the court bowed to you, though their eyes lingered on your
unfamiliar attire.

You were the first to arrive to Rhaenyra and Daemon’s chambers. As you entered you were
announced to the room, and your mother stood, lovingly looking at you.

“You truly are a gift from the Gods,” She praised, “Look at you.” Holding you out by her hands,
looking you over.

“It is all you.” You reply.

She wore a deep black gown covered in embroidery, her pregnant belly proudly being hugged by
the garment. Red lined her sleeves and shoulders subtly. She looked like a Queen.

“My sweet girl,” She cooed, kissing your face, “Are you hungry?” She asked, walking you over to
the table.

“I’m starved. Where are the boys?” You looked around the room, seeing no heads of brown or
silver hair.

“Daemon has gone to wrangle them from their beds.” She laughed sitting heavily, holding her
belly. You could not wait to meet your sister.

The table was already full of food and your stomach growled looking at it. Your mother picked up
a glass of juice, bringing it to her lips and drank heavily.

Her hair was completely up in braids atop her head, and the necklace your father gave her many
years ago sat proudly on her neck.

“You look so beautiful.” She smiled.

“So do you.”

“I am swollen with your sister.” She stroked her stomach softly, “I feel like I am ready to burst.”

“Nonsense, you are glowing muña.” (mother) You reached forward for your own glass of juice,
“Anyone who is blessed with being able to lay their eyes on the Realms Delight is favoured by all
the Gods.” You boasted, lifting the juice to your lips, sipping on the sweet nectar.

Princess Rhaenyra lets out a guffaw, “Iksā tolī olvie,” (You are too much.) She responds, a cheeky
smile on her face, “Emā aōha kepa ñuhoso hen udra.” (You have your fathers way of words).

"You love us for it." You cheek behind your cup, grinning endlessly at your mother.

Behind you, the doors open and your brothers and father join you at the table. Prince Daemon’s
hair is pushed back from his face, a lopsided smile rising rapidly on it. Rhaena and Baela followed
in behind them, forever looking beautiful.

“What does she get from you?” He asked, sitting beside your mother before leaning over to kiss
her. He was dressed in all black leather, tightly fitted with small red hems and stitching.

Jacaerys and Lucerys silently began to fill their plates with food, eating before greeting you, their
eyes looking tired.

Both of the boys were dressed in red and black, their dark hair combed neatly atop their heads,
though Lucerys' was more wild than Jaces. Rhaena and Baela sat as usual beside their betrothed.

“Not me. You.” Your mother responds, as she nibbles on some fruit from her plate.

“Ah, must be my handsome face then.” Your father joked, smirking.

“Ao jurnegon sīr gevie, tala.” (You look so beautiful, daughter.) He cooed.

You smiled, then looked at your brothers who ate silently beside you, “Why are you both so
quiet?”

“They were up all night, causing chaos together. I would be surprised if they have even slept.” The
Rogue Prince responded, looking entirely unamused.

“We did sleep,” Lucerys responded defiantly, before a yawn cut him off “Jace said he would show
me the passage ways!”

“Hmm,” Your father hummed, “It was like two great rats were scuttling about in the walls. I had
thought Alicent had finally lost her mind. Even an occasional squeal could be heard.” Jacaerys
giggled and your mother sighed.

“Well you best behave yourselves today,” She said, “All of you.”

Rhaenyra eyed you as she spoke, whilst your fathers gaze flicked to you as he picked up his goblet
to drink.

“We need to all be on our best behaviour today,” Rhaenyra looked at Daemon, whose eyebrows
raised in amusement.

“I mean it. Viserys will be joining us today, and so will Lords and Ladies of Court. We need to
look our best, and be our best.” The Princess looked over at you all, your two cousins looking
down at their plate in avoidance.

“We can’t give them any more power than they already have. Do not give the Court something to
whisper about.” She ended on a sterner note, your father looking directly at you.

“We won't, I promise you.” Jacaerys spoke up, speaking for all three of you, knowing that their
betrothed would only jump in if required. You looked at him softly before turning to look at your
parents again.

“Y/n.” Daemon called, giving you a knowing look.

“I swear to you,” You look at him, “All of you, nothing will happen.”

“Good. Let us enjoy the celebration and watch Aegon drown himself in ale.” Your father joked,
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

You all ate together slowly, discussing how you thought the day would go. Would there be
performers? Exotic animals? Your mother didn't think so with Alicent in charge, but perhaps there
may be some good music Lucerys added.

You hoped to see some exotic animals, perhaps one might rip off your uncle's faces, or maybe Ser
Otto's. Now that would be entertainment.

Once you were all finished and the sun was high in the sky, its warmth beaming down across the
red keep as a gentle breeze whispered through the open windows and balcony doors, you walked
down to the garden together where the day's celebration would be held.

As you walked, the sound of music drifted gently through the air, becoming louder once you got to
the garden’s path. Lucerys was right. Laughter and conversation could be heard from the Lords
and Ladies who were attending, and servants walked briskly nearby to deliver food and drinks to
their tables.

The courtyard was lined with tables of all sizes, filled with men and women dressed in fine silks
and linens. None however, as fine as the Dornish gown you wore.

A large table sat closest to the sea wall, surrounded by flowers of all kinds. Your Grandsire the
King sat in the middle of the table, wearing fine golden silk with hints of red and orange
embroidery. To his side his Lady Wife, dressed in her usual stiff necked green gown.

Did she hide pins in the neck of her gowns to keep her head up so high?

There were stories of armies far, far away that had blades and needles sewn into their mens armour
and clothing in order to keep them alert and straight postured. Though you had your doubts. How
were they to fight smoothly if they had needles and blades cutting into them? Surely poor oversight
from the armies general.

Aegon and Helaena sat beside the King and Queen. Aegon was wearing a deep green velvet jacket
which seemed to be holding nicely, although his eyes were already glassy from ale.

Your aunt Helaena sat beside him, where she looked off into the distance not conversing with
anyone at the table. She wore a golden gown that shimmered in the sun, its embroidery of gold silk
ran down her body in blooming flowers amongst the hems. And then there was him.

Aemond sat at the end of the table, off to the side of Helaena, wearing a white dress shirt that was
tucked into his usual black leather pants, hair neatly pulled back, and dark leather coat snug on his
lean shoulders. He eyed you all as you walked to them, his lone eye scanning your body slowly.

Your approach was announced to the guests and the table of honour. Silence filled the courtyard,
those attending hoping to witness a scene to whisper about later.

You gave them none. All of you looked as sharp and as regal as ever, your mother carrying herself
as though she wore the crown already. Your father, a menacing glean in his eye, and your brothers
and cousins happily side by side.

“Father.” Princess Rhaenyra greeted the King, coming round to kiss him gently on the side of his
uncovered cheek, golden mask secured tightly to the other side of his face.

“Queen Alicent.” She continued, gently bowing her head, before sitting next to her father on the
opposite side.

You were seated opposite Helaena, with Aemond on your side. Only when you sat down did your
aunt look at you, a slow smile creeping up her face.

“Princess Helaena, you look beautiful. Gold is a wonderful colour on you.” You complimented.
Her almost childlike smile down at her dress made your heart flutter.

“I love your gown.” Her smile contagious.

A short snort came from the pursed lips of Aegon, who’s goblet hadn't seemed to move from his
face.

Holding back a snarky reply, you smiled gently at your eldest uncle.

“Congratulations on your union uncle, anyone would be blessed to have the beautiful Princess
Helaena as their Lady Wife.”

Looking you up and down he smirked.

“Thank you niece, you are far too kind.”His eyes landed on your exposed chest, smirk deepening
as he sipped thickly on his ale, “Has anyone told you how delightful you look today?”
Alicent cringed beside him, looking at him with concerned eyes, already on edge.

“Thank you uncle, they have, though no-one can compare to Lady Helaena on this day.” You
responded gracefully, drawing your attention back to your aunt who seemed all too interested in the
sleeve of her dress.

Conversation in the courtyard quickly rose after you had all settled into your seats, and food began
to be brought out in larger quantities. Bright cakes and pies of all kinds were placed in front of you,
the smell wafting through the air. Fruits from all the realms were piled and sliced in intricate
shapes and designs. Spices filled your nose.

You plucked a star shaped fruit from in front of you and began to suck the sweet flesh off of the pit
inside. Juice ran down your hand and your tongue darted out to catch it before it made a sticky
mess.

Someone cleared their throat over the sounds of conversation and music, your head coming up to
find your father staring at you. Thinking you had food on your face, your hand came to brush your
lips, tongue coming out to lick the corners of your mouth, before you saw his eyes slowly slide
across the table next to you.

Looking up at your aunt you smiled, before turning your head more, seeing Aemond’s eye locked
on you, face unreadable. A blush creeped along your skin and you placed the half eaten fruit back
on your plate before turning your attention to the conversation between your brothers.

“Even if you could do it, which you can't,” Jacaerys laughed, “She wouldn't let you.” Your
younger brother Luc’s face scrunched up, a small pout on his lips and he dropped a date back onto
his plate untouched.

“Why not?” Luc whined, looking pointedly at you.

“Why what?” You replied leaning in.

“He wants to ride Sȳndor.” Jace scoffed, your eyebrows rose.

“You can't ride Sȳndor without a seat, Luc.” You spoke gently, not wanting to upset him.

“That's what I said.” Jace cuts in.

“You could take me with you!"

“Luc, I’m sure that Sȳndor would allow you to fly with us, though I don't think we could without a
seat.”

You watched as the boy deflated at the comment, “But, I could see about having his seat put back
on him so that we may go together.”

His head was looking at his plate now, moving the date around with his fork, “When we are back
on Dragonstone we can go.”

The small mop of brown hair bounced up and away from his face as he looked to you grinning,
though his body still sheepishly closed off.

Lucerys was a sensitive boy, and sometimes emotionally reactive, but he was still one of the
kindest people you knew. It was his best quality. The realm needed more people like him.
Baela leant in close to your brother nudging his shoulder, “Our mother rode the largest dragon in
the world, and she still rode on saddleback. She was one of the best Dragon Riders known.” She
spoke proudly, ever the image of her mother, with fire like your father. Rhaena smiled sadly, your
brother's hand coming to hold hers tightly in on the table, before leaning in to whisper in her ear.

Rhaena and Baela were perfect for your brothers. They instantly connected and had a strong bond
since childhood. That bond strengthened since the night Aemond’s eye was taken and Vhagar was
claimed by a new rider.

You knew that both girls would be treated well, and they would treat your brothers the same,
though it was odd seeing your younger brothers be readied for marriage before you, but you knew
you should be grateful.

You sipped gently on your wine as you listened to the conversations around you. Your mother was
smiling brightly at your Grandsire as your father spoke of Rhaenyra’s current pregnancy and all
that entailed.

Alicent was leant forward on the table, turned to look at your mother as she listened in, smiling
brightly like you have not ever seen before.

A voice suddenly pulled your attention away from your parents, “You look lovely, Princess Y/n.”
Came the smooth drawl of your uncle.

Straightening your back you turned to face him, his one eye staring back into yours. Your parents'
warning rang in your head, and you fought the urge to not gouge out his other eye. You breathed in
slowly, feeling heat rising up your chest, holding your hands gently in your lap.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Thank you, Prince Aemond. You are far too kind.” You spoke, hoping to turn your attention back
to your parents, but he pulled you back in.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen such a dress before, at least not in this court.” His body swayed gently as
he gazed at the shoulders of the gown.

“It was made specially for an occasion such as this,” You breathed out through your nose, “A tailor
in Dorne creates the most wonderful pieces.”

It felt weird to be making small talk with him. Unnatural. Your core throbbed at the memory of his
hands, and the ache that still lingered there. Crossing your legs, you squeezed your legs together.

“Hmm. Dorne does have many exotic things….” Aemond spoke, a small giggle coming from his
brother Aegon who listened on, “Some of the fruits tonight are from there. The Queen requested
them especially for such a celebration.” His head pointedly looked at the forgotten fruit on your
plate.

You nodded in response, hoping the conversation would end, begging the Gods to give you an out.

But they didn’t.

“Have you ever been to Dorne, Y/n?” Came the slurred voice of your uncle Aegon.

“I have, uncle, a few times. It is beautiful there.” You responded, seeing Alicent’s eyes looking at
the interaction from the side of her face.
“There's not just fruit from Dorne here in King's Landing,” He began, “In fact, you’ll find plenty of
Dornish whor-“

“Have you been to Dorne Helaena?” You cut him off, hoping to hear anything but his drunken
confessions.

“I have not.” She responded quietly, seemingly uncomfortable with her husband's comment.

“Then I shall take you.” You declared, “We can ride there on dragonsback, or go by sea, and eat
the finest fruits, fresh off of the trees.” You spoke, and a small smile rose on her face, “I have
heard that there are citrus trees there beyond our comprehension. The women of Dorne are fierce
warriors, trained at a young age. I'm sure we could even get you new dresses like mine, that no
other Lady here at court will have, nor ever seen before!” You continued excitedly, “There was
once-“

Aegon snickered loudly, hand coming up to wrap around your aunt's shoulders, fingers digging in
sharply, “Our niece does know how to talk, doesn’t she?” He breathed into Helaena's face, as she
looked past your head and away from the table.

“And you know how to drink brother.” Came the sharp voice of Aemond, his one eye drawn to the
hand clasped roughly against Helaena's shoulder.

Aegon's grip left your aunt, and reached out in show to grab at his goblet, before lifting it to his
lips, challenging his brother as he emptied the cup, before thrusting it behind him for a server to
come fill it up once more.

“And you know how to ruin the fun.” Aegon sulked, before drinking again, leaning back in his
chair to watch the table converse.

Your end of the table became uncomfortably quiet after that, and so you took a large sip of your
wine, feeling it warm you quickly. You felt your skin itch at the tension at the table and so you
went to start a conversation with your aunt again, only to find her watching a small green beetle
which had landed on the table in front of her.
 The Dance

The day faded quickly into the evening, the sky turning a lovely shade of pink. You sat next to
your aunt, having moved to Aegon’s seat when he loudly professed to the table that he needed “to
piss”. You listened to her talk about the beetle in her hands, its shining green shell glistening from
the pink sky.

In this moment it felt like you were a child again, sitting with your aunt in peace as she spoke of the
creatures in her palm. You never quite had an interest in insects like hers, but anytime spent with
her was enjoyable.

Princess Helaena was for the most part, a quiet girl grown into an even quieter woman. Aegon as a
child would mock and tease her, calling her stupid and weird, and that same opinion was quietly
shared in the court.

Alicent never quite bonded with her daughter, frustration often rolling off of her in waves when she
would spot the young girl alone with a spider in hand. The Queen simply did not understand her,
and for what you suspected was little attempts, Alicent could not bond with the girl.

The Hightower's detachment to her own children, paired with Viserys’ ailing health, could explain
a number of issues between her two sons' behaviour. Though you guessed some of their ways were
more nature than nurture.

Otto Hightower was their grandfather, a cold and calculating man willing to sacrifice his young
daughter for a chance to be closer to the throne, and Alicent had a tendency for vicious rage,
outbursts of emotions that had been bottled up until she erupted. Their demeanour seemed to be
inherited by blood.

And yet, for all Alicent's failings of being a parent, and your Grandsires absence due to ill health,
Helaena was an anomaly. Her sweet disposition and gentle heart surprised you at times.

How could a rose like herself grow in such a garden of weeds?

Your brothers had a warm glow to their faces, likely from the ale, and your mothers smile had
gotten wider. Even your father Daemon seemed to have relaxed, even if only slightly.

Your Grandsire however looked gaunt, his skin pale and almost lifeless, the sores on his body
seemingly getting bigger. He sat slumped in his chair, face half covered by the gold mask, and
although you could tell it caused him great pain to be there, he still sat with you all. His smile,
often looking like a grimace, was something that you had missed dearly.

Music played loudly from the men who strummed their instruments, the tone joyous and light.
And now that ale and wine had been poured heavily into the bellies of the Lords and Ladies of the
court, many were standing to dance in the open space, whilst those who sat and watched clapped
and laughed, spilling glee into the atmosphere.

Jacaerys and Lucerys took Rhaena and Baela to dance, and you smiled and clapped alongside your
aunt as you both watched. Even your uncle Aemond watched on, sipping from his goblet, stiff
backed as always, but a slight blush on his cheeks.

The beetle on the table suddenly spread its iridescent green wings and flew off into the sky,
buzzing around to find the perfect place in the garden to rest before nightfall. Princess Helaena
tipped her goblet up to her lips and took a long sip, drinking the entire cup empty before standing,
looking down at you with a wide smile.

“Let us dance!” She yelled, swiftly grabbing your hand and pulling you to stand.

You laughed at her enthusiasm, the wine making her more childlike with excitement and far more
relaxed than before. You let her drag you down from the table to the space below, spinning to face
each other before bowing. You lined up with the other guests who began to walk around each
other, hands coming to meet in the centre before walking back around.

“It's better when he is gone!” She yelled over the music into your ear. You widened your eyes at
her, a not so subtle ‘lower your voice’ to which she laughed louder at.

“I wish we could dance every day,” She giggled, “If I was ever Queen, I would make a day to
dance every week!” You laughed alongside her, linking your arms together as you walked to swap
partners with those next to you.

“If you were Queen the throne would be made of bugs, not swords.” You joked, as you linked arms
with the man in front of you, leaning towards your aunt as you were both spun by your partners,
laughing loudly at the prospect.

“It's a good thing that neither of us shall be Queens then!” She joked, and you huffed a laugh, a
small sting settling in your chest. Coming to stop in front of a Lord, you bowed before raising your
hands to touch one another.

He was a very tall and dashing man, older than your uncles but perhaps younger than your father.
He had shoulder length blonde hair, and an air of arrogance around him. If he was less cocky,
perhaps you would take him to bed.

As he bowed to you, he spoke.

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted, “Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.” He spoke, immeasurable
cockiness to his voice.

You remember your mother had told you stories about Jason Lannister and his many attempts to
take her hand in marriage. From all accounts, he was an obnoxious, self important, and vain man
who often made jokes at the expense of women. You looked over to the table to see your mother
and father watching you, your father smirking heavily whilst your mother laughed.

“It is a pleasure, My Lord.” You replied, hands coming up to join at the centre before you danced
around each other once more.

“You are far more beautiful than the Court tells,” He flirts, “They have done you a disservice
Princess.”

“You flatter me. Though I’m sure the courts do not always tell truths.” You reply, eyeing your aunt
who snickered beside you.

“You are the fairest Lady here, Princess. Not even the evening sky could hold a candle to such a
beauty.”

His hand on yours was soft and not at all rough and calloused from years of sword training. A soft
hand means many things, one being that he probably has never lifted a finger, not even to wash his
own ass. You smirked.
“You take after your mother Princess Rhaenyra no doubt, I am sure you have that same fire inside
you.” He teased.

Jason Lannister leant closer towards you. He smelt strongly of rich herbs, far too much being
splashed about his person, giving him an almost dizzying scent.

“I am the blood of House Targaryen,” You said, turning away from him to walk a circle around the
person next to you before standing back in front, “Fire is second nature to me.”

He laughed an obnoxious laugh, the sound grating your ears. “Of course! All women, especially
Targaryen women, have that fire. All you need is a good husband to stoke the flames.” He added,
undressing you with his eyes.

Gods you wished he would drop dead, or swallow his tongue.

“Did your good Lady Wife come with you to the Red Keep?” You asked, reminding him of his
marital status in the hopes of escaping the conversation. You looked at Helaena with ‘help me’
eyes, to which she bit the insides of her cheeks desperately trying to not laugh, spinning away from
you.

“My wife is here, as are my daughters,” Jasom spoke flatly, completely oblivious to your disdain,
“and son.” He added suddenly, a glint in his eye.

“He will be Lord of Casterly Rock one day, and I have been told that you are not betrothed to
anyone. A union of House Targaryen and House Lannister would be a formidable force.”

“I'm sure it would be.” You spoke bluntly, “I think I remember my mother telling me of your offer
to her when she was-“

You walked into a wall of muscle, slowly lifting your head to meet the eye of Aemond, who
looked down his nose at you, breathing deeply. His scent wrapped itself warmly around you. A far
better scent that the Lannister.

What were you thinking?

Wordlessly he held out his hand to you. You stared at it before looking back at him. Without
taking his eyes off of you, your uncle spoke to the Lannister, who now stood awkwardly beside the
both of you.

“Apologies for the interruption My Lord, but my niece had promised me a dance.”

“I n-“

You were cut off by the loud voice of the Lord of Casterly Rock. “Of course, Prince Aemond.” He
nodded his head before looking at you, “We may speak of my son Loreon later, Princess.”

And with that Jason Lannister bowed, and left to sit back at the table with his wife, looking
wounded from the interaction. You thought it was a great shame he did not fall and hit his head on
the way.

Aemond grasped your hand, leading you to continue dancing with the others. You looked out into
the sea of people watching the silver head of Helaena now walking back at the table next to her
mother.

The One-Eyed Prince looked at you expectantly and so you hesitantly began to dance together.
You felt yourself suddenly become hot.

“I don’t recall promising you a dance, uncle.” You spoke lowly, hoping for the music and voices of
others around you to drown out your sour voice.

“You didn’t. Though, I'm sure Lannister's proposal to his newborn son was a riveting conversation
all the same.” He hummed, still looking down his long nose at you.

You scoffed, continuing to dance around him, hand gently in his. You were thankful for the wine
that eased your nerves, but cautious of the knot that began to tie in your belly.

Your hand was released as you walked around those beside you, dancing in a circle before coming
back to Aemond, who’s eye never left you. His hand reached out to your waist, holding you tightly,
causing your core to clench. Aemond, ever the snake, slid gracefully around you as you danced.

“I think your dress has caught the attention of many Lords this evening, zaldrītsos.” (Little Dragon)
He whispered in your ear, breath tickling your neck.

You bit back a scoff. “Mmm. They wish to have me as their own personal brooding mare, to push
out silver hair babes in the hopes that one day, their heir would be King.”

“Most likely.” He agreed, staring down at you with a smirk, “Though you do look ravishing. Even
the people of Dorne would be in awe of your beauty.” He purred, hand pulling you close to press
against his chest as he spun.

“I expected you to be in green for such an event.” You snipped, heart pounding in your chest
before pulling away from him to walk around the person next to you.

He did not reply.

Aemond was a proud man, who followed tradition as closely as he could. For him to be dancing
with you amongst the presence of the court was surprising to say the least. His and his mothers
public assassination of you and your siblings' legitimacy was well known, so for the proud Prince
to be dancing with someone he had called a bastard was unusual.

So unusual, that most of the court stared awkwardly at the interaction between the two Targaryens.

You walked forward again, both of your hands connecting to each other as they arched up and
away from you, as you looked over your shoulder at him. Your hands were so small in his, his
palm dwarfing yours. If he wished, he could crush your hand in his palm with little effort. You
swallowed.

As you walked, you caught the eye of your father at the table, who’s chin was in his hands as he
watched you intently, head tilting when he caught your eye.

Fingertips grazed your neck, pulling your attention back to the silver haired man in front of you.

“Where is your fire, zaldrītsos?” He whispered, voice barely carrying over the sounds of others
around you. His hand trailed down your arm, goosebumps raising in its wake.

You searched his eye, feeling your stomach begin to do flips at the proximity. Heat rose up your
neck, flushing your cheeks and you suddenly felt the effects of the wine more than before.

The song began to wind down to an end and loud cheers and clapping could be heard. Some of the
Lords and Ladies left to sit back at their seats whilst others stayed for the next dance as a new song
rose into the air.

Swallowing your pride, you gave the Prince a small smile. “Thank you for the dance, uncle.”

Gently you curtseyed, eyes not leaving his face before you abandoned him amongst the crowd,
walking back to your seat.

Prince Daemon's eyes watched you the entire way, and as you reached the table he raised his brows
at you and you raised yours in return.

You felt hot from dancing, the back of your neck feeling damp with sweat. You reached over your
chair whilst standing to grab your goblet, and took a steady sip. Alicent stared at you, a small smile
on her face, whilst your Grandsire looked behind you at Aemond.

You walked over to your mother and kissed her cheek softly, excusing yourself for a quick walk,
hoping to shake off the crawling sensation that wriggled across your skin. The sky had turned a
brilliant shade of orange, pink hues slowly disappearing as the sun got lower and lower to the
horizon.

As you walked around the garden you could still hear the music and people behind you
celebrating, their laughter carrying through the air. You felt your stomach begin to settle, the
unpleasant feeling leaving, and decided to lean over a stone wall, looking out at the sunset.

The sun and sky reflected beautifully off of the ocean, the water shimmering in the light, giving it
the illusion that it was brightly coloured like the sky, and not a deep blue. You had missed
witnessing the sunsets at the Red Keep, the way the sun would disappear into the horizon and the
stars would shortly after light up the sky.

The thought of going back to Dragonstone brought you some solace, however sorrow followed at
the thought of having to leave your home once more.

Dragonstone felt like exile at times, and as a child you had prayed to the Gods to heal your family's
rift.

The Gods never answered.

You leant and watched the sky turn a light purple, night slowly began to fall across the realm, the
sun slowly but surely beginning to disappear beyond the horizon, leaving a small pink blur behind.

“The feast will be served soon.” Aemond's voice cut through the silence of the space.

You jumped, heart racing in your chest. You spun away from the stone wall to look at your uncle
behind you. He stood watching you, back straight with his hands neatly held behind his back. A
vision of silver and black.

"Must you always lurk about in the shadows?" You grunted.

Taking a deep breath you straightened yourself, dusting your hands in front of you, before turning
to walk back to the celebrations. You brushed past him and back out into the garden.

"Their voyage had been long and terrible, it must be remembered. More than a hundred ships,
since its flight, had foundered and sank.” He spoke, cutting through the silence.

You looked back at him.

"Others had drifted away, never to be seen again.”

“Ten Thousand Ships.” You recalled the book your mother had often read to you, and then as you
were older you would read it at the Godswood.

“Do you remember when we were children?” He hummed, eye searching your face.

“Yes.” You replied, confused at his sudden reminiscence.

“I remember it all.” He spoke, as you reluctantly walked together in the garden. “Your brothers and
Aegon would torment me. But not you, and not Helaena.” He recalled.

You looked away from him, focusing on the trees and plants around you, hoping that he would not
touch you again, now that you were away from seeing eyes. The garden was bursting with colour,
from the flowers to the trees, and the grasses that it held. Silence surrounded you for some time
until he abruptly stopped.

You gazed at him, wary of his movements.

“I would listen to you read at the Godswood.” He said, as if the thought tumbled out of his mouth.

You searched his face in confusion.

If he was angry he did not show it.

His change in demeanour set your senses on edge.

“I know.” You whispered.

“And yet, you did not show it.” His head tilted to the side, eyeing you closely.

You stayed silent, watching.

“You could have been cruel.” He watched you.

“I suppose I could have been.” You stared back, before turning and continuing to walk back
without your uninvited escort.

A deep hum behind you.

The sky began to get darker, and torches had been lit along the path to guide you and others who
wandered. A breathy grunt came from ahead and your brows furrowed. You continued walking
towards the sound until you saw the white hair of your eldest uncle.

In front of him knelt a servant girl, who’s lips moved swiftly along his shaft, heavy breaths puffing
out of his chest. His fingers locked in her dirty blonde hair as he thrusted roughly into her mouth,
wet gags coming from her chest. You blinked, utterly shocked having witnessed your uncle's
depravity.

A deep sigh came from Aemond who was now beside you, who’s eye caught his brothers who let
out a shrewd laugh. A sigh of someone who had witnessed this far too often. The poor girl below
him pushed herself away from his pants, before running away through the garden towards the
servants quarters.

You wondered what else Aemond’s lone eye witnessed.

“Oh you do know how to ruin the fun brother.” Whined Aegon, cock still proudly out of his pants.
You looked at Aegon in disgust, before swiftly turning on your heel to walk to another path.

You could hear your two uncles arguing as you sped away.

“You disgrace us all.” Came Aemond’s growl.

A huffed laugh slipped from Aegon’s lips as he responded, “I'm sure you and our niece were
having a lovely time in the garden like me.”

Your face screwed up as you walked faster, hoping to escape the two. The further you went, the
louder the music became, feeling calmer at knowing that you were almost back to the celebrations.

The sound of pebbled earth scuffling came rapidly from behind you, and you were jolted to the
side, Aegon’s hair sticking up in different directions as he ran past you, pushing you roughly as he
went forward towards his guests, a small giggle as he ran.

Fucking child.

You held your palm to your stomach pausing to calm your heart, when suddenly a hand grabbed
the back of your neck, a small gasp spilling from your mouth as you were spun to face the One-
Eyed Prince.

You glared at him as he held you by the back of your neck, squeezing roughly, fingers caught in
the small braids tugging them sharply. You breathed shallowly waiting for what was to come next,
fear seizing your heart.

His one eye searched yours, and you suddenly felt heat begin to pool in your stomach. You opened
your mouth sucking in a sharp breath when he squeezed the back of your neck harder.

Aemond pulled you sharply towards him, and a small mewl broke free from your lips. Violet eye
flicked to your open mouth, watching you as he slowly began to lean closer to your face.

You tried to push back, your hands shoving against his chest, but the grip at the back of your neck
prevented it and squeezed harder, causing pain to ripple down your spine.

His breath smelt of ale, and it was only now that you truly realised the blush on the Prince's
cheeks. Closing the gap, he ghosted his lips over yours and you inhaled sharply, his bottom lip
brushing gently over yours.

Your body reacted to his actions, making shame cloud your mind, stomach tensing in anticipation.
He kept his lips close to yours, looking down at you. Your eyes were hooded as the smell of
sandalwood and leather filled your surroundings, blocking the sweet smells of the flowers in the
garden.

As he moved his head back, your body sought him, tilting your face upwards to try and catch his
lips.

Aemond breathed a small laugh looking at you, before releasing your neck. Your legs felt like
jelly, and your drunken haze made you want to reach out to touch him.

You knew it was wrong, but it was almost instinctual.

You were lured to him like a moth to a flame.

“Zaldristos.” He cooed, appreciating your form, hand coming to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

Your hand shot out to grab his shirt as you tried to tug him back towards you, but he held strong.
Prince Aemond's tongue darted out to touch his lips before he stood straight and walked gently past
you.

You stood and stared into the dark garden, the sky black and the path around slowly being covered
by shadows.

Why did you do that?

Why had you sought his lips like a starved man seeks food? What was wrong with you? Surely it
was the ale. You had known many men to succumb to their tainted desires at the hands of alcohol.
You even knew women who had done the same.

There was no shame in desire, though there was shame in wanting someone as vicious and vile as
Prince Aemond. Oh how the God's must be laughing at you. Perhaps this was their idea of a joke?
Or maybe you were beginning to go mad.

Guilt ate at you as you breathed, hands stiff by your side.

You took a deep breath, brushing down your skirts and hair before you turned to walk back to the
celebrations, questioning your sanity as you went.
 A Feast of Union
Chapter Notes

Poor reader is so damn lost

Aemond was sitting at his seat when you arrived back, as was Aegon.

Your oldest uncle's lips were pulled into a sly smile at you whilst he sipped on his ale, hair still
sticking in different directions. Aegon’s coat was missing from his attire, so that all he wore was a
dishevelled white dress shirt that was no longer tucked into his pants.

Once you arrived at the table your father was eyeing you like a hawk, shifting his gaze to Aemond
and then back to you. You avoided his watchful eyes, instead turning to look at your aunt Helaena,
who looked as if she wanted to be swallowed into a hole in the ground.

Your brothers had even turned to watch you cautiously as you picked up your goblet to take a large
swig, smiling at them tightly to assure them that you were fine.

You placed your goblet back down on the table as servers began to fill the tables in the garden with
large roast pigs and turkeys.

The smell of the meat was overwhelming, and your stomach rumbled at the sight. You were
excited to continue your night with your family in good spirits, and eat until you became tired
enough for bed.

You and your family waited in anticipation for the Queen to say a prayer. Alicent stood from her
chair looking out to the tables around you.

“We thank the Seven for guiding us through our mortal lives. Thank you to the Mother for blessing
us today and every day with a union such as this…”

You zoned out almost immediately, looking down at your hands picking at the skin of the cuticle,
hoping that Alicent would speed up her prayer so that you could all eat.

The noise of people serving plates brought back your attention. Alicent was now seated and was
served a small portion of poultry with fewer green vegetables of all kinds on her plate.

You reached forward to cut away the meat from the leg of a lamb in front of you. The meat was so
soft, it fell straight off the bone. The smell was heavenly and you found yourself in higher spirits.

Your mouth watered as you filled your plate, listening to your brothers talking whilst occasionally
throwing a small glance at Helaena, who had begun to talk to Aemond in hushed tones whilst her
husband Aegon swayed heavily in his chair.

Placing the first piece of lamb into your mouth you felt yourself hold back a moan. The meat was
cooked perfectly, and the herbs it was roasted with brought lighter tones to the flavour. The meat
melted in your mouth and you ate quicker than you should have, joining in to talk with your family
despite having your mouth full.

Picking up your goblet you took a large swig, swallowing the soft lamb before pushing yourself to
stand. Your family all watching you in anticipation.

A silence filled the garden as the rest of the guests stopped their meals to listen.

Holding your cup out to Helaena you spoke,

“May we raise our cups to the beautiful Princess Helaena.” People grasped their goblets holding
them up towards her, “The Seven surely blessed me with an aunt like you. Prince Aegon is a very
lucky man.” You praised, “May your union be long and fruitful. May you be cherished and blessed
with more beautiful children together.” You spoke loudly, thrusting your cup forward, as all around
you shouted in response.

“Hear, hear!” The garden echoed as you slid back down into your seat, beaming at your aunt who
smiled sheepishly at you before drinking from her goblet.

Aegon used the toast to scull the rest of his drink, a trickle of ale leaking down the side of his
mouth which he used the back of his hand to roughly wipe away.

At each cup he seemed to sink lower and lower into his seat, much to your fathers delight, who
giggled at every glance across the table at his nephew.

Princess Helaena stood raising her cup awkwardly, “It's not so bad.” She smiles at you, “He mostly
just ignores you..."

Aegon's eyes rolled into the back of his head whilst a large giggle could be heard from the other
end of the table, Prince Daemon finding delight in his niece's statement, “...except sometimes when
he's drunk.”

Helaena finishes her toast response, leaning awkwardly on the table with one arm, before she
slowly sat down again, the Rogue Prince barely holding a fit of laughter inside from across the
table.

You smile at her, raising your cup, a small “Hear, Hear” ringing out through the garden before you
both drank in tandem.

Your Grandsire shifted in his seat, grimacing as he moved to stand, small grunts and heavy breaths
falling from his mouth. Alicent and your mother watch on in concern, ready to hold him if needed.
His one hand held onto the table for support, as he looked across the table at you all.

“It brings me joy,” he heavily breathed, “to see you all here, to celebrate Prince Aegon,” he paused
to breath deeper, “and Princess Helaena’s union.” He looked around the table, stopping to look at
you, a flicker of a smile on his mouth before he continued. “Though you were not there at the
ceremony,” the sickly mans breath became more ragged, as he swayed on his feet from exhaustion,
“it means more than you could ever know, that we are all here now.”

Shakily he reached forward for his goblet, body jolting at the loss of support. Both your mother
and the Queen shifting with their hands to catch him. His arm shakily grasped his goblet before
holding it up, addressing all in attendance, “May they live and grow old together as one.” He called
out, voice cracking as he did.

“Hear, Hear!” Came the large call from the patrons in response to their King. Alicent and
Rhaenyra helped him to sit comfortably once again as you all watched, quiet agreements coming
from all with small lifts of cups.

Viserys looked over you all once more, chest rising and falling jaggedly. His eye shut in pain as he
grimaced, bowing his head down panting. You all sat silently as the party continued around you,
waiting for him to continue.

“It both gladdens my heart,” He spoke to the table quietly, and your table alone, “and fills me with
sorrow,” King Viserys breathed, “to see these faces around the table,” His gaze stopped to look at
Rhaenyra lovingly, before turning to his wife.

"The faces most dear to me in all the world,” His chest rose and fell in large puffs, “Had grown so
distant to each other in the years passed.”

King Viserys hand reaches up to grab at his golden mask, pulling it heavily away from his face, the
sounds of celebration behind telling you that others were not watching.

A large gaping hole sat where his right eye should have been, the skin sunken and black. The soft
shine of yellowing teeth could be seen from the side of his face, where his cheek had rotted away
into a large wound, revealing the molars inside.

Your Grandsire grunted in pain, breathing raggedly,before looking at all of you. Alicent turned her
head down into her lap, whilst your mother looked as though she may begin to weep.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one. If indeed it ever was,” He joked, “But tonight, I wish
you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father,” He looked to your mother, “your brother,”
Viserys paused to watch Daemon who stared back, eyes soft in the face of his brother's suffering.

The King took a large breath and turned to face Alicent, her head lifting to look at him gently,
“Your husband,” His eye shifted to look over your brothers, shortly landing on you, “And your
grandsire.”

Your hands twisted in your lap, a lump forming in the back of your throat, all joy being sucked
from you as he spoke once more, “Who may not it seems walk for much longer among you.”

Solemnly you looked down, and you felt the energy at the table shift, “Let us no longer hold ill
feelings in our hearts.” The King spoke firmly, sharply looking across the table, “The crown cannot
stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided.”

His lone eye landed on his wife, who looked to Aegon as he boredly played with his shirt. Aemond
watched his father with a softened gaze. Helaena looked heartbroken.

“Set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, but for the sake of this old man,” Your
Grandsires voice broke as he sucked in painful breaths, looking to you all at the table, “Who loves
you all so dearly.”

No-one at the table spoke or moved for a moment, all taking in the King's wishes for peace. It had
been so long since you had seen your Grandsire, and even longer since you had seen him in good
health. The years had not been kind to him, and the progression of his illness only instilled a deeper
sorrow of knowing that you had missed so much time with him.

Time that you would not be able to get back.

Suddenly Alicent’s voice flittered out across the table, “Princess Rhaenyra has promised me to
visit the Red Keep more often. She will be coming here on Dragonsback.” She looked to your
mother who smiled, bowing her head to look back at her plate. Your Grandsire watched them both
intently, as your mother began to slowly tell her father of their plans for the future.

Conversation picked up around the table once more, the mournful energy of the table being lifted
as laughter floated through the air.

You excused yourself to relieve your bladder and when you came back, you walked to your
Grandsire, kissing his now exposed cheek gently before stepping to the side to hang over your
mother and fathers chair, picking at the food on their plates cheekily. The wine flowing through
you caused a warm blush to run through your body, and a smile to permanently sit upon your
cheeks.

Your father leant back in his chair to watch you as your mother continued to talk with her father
and Alicent. It felt normal. Natural. An odd reunion which could spark the fickle fires of hope
within anyone who dared to let it.

A deep sigh was heard from your Grandsire, followed by a grunt in pain. Both Alicent and your
mother reached out to touch either side of his shoulders as they whispered to him and each other.

Alicent snapped her fingers outwards, and two guards came to pick up the King’s chair, lifting him
into the air as he groaned, to carry him off to bed so that he may rest. The old King’s face had
turned pale as he gasped in pain from his ailment.

You all watched as King Viserys was taken to his chambers, golden mask fitted snugly back onto
his face as they walked. Low groans and shattered breaths could be heard from him as he passed
you. Your heart ached in your chest.

All turned away to not embarrass him, returning back to their conversations as though nothing had
happened. Turning a blind eye to his suffering. Pretending as though his pain was not there.

You did not know why that saddened you more.

"Skoros iksis jāre va rȳ ao se se mēre laes Dārilaros?” (What is going on between you and the one-
eye Prince?) He muttered lowly at you, picking up his goblet to drink, eyes watching you over the
rim of the cup.

You shake your head, feeling lightheaded when you do, head spinning, making you laugh,
“Daorun, kepa.” (Nothing, father.)

“Pār skoro syt kostagon ziry daor gūrogon zȳhon laes hen hen ao?” (Then why can he not take his
eye off of you?) The Rogue Prince responded, suspicion lacing his voice.

You looked across the table to see Aemond watching you and your father, goblet in his hand as he
lounged in his chair. He sat back in his chair, legs spread wide as he watched you both. You
blinked, heat rising to your cheeks before looking back to your father, who watched your reaction.

“Kesrio syt ziry vēdros nyke.” (Because he hates me.) You told the Rogue Prince, snatching his
cup to take a sip from it before giving it back.

He lets out a guffaw.

“Konir sagon daor vēdros.” (That is not hate.)

“Skorkydoso kostagon ao ivestragon? ziry mērī ēza mēre laes.” (How can you tell? He only has
one eye.) You joked, giggling at yourself, to which your father smirks.
“Nyke jūndan rȳ aōha muña hae bona.” (I looked at your mother like that.)

“Iksā pirta.” (You’re wrong.) You reached out to grab a slice of potato from your fathers plate,
stuffing it into your mouth.

Prince Daemon hummed as he watched you, huffing a laugh when he looked back to see that your
uncle had still not taken his eye away from you both.

"I don't think he has blinked." The Prince joked.

"Shhh," You got into your fathers face, "He could hear you."

"And?"

"And, I don't want him to."

"Why?"

"Why what?" You asked.

"Why don't you want him to hear us talking about his wandering eye?" Your fathers head tilted.

"Grandsire asked for peace. I do not wish to poke the beast if I can help it. Mother told us to
behave." You laughed.

"Has the beast shown his claws again?"

Daemon ate some potato from his plate as you still leant over him from behind his chair.

"No. He has been oddly pleasant. It's unnerving." You screwed up your face.

“Ossēninna zirȳla lo ziry ōdrikagon ao” (I will kill him if he hurts you.) Your father murmurs, so
that only you could hear.

“Kessa daor.” (He won’t.)

"Good."

You popped another slice of potato in your mouth, chewing the soft baked good slowly, savouring
its flavour as you smirked down at your father.

A sudden gag came from the other end of the table, pulling you away from your fathers watchful
attention.

You tore your eyes away from the Rogue Prince. Across the table, Aegon gagged again, his lips
opening, vomiting down the front of his white shirt. The red wine of the evening stained the front
of his white dress shirt, spreading outwards like a wound, making it look like blood.

Your head spun to Prince Daemon, hand flying to your mouth to cover the peals of laughter. Your
brothers Lucerys and Jacaerys laughed loudly, not bothering to hide their mirth as Aegon stood
suddenly, swaying before walking away from the table into the dark, heaving loudly into the air.

Your mother lifted her fingers to her lips, hiding her smile, as Alicent watched her drunken son in
horror. Your father did nothing to conceal his mirth, laughter carrying out loudly across the garden.

The night was long, and the celebrations continued on even after you had left. You filled your
stomach with food and wine, and spent most of your evening talking across the table to Helaena or
your brothers, who excitedly chatted amongst themselves.

Helaena became less closed off after Aegon’s exit, even laughing quietly as he stumbled away. His
sudden leave caused a sigh of relief from your aunt and the Queen both.

Aemond however surprised you.

Though he stayed silent for most of the night, he would softly talk to Helaena or agree with her
when she spoke to you, listening in on your conversation. It was unnerving indeed with his sudden
shift in behaviour.

Perhaps Alicent had given her children a warning before the celebrations too.

The food settled in your stomach heavily, and you felt yourself grow weary from the soporific
effects of the meal. Excusing yourself from the table you bid everyone a good night, and walked
alone back to your chambers, a small sway in your step.

Walking you giggled at the memory of Aegon vomiting on himself and the sheer horror on
Alicent’s face. Your giggles turned to bursts of laughter, feeling tears spring to your eyes and your
stomach cramp. You had not felt mirth quite like this in some time.

You wiped the tears away from your cheeks and continued onwards, walking past the Godswood,
looking up into the branches as you swayed.

You were far more drunk than you had thought, and you laughed at even that. Everything became
more joyous with every passing second. It was spectacular. The weight of the world seemed to lift
from your shoulders.

The evening's drunken stupor was so joyous that once you finally arrived at your chambers, you
laughed loudly as you recalled the night's events to Saria and Aella, who listened and giggled with
you as they prepared you for bed.

As Saria brushed the braids from your hair you turned, eyes searching about the room to find
Aella, before landing on her small form, bent over your bed as she fluffed your pillows.

“Aella.” You called to her, her back straightening as she walked over to you.

“Yes, My Lady?” She replied, awaiting your command.

“Pour me some wine would you? Just another cup.” You giggled holding your hand out to her, as
she brought it over to you.

The sweet breakfast wine touched your lips and you sipped greedily at it. Feeling warmth burn
your throat. You did not think that the night could have gone so well, and you were gladdened for
it.

You leant against the chair, hanging your head over the back looking up at Saria as she
manoeuvred her hands around the new angle. Your head sloppily slid to the side as you giggled
some more, feeling all too silly.

“Did I tell you that Prince Aegon vomited upon himself at the table?” You laughed, watching
Aella and Saria look at each other, “You should have seen the Queen's face! She looked like she
was going to be sick herself.”
A loud giggle bubbled up your throat as you sipped more wine, “Or perhaps kill him. She was
furious.” You giggled more, draining the cup, beginning to feel the wine make you more drunk
and your body heavy.

“I wish you had both been there to see.” You sighed, eyes feeling heavy as Saria brushed out your
hair, massaging your scalp as she went.

“Mmm.” You moaned, “That is sooo good.” You giggled again, a hiccup interrupting you, making
you laugh more.

“Shall we put you to bed now, Princess?” Aella asked, as she folded your sheets backwards for
you.

"I suppose so.” You replied, standing sluggishly, a yawn suddenly escaping you. “Help me
undress.” You asked, holding your arms out for balance as Saria and Aella began to undo the top
and skirt of your top.

It pooled to your feet, and you stepped out of the dress before stumbling over to the bed naked.

“Did you want us to-“ Aella started but you yawned interrupting her, “No, it's too hot.” Beforeyou
tossed yourself into the sheets, rolling to the side and sighing.

Your eyes slowly slid shut, the alcohol making you sluggish. Yawning again you softly giggled,
enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling the wine brought.

“Good night, Princess.” Saria spoke, as she and Aella collected your gown to clean, and quickly
tidied the room.

You fell asleep before they even left the chambers, the alcohol dragging you into a deep and heavy
sleep. Your limbs felt like lead as the room spun, yet there was nothing but joy inside of you as you
quickly drifted to sleep.
 Dragin Dreamer
Chapter Notes

You know the obsession is strong when you start watching tv shows with Ewan as a
minor role just to see him. The internet crumbs are not enough. I need to be fed

You bobbed in the waves of your sleep, rising up to the consciousness of the room, only to sink
down into the depths of your dream once again, the soft sheets cool on your hot skin.

You dreamt of Dorne, their exotic spices and fruits, and the sweetness of their spiced wines as your
hands reached out to grasp at a star shaped fruit. You softly tore your fingers into it, letting the
juice run down your arms warmly.

You felt the wetness of the fruit down your neck and your stomach. Warmth spreading through you
as every drop of its sweet nectar melted on your tongue, and dripped stickily from your skin.

Your dream faded around you as you were roused, the room in your vision swimming, wine still
strong in your veins, as you groggily fell back into your dream.

Teeth buried into the flesh of the fruit, chewing it softly. The wetness of the nectar trailed down on
your neck and breasts, and further down between your legs.

You groan and wiggle, feeling yourself dizzy with your dream and the swaying of your
consciousness.

A deep voice coaxes you gently, “Shh.”

The heat in your belly morphed in your dreams to something more passionate.

You stood with a Dornish man, his dark tanned skin shining in the light of a fire, golden eyes
dancing like flames.

His large hand reached for you, slender fingers caressing you gently, praising you in his native
tongue as it curled around you softly, your dress melting away from you.

The man spoke, voice deep and smooth, “You are a gift from the Gods, Princess.”

His lips kissed the inside of your wrists, licking away the sticky nectar from the fruits that had
gathered there. Your body is pulled tight against him, chasing the pleasure he brings you, hips
pushing forward.

“More.” You whispered, as you rose from the foggy depths of your dream and into your room, a
weight settled on your lower body.

A wet warmth lapped at your core.

You moan pushing your hips upwards, feeling resistance as a hum returns in response, vibrating up
your body. Your eyes feel heavy, the dream ebbing and flowing, as the coil in your stomach grew
tighter, and tighter.

You mewl as your dream-like state clouded your mind, hands clutched onto the sheets tightly as
the wet strokes continued against your clit. Your eyes cracked open in the darkened room.

A shadow lay on the bed at your centre.

Pleasure rippled up your body as the shadows head licked and suckled at you gently, a finger
prodding against your entrance as it brought you pleasure.

Whining, you reached your hand to touch the head between your sensitive thighs, gripping soft
strands of hair. His touch pulled you through the fog, sending warmth through your body. The
dream man in your bed continued to lap at your cunt, the coil inside you curling tighter, and
tighter.

The shadows lips suck onto your centre pushing you over the edge as a slender finger enters inside
you, pushing upwards onto a soft spongy spot inside, prolonging your pleasure.

You curled your fist into the soft locks, tugging it tightly as waves of pleasure rippled through you.
Your writhed on the bed sluggishly as the finger continued to stroke you through your release, the
shadow licking softly at the slick your body released.

A hum rumbled through you as the shadow began to lick at you faster, your eyes shutting tightly as
you mewled once more.

“You taste so sweet, Zaldrītsos.” The voice cooed.

Your body shot up from the bed.

Light streamed through the open windows of your room. Your eyes darted about the chambers in
search of the whispering voice, heart racing in your chest.

The room was empty.

Ripping your sheets back, you looked between your legs.

No shadowy mass to be seen, only the remnants of your sensual dream. Fingers touched between
your thighs tentatively, finding your flesh tender, and wetness gathered at your centre.

You huffed out a laugh, regretting it almost instantly, as a sharp dull pain sat in your head. It was
just a dream. Just a dream fueled by wine and imagination running free. It was not the first time
you had such a dream, and you likened it would not be the last.

Reaching an arm out to the side, you swiped up your water glass and drank greedily, begging the
water to take the headache away which was steadily growing stronger.

The cold liquid slid down your throat and settled in your stomach, hydrating your dry mouth and
sating some of the hungover nausea that had begun to build inside you.

Three soft raps were heard at the door, the sound jarring the pebble in your brain. You reached
forward and snatch the sheet, pulling it up against your naked form before calling out.

“Come in.” Your voice cracked, and you winced at the volume.

The door opened gently revealing two heads of brown as they walked through your door. Your
brothers entered your chambers dressed and ready for the day, although the eldest looked a little
worn from the night's celebrations.

“Good morning sister!” Lucerys chirped, a smug smile on his face.

You winced as the sound scraped against your skull. Groaning, you flopped back into your bed,
pulling the sheets over your head.

Laughter filled the room, the sound making you feel all the more nauseous with the rattling of the
stone behind your eyes.

“I feel like death.” You groaned, peeking your head out at the both of them, eyes squinted from the
bright light.

“You look worse.” Jace remarks, teasing you.

“Oh, fuck off.” You growl.

You grabbed a pillow and threw it, albeit pitifully, across the room having it only land just at the
end of your bed.

A pitiful whine escaped your lips.

Your brother's laughter only grew louder.

“Leave me be.” You grumbled, feeling the bed dip as Lucerys seated himself on the end.

“Come eat,” He giggled, “It will make you feel better.”

Your stomach recoiled at the thought of food.

“Please don’t talk about food right now.” You groan.

Lucerys cherubic face smiled at you gently, rosy cheeks high on his face in delight.

“You need to get dressed and eat with us, mother has requested it.” His hand grabbed your leg,
shaking you gently in the bed.

“Go away.” You whine again. Jacaerys laughed loudly into the room, only for his face to grimace
at his own volume.

“You are grumpier than the old Maester.” He mocked.

“Fuck you,” You curse, “You look like the old cunt.”

Jacaerys chuckled.

“I’ve told your maids to come get you dressed.”

The eldest moved across the room, looking out of your balcony doors at the sea before he ripped
the unclosed curtains open roughly, sending a bright stream of light onto your face.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the light burnt your eyes, the pounding in your skull becoming
worse. You cursed, and feel your stomach clench as the sudden urge to be sick rises through you.

“You’re such a cunt Jace.” You growled, rolling onto your stomach, pulling the pillow over your
head.

“I wonder where I got it from.” He mocked, voice suddenly louder, as he rips the pillow away,
ruffling your hair.

Another knock at the door caused you to groan, and you raised your hands to desperately rub at
your eyes to ease the pain in your skull. What gooed was wine and ale when it did this the next
morning.

A rough hand came to slap at your shoulder.

“Get dressed and come eat. Mother wants us all together again.” Jace spoke in finality, before
leaving the room with Luce.

Saria and Aella walk in silently to get you ready.

Aella quickly came to your bed as you scooted up against the pillows, leaning your back against
the large wooden frame of the bed. She filled your water cup and handed it back to you.

You groan again, “I feel like I am dying.”

“You’re not dying, Princess.” Aella responded, filling the glass beside you with water, and placing
it back onto the table, “You will feel much better once you have eaten.”

Leaning your head into your hands you lazily rubbed at your face, yawning deeply.

“Perhaps you should not have had that late wine, My Lady.” Saria spoke, gently teasing you.

“Ugh, not you too.” You groaned, before shifting your body to the edge of the bed, legs dangling
off the side as you slumped forward.

Aella held your undergarment for you, gently easing the chemise over your head, threading your
arms through the holes. You sighed, before pushing yourself up off of the bed, head spinning as
you did.

Aella’s hands came forward to grasp your arms to steady you.

Regaining your balance, you shuffled over to the centre of the room, where Saria and Aella dressed
you quickly, yet lovingly gentle.

Another black gown.

You sat and had your face washed gently with a fluffy cloth before having your hair brushed and
braided, life coming back to your face slowly. Aella and Saria kept the conversation to a minimum
to save your pounding head.

“You will be eating with the Queen. Your mother has asked us to prepare you for your departure
back to Dragonstone.” Saria spoke, as she looped a golden chain around your neck.

“We leave today?” You asked, looking over your shoulder.

“I am unsure yet, My Lady, but she has asked us to be ready.” She explained.

You nodded, head aching as it moved. You knew you would be leaving King's Landing to go back
home, but you did not expect it to be so soon. Though, you knew your father was eager to leave the
presence of the Hightower’s, especially The Kings Hand, Otto.
You walked sluggishly to the large double doors, feeling heavy in your shoes. The corridors felt
longer than usual, and the pounding behind your eyes got worse with every step. You were
thankful that today's gown was soft on your sensitive skin, though with each step you felt a tender
ache between your legs.

When you arrived, your family was seated, chattering amongst themselves as they waited for the
Greens to arrive. Your fathers eyes caught your form, a loud giggle escaping his lips. Your mother
next to him smiled at you in pity, whilst your brothers grinned widely.

“Leave it, all of you.” You groaned as you sat heavy in your seat, “I don’t want to hear a word.”
You threatened, leaning your head onto your hand.

“Some more wine may help.” Your father cheekily suggested. Your stomach clenched as you
fought the urge to gag.

“I don’t want to even look at another goblet.” You whined, clutching your head.

“You will feel better once you eat, my sweet.” Your mothers soothing voice flowed across the
table gently, instantly making you feel better.

You reached forward and filled yourself a glass of water, sipping at the clear liquid slowly to calm
your stomach.

“Are we leaving today?” You asked, looking at your mother who sat higher in her seat. She
appeared uncertain as she fidgeted with the long black sleeve of her gown.

“Yes, we must return to Dragonstone. I fear we may overstay our welcome.” Rhaenyra spoke
quietly, looking at your two brothers.

“But this is our home too.” Lucerys spoke, disappointed.

“It was,” She breathed, “Once.” A pause, “Our place for now is at Dragonstone. We got word from
Princess Rhaenys that Lord Corlys is gravely ill. We must return home, and offer support to
Driftmark at this time.”

Lucerys face went pale.

This was not news he had ever wished to hear. His anxiety of becoming Lord of Driftmark
seemingly amplified with the news of his Grandsire's wellbeing.

“He will be okay Luc, Grandsire is strong.” You consoled him, giving him a small smile.

“I for one, am eager to leave. I cannot spend another day here in the presence of another Green
cunt.” The Rogue Prince purred, twirling a glass around in his hand.

You snorted out a laugh, regretting it instantly, the pressure pulsing behind your eyes. Rhaenyra
gave him a warning glare. Her mouth readied to open again before swiftly shutting as the doors to
the room open, revealing the Hightower Queen, as usual, dressed in a deep green gown.

Behind her trailed your aunt Helaena, in a peach coloured dress, with Aemond beside her in his
usual black leather. The drunken Prince however, was nowhere to be seen.

Walking to their seats, Queen Alicent spoke, looking at your mother.

“Please excuse our tardiness, Princess.”

Your mother gave a gentle smile, “There is nothing to apologise for, Your Grace. Will the King be
joining us this morning?”

A frown formed on the Queen's face, “I am afraid the King is too ill to join us this morning, though
he does send his love to you all.”

“And how does he do that?” Your fathers voice whips across the table, “With blinks and
wheezes?” He spat bitterly.

Alicent’s lips turn downwards in the corners as she stares at your father, an awkward tension
spreading across the room.

“Will Prince Aegon be joining us for breakfast, Your Grace?” You ask, diverting from your fathers
comment.

Alicent’s relaxes slightly as she turns to look at you, “Prince Aegon is resting in his chambers this
morning. I am afraid he has fallen ill and will not be able to join us.” She explained, covering for
his no doubt, drunken reasons.

“We hope he recovers quickly.” Your mother spoke, as food began to be placed upon the table for
you.

More fruits, meats, pastries of all types, and breads that steamed in the light fresh from the ovens
were placed on the table. You were going to miss these breads and though the bread on
Dragonstone was good, it just was not the same.

“Thank you, Princess.” Alicent breathed.

The smells of the food made your stomach do flips. You did not know if you could eat, though the
urge was there. As you were all moving to serve yourselves, Alicent uttered a, thankfully, quick
prayer.

Looking across the table whilst Alicent thanked the Seven, you turned your gaze to Helaena.

Your aunt sat opposite you, looking glum despite the celebrations of the evening before. Her pale
hands were on the table, fiddling gently with each other so as to not draw attention.

As the rest of the table served themselves and ate mostly in silence, you watched as Helaena did
not reach to serve herself, nor raise her gaze to you.

“Are you feeling well this morning, Princess Helaena?” You directed your voice across the table to
her.

Her eyes fluttered up to your face, breaking her from her trance as a grimace-like smile appeared.

“Yes,” She spoke awkwardly, looking at her mother skittishly, before back down at her hands,
“Just tired.”

Her reply was short, and although Helaena could be shy and socially stiff, this was a new
behaviour you had not witnessed before. It was unusual.

There was a tension between the Greens that was almost palpable, more so now that you had drawn
attention to the Princess. You watched her closely as she made no move to continue the
conversation with you.
It was warm that morning, and Helaena’s sleeves on her dress were long, and the neck high. Her
usual relaxed attire, now seemingly strict. You felt the sudden need to ask her what was wrong
later, away from the prying eyes of the table.

You reached an arm forward to put some fresh bread on your plate. Slowly tearing away sections
to nibble on in the hopes to settle your stomach.

“We will be returning to Dragonstone this evening.” Your mothers voice sliced through the
silence. It was awkward as it abruptly cut across the silent table.

Alicent reached out to grab your mothers arm, thumb smoothing over the material of the sleeve,
“So soon? But you’ve only just got here.” Her voice was laced with disappointment.

Your mother looked at the hand that was grasping her, and back up at the Queen who sat beside
her.

“I will return..." She paused in thought, "Shortly on Dragonback, once the children are home.”

The Queen's hands gently continued to stroke Rhaenyra’s arm, who smiled softly back, “The King
and I would like that very much.”

Alicent’s gaze then turned to you.

“You should join your mother as well. I’m sure you and Helaena have lots to talk about.” Her gaze
was soft, whilst Helaena seemed to stiffen in her seat further, lips moving gently as she mumbled to
herself.

Alicent turned back to your mother as they spoke to one another, your brothers started a
conversation between themselves, whilst your father watched Alicent's hand in disgust.

“Did you sleep well, Princess?” Aemond’s voice came so quietly, that almost no one seemed to
hear it. The large table assisted in his low tone.

“Like a babe, uncle.” You replied. “And what of you?”

“Restless from the celebrations it seemed. Though I eventually found a soft place to lay my head.”
A smirk lay on his plush lips.

You furrowed your brows momentarily, before smiling. “I’m glad you found rest. We wouldn’t
want you to miss our farewell.”

“Hmm.”

You continued to pick at the bread, listening to your brother's chatter as your uncle watched you
carefully. His slender fingers slid forward to reach across the table, grasping a large yellow star
fruit in front of you, pulling it back to his plate.

The One-Eyed Prince turned the fruit over in his hand delicately, inspecting the skin for any
imperfections before his other hand came to hold it.

You watched Aemond as he slowly pulled the fruit apart, tendons in his hands flexing with each
movement, veins sitting delicately atop his pale skin. He tore the fruit in half completely, watching
the nectar drip onto the silver plate below.

His eye came to gaze at you as two of his fingers dipped obscenely into the hole he had created.
You straightened in your seat, staring intently as he brought his fingers up to his mouth to lick,
pink tongue coming out to meet his digits before he sucked on them crudely.

A blush crawled up your neck, heat pooling in your stomach as you watched him pull his wet digits
from his mouth. A low hum came from his chest.

You felt yourself growing flustered, warmth spreading throughout your body as he reached to
delicately grasp the yellow fruit once more, tearing a small piece away before bringing it up to his
mouth to chew.

“I can see now why you are so fond of these fruits, niece.” He swallowed, watching you as he tore
another piece off, sliding it into his mouth, one eye closing as he went.

“The nectar is sweet, though not quite as sweet as you.” He purred.

Heat covered your cheeks, and you felt the skin of the back of your neck begin to prickle. Mouth
suddenly dry, you reached forward to sip from your glass, observing him above the rim eating the
fruit.

You slid your eyes across the table, no one else was watching the interaction, and your aunt
seemed to not be mentally present.

“It’s a shame you don’t have them often like we do.” You gloated, smirking back at him
dangerously.

“A shame.” He parroted, licking his fingers lewdly, his one eye locked onto yours, “Once you
leave, I will no longer have access to something so sweet.”

His tongue darted out to lick at his lips.

You cleared your throat, legs clenching under the table. Memories of your dream flickered in your
mind, making you squirm in your seat at the unexpected arousal you felt watching him eat.

Looking away in embarrassment, you gazed across the table again. Your fathers eyes locked onto
you and your uncle, watching curiously. Turning your head away sharply, you looked to your aunt
again, who seemed to be further hunched over in her seat.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me before we leave, aunt Helaena?” You asked gently, her
eyes not leaving her hands.

She did not respond, lips still moving as she quietly murmured to herself.

“Aunt Helaena?” You gently called again, careful to not rouse the attention of the table.

Aemond watched you as you attempted to grab the Princess' attention. Suddenly his long arm
reached sideways, as he leant his body towards his sister. A gentle hand clasped over hers, his face
coming closer as she still did not move, nor did she flinch away from his touch like she did to most.

He twisted himself slowly to gently whisper in her ear. You were shocked. You had not witnessed
Aemond be so soft, at least not since he was a child.

You felt as though you had witnessed a sliver of the young boy you had grown up with.

Helaena breathed deeply, blinking owlishly before looking at you. She nodded before looking to
Aemond, who gave her a soft smile. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you yearned to see
him smile like that again.

What is wrong with me?

His hand gently squeezed hers, then it returned to his lap. He sat straight in his chair once more,
pretending as if nothing happened, picking up the last piece of fruit before placing it in his mouth
to chew, looking straight ahead.

The meal ended shortly after, and Alicent and your mother opted to stay seated whilst you were all
excused. Your father refused to leave, and sat still in his chair to listen to them both talk. And
although every attempt Alicent made to include him was ignored, the Rogue Prince stared blankly
at her instead.

Your brothers gently bowed as they announced their departure, opting to go collect their betrothed
to prepare for their leave.

You watched as they left, sitting softly as you listened to your mother speak gently to the woman
she once was close to. It felt almost wrong to be watching, and you knew that you should also take
leave.

You stood and thanked the Queen for her hospitality. Before you left, you gazed at Helaena still
sitting in her seat, hands still folded together, having not eaten a thing.

You went to reach for her but Aemond stood sharply, your hand retracting back to hold the other
behind you.

“Niece.” Aemond purred, watching you down his sharp nose.

You turned to look at Helaena, “I will meet you at the Godswood aunt, and we can walk to the
gardens together.”

You waited for a response, for her to look up at you, for even a subtle nod to know that she heard
you, but none came. You waited a few seconds more, Aemond watching you sharply, before you
turned, walking out of the room, gently bowing to your mother and Queen Alicent, who did not
break away from their whispers.

As you walked, you thought of your return home.

Lost in your thoughts you found yourself in front of the Godswood.

Your hand reached out to touch the trunk, skimming softly against it, savouring the rough texture
beneath your fingers knowing it may be some time before you can return. The leaves above rustled
with the soft breeze. Light from the sun peeked through the gaps, blanketing you in warmth.

Turning to your favourite spot, you sank down in the roots, sitting comfortably with your back
against the trunk of the tree, your head lifted up to look at the leaves swaying gently in the breeze.
You whispered to the Godswood, talking of nothing, and everything you thought of as you waited.

A low groan was heard to the side of you in one of the open corridors interrupting your whispers.
Searching for the sound, you spotted the wild white hair of your eldest uncle as he stumbled
through the hallways of the Red Keep.

It took everything within you to not laugh aloud as you watched him catch his body on the side of
the wall, hand desperately flailing to grasp at the stone to hold himself up before leaning forward
to vomit.
Your nose scrunched at the sight.

Aegon seemed to be getting worse everyday, stumbling about drunkenly without a single thought
behind his stupid eyes. You often wondered what it would be like to be him in such a state.

You watched him stumble forth in search of his chambers, your hand raised up to your lips to hide
your smile. Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor behind the eldest Prince.

Long white hair broke forth in your vision as your one-eyed uncle stormed after Aegon, hissing in
High Valyrian at him as he walked. A burst of laughter escaped your lips as you watched the pair
begin to bicker.

Aemonds eye snapped to the sound of your mirth, lips forming into a firm line as he spotted your
figure by the tree. He leant sharply to Aegon, whispering into his ear, before pushing him roughly
forward.

Aegon almost fell from the force of the shove, his balance shifting faster than his inebriated body
could compensate. Aemond’s attention then turned to you as his lithe body twisted, walking
sharply over to you, stopping at your feet.

You dropped your hand from your face, allowing Aemond to see your smile, “It's good to see that
Prince Aegon is looking,” You paused, purposefully looking for a word, gazing back over
Aemonds shoulder to the empty archway his brother passed through, “lively.”

You smirked looking up to the One-Eyed Prince, his cheek twitching. A short hum came in
response as he watched you, waiting for you to say something else.

“I’m sure you will be lonely once we have left, uncle,” You smiled, “You will have only your
brother to stalk about the Red Keep.”

“Hmm.” He leered at you, “As I’m sure you will be lonely. There will be no-one to warm your
chambers back on Dragonstone.”

“Warm my chambers?” You inquired, feeling heat in your chest.

Aemond looked delighted at your inquiry.

“Ah,” You exclaim, “I suppose you mean the rat problem. Could swear there have been unwanted
pests in my chambers as of late.”

“The only pests in the Red Keep are you and your bastard brothers.” He drawled.

“Now, Now.” You tutted, not reacting to his treasonous insult, “Play nicely Aemond. Very soon
you will have no-one to play with at all. I will be gone, and you will have no-one but your brother
to torment, or perhaps the rats you have so much in common with.” You purred, egging him on.

“Bona narys.” (That poison.) He looked down at you, holding his hands behind his back. His
scent floated around you, sandalwood, leather and musk. “How you have hid it well. I see you have
found your tongue now that you are to leave.”

“As much as I have enjoyed playing these games with you, dear uncle,” You hummed, “I am a
Princess, and the eldest of the Heir to the Iron Throne. I uphold my duty and my decorum.”

Looking him up and down you continued, “You on the other hand I'm afraid, are nothing but a
second son. Your place in court holds no power. I will inherit Dragonstone, my brothers the Iron
Throne and Driftmark. You will inherit nothing.”

You continued on, smile growing wider.

“Except perhaps the duty to care for your drunken brother. I have not told my mother or father what
you have done, but once my mother ascends the Iron Throne I promise you, I will have you
stripped of your title and banished,” You smile widely at him, “And that will be a mercy.”

You watched as his face grew angrier, eye narrowing, but just as quick as the anger came, it went.

He stepped forward again, crouching in front of you, holding his hands tightly in front of him as
his lips slithered into a soft smile.

“Tell me y/n, do you always dream of such devious things?” His tone light, teeth showing in his
smile.

Your heart began to pound in your chest, smile faltering as you stared into his lone eye. His posture
straightened, tutting you gently as he still crouched in front of you.

He knew he had you.

“Such things should never be thought of from a Princess.” His mock concern on his face made the
scars on your feet itch. “Though I will say, you make such delightful sounds.” A long hum came
from deep in his chest, exhaling through his nose.

“How could one resist? Especially a second son?” Aemond huffed a laugh, watching your mouth
dropped open as realisation crawled up your spine.

You breathed heavily.

“You even reached for me. I gave you the release you were begging for.”

Your hands clenched into fists, teeth grinding together as anger rippled through you.

He watched as you readied to strike him, “Fear not,” He assured you, a sickening grin on his face,
“You still have your maidenhood.”

“I will kill you.” You hissed.

“Now, now.” He mimicked, “Play nicely Zaldrītsos, very soon you will have no-one to play with.”
He mocked with delight.

A servant walked through the open space, bowing her head to you both as she passed along the
grass to the other side of the courtyard, before disappearing through a passageway.

“Nyke gōntan daor pirtir skori vestan īlē dōna,” (I did not lie when I said you were sweet,) He
purred, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, “īlē paktot skori vestā kesan bōsa syt ao.” (You
were right when you said I will long for you.)

“What will your mother say when I tell her what you have done?” You hissed, body shaking in
anger as you leant forward towards him.

“Do you truly think that my mother would believe you? That anyone would?” He hummed, “No.
They would believe that you are your mothers daughter, seeking intimacy from your uncle. As I
remember, you enjoyed yourself.”
Your hand slapped across his face, palm stinging.

“Choose your next words wisely.” You growled, legs tucking underneath your body as you readied
yourself to pounce.

He smiled, slowly stretching up to his full height, looking down his nose at you.

“Safe travels.”
 A Last Walk
Chapter Notes

I feel so terrible for Helaena, our little Dragon Dreamer

Helaena arrived some time after Aemond left you at the Godswood. Breaths still heavy in your
chest as rage bubbled up inside you. There was still that ever present slither of guilt that perhaps he
was right.

You did enjoy it.

Your aunt's sweet face was a welcomed distraction, though you could not help but notice her
skittish behaviour as she arrived to you. Every time you reached out to touch her, she would flinch
away from you.

You spoke very little as you walked away from the Godswood and out to the garden together side
by side.

Halfway through your walk in the garden you paused and called her name. She stopped, eyes still
cast to the floor rather than meeting your own. She refused to look at you, refused to answer.
Helaena simply stood, and the aura around her became stale.

You reached out to hold her hand, watching as her body tensed.

“Dear Helaena, what has happened?” You asked in concern, hand slowly coming forward to grasp
hers.

Her fingers were raw and bleeding, the skin at her cuticles gone. Anxious fingers had pulled, and
ripped and tore at the skin until the top layer was pulled away, and the raw flash beneath was
exposed to the world. Helaena relaxed slightly in your hold, but her eyes still did not meet yours.

“Aunt Helaena?” You asked again, quieter this time, pulling her hands towards you.

With the movement, the tight sleeve of her dress, a dress too tight for the warmth of the day, rolled
slightly up her arm, revealing the edge of a deep purple bruise. It bloomed from beneath her sleeve,
the edges fading as large spots of burst capillaries stood out amongst the rest.

Looking down at the skin, you inhaled sharply. “Did he do this to you?”

You watched as your aunt pulled her sleeve down awkwardly, face tense as she still refused to look
up. An admission in itself. A movement of guilt, or awkwardness. Perhaps even shame.

“Only when he is drunk.” She murmured in response. Admission.

“We have to tell the Queen.” You implored, holding her gently, dipping your head to try and catch
her eyes. No matter how low you moved, her eyes escaped your person. You went low, her eyes
would go lower, or dart to the side.
“She knows.”

Admission again. There it was. The truth of it all. The horror too. How much can one person take?
The rage bubbled up and boiled over, heat rising in your face as your jaw clenched. The Queen, her
mother, knows of the abuse and does nothing?

You wonder what else the Queen knew about and swept under the rug.

The oh so valiant Queen, the image of purity and good will, a woman who has looked down her
nose at you and your family for years, ever the example of decorum and duty, allows her son to
abuse her only daughter, and for what?

You did not know.

“Come with me,” You blurted, “to Dragonstone. Bring your children and stay with us. Rhaenyra
would love to have you stay. You are her only sister.”

Finally your aunt's eyes came to meet yours. They were tired and red rimmed, little shadows under
them as she smiled sadly at you. The once bright purple now visibly dull, a certain cloudiness to
them. A sorrow.

“I cannot leave.”

“You can. You can ride Dreamfyre with me and Sȳndor to Dragonstone. The babes can voyage on
the ships with my brothers. You would be safe there.”

“I'm sorry.” She uttered her refusal, casting her eyes to look at the garden around you, continuing to
walk forward.

You chased after her, “You can’t let him do this to you! He is a monster! I can’t stand by and
watch him do this to you. Does Viserys know? Surely he would not stand for this.”

“He is my husband.” She shrugged.

“What about your children Helaena?”

“He does not see them.” She replies coldly, eyes straight ahead.

“Helaena, please.” You begged, grabbing her once more, pulling her to a stop. She slowly turned
her head to you, eyes dull and face tired. She looked so tired, so worn down.

There was no fight within her.

“I have to stay. For Aemond.” She looked at you.

What?

“Aemond? What does…“

Her face told you all that needed to be said. Realisation dawned on you. You hold her gaze as she
watches you knowingly.

Aegon isn’t the father of her children.

“Oh.” You said dumbly, not knowing what to say.

Was Aemond as bad as Aegon? Did he force her too? Or did he truly love her? Was there a side of
Aemond you did not know about? Was this man who tormented you, capable of love? Of
kindness?

“Helaena please, I care for you too much to know you are in pain.” You begged, softer this time.

The Princess held your gaze, squeezing your hand gently before giving you a small smile. Her
answer was final. She would not join you on Dragonstone, and instead would live out her life at the
Red Keep with an abusive husband, and her sadistic brother.

“Promise me you will leave if it gets worse?” You implored, “Promise me? Send a raven, or ride to
us immediately. Know that you always have a place with us. No matter what happens. You have
refuge on Dragonstone.” You searched her eyes as the woman continued to look at you.

She merely blinked, no utterance of acceptance, nor reassurance that your offer would not be
needed. Instead, all that was done was a wordless acknowledgement, a subtle nod of her head, and
thus ended your desperate pleading.

You began to walk together slowly after the confession, the tension between you both growing.
You walked until you sat yourselves on a long stone bench, looking out across the ocean.

You felt grief as you sat. Grief in knowing that your aunt was being abused. Grief in knowing that
you did not know when you would see her again. Grief in knowing that she would not take the help
that you offered.

There was grief in knowing that the Queen knew of all this, and did nothing. Grief for your
grandfather's worsening condition. Grief for the loss of your childhood.

Grief churned inside of you until it swallowed you whole. You fell straight into the depths of it,
tears escaping your eyes as you sat beside your aunt. You did not know that you could feel such
pain, nor where it had been hiding. Lurking within the shadows of your mind, waiting to come
forth.

You tried to blink the tears away, but only more came. You sucked in a sharp breath, clearing your
throat before turning your head away from your aunt in an attempt to hide your sorrow.

You looked at the flowers surrounding you. Their forms blurred and distorted through your tears,
blobs of pinks and greens, yellows and reds in your vision, mind racing away from you as you
found yourself overwhelmed.

Your thoughts were broken by the gentle touch of a hand, holding yours in your lap. You turned to
look at your aunt, who was watching the water. She did not witness you cry, nor did she turn to
look at you, only held you as you did.

A small comfort.

“I’m sorry.” You cried, wiping your face with the shoulder of your dress. She only held onto you
tighter.

“We will see each other again, very soon.” She whispered.

“I hope so.” You sob.

“Hope.” She parroted, voice seeming further away.

Finally you turned to look at your aunt. Her gaze was still on the water, though her expression was
unreadable.

“One eye closed, another opened. What was lost, cannot be found.” She spoke, staring out at the
ocean.

“A dragon's death for a dragon's breath. A spool of green to black.”

Dread settled in your stomach.

“Three dragons will fall, one will rise.”

“Spool of green, spool of black. Union of blood and fire.” Her face tensed. She turned to look at
you squeezing your hand tight, before looking back out across the sea.

“Spool of green. A great fall.”

“Helaena, I don’t know what you're saying.” You breathed.

She did not respond.

“Helaena, what does it mean?” You asked, hoping she would answer.

“Helaena?” You searched her face.

Slowly she turned her head, eyes sad, “A great fall.” She uttered.

Then once more, she looked away, watching the tide pull fluffy tips of white waves across the
ocean, the sun glittering in its light. You both sat in silence, watching the waves swell and crash
against the rocks below.

You did not speak again.

Both you and your aunt walked together back into the Red Keep. No goodbyes were spoken, and
no more tears were shed either. All that was done was a tight embrace, where your aunt tucked her
head into the crux of your shoulder. You held each other for some time, praying that she would
change her mind and come with you.

She did not.

Numbly you walked back to your chambers, finding Saria and Aella tidying and packing your
things away. Your jewellery was gone from the vanity, decanter and cups put away in the kitchens
below, and the bedroom began to look as it did when you arrived.

Lifeless.

The bed had been stripped and its sheets replaced. Golden blankets were folded neatly at the edge.
The room in which you had grown in, now looked as though no-one had lived there.

Even the fire had been put out. No flames licked at wood within, nor did warmth radiate from its
hearth. No smouldering embers sat in the bottom, only the ash from the log that once was.

The room felt as though it was closing in on you, panic began to race in your veins, and your breath
caught in your chest. Stepping backwards you stormed out of the chambers, swiftly walking
through the corridors, hoping to get away from the suffocating feeling. You walked, and walked
until you stopped, finally looking at your surroundings.
You stood in the Great Hall, staring at the beastly Iron Throne. The swords melted into a sharp
seat. Rows of blades stood pointed upwards around it and down the stairs in front.

This throne had led to many peoples' ruin.

Your grandmother died in birth to push out a male heir to replace your mother. Alicent gave birth to
males like your grandfather had chased for years, but neither named successor. Your father
Daemon had been suspected of lusting for the throne and was banished. Your great aunt and
grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, had the throne taken from her, for
the realm would never accept a Queen to sit upon its sharp seat.

Rhaenys had told your mother that men would rather set the realm to the torch than have a woman
ascend the throne, and she was right.

You knew that many would not accept your mother as the Queen. After Aegon was born, many
expected him to be named the new heir, but it never happened.

Though your mother preached to create a new order, where Queens could sit on the Iron Throne
without question, she did not name you heir, for she knew that the realm would never accept it.

And although you have never outright wanted the throne, you always felt an ache knowing that it
would never be yours, despite being the first born.

You may as well have been a second son.

No, the throne would be taken away from you, just like it was taken from Princess Rhaenys, and
any other woman across the realms who were the rightful heir to their kingdoms and lands, having
been stripped away by men.

You stood at the jagged seat, its points glinting from the light that streamed in from the windows
around the Hall. Your legs moved forward, walking you up towards the towering Iron Throne.
Footsteps echoed in the empty room, and the sound of your dress rubbing against your skin softly
rustled beneath you.

With each step you felt your breath even, back straightening as you stopped on the top of the last
step.

Eye to eye with the Iron Throne, you looked over every sword's hilt and blade, each one different
in their size and craft. Each one; a man conquered and fallen. Each blade a battle that had been
won.

Power.

You reached a hand forward, resting your fingertips on the arm of the throne. It was cool to the
touch, the blades hard beneath your fingers. Your eye was caught as you looked at one blade on
the arm. Its hilt was twisted and raw, melted down onto the others, the edge of the blade still
looking sharp.

“What are you doing?” A voice cut across the room, pulling you from your thoughts.

You jerked your hand back, finger tip slicing on the edge of the blade. You hissed, pulling your
finger up to your face, blood beginning to bead from the small cut.

Turning you saw Jacaerys, standing in the same clothes from this morning, watching you with an
inquisitive face.
“Saying goodbye to the Keep.” You respond, pulling your finger to your lips, sucking the blood
into your mouth. The bitter taste of iron coated your tongue.

“Odd place to say goodbye.” He responded, walking to the bottom of the steps.

You looked down at him from where you stood, Iron Throne towering behind you.

From where you were, your brother looked small, the presence of the mangled swords behind,
empowered you. This is where you belonged. This was your legacy.

This was your birthright.

To stand where your Grandfather stands, where Aegon the Conqueror had stood, and all those
powerful ancestors, standing exactly where you were, all ruling the realms on the backs of
Dragons.

This was your blood.

“You look like Queen Visenya.” He commented, head tilting as he gazed at you. You huffed a
laugh through your nose, stepping down away from the throne, coming to join your brother in front
of you.

“I will never be Queen.” You stated, watching him.

“You should be.”

You blinked.

A bitter laugh escaped you as you turned your head away from him, looking at the large stained
glass windows to the side, coloured streams of light landing on the stone floors.

“You will be King one day,” You looked back to him, his features soft like your mother, “And we
will be thankful for it. You will make a fine King.” You praised, though a sad smile betrayed you.

“You are the eldest. It should be you on the throne after mother, not me.”

You laughed bitterly again.

“We both know that the realm would not accept me. It will barely accept mother with Aegon
around. It did not accept Princess Rhaenys.” You argued.

“No. You will ascend the throne, and the realm will be gladdened for it.” You paused, “ I will be
gladdened for it.” You reached for his arm, looping yours through it.

You turned the both of you to face the throne.

“You will be King one day, and you will sit upon that throne, just as mother will, just as our
Grandsire, the King, does. You will sit on the Iron Throne as your blood intends you to.”

You looked to him shortly before gazing back, “You are the blood of the mighty houses Targaryen
and Velaryon. There is no-one more suited to the throne than you.”

“Except you.” Jacaerys countered, eyes still on the throne. “I never wanted the throne. I always
thought that it would go to you,” He turned to watch your face, “I am surprised that mother has not
named you her successor.
“As am I.”

“There is still time… She has not named me her heir yet.”

You looked at your brother, his face filled with guilt. You both knew that she had chosen him to be
her successor, and although she had not made it official, she had still mentioned it in past
discussions.

You took a deep breath, squeezing his arm to you, “I do not question her choice, I will always
support you. Please know that.”

Jacaerys' young face turned serious as he looked to the large throne before him.

“It's not right. Women have a place on the throne just as much as men do.”

“My sweet brother,” You cooed, placing a hand against his chest, “Not all think like you. It does
not matter what is right or not. Men will always be given preference on the throne and in the realm.
That is the hard truth. Some men would sooner fall on their sword than be ruled by a woman.”

“We should let them.”

“It’s naive to think that way.” You shook your head, “When you are King, you will have to make
hard decisions. That is the way of the world.”

“It shouldn’t be. When mother is Queen, sh-“

“It does not matter, Jacaerys. No matter what mother does, no matter how good of a Queen she will
be, some people in the realm will not accept it. They would rather be ruled by a drunken fool than a
level headed Queen. Women have been trampled on by men for thousands of years, it will not
change in a day.”

“It could. I would sacrifice-”

“Sacrifice?” You hissed, “What would you know of sacrifice? What do men know of sacrifice?
Nothing.” You angrily turned your head, the rage from the day boiling up inside of you. “If I was
born with a cock between my legs, many things would be different.”

“You could have the throne,” He argued, “If you-“

“If you truly think that, then you are a fool.” You hissed.

Regret immediately hit you as you watched your brother look away in shame, sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted, standing in front of him, reaching to hold both of his hands, “That was
unkind. You are not a fool.” He continued to stare at the wall, evading your gaze, brow furrowed.

“You will be one of the greatest Kings to ever live, and everyday you make me proud to call you
my brother. I have known no-one like you. You are a rare man,” Jacaerys’ gaze finally meets
yours, face still tense, “Your kindness knows no bounds. You are unwavering in your braveness,
endlessly witty, but most importantly you’re you.”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes at you.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” You chastise, “If there were more men like you, then I could sit
on the throne without the realm being put to the torch.”
Jacaerys nibbles at his lip, chewing the skin.

“Stop that.” You swatted at his lip.

Your brother gave you a shy smile.

“I mean it. There will be no greater person fit for the Iron Throne than you.” You looped your arm
back in his, turning him to leave The Great Hall, casting one last glance at the Iron Throne,
“Besides, the realm does not need a Queen with such a temper.” You joked, pushing against his
shoulder.

“You? Temper?” Jacaerys mocked.

“I’m afraid so,” You say with fake sorrow, “I would be called Maegor with Teats.”

Jacaerys snorted out a laugh, echoing through the empty space as you got closer to the large doors.

“All jests aside, I meant what I said.”

“As did I.”

 Dragonstone

The trip back to Dragonstone was long and tiresome. You rode on Sȳndor the entire way, alongside
your father on Caraxes.

The sun was low in the sky when you had left, and you did not arrive until the sun had risen once
more, peeking up above the clouds, chased away by the moon.

You circled around the volcanic island, the high cliffs covered in a soft pillow of fog and smoke.
Endless rolls of green layered the grounds, the grass gently swaying in the breeze.

An air of relief blanketed you once you landed, Sȳndor’s large heavy wings beating against the air
to softly descend on Dragonstone. The great dragon bowed gently to the grassy hill to assist you
sliding down from his back.

An ache spread through your body as your legs finally touched down. The journey sitting and
holding on tight was tiresome, but worth every moment. Soaring high above the clouds, gazing at
the many stars and constellations soothed your grief and rage inside you.

For you, flying was an escape. You felt safe atop the pitch black dragon, and free from all your
worries and troubles. Flying made you laugh and smile, and as you grew it was your favourite
pastime. Some days you would spend the entirety in the air, pointlessly flying before having to turn
home to allow him to rest, and you to eat.

You stretched your arms up high, letting out a long groan as you felt your stiff muscles pull, and
joints click. Caraxes’ high squeal pierced your ears as your father landed not far away from you.

Sȳndor let out a loud purr as you brushed your hand against his neck, scratching the scales
lovingly, whilst whispering praises to him for his safe journey home.

As the Rogue Prince dismounted The Red Wyrm, its long neck and head turned towards him to
nuzzle gently at his side, almost knocking your father from his balance.

“Gīda, Caraxes.” (Calm, Caraxes.) Daemon cooed, roughly patting at its neck.

Caraxes let out a chirping purr.

Walking towards you, the tall Prince cracked his neck to the side, stretching out his spine.

“Skorkydoso glaesā, tala?” (How are you, daughter?) He asked, voice smooth.

“Jaes, ēdrugī. Mazeman ziry iksā qubykta, tepagon iksā iā uēpa vala.” (Gods, tired. I take it you
are worse, given you are an old man.) You joked, coming to his side as you both began to walk up
the long winding path to the entrance, Sȳndor taking flight behind you to rest upon Dragonmont.

“Uēpa vala?” (Old man?) He asked incredulously, “Eminna ao gīmigon bona bisa uēpa vala-“ (I
will have you know that this old man-).

“Io bisa iksis jāre naejot sagon iā vestriarzir nūmāzma skorkydoso īlē konīr lēda se Ēlie Vali…” (If
this is going to be a story about how you were there with the First Men…) You trailed off, giving
Daemon a cheeky smile.
His hand swiftly comes up to gently smack at the back of your head, a loud giggle bursting from
your mouth as you tucked yourself under his arm, walking side by side.

“Ao nektogon nyke sīr trūmirī. Nyke jāre naejot ivestragon aōha muña bona emā brōztagon nyke
uēpa.” (You cut me so deeply. I’m going to tell your mother that you called me old.”

“Muña jorrāelagon ao kesrio syt iksā uēpa, kępa.” (Mother likes you because you are old, father.)
You smirked.

His large hand squeezed your side roughly, causing you to squeak out.

“Such a mean girl you are. How did my daughter ever become so cruel?”

“I suppose it must be all your fault, given my father is the Rogue Prince.”

The winding path to the castle of Dragonstone is high, clouds below restricting you from looking
down to the cliffs and ocean, the waves bursting across the jagged rocks and sandy shores.

The castle of Dragonstone sits high atop a cliff from an erupted volcano, crashing waves burst
below it on the sides. In comparison to the Red Keep in King's Landing, Dragonstone was more of
a military base.

Inside the stone walls, there are no tapestries donning the walls, no golden paints and red banners.
Its interior is rough like the cliffs it was built upon, sharp and dark in some places whilst others
smooth as the water below it.

Large intricate carvings adorned the walls inside and out. Large stone dragons sat perched on
almost every corner and wall, their smooth sculpted bodies protruding from all sides.

Compared to the Red Keep, its design was almost volatile, though the stoneworks and masonry
were far beyond any others within the Seven Kingdoms, the skill lost in Old Valyria.

You entered through two large steel doors.

On each side, two stone dragon heads sat at the entrance, their size almost of your own dragon.
Dragonstone guards opened the large doors, pulling them wide as you and your father walked
through, arm in arm.

“Ah,” He breathed, as you walked through the rough walls of the corridor, “Home.”

Large torches lined the walls to guide your path inside. The never ending corridors twisting and
turning until finally you came to the Chamber of the Painted Table.

The large stone table sat in the middle of the room, on it a carved map of the Kingdoms. You had
fond memories of your father and mother lighting the table up with candles beneath, telling you
tales of all the lands. The bright names of the lands looked up at you, the rivers and oceans looking
ablaze with flames.

Walking to the side of the room your father sat heavily upon a chair burying his head into his
hands, sighing as he did.

“Are you okay, father?” Concern laced your voice as you walked to stand in front of him.

He leans a hand on the arm of the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leans heavily.

“I suppose I should speak to you now before the others arrive.” He sighed, head still in his hand.
“About what?”

Anxiety spiked within you.

“Don’t play coy. You know why we must speak.” He grunted, shifting to lean his head fully on his
hand, piercing purple eyes looking into yours.

You squirmed under his gaze, waiting for him to continue.

“How long?” He asks, watching you sharply.

You furrow your brows at him, “How long?”

“Have you been courting Aemond.” His tone is sharp.

Your mouth goes dry, “I’m not,” You stumble over your words, “I haven’t…”

You’re lost for words.

The Rogue Prince leant his head against the back of the chair, sighing deeply once again, before
looking down his nose at you. Even seated he almost towers above you.

“You expect me to believe that with the way he stares at you with his lone eye? His gaze follows
your every step.”

“Yes, you are to believe me. When have I ever lied to you? I am not courting Aemond.”

“I could not care less about who you fuck y/n, I have no quarrels with you seeking pleasure.” Your
fathers voice was impatient, “Though you need to be careful.”

“I-“ You shake your head, “Careful?”

“Yes. I’m sure you may be familiar with Moon Tea?”

“Moon Tea? Father, I have not laid with him!” Your patience began to wear thin, “I am still a
maiden, not that it is your business to know.”

He watched you carefully, eyes scanning your face. He was looking for any crack in the facade
you were putting on. Any in where he could call you out on your lies.

A gentle grunt escaped his lips as he leant forward to hold your hands.

“The people of the realm do not take kindly to bastards birthed by royal wombs. There is a reason
we are living here and not at the Red Keep.”

“Father I swear to you, I am not courting Aemond.”

“Do you love him?”

You sniff, straightening your back, pushing down all feelings of grief and rage within you. Shame
tried to claw its way up your throat but you pushed it down into the murky depths.

If you told the Rogue Prince, you knew that war would rage.

“No.” You replied, voice short.

Your fathers hands still held yours firmly.

“I may be an old man, but I know there is more to this than you let on.”

“Enough! How could I ever love someone who has tormented me and my brothers for years? Who
hates our very existence? Who calls us bastards? A man who continues the vile whispers at Court?
How could I ever give my heart to someone like that?” You snapped at him, a small burst of anger
spilling away from you uncontrollably.

“Sometimes we don’t understand our heart. It can choose the worst choice for us. To do something
so wrong; to love something so pure, that you know you will surely taint it, but you would betray
everything, even your own brother to seek it out.”

His face was soft.

You felt tears begin to swell in your eyes. Sniffling you looked down at the floor, your vision
blurring, “He is cruel, and unkind. I do not love him.”

“Yet, you mourn him.”

“I mourn who he was.He was a sweet boy, kind, and caring. Nothing but gentle. He had such a
devotion to protecting his sister, and for the first time in years, I saw a glimpse of the little boy I
grew up with.”

“You have loved him.”

“Of course,” You shook your head, “He was my friend; my uncle. We grew up together… Aemond
was always kind to me,” A tear fell down your face, “And when the boys would get up to mischief,
he would come sit at the Godswood with me and Helaena and listen to us read. He thought he was
hidden, but I always knew that he was there. He never hurt me or Helaena, no matter how cruel his
brother was to him, no matter how much even my own brothers joined in, he never once struck me.
Never once took out his rage on me.”

Your father just looked at you, urging you to continue.

“I don’t love him, I can’t. He has hurt me. He has hurt my brothers. He sides with his venomous
mother, everything about him has been twisted. He is the product of the Hightower’s hatred and
poison. The sweet boy I knew died when his eye was taken.”

The Rogue Prince gave you a said but knowing smile, pausing before he spoke.

“My heart, you are too good for any man or woman in this realm. No one could ever deserve you.”

He stood to hold you against him, tucking your face in as you cried, resting his lips atop your head.

“You are my life, the greatest gift that the Gods have ever given me. I would die for you. I would
watch the entire Realm burn if that meant keeping you happy.”

Tears streamed from your face, the exhaustion of the trip and Aemonds abuse crashing over you
like a wave.

“It’s too late. I could never be with him. I could never love him. I-” You pause, your breath
hitching in your throat as a sob escaped your lips.

You did not think that this had affected you so much. You did not know how much the years gone
by had truly devastated you, but like a dam that waters rose after a flood; You broke.
All the years of shame, of torment. The grief over losing your home, your connection to your
family, the stress pushed on you by the Hightower’s; all of it came bubbling over, flooding your
senses.

Your father held you tighter as he gently swayed you, and cooed sweet words in High Valyrian on
the top of your head to soothe you. You stayed in his hold for a while, clutching onto the man as
you let all that was pent up inside out, until all that was left was the bitter taste of rage.

His gentle swaying calmed you.

The Rogue Prince pulled back from you, holding your arms gently as you swiped roughly at your
face with the back of your sleeve, feeling agitation seeping further through your bones.

“Better?” He asked.

You nodded your head roughly.

Looking down at you he gave a sly smile, “As much as I am happy to be away from those
snivelling cunts, I can’t help but feel some disappointment in not watching Alicent squirm in my
presence,” A cheeky chuckle left his lips as he turned to walk you to your chambers, “or Aegon.”

It was your turn to laugh.

“You know I caught him with a servant girl on her knees during the celebration? I was almost
tempted to ask Aemond to pluck out my eyes.” You whined, the image of your uncle's depravity
flashing in your mind.

“I’m surprised his cock hasn’t fallen off.” Your father hummed.

"Ugh, I don’t want to think of Aegon's cock right now.” You grimaced.

“When does anyone ever?”

You stifle your giggle as you walked. With each step, your body felt heavier and heavier, the soles
of your feet, although now fully healed, still ached with the new scars.

As you approached your chambers, a man stood outside of the doors in waiting.

Ser Harold Darke was a tall, muscular man whose skin was pale though littered with small freckles
from the sun. He was a handsome man, with dark curled hair that sat behind his ears, and eyes as
black as coal. Ser Darke was a kind man, and although at times quite serious, you found yourself to
be quite fond of your protector.

“Ser Harold.” You called out to him smiling, his stern face turning to look at you, before a small
smile appeared.

The knight bowed his head at you and your father, “Prince Daemon, Princess Y/n.” He
acknowledged you both, eyes still on the floor.

“Have you missed me terribly?” You teased, letting go of your fathers arm to walk towards the
older man.

“Of course, My Lady.” He replied, duty in his tone, as he began to open the chamber doors for you
to enter. You turned on your heel to face Daemon, reaching to hug him as he pulled away
scrunching his nose.
“You smell like dragon.” He cringed before stepping forward to kiss the top of your head.

Looking over your shoulder he addressed Ser Darke, “Have water brought to the Princess’
chambers, so that she may bathe.”

Ser Harold bowed his head, “Of course, My Lord.” He spoke, waiting for you to enter your
chambers before leaving.

“I shall see you for supper.” Your father spoke, looking down at you before placing one last kiss to
the crown of your head, turning to leave in a flurry of leather, fatigue in his walk.

Stepping through the open doors, you entered your large chambers.

Your chambers were spacious and had separate open rooms for sitting, eating, and sleeping. Light
streamed through the open balcony, columns of stone with dragons carved into them sat in the
corners of the room.

At the far wall, a large four poster bed sat with intricate carvings adorning the wood, and deep red
bed sheets atop. A round table and chairs of dark oak sat in the sitting area with a large fireplace
nearby, crackling flames rising from it.

“Thank you, Ser Harold.” You dismissed the knight awaiting at the door.

With a bow, the knight pulled the door shut with a heavy thud.

Making your way to the balcony, you opened the large doors, letting a breeze from the ocean
sweep inside, causing the soft white curtains to blow inwards in a large ruffle. The air tickled your
cheeks, and the salt from the ocean's breath settled on your tongue.

Out on the stone balcony you rested against the balustrade heavily, arms crossing over the top as
you gazed out to the ocean before you. It stretched on for miles, and miles, as far as the eye can
see. With no sight of King’s Landing.

As you stood looking out at the expanse of the large ocean, a calm settled into your bones,
breathing the briny air. And you were finally at peace, and back to your second home.

You watched as large waves crashed up against the cliffs below, the fluffy caps spraying up the
dark cliffs, their salty spray carried by the wind to salt the air around you.

You remember Ser Corlys Velaryon telling you once that the oceans salt could cleanse you of
ailments and anxiety, and you believed him.

You stood on the balcony for some time, watching the waves below and breathing deeply as he
had told you, letting the stress of your travels melt away.

The longer you watched, the more at peace you felt.

One day you would be Lady of Dragonstone, and the thought of being with the salty spray, and
calming waves for the rest of your days brought great comfort to you. You would be away from
the crowded city of Kings Landing and away from your uncles and all of their troubles.

Here was a place without the Greens.

Here you could live out your days and perhaps find a suitable husband, have children of your own,
and grow old.
A knock sounded at your doors.

You turned to walk back inside, smoothing your wind swept hair.

“Enter.” You called out gently.

Two maids walked inside with large buckets of water, as they stepped through the threshold they
bowed, “Princess Y/n, we are to prepare your bath.” A maid called Meera spoke, dark black hair
braided neatly down her back.

“Thank you.” You walked back outside to watch the waves, as more stepped through to bring and
fill the tub before the fireplace.

Shortly the bath was filled, and sweet aromas of the oils littered the air as you walked back inside.
Though something else caught your attention. You sniffed the air once more taking in the subtle
scent of something familiar.

Walking to the large tub you breathed deeply, brows furrowing at the familiarity.

“What oils are these?” You asked, watching the steam roll out of the water.

The smaller maid, Alanna, had light brown hair, and although it was shorter than Meera, it was
braided tightly atop her head.

“New ones, My Lady. Sent from Kings Landing as a gift to you. There is rose oil, and bergamot
from the Keeps garden,” She began to list, thought in her eyes, “Frankincense from Dorne, oil from
the peels of oranges…”

“And sandalwood, Princess.” Meera finished for her.

Your breath hitched in your throat, brows furrowing. You reached your fingertips to dip them into
the steaming water.

“Be careful My Lady, the water is boiling!” Alanna exclaimed, hand reaching to grab you as your
fingers plunged into the milky water.

But you had felt no pain, only the glorious heat which curled itself around your digits.

“It is perfect. Thank you both. You may leave.”

The girls gave an awkward bow, looking worriedly at your hand before turning to take the oils and
buckets with them as they swiftly left the room.

You peeled the layers of leather from your body, letting them drop to the floor in a heap, the
weight of the coat lifted from your shoulders as a steady ache began to bloom in your lower back.

You bent down to unlace your boots before stepping out of the puddle of clothes beneath you.

Lifting a foot to dip it into the water, you tested the temperature. It was not at all boiling and was
the perfect heat to relax your wound up muscles. Once satisfied that the girls were overreacting
about the heat, and that it would not in fact burn you, you let the heat engulf your leg as you
stepped fully into the tub. You sank into the heavily scented water, and felt the burning heat crawl
up your skin.

No pain was felt, only comfort.

Once fully within the large tub you leant against the back, stretching your legs out in front of you,
allowing your muscles to relax. Your body slowly unclenched, and any pain in your back slowly
began to melt away from you.

A deep sigh left your chest as you skimmed your fingers on the surface of the water, small beads of
oil clumping into little balls atop. They looked almost like lumps of cream, if only watered down.

How curious.

Lifting your fingers to your lips you sniffed at the scent.

A glorious blend which complimented itself, through its sweet tones and rough spices. Though the
hints of sandalwood brought memories of your uncle back into your mind.

You squirmed in the tub, feeling a new heat crawl up your spine.

Memories of his fingers on your centre, his sneer as he gazed at you, and those lips that pressed
against yours, fluttered about in your mind. The fear of him that had once been there was now
gone, replaced by a heady desire.

You found yourself closing your eyes, memories of your dream and his assault causing your core to
clench. A hand slipped down between your thighs, gently touching at your sensitive bundle of
nerves.

A deep sigh tumbled from your lips as you began to rub soft circles against your bud, breath
hitching as you felt pleasure surge beneath your skin. You thought of the dark Dornish man from
your dreams, his large hand holding you as he plunged his fingers into your core, your own hand
mimicking the fantasy.

The pleasure built within you as you continued, fingers working faster to bring you to your peak.

Mewls peeled from your lips as you arched into your hand, getting closer to the precipice as the
Dornish man began to sink below your waist, tongue lapping gently at your centre.

A low groan fell from your lips.

“Zaldistros.” Your uncle's smooth timbre replaced the Dornish mans.

Your eyes shot open and you jerked in the tub, water splashing up the sides and over onto the floor.
Growling in frustration, you leant back once more, closing your eyes, determined to enjoy your
fantasy without interruption.

Instead, you thought of a woman your age, dark skin and gorgeous hair, plucking delicately at your
centre, to bring you to your release. A moan slipped through your lips as you thought of her,
pressed against you, your mouths crashing together in tandem as she rubbed against you.

Short breaths puffed from your mouth as the coil inside you began to tighten.

Your hand worked faster slipping between your thighs, water softly lapping the sides of the tub as
you neared your release, the image of the woman above you guiding you to your peak. Pleasure
climbed within you, your core clenched, breaths stuttering as the coil began to snap.

“Cum for me Zaldristos.”

Pleasure surged through your body, as your core seized around nothing. A long moan pouring out
of your lips as your body twitched within the torrid waters.

Any tightness in your body was surely released after such a powerful release.

Oh Gods.

As your breathing settled, frustration bubbled to the surface.

Fuck.

Air came roughly out through your nose as you opened your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. The
lightness from your peak fading as something new settled into your chest. Something biting and
resentful.

The intricate designs carved on the ceiling looked back down at you.

You grunted leaning forward to snatch the wash cloth left on the edge of the tub, as you roughly
began to scrub your body, desperate to cleanse yourself of the sin you had committed.

You rubbed at your skin until it was red and raw, your anger at yourself pooling into every
movement of your hand.

What was wrong with you?

Anger rippled through you as you threw the washcloth against the side of the tub, curse exploding
from your lips.
 Misfortune
Chapter Notes

Sorry to keep you all waiting, I lost a shoe on a night out and have been wracking my
brain on where it could have been ever since. Some things will stay a mystery

For the remainder of your evening you sulked in your chambers, release having been ruined by the
images and whispers of your uncle's voice within your mind.

Meera and Alanna eventually came back to assist you in dressing in a simple and comfortable red
gown for dinner, letting your hair dry in loose waves down your back, rather than its usual braided
styles.

You walked through the large stone corridors until you reached the Dining Hall.

The room was large and ornate. Huge stone sculptures and carvings adorned the walls and ceilings
of dragons and their riders. The room was lit by large candelabras and torches, their wax dripping
down to the floor in long stalactite forms.

The dining table itself sat in the centre of the room, chairs flanking its sides, whilst large metal
candle holders sat in its centre. Above it sat a chandelier, with large flames lit atop oil holdings.

When you arrived in the room your father was already seated, one leg lazily crossed over the other
whilst he picked at his nails in boredom. Your footsteps echoed on the stone floors as you walked
inside, a soft breeze rolling through the large open windows and balcony.

Looking up at your approaching form, the Prince raised his brows. “Feeling better after your rest?”

“I wouldn’t call it a rest.” You argued, a sardonic huff of a laugh came in response.

“They should be here soon, otherwise we can start without them.”

You walked straight to Daemon, taking the seat beside him, sighing as you sat, leaning your head
back against the rear of the chair.

“I could sleep a thousand years.” You whined, letting your head roll to look at your father, who
only smirked back at you.

You scowl at him, still leaning lazily into the chair, “What has you so joyous?” You grumbled.

“I pity the man who will be married to your temper.” He teased, eyebrows raising higher onto his
forehead.

Your hand lightly slapped his chest, a grumbling ‘don’t’ slipping from your lips.

“You should be pitying me,” You huff, blowing a piece of hair away from your face, “Most men of
the realm are terribly dull. I think I would die of boredom if I were to marry a Lord.”
“What about Jason Lannisters prodigious offer?” He snickered.

“I cannot believe that man would try to wed me to a babe just born! A man who had proposed to
mother no less.”

You leant forward to rub your face in your hands.

“I can see now why mother was so reluctant, Gods help me.” You groaned.

“Avoid it at all costs if you can. Don't even consider anyone from The Vale. My old Bronze bitch
was a cunt of a wife. The sheep were far more enticing. Most men there-"

You made a loud gagging noise to stop him from continuing, “Please stop.”

You sat in silence for a time, staring at the table full of food as you both waited for your mother
and siblings' arrival. You felt your stomach begin to rumble, a wave of nausea rolling through you.

You could not remember when you had last eaten, perhaps a day ago?

You reached forward to the table, its top packed with foods of all kinds, awaiting your serving
hands.

“I cannot wait any longer.” You grumbled, piling your plate full of meats and vegetables, pulling it
towards you before stuffing your mouth full.

The Rogue Prince laughed as he observed your behaviour, before he began to pull food onto his
own plate. You both ate mostly in silence, the occasional comment thrown in here or there to fill
the space, though for the most part, you were both far too hungry and tired to stop.

Halfway through your meal, your mother and family entered.

“I see you have started without us.” Your mother slyly commented, watching you both as she came
round to sit on the other side of Daemon.

“Y/n was a man starved. Never have I seen her eyes devour such a spread.” Your father smirked.

As Rhaenyra passed you, she placed a soft and gentle kiss to your cheek before sitting heavily in
her seat. Daemon's hand came to grasp hers gently on the table as they communicated to each other
with soft looks.

Your two brothers and cousins/sisters joined you at the table.

Lucerys looked exhausted from the travel, his eyes half lidded.

Rhaena and Baela however looked as beautiful as ever. Their Valeryon blood ensuring their travel
on sea was restful. Jacaerys even looked at peace, the edge of anxiety gone from his eyes, now that
he was away from the Red Keep and the torment of his uncles.

“How was the journey, mother? I hope the seas were calm for you.”

Rhaenyra was leant back in her chair, one hand in Daemons and the other softly rubbing her
pregnant stomach.

“Longer than necessary, I ought to have rode on Dragonback instead,” She grunted, leaning
forward to grasp the goblet in front of her, “I’ve now learnt my lesson.” She sighed, looking at you
softly.
Her warm face smiled at you as she asked about your travel.

“My entire body aches as though I’ve been bested in the training yard. My arms feel like stone.
Though the skies were beautiful, the sun rose perfectly over Dragonstone..."

A gentle yawn was cast across the table, Lucerys' small hand coming to cover his mouth.

“I’m so glad you find me to be riveting, brother.” You teased, the young boy's face looked tiredly
at you before he gave you an apologetic grimace.

“I think the only people here who are not looking like the Stranger awaits them are our sweet
cousins.” You smiled at them, as they gave glowing smiles back.

“It is always good to be back on the sea. I find it revives me. I have missed the ocean's gentle
sway.” Baela spoke, face filled with joy and life.

“I feel like it sucks the life from me.” Jace jokingly grumbled as he held her hand above the table.

They truly were a good match.

“I hope to take a ship and travel Eastwards one day. See if there is anything truly past the horizon.”
Rhaena joined in.

“If anyone could do it, it would be you.” Daemon warmly spoke, smiling at his daughter from
across the table.

Quiet conversation began with your brothers and their betrothed, the excited chatter softly pulling
across the table as you watched on.

“Y/n,” Your mother interrupted your gazing. You turned your head to look at her, giving a light
hum to indicate your attention.

“I had hoped to discuss something with you, if you’re feeling well?”

Her hesitancy made you nervous.

You wriggled in your seat, shifting your gaze back to your father whose expression was carefully
blank, before looking back at her.

“I am.” You said hesitantly.

Her hand came to rest on her bump once more, whilst her other hand fidgeted in your fathers grip.

“As you know, things have not been easy since Grandsire married Alicent. Our relationship had
became strained, and-“

You interrupted, “Mother, what’s wrong?”

Had Aemond said something?

Princess Rhaenyra sighed, “The Queen has offered Aemonds hand... in marriage… It would close
the rift between our families and unite us. I had tried many years before the Council, but she had
refused me then. I think now she sees reason… Not only would this be a truce between us, it would
also ease tensions at Court.” She watched you intently as you absorbed the information.

Shock.
You were in complete shock. You did not know what to say, nor how to react. How could one
possibly proceed civilly after such an offer? Your mouth opened a few times to respond, but you
found nothing came out.

Seeing you struggle, Rhaenyra continued.

“I did not give her an answer,” She assured you, relief caused you to sigh, “And we would never
force you. This is your choice to make, and yours alone.”

Thoughts began to turn in your head.

If you married Aemond, there would be a truce between your families. The Queen could no longer
belittle your brothers and continue the whispers in court, and Aemond's torment towards them
would stop.

Though, if you refused, the rift would most likely become larger. The Queen would see it as a
personal slight and attack your mother for it. Aemond's torment would most likely get worse, and
your mothers ascension to the throne would be made more difficult in the vipers nest.

If you accepted; your family's torment would end, but yours would begin.

“I-” You licked your lips and cleared your throat, “When do I need to give my answer?” You
swallowed, throat feeling dry. You reached to drink heavily from the wine in front of you, its
warmth spreading through your body.

“Before the moon turns is when I told Alicent we would give her your answer.” Your mother
replied, eyes looking hopeful.

“You expect my daughter to marry that one-eyed craven?” Your father sneered.

His mask finally slipped.

“No.” Your mother responded impatiently, “It is her choice to make.”

“And what happens when she says no?” He asked snidely.

“Her choice will be honoured. I do not intend to force my daughter into marriage as I was.”

“And you expect that cunt of a Queen to that ‘no' well? To swallow it down nicely like I’m sure
she does everything else?”

All eyes were on you now.

The conversation from your siblings and cousins halted to watch the interaction between you all.

“I have not said no.” You spoke quietly, breaking the tension that had begun to build.

“But you will not say yes either.” Daemon replied bluntly, your previous conversation turning in
your head.

“I don’t know what-“

The Rogue Prince interrupts you, “Alicent will not stand for her precious little runt's proposal to be
rejected. What do you think she will do when you say no, hm? She will take this as a personal
slight against her, and her little whispers will spark delight in the courts again. Alicent’s proposal
comes not out of a genuine want for a truce, for she has been given many chances before and
denied them. This is not a choice, but a test.”

“I trust that the Queen's proposal has no malicious intent.” Your mother responded, tone sharper.

“No malicious intent? She has watched her sons taunt ours and our daughter for sport. She
demanded Lucerys' eye in front of the court. She attempted to take it herself, and struck you. Are
you so lost in the chance of rekindling a childhood dream that you cannot see the truth of it all?”

“I am not saying that Aemond is a good man, nor is Alicent a woman without fault.” Rhaenyra’s
patience began to wear thin, “I am merely extending the proposal she offered to us.”

Your mother turned to you, “I know that you and your uncle do not see eye to eye,” Daemon
snickered at the comment, “And his treatment of you and your brothers has been nothing short of
horrific…Though at the celebrations, I thought I saw a change between you, and Alicent saw hope
for our families.” Her hand was tense against her stomach.

“You saw what he wanted you to see.” Your father snapped.

“Please,” You grit through your teeth, “Enough.”

Your father looked away from both your mother and you, instead looking at his nails, which had
suddenly become more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“We are all exhausted.” You breathed a heavy sigh.

“We can all agree that Aemond is…” You steeled yourself pausing, “An ill-made man, twisted by
anger and fear. Though, none of us can disagree that this engagement may put an end to the
Hightower's provocations.”

You took a second to gather yourself, watching as your family patiently listened.

“I need time,” You announced, “To think about what this means for us all. If I say yes, or if I say
no. I will give you my answer before the next moon, but for now, I need rest.” You sighed, shaking
your head down at your lap.

“Take all the time you need, my sweet girl.” Your mother softly smiled at you.

Your brothers and their betrothed shared a concerned face, though Lucerys looked as though he
may begin to panic, the small boy had barely touched his food through his talking and fatigue.

“I am exhausted, and I have a lot to think about.” You paused looking at your father whose eyes
were now on you, “May I be excused?” You asked your mother, who had a sombre expression.

Her lips pulled into a tight yet warm smile, “Of course, my love.”

With her approval you stood from the table, bowing your head softly towards her and then to your
siblings and cousins across the table before leaving.

As you walked out of the large room, your footfalls softly filling the room, Daemon's smooth voice
called out to you.

“Sleep well, Princess.”

You turned your head to the side to show your profile to acknowledge the Rogue Prince, gently
nodding before you continued out of the hall to retire to your chambers.
Your mind reeled from the day's turn. First, your confessions with your father, then the proposal
from your mother.

Every thought amplified a migraine to pull behind your eyes.

You spent the remainder of your evening tossing and turning in your sheets, listening to the waves
crashing up the side of the cliffs outside. No matter how much you tried, you found that sleep
evaded you until the sun began to rise.

The fire in your chambers slowly dwindled, and the sun's ascent brought a gentle blue hue to the
room. Only then did your eyes finally close, and then sleep came to claim, pulling you down
gently.

Though not for long.

Your eyes had only just closed when the door to your chambers were opened and Saria and Aella
arrived to prepare you for your first day back on Dragonstone. You groggily sat whilst they
brushed your hair and dressed you, pulling your hair back in loose braids, and a soft black and red
gown pulled tightly at your back with the corset.

You had Saria and Aella fetch your breakfast and bring it to your room, eating in the solace of your
chambers as the proposal swamped your every thought.

You knew that you should accept it; to put an end to the ongoing tension with the Hightower's, but
you also knew that it would mean sacrificing yourself to wed a man who wished to destroy you.

Thus, the endless cycle began.

Your acceptance would allow your siblings peace, your Grandsire some happiness and your mother
her childhood friend. Acceptance however, was the end to your freedom and happiness, and you
suspected the disapproval of your father.

Your denial could set off a whole new battering from the Greens.

“Princess?” Aella’s soft voice broke you from your thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you were feeling well, My Lady.” Aella asked softly.

Blinking, you gathered yourself looking down at the table to see that you had barely eaten your
meal, only the crusts from the fresh bread were gone, picked away by nervous fingers.

“Of course, sorry. I find my mind elsewhere.”

You stood stiffly, the pain in your body settling in from lack of rest from your journey. “I think a
walk may clear my head. Thank you.” You uttered as you made your way to leave your chambers
to walk around the castle.

Each stride of your legs took you slowly through the vast stone walls, looking up at the intricate
carvings as you went, hand gently skimming the stone carvings.

If you were to marry Aemond, you would most likely not return here. If you said yes, your time on
Dragonstone was limited, and your time with your family more precious than ever.

Fatigue clouded your mind with every step, walking towards the Chamber of the Painted Table in
search of family.

The small voice of Lucerys and the warm tones of your mother drifted across the room to where
you stood at its entrance. You did not announce your arrival, instead opting to listen to them speak
gently to one another.

“I can’t be Lord of the Tides.” Came the abrupt outburst of your brother.

You pushed yourself further into the shadows, listening.

“Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the
harbour.”

Your heart clenched as you listened to your brother's distress. His love for Lord Corlys was strong.

“I’ll just ruin everything!” Lucerys cried out.

“I don’t want Driftmark.” A quiet whisper. “It should have passed on to Ser Vaemond.” The young
boy's voice stronger now.

You watched as your mother slowly walked to him.

“We don’t choose our destiny, Luc. It chooses us.” Your mother tried to reason, her long white hair
softly brushed down her back.

“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir. You told us so.”

Your mother gently lent a hand on the table, looking down as silence graced the room.

“And do you want to know the truth of it?” Rhaenyra asked, slowly walking over to Lucerys who
stood beside the Painted Table.

“I was frightened. I was… Four-and-ten. Same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the
Seven Kingdoms but it was my duty and in time I came to understand I had to earn my
inheritance.”

You moved into their view in the room, your steps loud enough for them to both hear, but neither
turned.

“I’m not like you.” Your brother uttered, face defeated.

“In what way, sweet boy?” Your mother gently asked.

“I’m not so…” Lucerys paused searching for the word, “Perfect.”

Your heart clenched inside your chest.

A sigh fell from your mothers lips and she walked close to him, holding him in her arms, before
pressing her forehead to his, kissing his face thrice.

“I am anything but.”

Footsteps behind you pulled your attention away from your mother and brother. You turned to see
Ser Lorent entering the room, helmet in hand and the other on the hilt of his sword.

“My father looked after me and helped prepare me for my duty. Your mother will do the same for
you.” She continued, not breaking away from her son.

“Good morrow, Princess.” His voice interrupted.

Rhaenyra and Lucerys turned to look at him, whilst you walked to stand beside your brother,
placing a quick kiss to his face, holding his hand in yours.

“Good morrow, Ser Lorent.”

Ser Lorent bowed his head.

“Princess Rhaenys has just arrived on Dragonback. She urgently requests an audience with you and
Prince Daemon.”

Lucerys hand tightened in your grip as he took two shaky steps backwards, his chest beginning to
rise and fall with anxiety. You prayed to the Gods that Lord Corlys was okay, to spare your brother
from his worries.

You tightened your grip on his hand and whispered assurance to the brown haired boy, gently
letting him know that everything will be alright.

Your mother had turned to look at him whilst he caught her eye, her face giving him an assuring
smile, a face to say ‘Be strong’, before gently rubbing her hand on his shoulder, giving you a small
yet unsure smile.

“Luc, why don’t you find Jace.” Your mother softly suggested, giving the young boy one last kiss
to his face before he left.

Your mothers light eyes turned to you, but before she could dismiss you, you held your ground.

“I’m staying.”

Rhaenyra hesitated before nodding, “Very well.”

As you waited for your fathers arrival, you both stood at the fireplace, watching the flames as you
quietly whispered how to assist Lucerys if he was indeed to become Lord of the Tides.

“I will give you my answer.” You blurted.

Your mother was shocked by the sudden announcement, before her face softened.

Before she could respond, heavy footfalls announced Daemon's entrance as he walked quickly
towards you both. There was a certain tension between the three of you, and you suddenly felt
claustrophobic.

Moving away from them both, you walked to one of the large open windows, looking out towards
the sea, the waves roughly breaking against the cliffs.

Perhaps the sea was mourning Lord Corlys.

As the whispers of your parents rose behind you, the doors to the Chambers opened loudly.
Princess Rhaenys walked down the large stone steps into the room. Your mother and fathers
guards lining the steps as she walked, escorted by Ser Lorent.

As she approached the table, Ser Lorent announced her arrival, your mother turning to walk
quickly towards her, “The Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”
“Thank you, Ser Lorent.” Rhaenyra called, her hand resting gently on her swollen stomach. Your
father, standing behind her near the fire, looking into the flames.

Rhaenys eyed you curiously, though said nothing. The Queen Who Never Was turned her head
away from you, looking past your mother to Daemon then back at your mother.

She looked uneasy.

“Princess Rhaenys…” Your mother began.

Rhaenys inhaled a deep breath straightening herself as she gazed at The Realms Delight across the
table, whilst Ser Lorent stood to the side beside you.

“Might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’s recovery?” Princess Rhaenyra asked, optimism in her
voice.

“Viserys is dead.”
 Mortality
Chapter Notes

Viserys checked out at a good time, I'll tell you that much.

Rhaenys’ voice cut across the room.

You felt as if the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

Dead.

Your mothers silence pulled at your heart. You sucked in a shaky breath, looking at your father
who slowly turned to look at his cousin.

“I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra.” The Princesses voice much softer now. “My cousin, your
father… possessed a kind heart.”

Your fathers steps stumbled towards Rhaenyra at the table in shock. His brother was dead.

Tears began to well in your eyes. You could not take your gaze away from your mother who stood
stiff, unblinking in shock. You sucked in sharp, shuddering breaths.

Rhaenys walked around the table to stand in front of your mother, Ser Lorent following her steps
on the side.

You were stuck.

You could not move.

Even if you tried, you felt that your feet had sunk into the hard stone below, pulling your weight
down.

The room suddenly felt colder.

“There is more.” Rhaenys spoke.

Anxiety coursed through you. What more could there be? What else could have possibly
happened? Was he slain?

Your mothers eyes were still straight ahead, though Rhaenys stood beside her. Prince Daemon
stood unblinking beside your mother, eyes lost on the table before him. He had just lost his brother,
after only just getting him back.

“Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

Rhaenyras head snapped to Rhaenys.

The spell was finally broken.

A whimper escaped your mothers lips, hand flying to her stomach as she looked down in pain.
Daemon's glazed eyes caught the movement and scanned his wife's body, looking at her in
concern.

“They... crowned him?”

Daemon's voice finally rose beside Rhaenyra, voice unsteady and unsure, “How did Viserys die?”

You had never heard your father sound so broken, so weak, so unsure of himself, voice laced with
disbelief.

“I could not say.”

“How long ago?” Rhaenyra's voice cracked, hand anxiously rubbing up the side of her dress, whilst
the other was still pressed firmly into her side.

Suddenly, your feet were unstuck. With shaking steps you walked towards them, standing beside
your mother, looking at her in concern.

She looked pale.

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

“Viserys has been slain.” The Rogue Prince spat, looking at Rhaenyra whilst she desperately tried
to grasp the situation.

“Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon.”

It was not a question.

“She did.”

Your mothers face hardened, and though tears had pooled in her eyes, the scowl she wore was only
of one who had rage building through the blood of the Dragon.

Rhaenys recognised the accusation.

Your breath caught in your throat as your fingers touched the table in front of you, nails digging
into a piece of wax to pick.

Aegon is King.

He had usurped the throne.

Aegon was King.

“I refused her.”

“And yet you are alive.” Your father accused, body leant forwards towards the table as if ready to
attack.

Rhaenys' patience dwindled, cocking her head to the side she looked away from your father, to
your mother, who’s anger radiated out of her.

“The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit.”

A sob escaped Princess Rhaenyras lips, hand clutching harder at her swollen stomach. Concern
began to curl its way around your body as you reached out to touch your mothers shoulder.

She shook you off.

“I witnessed it myself, just before I fled on Meleys.”

“They crowned him before the masses.” Your mother grunted.

“So that the masses would see him as their rightful King.”

“That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne. And you could have burned
them all for it. “ Your father sneered, his jaw was clenched tight as he looked at his cousin.

“A war is likely to be fought over this treachery, to be sure.” Her response was clipped.

“Hm.” Came the venomous hum from your father. You almost felt compelled to grab him to calm
the Rogue Prince.

Rhaenys sharply stepped closer to Rhaenyra and Daemon, leaning forwards “But that war is not
mine to begin.”

Daemon looked at the table where his sword leant against it, his hand coming to rest atop the hilt
whilst your mothers hands clutched at her sides.

She began to restlessly sway.

“He’s dead.” You uttered in disbelief, feeling the tears finally flow down your cheeks. A tear
landing on the table, its essence sinking into the cracks with the pool of wax.

Rhaenys gave you a mournful look. She had always been kind to you, despite her suspicions of her
son's death. Why had she not stopped them? Why had she not ended it when she had the chance?
Were you all not her family?

Sure it was not her war to begin, but she would be dragged into it, if it were to come.

“I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my House.”

Your father's eyes looked up at his cousin from under his brow. Your mother did not look up.
Rhaenys looked to you quickly before setting her sights back on The Realms Delight, who was
growing more pale and restless as the moments passed.

“The Greens are coming for you Rhaenyra.”

The threat rang in the air, your mothers head snapped up to look at the Princess.

“And for your children.”

Rhaenyra looked at you, eyes filled with tears and anger, before she looked back down at the table.
A ringing began in your ears and you felt your heart begin to race inside your chest.

All of it was for nothing.

All the pain and suffering was for naught.

Hadn't you all given enough? Hadn't you given enough?

Fear and anger coursed through you.

Mourning your Grandsire could wait.

“You should leave Dragonstone at once.” Rhaenys concluded, turning to walk sharply out of the
chambers as your fathers keen eye watched her.

A tear fell from your mothers face and a sharp gasp came from her mouth as she hunched over,
hands coming to grasp at her belly.

“Mother?” You asked in concern.

One hand snapped out to grasp the table as she leant forward, pained gasps leaving her mouth as
your father stood and watched in shock.

“Oh no.” She uttered.

Hands flew to push under her gown, your anxiety spiking with every second as your eyes bounced
from your mother to your unmoving father.

You looked up to see Rhaenys paused by the exit, looking back at your mother with concern and
sorrow in her eyes.

What did she know?

Rhaenyra's hand slid from under her dress, her palm wet with blood.

Standing straight, she took a shake breath, “The babe is coming.” She breathed heavily as you
looked at Rhaenys who walked slowly out of the chambers.

“Mother?” You asked again, touching her, but her eyes refused to meet yours. She looked around
the table before bending over again, a long groan coming from her mouth as she clutched her
stomach with one hand.

You reached out to grab her shoulders with both hands, frantically looking at your father who still
stood, watching, face almost blank of emotions.

“Father? What do we do?” You asked frantically, whilst your mothers breaths started to hitch with
every wave of pain.

“Kepa?” You called again, frustration lacing your words.

Still he did not respond.

“Daemon!” You screamed at him, anger coursing through your veins as fear began to settle like a
pit in your stomach.

Only then, once you screamed at him did he acknowledge you.

“Get the Maesters.” He replied dully, before stalking out of the room.

“What?!” You screamed, “Daemon!”

But the Rogue Prince did not turn. He left the chambers on uneasy steps as you were left to deal
with the grief and panic of both you, and your mother.
Rhaenyra grunted leaning forward again, “My chambers.” She uttered as she began to walk, one
hand clenched tightly against her stomach, the other gripping your arm for purchase, nails digging
into the skin of your arm.

“Ser Lorent,” Your mother grunted, “Please have preparations for the babe brought to my
chambers.”

You slowly walked together, having to pause when pain would ripple through her body as it
prepared itself for birth. Each step was agony, your heart felt as though it was being ripped to
shreds.

You did not know what to do. None of your brothers had come early, nor at such distress.

You walked slowly together, pausing to allow her rest as a contraction pulled through her. Once
you finally arrived to her chambers she almost collapsed on her bed, gripping the edge as she
whimpered.

“Tell me what to do.” You begged.

You were at a loss.

“Go tell your brothers.” She cried, hunching over again.

“But I-“

“Go.” She commanded.

You turned hotly on your heel and rushed out of the room in search of your two brothers, knowing
they would be together. You arrived at Lucerys' chambers first, to find the young boy's room
empty.

Anxiety rose inside you as you rushed to the next room, hoping to find them both together.

Entering Jacaerys' chambers without knocking, you found the chambers also had no signs of the
two young boys within it. You raced from the room and into the corridor, calling their names.

As you sped through the halls of the castle, you looked in the chambers in search of the two.

You entered the dining hall.

It was empty.

You ran to the library, and again, no-one there but the ones who served in the castle.

You felt an uneasiness settle over you.

Sharply you turned a corner and ran into a wall of steel. Hands came to sturdy you as you swung
back on your heels. Looking up you saw the concerned face of your knight Ser Harold Darke.

“Are you alright Princess?”

“Where are my brothers?” You interrupted him.

“They are out on the beach training, My Lady.”

“Take me to them.”
As you began to walk briskly towards the pathway down to the beach through the caves, Rhaenys
walked in your path. Seemingly towards the same direction.

She caught your eye, “Princess.” She spoke gently. You gave her a curt nod, continuing to move
forward.

“Princess, Y/n,” She called and you paused looking back as she sped up to you.

“You should be with your mother,” Her voice was soft, “I will have the Princes come to you.”

You hesitated. Your duty to both your mother and brothers clouding your judgement.

“Y/n.” She spoke again, more gently this time, the same way she spoke to her granddaughters
Rhaena and Balea, “Go.”

You stared at her, before softly nodding, turning to run back to your mothers chambers, skirts
flying behind you.

The closer you got, the louder her cries became.

Your feet stumbled at the sound, your throat feeling tight as you fought the urge to cry once more.
No, you were the eldest. You had a duty.

You could not be weak.

You walked into the room to see your mother walking around the chambers in her white shift, hair
loose and matted to her forehead as she paced about the room, whimpering, hands bunched into
fists at her side as she tried to shake the pain from her body.

She looked so pale, almost like a ghost. And at the thought, an intrusive thought floated into your
head. Perhaps she was already a ghost, or was one in the making.

The Maester stood next to a midwife, talking to her gently.

“Her term is far from complete. This should not be happening.” He spoke.

You mother grunted in pain as she walked around, storming up to them both, “It is fucking
happening.” She yelled.

The Maester held his hands up in apology and prayer, whilst an older midwife came to stand beside
her, gently coaxing your mother to step away.

“Keep your head about you, Princess.” She said, “Come.”

Rhaenyra turned away to follow the older midwife, who wore a large midwife's cap above her
head, red robes on her body. Did they wear red robes to cover the stains of blood?

“I’m here, mother.” You gently spoke, coming to walk nearby, to offer your presence to your
mother.

Perhaps you being there would offer some comfort.

Your mother let out a shaky sob, as she turned around, eyes flitting to you, before looking back
down as she began to cutch at her stomach again.

“We’ve done this six times before.” Elinda, another midwife said.
She was around the same age as your mother and had dark hair. She wore the same midwife
uniform as the rest.

Rhaenyra walked towards the bed, as the others almost seemed to swarm her, concern on their
faces. What had the midwives so concerned? At every other birth they were calm and smiling.

Their sudden nervous energy made you begin to panic.

You stepped towards your mother, concerned to see her look as though she was being cornered by
the women.

“Keep your spirit and the seventh will be no different.” Elinda attempted to calm your mother as
she touched her arms.

Your mothers face broke as she lifted her hands up sharply, “Get off, get off, get off, get off!”
Rhaenyra cried, stumbling away from the concerned midwives towards the open balcony. Her
hands pressed against the small of her back as she tried to breath through the pain.

“It will be okay. Tell me what to do.” You whispered to her, walking towards her, but not wishing
to crowd her.

You felt hopeless. What help could you be? What could you do in this moment? Where could you
go? What if Aegon and the Greens were really coming?

Was Aemond to arrive here atop Vhagar at any second?

She stumbled towards a large stone post, “Ow, ow, ow.” She gasped, grasping at the stone with
one hand, whilst the other clutched her belly. Rhaenyra leant forward, letting shuttering whimpers
fall from her lips.

You walked away from your mother to the midwives. “What do we do? How can we help her?”
You rushed.

Most looked away sadly, the oldest midwife reaching out to hold your hand. “Your mother has
birthed six beautiful children before, her body knows what to do.” She tried to assure you.

You felt the room begin to spin and suffocate you, its walls rapidly closing in on you. Every cry,
every whimper or groan that left your mothers body, every glimpse of her pale and pained face
only made you feel more desperate to do something, but the knowledge that you couldn't drowned
you.

You left the room quietly, needing to compose yourself. You needed to be strong. For your mother.
For your brothers. Even for your father. But as you tried to be strong, you felt you could not get any
air into your lungs, each breath you took was as if there was no oxygen, and you felt yourself begin
to become hysterical.

Rushed footsteps disturbed your panic. You stood up straight and cooled your face, taking gulping
breaths through your nose despite the sudden spinning of the room.

You looked up to see both of your brothers walking briskly to you, shock evident on their faces.

“The babe is coming.” You blurted breathlessly.

“Is mother alright?” Lucerys uttered. He looked nervous. Like a young boy would at the thought of
childbirth.
You took a shaky breath in, as a loud cry passed through the doors behind you.

Jacaerys looked at you, and pushed past to enter the chambers, whilst you and Luce trailed in after.
You took a deep and steady breath. This was all happening so fast.

What next?

“Mother?” Prince Jacaerys called out, watching as Rhaenyra was hunched over against a pillar
whimpering.

Pained groans fell from her lips as she turned around to face the three of you. She looked worse.
How did she look worse? Had you been out in the hall for long?

“Oh fuck.” Your mother grunted as she bent over further.

Maester Gerardys held a hand out to Lucerys and tucked him under his arm as the boys watched
their mother sob in agony as midwives floated around her, desperate and unsure how to help.

“Princess.” He called into the room.

Your mother straightened as she held her back, turning slowly in stuttering steps to reveal the front
of her white gown was steeped in blood.

You watched your brothers as they gazed at Rhaenyra, who’s hands roughly rubbed against her
sides. Jacaerys eyes were cast down, whilst Lucerys looked to your mother with fear.

A pained grunt fell from her lips as she looked to all three of you, hand seeking purchase against
the pillar as she sucked in agonising breaths.

“Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed.” She grunted out in pain, fingers turning white against
the stone with their grip.

“V-Viserys?” Luce stuttered out in shock.

Jace was silent. Though the eldest son's eyes became glassy as he reached out to comfort his
younger brother. You stood stiffly beside the two of them, unsure how to comfort them, your
mother, and yourself, all in one moment as your mother stuttered out another agonising sentence.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne.”

She bent over and whimpered, a wave of pain rolling through her body.

Maester Gerardys shifted, and sped from the room, leaving you and your brothers with Rhaenyra.
Her hand clutching her back as she leant back, curving her spine to try and relieve the pain.

“Aegon has been crowned King.” She sobbed.

“What is to be done about it?” Jacaerys' voice sliced through the air like a knife.

He was ready to perform his duty as the eldest son.

“Nothing yet.” Your mother yelled, pain and anger rolling through her.

“And where is Daemon?” Jace asked, looking around the room.

You felt your hands beside you turn to fists.

“I don’t know. Gone to madness.” Rhaenyra spoke with sorrow, rubbing her stomach, “Gone to
plot his war.”

Your brother stiffened beside you, nodding sharply.

“Leave Daemon with me.” He swiftly turned as you stood in shock, Lucerys stumping to follow
him whilst watching his mother with uncertainty.

“Jace.” Rhaenyra called, though your brother kept walking.

You were stuck. You could not move again.

“Jacaerys.” Your mother called, as your brother stomped towards the exit, pausing at the sound of
his name reluctantly. Body stiff with rage.

Your mother sobbed another cry as you began to walk towards her.

“Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir.”

You felt time stand still.

 A Queen Is Made
Chapter Notes

Siri, play 'Gilded Lily' by the Cults

Rhaenyra watched as Jacaerys lifted his head higher.

He would be heir.

Not you. Not you, the eldest, who had done everything that was asked of you.

Not the eldest daughter who listened to her mother preach of creating a new order, where women
could sit upon the throne. A place where women born first have more right than a man born
second.

Not you.

Him.

“Naught is to be done but by my command.” Jacaerys’ eyes flitted to yours, waiting for you to
argue, to fight back, to demand your rightful spot as the eldest to be the heir.

But no words escaped your mouth. Instead, your lips formed a hard line as you nodded to your
brother before turning away to be there for your mother.

As you always had.

Such bitterness rose inside you. It was monstrous, and suffocating and swallowed you whole,
though you pushed down that anger. For her.

For your sister.

For them all.

As you always had.

Your brother's footsteps faded away and Rhaenyra groaned, sobbing loudly as she bent forward.
Your hands flew out to hold her arm, as you whispered praise and assurance to her, hoping that it
would be enough to give her some comfort.

You stood with your mother as her cries got louder.

“Daemon!” She yelled out, and you looked to the midwives as one left the room. You held onto
her tighter as she began to bend down groaning in pain, which turned to screams, sweat sticking her
hair to her face.

“Mother, what can I do? Please tell me what I can do?” You begged as you held onto her, one of
her hands grasping yours painfully tight as she wailed.
She cried louder, as she bent down one hand clutching her stomach as rivers of tears fell from her
eyes. You felt helpless. You felt spiteful. You felt grief, and envy and anger and rage.

You felt so much that you did not even know what you truly felt.

It was overwhelming.

You did not know what to do.

This birth was nothing like your brothers.

Something was terribly wrong.

She cried out again, head bowed towards the floor, teeth bared as she clenched her jaw. Red caught
your eye on the floor below, as blood had begun to pool beneath her bare feet, her toenails were
stained with the sticky liquid.

“Daemon!” She screamed again, ripping her hand away from yours as she stumbled away, the shift
dragging through the blood on the floor, causing the white to stain. A long trail of blood followed
her path.

You looked towards the door, praying your father would enter.

He never did.

Rhaenyra groaned as she paced, bending in place to clutch at her back or stomach, nails digging
into her own flesh, desperately trying to push past the pain and her fear.

Fear.

You realised that Rhaenyra felt fear. You remembered her mother. You remembered Laena. You
remembered all the women before you who had died giving birth.

Please Gods, not her.

Where was Daemon? How could your father not come to her calls? How could he not come to help
her? Assure her? The love of his life? The woman he risked everything for?

You raced out the door, asking the knight at the door where the Prince was.

“With Prince Jacaerys, Princess.” He replied.

“Daemon!” Your mothers voice cried from her chambers, and the urge to run and find him grew
strong, but the need to be with your mother was stronger.

You raced back into the chambers as your mother sunk to the floor, back leant against the bed. You
raced to her side but stopped, you did not know if she wanted you close, you did not want to crowd
her, you truly did not know what to do.

Doubt swirled in your mind.

What good were you? Eldest daughter. Never to be heir. Unsure of how to help your own mother
giving birth. Or how to help her grieve her father. Or the throne that was stolen from her.

What use were you?

The best you could do was be there, so if she called you, you were ready.

As she tucked her legs beneath her in a squat her hand came under the bloody shift, groaning as she
did. You felt tears fall from your eyes as you watched her rip her hand away, dragging herself to
stand, clutching the back of the chaise before collapsing to the ground again, hand underneath her
shift.

She looked like she was growing weak. She had never looked so pale. The midwives began to
come closer and you felt that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Her screams grew louder as
she hunched forward clawing onto the bed behind her, knuckles white with her grip.

“Princess, let us help you.” Came the gentle voice of a young midwife, whose face was filled with
tears.

“No.” Your mother groaned, hand still under her shift whilst the other now grasped her stomach.

“Get out!” Rhaenyra screamed, groaning as she pushed.

“Mother, please let them help you!” You begged, coming closer to her as you knelt down beside
her.

“Princess, please.” Begged another midwife.

“Get out!” She cried, leaning forward with one hand as she grunted and pushed, blood beginning
to pool below her feet.

“Please. Gods please.” You whispered.

“You should not do this alone, Princess. Let us help you.” Begged the older midwife whilst the rest
swayed on their feet with anxiety, watching the woman struggle with her birth.

Your mother cried louder, pushing as she groaned in pain. A pool of fluid landed between her legs
as one of the midwives openly began to cry. Your mothers bloody hand came up to grasp yours
suddenly as she screamed. Head thrown back as a pained wail twisted its way from Rhaenyras
mouth, hand moving to catch the weight of the babe between her legs as she continued to push.

Suddenly it was quiet.

The grip on your hand faltered.

The midwives watched on as your mother collapsed to the floor, pained breaths and gasps flowing
from her mouth. No-one moved. No-one spoke.

All that could be heard was the silence of the room. Such an awful, awful silence. What would
usually be a room full of the sounds of a babe crying, was now the emptiness of space.

Why was it so quiet?

You looked down at your mother to see the bloody body of your sister, who did not move, nor did
she cry, nor did she breathe. The stillness of the room was unbearable, and you found a sob work
its way from your mouth as you watched your mother wrap the stillborn in her shift, pulling it up to
her chest as she slowly began to rock.

Footsteps filled the silent room and you turned to see your father, watching your mother rock back
and forth. Rage bubbled up inside you as he stood there at the entrance. He did not walk forward,
he did not try to console her, or see what was wrong.

The Rogue Prince merely stood there and watched.

Your feet carried you before your mind knew what you were doing, storming up to your father
looking at his face, which looked all the more shamed.

“Get. Out.” You hissed. Staring up at your father, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He did not react, simply looked down at you sadly.

“Get-“ You hand went to hit him but he caught you gently, sighing.

“Not here.” He muttered, holding your hand to bring you out of the chambers, your head turned to
look at your mother one last time as she still rocked with the babe she had just lost. You let your
father pull you from the room.

You had lost your sister.

“You left her!” You spat, rising up on your toes to get in your fathers face, “You left her when she
needed you! I needed you! And where were you? Plotting a war you have always wanted! Do you
even care about us? Do you even love us? Or does your thirst for the crown weigh of more
importance to you?”

Your fathers grip tightened on your arm, “Dont.” He growled.

“No. Let go of me.” You wriggled in his grasp trying to rip your arm from his, but his hold did not
falter, nor did his gaze.

“Y/n.” He whispered.

“Let me go!” You cried pushing at his body with your other hand, grief overwhelming your rage as
you began to sob.

“Tala.” (Daughter) He uttered and finally you stilled.

Your neck craned up to look at him. His face blurred in your vision from your tears. You tried so
desperately to fight it. To push down the tide that began to swell inside you but you couldn't stop it.

You felt your lips tremble as a sob ripped from your chest. The Rogue Prince was quick to act,
pulling you to him, clutching you against his chest.

“Nyke vaoreznuni.” (I’m sorry.) He whispered into your hair as he clutched you close, allowing
you to sob into his chest, feeling all of the days losses crawl up on you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered over and over as he held you, his lips atop your head and he pressed soft
kisses into your hair.

Sorry doesn’t cut it.

Sorry doesn’t bring back your sister. Sorry doesn’t give your mother relief. Sorry doesn’t take
away how he just abandoned her in her need. Sorry does not erase the pain.

Grunting you pushed away from him, sniffling and looked up at him in disgust.

“Fuck you.” You sneered before storming away.

The Prince did not chase you.

Your thoughts ran to your brothers.

You needed to find Lucerys, to see if he was okay.

You could not face Jace at this moment.

It was a terrible thing to be so angry. A terrible thing to be so bitter, and envious and almost
vengeful. You knew you should not envy him. But you did all the same.

In your mind, you had always known that it was likely for Jacaerys to be named Heir instead of
you, but still you felt a keen sting of rejection and anger.

You walked towards Lucerys’ chambers, coming to the door quickly before entering with a soft
knock. He sat on his chaise, looking down at his hands, but once he heard you enter he looked up
in anticipation.

“Is she…” He trailed off.

You shook your head, feeling a lump form in the back of your throat.

“The babe didn’t make it.” You whispered sadly.

“Mother is…” You stumbled on your words, “Grieving.”

Lucerys looked at his hands sadly as you sat beside him.

You grasped the young boy's hand firmly, holding it in your lap, unsure of what to say.

It was silent again. You didn’t know how much you could hate silence until today. It made your
hands fidget and your legs jump. What you once sought solace in, now haunted you.

“It’s going to be okay.” Lucerys spoke, strength in his voice.

Your sweet brother, trying to be strong for you, trying to hold you together as your pieces began to
crumble. You sniffed sharply, sitting up straighter, hand squeezing his.

“Where is Daemon?” He asked, and you shook your head sternly, gritting your teeth.

The only sounds in the room were your soft sniffles and the crackling sounds of the fire. You did
not know what to say, and for once, words escaped you. You did not know how to comfort your
brother. You did not know how to even comfort yourself. Fresh tears begin to fall. They rolled
down your cheeks, their salty tracks dripping from your chin into your lap.

Lucerys turned his head to watch you cry gently. The young boy looked so lost, so unsure how to
comfort you. And although you never told him, just his presence was enough. Enough so, that you
had hoped your presence had soothed your mother the same way.

You sat together in the room for hours, holding onto each other, not daring to move lest the other
be disturbed until you were called. Perhaps if you did not move, it did not happen. It had all been
just a terrible dream.

But it was real. And it happened. And soon reality came to crash down on the both of you.

A soft knock at the door stirred you both from your grieving. Your knight Ser Darke, came to
collect you both as Jacaerys stood behind him waiting with a far away look in his eye.

Clearing your throat you stood, brushing down your gown and soothing your hair, before walking
wordlessly out the door, the boys following behind. Always following you. Always leading them.

Now, never to truly lead.

Together you walked through the castle. With every step, you felt your heart give and your eyes
burn, but you would not cry. Not anymore. Not now.

Not when they needed you.

The sun had slowly begun to sink lower into the sky as you walked out onto the cliffside of
Dragonstone, the grass and dirt crushed under your every step. In front of you lay the giant candled
stone, wax melted off of it on all sides from years of ceremonies and rituals. Hundreds of years
worth of wax and flame. Your mother and father stood before it whilst large flames licked the
sides.

Rhaenyra was dressed and her hair had been combed neatly behind her. She wore no large braids.
And although she had been dressed, and her hair had been brushed, she was still just as pale as you
had saw her hours earlier, and her hair just as slick from sweat.

You all watched as Princess Rhaenyra gently placed your deceased sister atop the flames,
shoulders stuttering with silent sobs. She stood, in a way that only someone in physical and mental
pain would. All watched as the Princess and Prince mourned the loss of their daughter.

All was quiet.

And none spoke, nor whispered, nor cried loudly at the scene. Though silent tears were shed for
the loss, there was no humanly grief to be heard. All that could be heard but the crackling of the
flames.

You watched alongside your brothers, the younger Joffrey standing with you not quite
understanding what was happening, though his face held a sadness that no young child should.

Your father watched Rhaenyra as she didn’t once take her eyes from the flames. Dark plumes of
smoke rose into the air, whilst a soft breeze caressed the long tresses of hair at your mothers back.
The approaching sound of a knight alerted the guards around your mother and father, their attention
to the intruder causing your father to turn and watch.

Rhaenyra did not turn.

The sharp sound of two swords being drawn cut through the silence. The Prince watching behind
the guards, hands on the hilt of the Dark Sister blade. You stepped forwards towards them both,
your brother Jacaerys hand coming to stop you.

You shook off his hand.

Walking up towards the Kings guard was a man you recognised as Ser Eryyk Cargyll. A twin and
member of the Knights Watch back in Kings Landing.

“I mean no harm, brothers.” He called out.

The Princess still did not turn around, hypnotised by the flames burning her loss in front of her.
Ser Eryyk reached up and pulled away the helmet from his head whilst two swords were drawn on
him, ready to strike him down at any moment. At their recognition of him, the other guards
lowered their sword whilst your father slowly stalked towards him. Ser Eryyk walked closer and
knelt down bowing.

Movement caught your eye. Finally your mother turned, resting her tired gaze on the man before
her. Her face was gaunt, eyes tired and dark. You wished to hold her. One of Ser Eryyk's hands
reached into the dark leather satchel on his side, pulling out your grandsire's crown. It looked as it
did the last time you saw it.

You watched as the Knight held it out to your mother.

“I swear to ward the Queen…” His voice called out, “With all my strength… and give my blood
for hers.”

Daemon walked forward in disbelief, grasping the crown before him, holding it delicately in his
hands as though it may disappear. A piece of his brother in his hands, the only thing he had left.

“I shall take no wife…” the knight continued, “hold no lands… father no children. I shall guard her
secrets…”

You watched as your mother began to approach Daemon, looking at his hands holding the circlet.
Light from the setting sun causes the gold to shine.

“Obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honour.” Ser Eryyk continued his
vows, and knelt down watching your father intently.

Daemon looked at the knight in disbelief before turning to look at your mother, who still watched
from afar as she slowly stalked forward in shock. Walking closer, Rhaenyra stood before Daemon
as he lifted the crown of her father to place it gently atop her head. It fit perfectly. You watched in
awe as a new feeling burst through your chest.

Pride.

Pride is what you felt now.

Your mother with her rightful crown. Your mother as the rightful Queen to the Seven Kingdoms.
Your mother. Daemon knelt down in front of her and you followed after, resting your knee on the
grass below you, your skin digging into the soil as you bowed your head before looking back up at
your mother.

She held the crown well.

A true Queen.

“My Queen.” The Rogue Prince whispered to her, his gaze holding hers.

Behind you was the sounds of all present kneeling into the ground below them. The coats and
armour moving, followed by the sounds of grass being crushed.

Her eyes caught yours and you bowed your head. Butterflies running wild in your stomach.

You lifted your head and watched as your mother looked out at all of you, her sights looking past
you holding her gaze onto someone. You turned your head to see Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never
Was, standing up the back. Her granddaughters, Rhaena and Baela knelt before her for their Queen.
Princess Rhaenys took no knee.

Queen Rhaenyras eyes came back to you, as her guards walked forward towards her, escorting her
up the path and back into the castle as you all followed.

You trailed behind her with your brothers, your head held high.

Your mother, the Queen, true born heir to the Iron Throne and the rightful ruler of the realm.

No words were spoken once again, nothing but murmurs of “My Queen.” from those she passed, as
they bowed their heads to their new Queen.
 The Usurper

The Chamber of the Painted Table was lined with guards and knights. Your mothers supporters
and families all standing around its sides. It was stuffy despite the expanse of the room.

Candles were placed under the table in order to light the carvings, a glowing map of the realm
outlining the many lands. Winterfell sat at the north of the table, an engraved castle and triangles
to signify the terrain. The rivers looked like long glowing veins, connecting all of the realm
together.

Rhaenyra was the last in the room to arrive.

You and your father stood proudly at the head of the table as she arrived. Your anger towards him
singed your veins, but now was not the time. He had motioned for you to stand with him, noting
that your brothers were off to the side and you had obeyed.

You thought that Jacaerys should be where you stood, now that Rhaenyra had officially named
him her successor.

Why had Daemon not brought him to his side?

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the
First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Daemon's voice rang loudly
through the room, all bowed to show their respect.

All but Rhaenys, who you eyed warily.

“Your Grace.” Your father spoke once more, addressing Rhaenyra who stood tall with the crown
seated upon her head. A large black cloak was held together by a clasp over her shoulders, with a
deep red lining peeking through.

Your mother moved towards the table, and the Queens guards stepped forward with her. You
watched as your mother looked uncomfortable by their movement before she motioned with her
hand gently for them to stay put.

Rhaena stepped forth with a goblet, holding it out towards your mother with steady hands.

“Wine, My Queen.” She spoke gently, smiling upwards. Rhaenyra hesitated, before grasping the
goblet.

“Thank you, Rhaena.” She paused, before nodding her head towards the table, “Come.''

Your mothers first deed as Queen was to bring women to the table.

But you were already there waiting.

As they walked, she motioned to your cousin/sister Baela to join her to stand in front of the table,
opposite you. Rhaenyra stared at her King Consort Daemon.

The air was still.

The tension in the air was palpable and you felt unease spread through the Lords on the sides. You
waited for her to address the room, but before she did that her eyes flicked to yours, lips slightly
pursing before looking back at her husband.

“What is our standing?” The Queen asked.

“We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms.” Your father listed off before
continuing, “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army
leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some
support there but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

Maester Gerardys leant forward to speak, “We already have declarations from Celtigar and
Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.”

Your mother pointed to the map, slender finger stretched towards the Vale, “My Lady mother was
an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

Jacaerys stepped forward and began to place markers on the lands of our allies. His stern face
concentrated on the task ahead. How he had changed so suddenly, the boy you knew was now a
man.

Jacaerys could no longer be a boy, he was now next in line for the throne. The successor. The heir
to the realm.

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace.” Spoke the Maester, “With Prince
Daemons acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Your fathers eyes did not move from the table, and you felt the urge to speak.

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed.” You argued, “He will need to be convinced of the
strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.”

Your mother watched you, eyes proud as you addressed the room, though something else was
present.

“I’m going to treat with him myself.” Came the smooth timbre of your father, as he did not once
look at you, instead eyed your mother.

There was an undeniable tension between the two.

Steffan Darklyn’s soft voice carried across the table, “What of Storms End and Winterfell?”

Another man who you believed to be Bartimos responded, “There has never lived a Stark who
forgot an oath. And with House Stark, the North will follow.”

Queen Rhaenyras face twitched in thought, “Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of
his fathers promises.”

A knight with short grey hair stepped forward to grasp at a different shaped marker. He placed the
ace shaped metal roughly onto the seat of House Baratheon.

Jacaerys timidly stepped forward, softly placing a new marker over Rooks nest. Your mother
turned to address Princess Rhaenys, who stood behind watching from afar.

“What news from Driftmark?”

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone.”

“To declare for his Queen.” Came the petty reply of your father.

“The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke. He decides where they sail.” Came Rhaenys' curt
reply.

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea
Snakes return to good health.” The Queen spoke. Rhaenys bowed her head and smiled. “There's no
port on the Narrow Sea would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.”

“And our enemies?” Your mother continued, turning to look at the table once more, awaiting for
her council to respond.

“We have no friends among the Lannisters.” Your father sneered.

You huffed a laugh continuing for your father, “Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn
against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

Your mother gave you another look, something she hadn’t given you before. It almost set you on
edge.

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to finding allies west of the Golden Tooth.” Rhaenyra
replied.

An ace shaped marker was set above River Run on the table.

Daemon looked down at the table, hands fiddling in front of him subtly, “The Riverlands are
essential, Your Grace.”

An old man, with little to no white hair left on his head, robes of black and red stood forward,
“Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace,” He bowed towards your father before turning to look at
your mother, “But talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this
world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Your mother liked across the table incredulously, “The Greens have dragons as well.”

Your father's sharp voice interrupted your mother.

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syndor, Syrax, Caraxes and Meleys.”

“Our sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer.” He finished.

“Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war.” The Queen argued.

“There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing
dwell on Dragonmont, still riderless.” Your father shot back.

Your hands tightened at your sides.

“They are riderless for a reason.” You snipped but he continued, “There are three wild dragons, all
of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Your mother asked, her tone mocking her husband.

“Dragonstone has thirteen to their four.” Your father started, but you cut him off once more.

“Yet only one has seen war, and that is the one-eyed cravens. Aemond rides the largest and one of
the oldest dragons in the world. Vhagar has seen war and has won it. Do we not see this as a
disadvantage?” You argued.

Your father ignored you, still looking at your mother, where Rhaena stood shyly beside her.

“I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont.” Daemon roughly placed the Dark
Sister blade against the table and walked around to the side beside Jacaerys.

“Now we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” He roughly
picked up and placed a metal marker on the table, the clunk echoing through the room, “Here, at
Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround Kings Landing with dragons.” He continued excitedly.

“And we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.” His
head turns to look at you, then back at your Queen, who stood still angrily staring at the Rogue
Prince.

Before your mother could respond, Ser Eryyk came walking from behind, “Your Grace, a ship has
been sighted offshore: a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Your heart raced in your chest and you rushed to walk to your mothers side, your father bellowing
out a command to the room.

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies.” He barked, racing back to the head of the table to grab the
Dark Sister blade before leaving the chambers.

You looked to your mother who stared impassively at the table.

“My Queen,” You said gently, “Do you wish for me to mount Syndor?” You asked softly, Rhaena
standing beside you waiting for commands from Rhaenyra.

A beat passed before your mother turned her head to you, looking you up and down before
responding, voice strong and decisive.

“No. Go with Daemon.” And with that she turned to leave the chambers, all those present bowing
as she passed, before moving to their duties.

Your feet carried you swiftly to catch up with your father, the sight of his silver hair moving with
the breeze of his pace making you speed further.

“Kepa.” You called, as you tried to catch up.

He did not turn.

“Kepa.” You called again. He did not stop nor did he falter. You stopped in your place.

You would not chase him.

“Kepa!” You yelled, and finally his steps came to a slow halt. The man turned his head, not to
look at you, but to show you his profile indicating that he was listening. You walked to stand in
front of him.

“Are you so impatient to start a war that you wish to demean mother in front of her own council?
Her own men?” You accused, breaths coming out roughly through your nose.

The Rogue Prince did not reply, instead looked at you with a blank face.
“Do you truly have nothing to say to me?” You asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

Silence.

You felt if there was any more silence after today you would go mad.

“Answer me!” You shoved his broad chest, hands slapping roughly against him.

The Prince did not budge, though his eyes softened.

“We are wasting time.” He muttered, turning on his heel to start walking as you stood in shock.

Your father had a habit of being a cunt to people, but you were never on the receiving end of it.

“You are a coward.” You gritted through your teeth.

The King Consort stopped abruptly, turning around once more to march back up to you.

“I have lost more in one day than you could ever imagine.” He growled. “Move.” He flicked his
head to the side and began to walk.

You sniffed, straightening yourself before walking beside him. The walls of the castle were lined in
lit torches as the sun began to set. But a shadow had begun to fall over your family.

Knights and guards walked behind the two of you as you marched out the front of the large stone
doors, before beginning down the winding path outside. As you looked behind you in search of
your mother, you saw the castle. It was lit with flames along its sides and in the pathways. The
sun's final rays giving the large stone walls an ominous glow.

You looked back at your father, who had slowed his steps for you to catch up. As you returned to
his side he looked down at you, face stern yet his eyes soft.

“You know that I love you deeply, and I know that you wish to tear my head off. Though you must
learn there is a time and a place, and now is not the time, nor the place.”

You went to open your mouth to argue but he beat you to it, “You may scorn me later. For now,
you must control your anger and your tongue.”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, tasting the bitter tang of copper as your teeth cut through the
soft flesh. Hands curled into tight fists before releasing them you took a large breath in, holding as
you continued down the path before releasing it roughly though your nose.

A large circular space opened on the path, and you stood with your father waiting. Ahead of you, a
large stone entrance to the castle. Large steel doors opened wide for the unwelcome guests with
two large watch towers flanking each side.

As you stood you watched the doorway, waiting for the sight of the Greens.

Anticipation prickled your skin, and you felt a wave of anxiety course through you as you looked
to the skies. It was beginning to become overcast with large clouds forming above you. You
wondered if you would hear ‘Dracarys’ called from above by your uncle.

Though not much time had passed, the anticipation made it feel like an eternity. Daemon paced in
front of you, his restlessness making you uneasy, though you schooled your nerves. You walked
forward to intercept your fathers next pace, holding his hand gently before nodding your head
upwards.
There, at the gates came the figure of Otto Hightower, behind him half a dozen men. You could
tell that your father was itching to use his sword, hand resting atop the hilt of it, fingers strumming
loudly against the metal.

“Gīda aōla, kepa.” (Calm yourself, father.) You gently spoke, hoping to put the man in front of you
at ease.

By now, Otto and his men had reached the open space in the path before you. He stood in hideous
green robes, a trim of fur around the collar, with the pin of the Hand sitting snuggly upon his
breast.

His hair was fluffed back by the winds of his journey on the sea, and you thought he looked
awfully uncomfortable, though smug. You noted one of the Maesters from Kings Landing stood
behind him.

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name,
Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” Came the pompous drone of Otto Hightower.

The Rogue Prince's hands were both on Dark Sister as you stood beside him watching. Your
fathers head tilting to the side. You knew he was thinking of slaying Otto in the same manner he
did the younger Valeryon Prince.

“I’ve been directed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra. Where is the Princess?” He
asked.

Your father simply nodded in agitation.

No words were spoken as you both stared at Otto Hightower and behind you, the large screech of
Syrax resonated throughout the sky. Both you and your father watched calmly as Otto's eyes were
drawn to the noise behind you.

The sounds of beating wings flowed above you, and a gust of wind moved your hair.

Above you was your mother, crown strong upon her head as she rode Syrax. The great golden
dragon let out a loud roar as it flew behind Otto and his men. Otto tensed, body rigid as he watched
the dragon land behind them, trapping him and his men between Daemon and Syrax.

The Rogue Prince smirked with pride as he watched Queen Rhaenyra’s dragon cause Otto's men to
clutch their swords in fear, ducking as Syrax screeched loudly into the air. You let out a small huff
of a laugh, your father eyeing you from the side as you could not contain the joy of witnessing their
fear.

Your mother sat proudly atop the dragon as it bellowed, lowering itself to let Rhaenyra dismount,
before walking through the men to come stand beside you and your father. She did not pass a
glance to Otto, and his face held shock as he witnessed King Viserys crown atop her head.

“Princess Rhaenyra.”

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now.” Your mother spoke, “And you all are traitors to the realm.”

“King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering
terms.” Hightower's eyes slid to your figure beside your father before looking back at the woman in
front of him.

“Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, His
Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your true born son, Jacaerys,
upon your death.”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Dragonstone was yours to claim. Dragonstone
was to be your holding, not Jacaerys'.

You sucked in an angry breath, fingers curling into your palm sharply.

“Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark,” Otto continued. Your father
shifted on his feet, both hands on two separate swords now as he looked at you, then to your
mother, watching for her word.

“And all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be
given places of high honour at court.”

Your father stiffened beside your mother. You watched him in your periphery as you knew that
these ‘offers’ were to insult your family further, especially Daemon, who had a long standing
history of hatred between himself and Otto.

The Hightower continued, “Aegon the Younger as the King's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer.
Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any Knight or Lord who conspired against his
ascent.”

Your mind was reeling.

Your name had not been mentioned.

Had Aegon forgot of your existence? Or were you, as a woman not important enough in the Greens
eyes to be given any ‘grace’ from the King.

Daemon itched forward sneering, “I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry
shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.”

Your lips twitched into a smirk as you watched the prideful mask of Otto Hightower slip at your
fathers profanity.

Though just as quick as the mask slipped, it was put back, “Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne.
He wears the Conquerors crown, wields the Conquerors sword,-”

“Does Aegon even know how to pick up a sword? Besides the little one he stuffs inside half of
Flea Bottom?” You sneered. Your father huffed a laugh beside you.

Otto continued as though you were not there, “-Has the Conqueror's name. He was anointed by a
Septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And
then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses that have also received, and are at present,
considering generous terms from their King.”

“Stark, Tully and Baratheon all swore to me when King Viserys named me his heir.” Queen
Rhaenyra spoke.

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess.”

Otto began to stalk forwards, the knights behind your mother clutching their swords, “The
succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see
the truth of it.”
Your mother stormed forward, rushing Otto, his guards behind him reaching for their swords. Her
hand grasped the pin of the Hand on his breast, ripping it off of him.

“You are no more Hand than Aegon is King.” She sneered, flinging the pin over the walkway into
the depths below.

“Fucking traitor!” She hissed, close to his face.

You took two steps forward, as you watched the knights behind Otto become anxious, tipping back
and forth on their feet waiting for a command.

Queen Rhaenyra's shoulders moved with every harsh breath, anger rolling through her in waves.

“Aegon is not fit to rule, anyone with two eyes could see that. Though I suppose with your one-
eyed craven it may be hard to look past a man who falls asleep in his cup.” You growled, stepping
closer to your mother.

Otto looked at you as if you were nothing, treated you as though you were nothing, holding your
gaze as you heaved angry breaths.

“Grand Maester.” Otto called, eyeing your mother again.

The Maester stepped forward, chains on his robes noisily clinking as he reached his hand into the
arm of his robe. Your body twitched as he produced a sheet of paper, handing it to Otto silently.

“What the fuck is this?” The King Consort growled, as Otto handed an old torn piece of paper to
your mother.

Rhaenyra faltered as she opened it, staring down at the worn page.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. No blood need be spilled,
so the realm can carry on in peace.” He spoke quietly to your mother before starting again.

He turned to look at you, “And yours. The Queen wished to encourage you to accept Prince
Aemond's offer in marriage.”

He looked back to your mother, your breath was caught in your chest.

You wanted to scream.

“Princess Y/n would live out her days in the Red Keep with Prince Aemond, who is the second son
of King Viserys. Third in line for the Iron Throne. The Princess would have access to all in Kings
Landing and would be treated fairly and kindly by the Prince. Queen Alicent believes this is a way
for us to further unify our families with the King's gracious offers. Queen Alicent eagerly awaits
your answer.” He concluded.

Your fathers voice cracked through the air, “She can have her answer now, stuffed in her fathers
mouth along with his withering cock.” He threatened.

You lifted your head higher looking down at Otto as your mother shook her head softly, a tear
falling down her cheek.

“Let's end this mummer's farce.” Your father barked, unsheathing Dark Sister from his side, his
knights behind him following.
This set off a chain reaction, the knights behind Otto drew their swords, awaiting a command from
the withered old man in front of them.

You stood strong, unflinching in the space between your mother and father, unwavering from your
spot. You wished to see Otto's blood spilled upon the ground at your feet. The viscous liquid could
seep deeply into your pores and all would be well.

“Ser Eryyk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself.” Your father
commanded, Rhaenyra looking back at him as she stayed quiet.

Syrax roared behind Otto and his men, the dragon sensing your mothers unease. The large golden
beast reared back, flapping its wings agitatedly.

“No.” Came the strong voice of your mother, as she peered back at you and your father.

Prince Daemon sheathed his sword at her behest.

“Kings Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” Queen Rhaenyra concluded, before swiftly
turning away from Otto and his men.
 A scramble for allies
Chapter Notes

Otto is such a twat.... why do I wanna fuck him though. hmmm

You all walked together to the chambers of the Painted Table. Your brothers being summoned to
join along with the many Lords and other allies. After Otto's visit and ‘offers’ the castle seemed to
have been set alight with new vigour. The soft embers of war began to glow.

“It’s no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons. And have. The
simple truth is this: We have more dragons than Aegon.” Daemon addressed the room.

“Viserys spoke often of the Valyrian histories. I know them well. When dragons flew to war…”
Queen Rhaenyra looked across the room, “Everything burned. I do not wish to rule over a kingdom
of ash and bone.”

“Are you considering the Hightowers terms, Your Grace?” Lord Bartimos asked.

“As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I
sit on the Iron Throne, no matter the cost?” Rhaenyra asked.

“That’s your father talking.” Growled Daemon, pushing away from the table angrily.

Your mother snapped back, “My fathers dead. And he chose me as his successor…” Your father
paced to the fireplace behind the table, “To defend the realm. I will not cast it headlong into war.”

“Well, the enemy have declared war. What are you going to do about it?” The Rogue Prince
shouted. Your two brothers jumped as they turned to him behind them.

You grit your teeth and respond, “That is what we are doing here. If we dive into a war
unprepared, we could lose everything.”

You paused as the room looked to you before you continued, “Though I do cast my doubts on the
terms Aegon has offered. How do we know that they will not slay us all at the next moment?”

“We don’t.” Jacaerys responded.

Your mother still stared at your father in anger, before commanding everyone with a biting voice,
“Clear the room.”

Her eyes never left the form of your agitated father.

All turned to leave, the Queen and King staring from opposite sides of the table. As you moved
with your brothers to exit, you saw Princess Rhaenys smirking proudly at your mother.

The scraping pull of agitation coursed through you as you watched the back of Jacaerys head as he
and Luc walked in front of you. He is the successor, and if your mother accepts the Greens' terms,
he will have Dragonstone and not you.

You would be sent to marry your uncle, living a worse fate than the rest. You would be
manoeuvred about the board in this game of thrones. You would have no will, no freedom, and
almost nothing to give for it.

You wished at that very moment that you had a cock between your legs rather than a cunt.

Sucking in a sharp breath you breathed deeply. Jacaerys did not ask for this, and was adamant on
you being successor and not him. You would not lash out on your own kin simply because of the
distressing day.

You needed to school your anger, to not bite like a dog hit.

After the trying day, you and your brothers made your way to your chambers to retire, asking Ser
Darke to have your maids prepare and bring meals for all of you in your separate chambers.

You needed to be alone.

As you entered your chambers you felt the day begin to truly chip away at your patience. The
stifled air of the room stirring the day's grief and anger, thoughts twisting their way through your
mind cruelly.

You slammed the door of your chambers shut before letting out a guttural cry, swiping your hand
across the table, sweeping the lit candles and metal chalices onto the floor in a large crash.

Heaving breaths wracked your frame as you felt the rage turn to grief, sobs spilling from your lips
as you collapsed to the floor.

Grandsire was dead. Your sister was dead. Your mothers throne had been stolen. Your father had
become emotionally absent, and the weight of your family's safety sat on your shoulders with a
proposal to your uncle.

Jacaerys had been named successor as you stood right there and watched.

You had done nothing, you had said nothing. You were craven in every way.

You felt entirely helpless. Stopping a war by accepting the terms would prevent immeasurable
loss, but then you and your youngest brothers would be kept at Kings landing for the King and
Aemond's entertainment.

What was the greater loss?

An emptiness settled in your stomach as it twisted with anxiety, causing you to feel sick. The stone
floors beneath you were cool to the touch and rough as your knees dug sharply into them.

You cried alone in your chambers until a soft knock came at the door.

Sniffing sharply you stood, smoothing your gown and wiping your face roughly with the back of
your hand. You breathed deeply and pushed all your grief, all your sorrow and rage deep into the
pit in your stomach, willing them away.

Walking towards the fireplace, you stood beside it, looking into the fireplace, your back turned
from the doors. You coughed as you bid them to enter. The door to your chambers opened softly
and the familiar steps of your maids came through the door.
“Your meal, Princess.” Saria’s voice was soft and kind.

“Thank you. You may go.” You responded, not turning around to look at them as you spoke.

“Yes, Princess.” They both said, as you waited to turn after the sound of your chambers doors
closed once more.

As you walked to the table and looked at the meat and bread on the table, with steaming green
vegetables on the side, you felt your stomach clench. Beside your meal was a chalice of honeyed
wine, the scent wafting through the air strongly.

Tentatively you grabbed bread from the plate, still standing, and pulled it apart gently in your
hands, placing the soft food into your mouth to chew.

Before long, you had sat down and ate your meal, slowly but completely. The vegetables having
gone cold by the time you ate them. You had sipped softly at your wine, deliberating what you
needed to do.

Though all you could do was heed the command of your Queen and father. You were not going to
mistake yourself for having a choice now. To believe women had a choice was an illusion.

A deluded illusion indeed.

Slowly you dragged yourself to bed, stripping your gown from your body, its heavy weight sinking
to the floor as you stepped over it and made your way to crawl into the plush sheets in front of you.

That night you did not struggle to sleep. Exhaustion dragged you down into a heavy slumber
almost immediately and you found yourself dreaming of dragons and fire.

As you woke the next morning, your mind felt foggy, thoughts seeming to have difficulty sticking
inside of your mind. Your eyes opened wearily as you stared at the stone ceiling above you. Eyes
tracing every groove and divot as you laid still in your sheets, chest rising and falling idly, doing
anything but face the day. The soft sheets of your bed brought little comfort to you, as your mind
began to reel from the previous day's events.

Tears stung your eyes, before you flicked them away hastily with your lashes, breathing a deep sigh
before pushing your body upwards in bed to lean against the board behind you. You sat in the
stillness of the room for some time, waiting for something else to happen, something just as
horrific as the day past, but nothing came. All there was, was the soft breaths from your chest and
the whispers of waves from the balcony.

Your joints protested as you slid your legs to the side of the bed, slowly inching your way forward
to lean your head in your hands, elbows digging into the flesh of your thighs.

A heavy sigh fell from your lips as you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes, willing the
tension behind them to desist, yet no matter how hard you pushed nothing changed. All there was,
were tiny stars dancing behind your closed eyes and the tension building with each rub.

A knock at the door jarred you from your brooding, back straightening and throat clearing the
morning rest from your body as you called out for those to enter.

Saria and Aella walked in slowly, seemingly walking on eggshells as they approached your
chambers. In Saria’s hands were a golden tray full of fruits and bread, whilst Aella held a decanter
and chalice of golden juice. Both bowed as they entered, slowly walking to the table in the centre
of the room to place the breakfast down gently, careful to not make sudden movements or sounds.
“Good morrow, Princess.” Came the soothing voice of Saria, the eldest girl cautiously eyeing you
as she spoke.

You nodded softly before standing to make your way over to the table and the two girls stepped
back swiftly to make room for you.

As you sat at the table you looked to both of your maids, “Thank you both. Could you please fetch
me a pitcher of water?” You asked gently, as both girls ostensibly relaxed at your demeanour.

“Of course, Princess.” Aella replied, bowing gently before moving to leave the room.

“Oh,” You interrupted their movements as they stood to face you awaiting the next command,
“Please have a gown brought to my chambers so that I may be readied for the day ahead.”

“Yes, Princess Y/n.” Came both voices in unison as they departed your chambers.

The golden tray in front of you had fruits of many kinds, no doubt summoned by your father for
you. Ripe mangoes and apples were sliced in floral shapes, whilst berries of all kinds were draped
and piled around them.

Steaming bread sat sliced neatly on the side, whilst a small tub of butter was placed beside it. At
the top the decadent pile of fruits sat a familiar one. The large yellow star fruit sat pointedly above
the rest, your favourite fruit making the centrepiece of your meal.

Though as you gazed at your once favourite fruit, a new memory came to mind.

The image of your uncle Aemond, sultrily eating the fruit at your last breakfast together twisted
your stomach.

Aemond.

The proposal.

The longer you stared at the fruit the more your mind wandered. You reached out to grab its soft
flesh, stabbing a knife into its centre before ripping it apart angrily, stuffing the sweet sticky flesh
into your mouth, the flavour melting on your tongue.

You would not let him ruin your favourite treat.

As you angrily chewed, your doors opened once more, Aella with a pitcher of water, and Saria
shortly behind her, arms full of dark black cloth. The pitcher of water was placed in front of you as
you began to butter a slice of the warm bread, placing it delicately into your mouth. You chewed
and swallowed, reaching for a glass that was now filled with water, drinking greedily from it to fill
your stomach.

Saria and Aella moved about your room, tidying it as you ate in silence, listening to them fluff the
bed and stoke the flames of the fire. By the time preparations were made, you had finished your
meal, standing to sit by the dresser. Saria stood next to it dutifully as she waited to brush and style
your long hair.

The sides of your hair were pulled back into small braids that wound around each other, twisting at
the back, as the rest of your hair sat loose to cascade down your back.

The dress that Saria had brought was form fitting and black. Two large slits in the front to assist
with walking that only came to mid calf length. Beneath the dress you wore tight black pants, your
leathered boots lacing over the top.

The shoulders of the gown were stiff and flared out, similar to your leather bustier, though each
shoulder had tiny carved out scales, plunging down over your bust, before the waist was cinched
inwards.

The neckline of the dark dress was high, coming up your neck and across your throat. Long sleeves
hugged your arms as dark red dragons were embroidered to crawl up the length of them, curling
flames coming from their open mouths.

Once dressed, you walked swiftly out of the room, making your way down to the Chamber of the
Painted Table. Your footsteps echoed off of the stone walls, face impassive as Ser Darke trailed
behind you.

As you entered the room, your presence was announced. You walked straight to the table, standing
beside your mother as all were gathered around the table discussing plans against the Greens.

Queen Rhaenyra sat down in a chair on the south end of the table, looking down at her hand on the
arm of the chair as she was lost in thought. The men around her argued with each other over what
to do. Your brothers watching along at the side of the table.

You looked about the room, yet could not find your father.

Lord Bartimos’ voice filled the air, “The purpose of war is to fill graveyards, my dear Lord
Staunton. The trick is to put more of their men in the ground than your own.”

Lord Stauntons aggravated voice came in reply, his body tensed as he looked at the older man,
“Easy words for a Lord who commands from the safety of his own castle.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” Came Bartimos’ reply.

You turned looking down at your mother, who still had not looked at you, “Has it been like this all
morning?” You asked but no response came.

Ser Eryyk’s voice boomed over the others, silencing them as he announced the arrival of Lord
Corlys.

“The Lord of the Tides! Lord Corlys Velaryon, and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

All looked to the entrance.

There stood your grandsire, dark skin shined with an air of sickness, hair perfectly pulled back as
he leant heavily on a cane. Princess Rhaenys stood beside him, dressed in all black, whilst Rhaena
and Baela stood behind them both.

All that could be heard as they entered, was their soft footsteps and the loud clunk of his cane as
they descended the steps to join the table.

Your mother stood from her seat, turning to watch them enter in anticipation.

“My Lords.” Lord Corlys spoke to the room.

“Lord Corlys.” Your mother greeted him bowing her head gently, “It brings much relief to see you
hale and healthy again.”

Lord Coryls gave her a brief nod, “I’m very sorry about your father, Princess.”
Your teeth clenched in your jaw. She was Queen now, and he knew it. Princess Rhaenys bowed her
head to look down at his comment, whilst you stared at him coldly.

“He was a good man.” The Lord of the Tides continued.

Rhaena and Baela moved away from their grandparents, walking up the table to stand beside their
betrothed who stood at the north of it.

Corlys seemed to have noted your fathers absence, asking the room as he looked around, “Where is
Daemon?”

“There were other concerns which demanded the Prince’s attention.” Came your mother's swift yet
strained reply.

Lord Corlys hummed.

Corlys limped to the table, the cane beating with every step, as he looked across the table, noting
the small markers on the map.

“Your declared allies?” He asked.

Your mother joined him at the table as you followed beside her, moving further up the table.

“Yes.”

“Too few to win a war for the throne.” Corlys said pointedly.

Your mothers face tensed as she looked at him.

“Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.” She
started, though he intercepted.

“Hope… is the fool's ally.”

“Both Arryns and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.” She
spoke angrily.

“As did House Hightower…if I remember.”

“As did you, Lord Corlys.” She reminded him, watching him closely. He blinked.

The tall man turned to face his grandchildren, all who now stood at the head of the table together,
side by side, before he cast his gaze to you, who stood alone behind him.

He smiled softly.

“Your fathers realm…was one of justice and honour. Our houses are bound by common blood and
common cause.” He paused, and you all waited in anticipation.

“This Hightower treason cannot stand.” He declared loudly, looking about the room, before
looking back to your brothers and cousins.

You watched your mother give a sigh of relief.

“You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your Grace.”
Queen Rhaenyra looked relieved and moved by his words, “You honour me, Lord Corlys.” She
turned behind her to look at Princess Rhaenys, who was smiling softly at your mother, “Princess
Rhaenys.”

“But as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united.
If war's first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.”

“You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them
to war.”

Lord Corlys limped towards your mother, and although he held his weight with a cane, he still
stood strong.

“The consequence of my… near-demise in the Stepstones… is that we now control them.” He
looked around the table. “I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the
shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow
Sea is ours.”

Queen Rhaenyra looked out at the table in shock of the news.

Lord Corlys continued.

“If we… further sealed the Gullet,” His hand rested above the carving Driftmark and Dragonstone,
moving inwards as he spoke “We can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to Kings Landing.”

“This changes everything then.” You spoke loudly to the table, “If we control the trade routes,
Kings Landing can be cut off from all imports. Our recent stay in the Red Keep, I noted that many
of their food was being imported from the south,” You looked across the table, your mother
watching you unmoving.

“I had not witnessed many star fruits come to Kings Landing unless specifically brought by Prince
Daemon.” You concluded.

Princess Rhaenys moved to stand beside your mother, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet
myself.”

Queen Rhaenyra and Princess Rhaenys stared at each other, the older Princess offering her an
assuring smile, your mother looking away to the table.

“When we drain the Narrow Sea,” Spoke Bartimos, “We can surround Kings Landing, lay siege to
the Red Keep, and force the Greens to surrender.”

Hope swelled in your chest, the days dread lifting away from you.

“If we are to have enough swords to surround Kings Landing,” Your mothers hands came to lean
on the table, “We must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie and Storms End.”

“I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.” Said the Maester.

“We should bear those messages.” Jacaerys' voice interrupted the Maesters movements.

You turned to look at your brother, uncertain of his suggestion.

“Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they’re more convincing.”
“If we fly with dragons, what is to say that the Greens won’t? Flying our dragons could accelerate
aggression from the Hightower’s. It could be seen as an act of war.” You argued.

“What is an act of war,” Your brother glanced at you, “Is usurping the throne.”

You bit your cheeks, fists curling beside you as you steeled a breath to calm yourself. The room
looked at you as they waited for your response. You cleared your throat looking down before back
up at your mother.

“Then we fly.”

Jacaerys leant forward, mirroring your mothers position as he leant on the table, “Send us.”

All eyes were on the heir to the throne, Lucerys beside him shifting with uncertainty. Arrax was far
too small to be making large travels like this, and you all knew it. Lucerys barely had control over
his dragon, let alone Jacaerys and his.

“The Prince is right, Your Grace.” Lord Corlys said.

Queen Rhaenyra seemed to hesitate, and all the air in the room was still in anticipation of her
response.

“Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mothers cousin, the Lady
Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for support of the North.”

Her eyes looked to Lucerys, shifting her eyes from him to you, “Prince Lucerys will fly south to
Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these lords of the oaths they
swore. And… the cost of breaking them.”

Anger boiled inside of you. And what of you? Was she really to keep you here on Dragonstone to
effectively be useless? Or did she have plans to send you straight to the Hightower’s open arms?
You would not stand for it.

“I will accompany Prince Lucerys to Storm's End.” You announced, voice sharp, “Lord Borros is
not his father, his fickleness could be comparable to a small babe.”

You watched as your mothers mouth went to open, to deny you.

“Two Targaryens is a force to be reckoned with.” You continued, voice louder to prevent an
interruption, “I am the eldest child and only daughter of the Queen. I ride the second largest
dragon in the world… Lord Borros would be a fool to not honour his House’s oath to you, Your
Grace.” Your chest stuttered as you fought to repress the angry heaves you sucked in.

Rhaenyra stared for what felt like an eternity, before stiffly nodding her head.

“Princess Y/n shall join Prince Lucerys, flying Syndor to Storm’s End.” She looked to the table
before looking around the room, eyes skipping your figure, “We shall ready our preparations to go
before the day's end.”

And with that she turned and left the room, cloak billowing behind her.

You watched her as she departed, other Lords following behind her though Lord Corlys stood
watching you, face unreadable. You held his gaze, lifting your chin higher waiting for him to
address you.
The Lord of the Tides simply watched you before dipping his head, and limping out of the room,
Princess Rhaenys, Rhaena and Baela following behind.

“Y/n.” Came the voice of Jacaerys beside you, you turned to look at him.

“My Prince.” You addressed him stiffly.

His head cocked to the side, Lucerys standing next to him awkwardly.

“Have I done something to offend you?” He asked.

You huffed a laugh.

“Of course not. Though no-one seems to want to listen to a woman at the table,” You sneered,
“Not even her own brother, who had sworn to her not so long ago that she should be next in line to
the throne.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” Jacaerys spoke softly.

“And I didn’t ask to be born a girl, though neither of us are at fault.” You sighed.

Lucerys shifted uncomfortably beside his brother, looking down and not catching your eye. Oh
Gods...You and your temper. It would be your ruin.

“I'm sorry,” You muttered, “I am exhausted and angry. Every man at the table questions mothers'
decisions and she is their Queen. She is holding restraint just as Grandsire had, and they had
celebrated him for it.”

“It has been a trying time for us all.”

You gave Jace a sheepish nod, hand coming to touch his shoulder gently before you all moved to
prepare to leave.

Once in your chambers, you were fitted with a black cloak, which was held together at the front
with a chain. On each end, two large dragon heads bit down on the fabric. The inside of your cloak
was a deep red.

You were given black leather gloves for the ride, and left your chambers to meet with your brothers
at the entrance to the castle.

Both stood in black and red attire, Jacaerys donning a black cloak and Lucerys donning red. The
younger boy looked anxious again, as he wrung his gloves in his hands, the hilt of the sword at his
side moving with each twist.

“I will be with you the whole time, Lucerys.” You promised, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

You looked up to give Jace a soft smile, before walking down the winding path together, your
mothers figure in the distance. As you walked, you looked out to the sea, the sun's rays getting
lower causing a reddish glow to reflect on the water below.

When you finally reached your mother, she was turned to look out at the ocean. She looked as regal
as ever. Though there was tension in her shoulders.

“It's been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to Gods than to men.” She looked up at all three of
you, “And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven
Kingdoms… We must answer to their Gods.”
“If you take this errand, you go as messengers…” Her eyes focused on yours, “Not as warriors.”

Lucerys looked at you and your brother, who was watching you through the side of his face, “You
must take no part in any fighting.”

“Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

With this, Ser Eryyk stepped forward with a large leather bound tome of the Seven. Lucerys, ever a
mothers boy, stepped forward quickly to place his hand upon it.

Lucerys looked at your mother, “I swear it.”

Jacaerys stepped forward to place his hand on the tome, looking at your mother dutifully, “I swear
it.”

You did not step forward.

Rhaenyras head turned to you, watching you as you stared at each other. You looked to your
brothers and slowly stepped forward, placing your hand upon the tome next to theirs before staring
at your mother.

“I swear it.”

She stared at you for a moment longer before turning her head to Ser Eryyk beside her, “Thank
you.”

He pulled the tome away.

She looked down at the small scrolls in her hands, “Cregan Stark is… close to your age than mine,
I would hope that as men, you can find some common interest.” Her slender hand reached forward,
handing the scroll to Jacaerys who took it gently.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She smiled.

Your mother then looked down at the scroll and back to you, sighing before flicking her eyes to
Lucerys beside you, who stepped forward to your mother.

“Storms End is a short flight from here. Your sister will be with you the entire journey.” She
looked out to the sea, Lucerys' head following her line of sight.

“You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother Rhaenys. And…Lord Borros is an eternally
proud man. He will be honoured to host a Prince,” She paused to look at you, “and Princess of the
realm, and their dragons.” She smiled, looking back at the anxious young boy.

Her hand reached out to grasp his, little finger stroking his hand. You felt your stomach swoop at
the gesture. You loved your brother so dearly, you wished that he would not feel too much weight
on his shoulders for the task.

Releasing his hand, she placed the scroll in his, holding it tight.

“I expect,” She reassured him, “That you will both receive a very warm welcome.”

“Yes, Mother. Y-Your Grace.” Your brother stumbled on his words. Her hand came to stroke his
side as she looked at you.
You nodded deeply to her.

Rhaenyra looked at you all, smiling gently before speaking.

“Get to it then.”
 No turning back

The flight to Storm’s End was not too long of a journey. Arrax flew below you and Syndor, and
you watched as the younger dragon struggled to keep up with your speed.

When you had noticed this, you slowed Syndor down, opting to fly him closer to your brother,
looping below them and up. A tiny laugh barely heard from your brother bursting in the air.

Finally, you and Lucerys were flying together and you had only wished that it had been under better
circumstances.

How many times had he begged you for this? And here you were, flying to Storm's End to remind
a stupid old man of his oaths, and secure your mother on the Iron Throne.

Lucerys was a good dragonrider. Though he and Arrax were young, their bond was irrefutable.
Arrax felt Lucerys and vice versa. It was a joy to watch him grow into a young man, and you could
not wait until they were both fully grown so that you could fly them down to Dorne to pick star
fruits together and eat them fresh from the tree.

The air was cold and had a bite to it, and suddenly you were thankful for your riding gloves. Once
you had ridden without gloves in the cold, and your fingers had become dry and cracked and raw
afterwards.

A lesson you would not forget.

The closer you got to Storm's End, the darker the clouds became. The air around you changed
significantly and became almost static and charged.

You huffed an aggravated sigh, knowing that you may arrive wet from the storm building around
you. Though you could not deny that it was almost expected at a place called Storm’s End.

The storm building in the sky was not unlike the storm building inside of you.

A loud clap of thunder rang across the sky as you flew above Lucerys, the lightning striking across
the clouds before you, lighting up the keep at Storm’s End.

The keep was a large cylindrical tower that sat on the edge of the cliff. Large crashing waves
crawled up the side, looking like arms reaching to hold it and drag it back down into the murky
depths below.

The wind whipped your hair back away from your face, as both of your dragons slowed their wings
to begin to descend down to the ground.

Deep rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning distracting your descent as Arrax landed before
you in the large entrance garden of the keep. Syndor however, was too large to land with him,
opting to move out to the side near the cliff.

The large dragon landed heavily against the ground and bowed for you. You dismounted Syndor,
patting him gently as you walked briskly to join your brother, who still stood beside Arrax, as six
guards stood at the bottom of the steps preventing his entrance.
Above you, the storm began to move in quicker, the thunder and winds getting stronger with each
strike. Once you were at Lucerys' side, you noticed that he hesitated to walk forward. Your hand
reached out, gently touching his shoulder, the young boy's body jumping slightly at the touch.

“It’s okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle smile. "Ivestragī īlva jikagon.” (Let us go.)

Lucerys scratched Arrax’s neck gently as he passed, the small light coloured dragon purring in
response as you walked forward together. The guards of Storm's End all turned to watch you, a
large dome topped building behind them. You moved through the yard heading towards the
entrance of the keep together.

A deep bellow crackled through the sky.

Your stomach dropped.

Lucerys jumped beside you, turning to look back, though you recognised that sound. Behind the
wall of the entrance, the large shadow of Vhagar stood up behind it.

Syndors screech followed in response. The small dragon jerked with anxiety, sensing the bond with
your brother, causing it to react to the sight of the large beast.

The wind picked up, blowing both of your cloaks sideways and you sucked in a stiff breath.

Your uncle was here.

Looking down at Lucerys who still watched Vhagar sitting behind the walls, you dipped your head
towards him subtly.

"Tolvie run kessa sagon mirre paktot, Lucerys.” (Everything will be alright, Lucerys.) You cooed,
giving him a gentle smile, even though your own heart jumped wildly in your chest.

Your brother stepped forward to the guards and you stood tall beside him, “I am Prince Lucerys
Velaryon, this is Princess Y/N Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, sharply turning their heels to lead you both into the stone walls. You smiled at
Lucerys, pride filling you. Flanked on each side by guards, you and your brother walked into a
large hall.

The Hall was darkened, due to the lack of light as only a few torches were lit and affixed to the
wall. The barren room felt cold as you entered, sending a large shiver up your spine.

The keep had no warmth to it, had no life to it, and felt as though it was ready to disembowel itself.
There was no welcoming presence as you arrived, nor joy, or talking to be heard. All there was,
was the storm outside and the echo of your footsteps across the cold stone floors.

Lord Borros sat heavily in a large stone seat before you, two guards on each side, whilst his
daughters stood stiffly away from him, lined perfectly, faces wooden.

Prizes to be won.

Women to be traded for lands, or gold, or alliances.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon and Princess Y/n Velaryon.” The Baratheon’s Knight announced to the
hall.

You stared at Lord Borros, whose eyes roamed your figure. A shiver crawled through your body.
Before you could open your mouth, you felt the hair on your body stand up. You were being
watched. Movement to your side caught your gaze and you turned to see a familiar head of long
white hair.

Aemond.

The One-Eyed Prince stood lazily beside another daughter. A long leg cockily stuck out away from
him as he leant back on his heel, hands clasped behind his back.

Cocky bastard.

You felt Lucerys stiffen beside you.

“Son and daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” The knight continued.

Aemond's eye slid over your body, smirk crawling onto his lips as he then looked to your brother,
the same smirk widening deeper as he watched Lucerys' unease.

A crack of thunder boomed through the room, the lightning glowing inside of the Hall as you
turned your head sharply away from the watchful gaze of your uncle, and back onto the Lord
before you.

“Lord Borros…” Your brother spoke softly, the Lord's hard face staring him down, “We have
brought you a message from my mother…the Queen.” Lucerys voice held strong at the end.

There he was.

“Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the King.” Borros spoke snarkily, “Which is it?
King or Queen?” He asked. “The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He
laughed and you felt rage simmer inside you.

“Queen Rhaenyra is the true born heir to the Iron Throne. The late King Viserys named her his
successor.” You spoke sharply, lifting your head to stare at Lord Borros who smirked at you
meanly.

Aemond shifted in your periphery.

“What's your mothers message?”

Lucerys held his hand out with the scroll holding it out to a knight, who took it from his hand,
walking up to where Borros sat. Though once the scroll was in his hand, Lord Borros yelled out.

“Where's the bloody Maester?” Borros looked about the Hall in search of him.

The Baratheon could not read.

His all imposing demeanour suddenly dwindled in your eyes.

The wind outside whistled through the windows and doors, grumbling thunder breaking the silence
of the room whilst you all waited for the Maester to arrive. You tapped your foot against the stone
impatiently as Lucerys turned to look at Aemond and you followed his eye.

Your uncle stood still, watching you both, face void of anything. His eyepatch sitting snugly upon
his cheekbone, as his usual black leather attire donned his lithe figure.

In that moment you wished to rip the patch away from his face, reveal his eye to the room and the
girl beside him. You wished for all to see what your brother had done to him.

A younger boy no less.

Let it be a reminder of what the mighty House Targaryen can truly do. You smirked cruelly at your
uncle who’s eye twitched in response.

Your brother's hand came up to rest upon the hilt of his blade, the sound of the glove on the metal
made you look down at him. You uttered a soft ’Don’t’ to your brother through your teeth, not
moving your lips.

Footsteps bound into the room as the old Maester ran to Lord Borros’ side whose hand was
impatiently held out with the scroll loosely in his grip.

Reading it, the Maester leant down to whisper the message from the Queen. Lord Borros’ chest
rose and fell heavily with anger as he seethed on the stone chair.

“’Remind’ me of my fathers oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer. My swords and banners
for a marriage pact.”

You looked sharply at Aemond who had not taken his eye from you.

Lord Borros leant forward in his chair, “If I do as your mother bids…which one of my daughters
will you wed…” All three turned to look at their father as he spoke, “boy.”

“You will address him as Prince Lucerys, Lord Borros.” Your voice rang out into the hall, “If you
had sired any sons, my mother would have offered my hand to your House.”

You eyed his daughters as you spoke, “My brother is not free to marry. He is promised to Lady
Rhaena Velaryon and your House swore an oath to Queen Rhaenyra.” You sneered.

“So you come with empty hands.” The man growled.

“Go home, pup, and take your bitch with you.” You tensed at the insult and from the corner of
your eye, you saw Aemond twitch, “And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some
dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

“Lord Borros, I apologise for any confusion but your likeness to a dog is uncanny. I should thank
the Seven that you are unable to sire a son, lest I be forced to birth a litter of pups-”

Your brother cut you off swiftly, voice louder than yours, “I shall take your answer to the Queen,
my lord.” Lucerys turned on his foot and began to leave as you continued to stare at Lord Borros,
before moving to follow him.

“Wait…” Prince Aemond's voice cracked across the room, your steps faltering as you turned
together to look at the tall one eyed man.

“My Lord Strong.” He taunted your brother, yet did not lay his eye on you.

"Uncle.” You responded, sensing Lucerys tense beside you anxious as he shifted from side to side.
Aemond's one eye slid to yours before back to your brother who walked warily into the space
beside you.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at
no cost?” He asked, shifting to stand with his legs wide.
“Your brother usurped the throne from its rightful heir. Your words hold no power of truth.” You
snapped.

“I will not fight you.” Lucerys spoke, “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond sighed, “No.” He reached up to slip the patch off of
his eye, revealing the sapphire stone to you.

Lightning crackled outside, causing the orb to glint in the flash of light. "I want you to put out your
eye," Lucerys shuffled beside you nervously and you walked to stand in front of him.

“As repayment for mine.”

He sneered, hand coming to pull his leather coat to the side, revealing the blade he always carried,
“One will serve.”

He pulled the blade from its sheath, tossing it towards you both. The blade clanged on the ground
loudly, rolling towards your feet, as you stared at him in rage.

“I would not blind you.” He smacked his lips, “Plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

Lord Borros watched cautiously, eyes shifting from you and your brother back to Aemond. You
lifted your chin higher moving to take a step towards the blade hiding Lucerys behind your form
with your own.

“No.” Lucerys replied.

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“The only traitor in this room is you, uncle.” You growled, stepping forward again towards the
blade.

“Not here.” Bellowed Lord Borros.

“Give me your eye,” Aemond yelled, and started towards you, and you felt Lucerys' hand pull your
arm backwards, making you stumble with the yank as you watched your uncle bend down to scoop
up the blade, “Or I will take it, bastard!”

“Take his eye and I will take your other.” You promised.

The sound of a blade behind you made you turn your head as you watched Lucerys unsheathe his
sword, holding it up, the guards around you unsheathing theirs.

Lord Borros Baratheon jolted out of his seat, “Not in my Hall!” He bellowed. “The boy came as
an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof.”

Aemond stood still watching you both, arm poised with the blade. You heaved uneven breaths as
adrenaline rippled through you, your body still poised, unarmed in front of your brother, ready to
fight.

“Take Prince Lucerys and Princess Y/n back to their dragons….Now.” Borros commanded.

You watched as Aemond twirled his blade and placed it back into its holder, the sound of your
brothers being sheathed behind you.
The guards surrounded you and walked forwards to push you out of the hall. The storm raged
wildly outside as the rain was blown sideways with the wind, loud booms of thunder breaking
across the sky with flashes of lighting amongst the clouds.

You and Lucerys descended the steps outside rapidly making your way towards Arrax who roared
loudly in distress, sensing Lucerys' anxiety.

“Lucerys!” You called out to your brother, voice drowned in the rain.

He turned to look at you quickly, “Fly home, get to mother and deliver the message. I will be with
you shortly.” You moved to turn back inside but Lucerys' hand caught your arm.

“We swore to our mother! We are messengers, not warriors!” He yelled over the storm.

You watched him for a beat, looking at the anxious dragon behind him and his desperate face,
streaked with fear and anxiety.

“Ok. We will go.” You leant forward to kiss his head, holding his face in your hands, “I will be
right behind you, okay?” His cherubic face softened as he nodded, walking swiftly towards Arrax
who leant down for him to mount.

As you ran to the side of the walls to exit and find Syndor, lightning lit up the sky, and yet at the
side of the wall where the large shadow of Vhagar had been now sat empty space.

There was no sign of the large dragon.

Your stomach dropped and you looked to Lucerys who had also noticed, watching at you
anxiously, waiting for your command.

“It’s ok!” You called out, before moving to run in the rain outside.

The downpour drenched your cloak and attire, making it pull heavily on your neck with the weight.
Your hair slicked to the sides of your face and back.

Syndor sat where you had left him, looking up at the storm above him, also agitated.

“Syndor!” You called out to him, and he turned to your voice, the large black dragon moving
slowly towards you, each step vibrating the floor beneath.

The large dragon leant down and you crawled up his wing and onto his large horned back. Hands
coming to grasp tightly on his spines with your gloves for purchase.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You called out against the loud thundering rain.

You looked up into the sky, eyes squinting from the droplets assault as you watched your brother
and his dragon slowly make their way into the sky.

Your large dragon unfurled his wings, stretching up high with his legs as he moved to run and push
off of the ground. Wings pushed you both higher into the storm, the waves below you crashing
against the cliff's edge as thunder grumbled above you.

You watched your brother as his dragon struggled against the storm's wind and rain, their figures
tiny in front of you. You moved behind him, Syndor catching up to your brother as you both dove
higher and higher into the sky, trying to escape the storm below.

A patch of light was far above you and you both flew towards it, a break from the torrid sea and
storms assault. As you soared higher, lightning lit up the clouds above you, their shapes
illuminated.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You commanded again, hoping to get to Lucerys sooner to give him and
his dragon a piece of calm.

A thunderous boom cracked above you and the sky lit up. Horror wracked through you as the
shadow of Vhagar hid amongst the clouds above Lucerys.

“Lucerys!” You called out, but your voice was lost in the storm. The young boy looked up and
saw the great dragon in the clouds above him as he looked about in search of it again.

“Sōvegon Syndor!!!” You yelled, the dragon beating its wings faster to chase up with your
brother.

Vhagar emerged from the clouds in front of you and Lucerys, diving at your brother as you and
Syndor swooped downwards to miss the giant dragon's talons. Your brother and his dragon faltered
from fright, Arrax’s movements becoming more and more scattered as the dragon became
overwhelmed with fear.

Aemond's laugh echoed in the sky as he and Vhagar disappeared back into the clouds above you.
Vhagar roared out as she turned around, coming up from underneath your brother, jaws snapping at
the back of Arrax’s tail.

“Keligon Aemond!” (Stop Aemond!) You screamed out at him, his high Valyrian curling around
you both in the drowning sounds of the storm.

Lucerys dove down to escape Vhagar’s claws once more and you flew up above him, calling out to
your uncle as you flew.

“Nyke paktot kesīr!” (I’m right here!) You called out hoping to take the attention from your
brother, to give him time to get away.

Vhagar dove from above, coming straight toward you as she roared, and Syndor flipped away from
her, your grip faltering at the sudden movement as she continued downwards towards your brother.
You turned Sydnor around to follow after them, tailing Vhagar before flying over him to come
between her and your brother.

The ocean was close below you, its choppy waves carrying the salty water up into the wind to
spray your face. Aemond's laughter came from behind you still as you soared forward, reminding
yourself that you were messengers not warriors.

You would not be the one to start the war.

Arrax flew into a cavern and you and Syndor pulled to the side violently, barely missing the rocks
of the cliff. Syndor pulled out across the water beside it, both of you disoriented by the thunder and
rain.

“Lucerys!!” You called out, hoping to hear him call back.

You looked around you, trying to see through the barrage of rain that fell into your eyes. It was
dark all around, the only light coming from the sudden flashes and booms of lightning around you.

“Arrax!” You called out to his dragon as you both flew back towards the entrance of the cliff.
Vhagar and Arrax were nowhere to be seen.

“Sōvegon!” You commanded as Syndor took you above the cliff, a large crevice down the centre.

“Ao enkagon iā gēlȳn!” (You owe a debt!) The sound of your uncle's voice blew across the air.

You urged Syndor to fly towards the sound, wings beating against the wind that brushed your wet
hair across your shoulders, your cloak heavy behind you.

“Taoba!” (Boy!) He taunted, the faint figure of Vhagar ahead of you as you sped towards them
both.

Suddenly, Arrax emerged from below, large flames licking at Vhagars face. The fire lit up the sky
before you.

Fuck.

Vhagar let out a bellowing roar, shaking the air around you as she pulled away from the flames.

“Daor, Arrax!” (No, Arrax!) Cried your brother, as he steered to control his dragon. “Dohaerās
Arrax!” (Serve me, Arrax!) His shaky voice called across the air as the small dragon frantically
flew away from Vhagar.

“Lucerys!” You called out, flying closer to the both of them, as they soared higher in the sky.

“NO, no, no, no! No, Vhagar! No!” Aemond yelled as his dragon suddenly steered upwards
chasing your brother rapidly.

“Dohaerās!” He called, “Serve me, Vhagar! No!”

You watched as the small figure of your uncle pulled desperately at the reins on his dragon, though
she did not listen, taking him high into the sky as you chased them.

“Aemond!” You screeched into the air. “Stop!”

Syndor roared as he felt your distress, his wings desperately trying to catch up to your brother and
uncle.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar!” He cried again as the great dragon soared upwards in chase of Lucerys.

“Sōvegon, Lucerys!” You screamed into the air, heart racing in your chest as the rain beat against
your skin. Your brother disappeared into the clouds above, the small dragon flying into a clear
patch of light.

Vhagar continued to chase upwards and you behind her, as Aemond cried for her to stop and obey
him. Suddenly she pulled down to the side as he wrenched his reins sideways away from her
trajectory.

The dragon shook her large head angrily as she growled. You kept upwards, overtaking Aemond
and finally surfacing up into the light.

You broke through the clouds, their soft edges peeling back as Syndor pulled you out of the storm.
The sky was bright, the light stinging your eyes. The rain had stopped, and above the storm below,
was peace.
You felt yourself calm when you saw Lucerys in front of you.

“Lucerys!” You called, and the young boy turned over his shoulder to look at you, brown hair wet
and stuck down on the sides of his face, his dragon seeming to calm at your presence.

“Y/n!” He called out, relief in his voice as he turned his dragon towards yours. You felt a large
breath slip from your lips, as your heart settled in your chest.

“You’re okay!” You called out to him, watching his face calm as he looked to you as you flew
closer, you were almost there.

Your hair stuck to your face, a cold chill wrapping itself around you as the wind blew against your
wet body. Arrax screeched in relief at the sight of you and your dragon, wings gliding into the sky.

Gods, you could not wait to go home, and take the wet and sodden clothes from your body. And to
bathe in a boiling hot bath, and drink some spiced wine from Dorne and cry.

Actually cry.

The clouds separated below Lucerys, and jaws rose from beneath them. Vhagar's large form burst
through the clouds, jaws snapping over Lucerys and Arrax.

Arrax screamed.

You could not breathe.

“No! No! No! No! Vhagar!” Called a voice.

You watched in shock as what’s left of Arrax’s corpse fell back down into the storm below.

Lucerys.
 A fall
Chapter Notes

I am so sorry

Silence.

That's all there was.

A deafening silence that was drowned by loud ringing in your ears.

Your breath caught in your throat. Stuttering inhales was all that passed through your lungs as you
watched what was left of Lucerys and his dragon fall down into the depths of the storm below,
clouds opening to swallow them.

You watched as a singular wing, spun delicately in circles down into the abyss, slipping out of
sight as it fell into a dark black cloud.

A hole opened up inside you and you tumbled through it. You had thought that with the loss of
your sister and Grandsire that that was as bad as grief could get. But you were wrong.

They say that when twins are born, and one of them dies, the other is cursed to live out their days
incomplete. Half full. A half life. A piece that is always starkly missing.

Could the same be said about an older sibling's loss of a younger one?

A boy not quite a man?

“No, Vhagar!” Came the distressed voice of your uncle.

The hole within you cracked open wider, like a great big mouth full of teeth and spit and rage. It
opened and pulled at you as you stared into the clouds. Then there was nothing but burning hot
fury. It simmered and burst within you.

It felt like you had been doused with water how quickly you changed. How quickly that grief was
swallowed by those jaws and you were reborn into something fiery. Unknown. Untamed.

Like a coin had been tossed, and landed on the other side.

You sucked in a sharp breath, face tensed with rage.

“What have you done.”

Lucerys.

Your sweet Lucerys.

A young boy, innocent and kind, ever so careful to take care of the others around him. What was
left of him now? What did you have left to prove that he existed in the first place? Besides a now
empty chambers and small clothes, and perhaps the subtle hint of his scent...

There was nothing.

Not a body to bury nor burn. To save. To say goodbye to.

Taken too early. Too young. Too violently.

You had offered your eye. You had offered to settle Aemond's petty grievances. You had begged.

Begged.

You should have done something.

You should have done more.

You could have.

You could have stopped it all in the Red Keep. You could have in your room. You could have
taken his other eye, or slit his throat and stood at the large puddle of blood that would have seeped
out onto the stone floors beneath you, and yet you were too craven to do it.

Too held back by the love you once held for Aemond as a child.

And where did that get you?

There is something to be said about rage. A dangerous thing if not controlled or tamed, and it
burns, like wildfire, consuming everything in its path until there is nothing but you and it.

And then, it will consume you too.

Leaning your body, tugging the spines on Syndor's back, you yanked the large dragon to fly
directly at Vhagar, letting a cry break from your lips.

“Dracarys, Syndor!”

The rumble of Syndor came loudly as large plumes of flame broke through the air, the heat
surrounding you as Aemond yanked desperately at his reins to steer Vhagar away.

Syndor’s flames licked at Vhagar's back, just barely missing your uncle.

You screamed, Syndor swooping down towards Vhagar, the burning flames hitting the side of the
older dragon who turned to fly at you. The tiny disembodied voice of your uncle called for the
great beast to obey him and stop.

“Dohaeragon nyke, Vhagar!” (Serve me!) Your uncle cried, his ancient war dragon disobeying
him.

Her great jaws opened, strings of bloodied saliva slipped from her snout as flesh sat stuck in her
teeth. Her great jaws snapped at Syndor, trying to bite him as you narrowly dodged the old beast,
the larger dragon following you.

Syndor soared sharply upwards, wings carrying you further into the sky. Once reaching a peak he
turned sharply, wings slightly tucked into his body as he dived for your uncle's dragon.
Wind whipped past your face as your stomach dropped in your body from the steep climb,
knuckles burning from the hold you had of his body to stay on.

“Dracarys!” You commanded, large flames spraying out of his mouth at Vhagar's face, the
vibrations of the action rattling up through the bones in your body.

The flames singed the side Vhagar's face, your uncle's arm coming to shield him as she cried out,
large green body turning sharply away.

You let out a broken laugh as you watched the older dragon shake her head from the flame, feeling
the bond between you and Syndor fuel your anger and grief.

Syndor flew high, wings spreading before he dived for Vhagar again, his large talons stretched out
searching for purchase on the green dragon. His shriek piercing the skies as you screamed with
him. Your hold on his spines was tight as his claws tore into the back leg of Vhagar, large black
jaw biting her back, only just missing your uncle.

Syndor jerked his head away from Vhagar, letting go of her as she fell slightly, a large tear in her
back leg bleeding heavily as she shrieked, fire flying from her mouth back at you both.

The heat surrounded you, but you were not burned.

“Stop, Vhagar! I command you! Obey me Vhagar! Dohaeragon nyke!” Your uncle desperately
screamed as the large dragon suddenly dipped down into the dark clouds below you. Your heart
raced in your chest, tears steadily beginning to fall from your face.

“Ossēnagon zirȳ.” (Kill them.) You growled, slowly descending back into the dark storm that
began it all.

The rain fell heavily on your face once more, distorting your vision.

You held a hand up to shield your eyes from the downpour. Large flashes of lightning lighting up
the sky, thunder cracking all around you. You could barely see. You could barely hear. And all
that fuelled you was your rage and grief.

That hole inside of you twisted and burned and churned painfully in your chest. How empty you
felt whilst also so full. An eye for an eye?

An eye for an eye.

A life for a life.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You commanded searching through the darkness for sight of Prince
Aemond, soaring above the stormy depths below.

You were entirely drenched, the rain dripping off of your face as it continued to pour down. Your
body felt heavy from the weight of your loss. Your fingers twitched in their hold, mind reeling of
what you had witnessed. You turned your head frantically, trying to find the One-Eyed Prince.

Lucerys was gone.

He was pure, he was kind, and he was taken from you. He was taken and you would take back.
Aemond had declared war. Aemond was a Kinslayer. Lucerys would be avenged.

Lucerys...
As you searched below you, you looked at the large waves crashing over each other, climbing over
one another, pushing down to drown and then ripping themselves back up and over and thought,
what if he had survived?

“Lucerys!” You called out into the darkness, some small piece of hope praying that you would
hear a miracle. Begging the Gods to see that small mop of brown hair appear in the waves below,
unharmed.

The storm was loud in your ears as Syndor shrieked out with you.

“Lucerys!” You cried frantically, praying to the Seven that he somehow survived.

That by some miracle, your brother had survived not only Vhagar's jaws, but the stormy depths
below. You swore to the old Gods that if they returned him to you, that you would pray everyday,
that you would convert and live out your days as a mouthpiece for them.

You would do anything they asked of you.

The rain pelted down on your skin, making it harder for you to see. You rubbed viciously at your
eyes, trying to clear them to see ahead of you, to find any sight of your uncle, of his dragon, or an
end to the storm.

“Lucer-“

Your body is knocked from Syndor.

Your hands slipped away from the dark dragons back, fingers desperately grasping for purchase on
his spines and horns, their grip slipping from the rain. The weight of your body and wet clothes
pulled you off of your dragon.

And so you fell.

'A great fall.'

You remember now.

As you fell, you watched Vhagar's jaws dig into Syndor's side as they fought above you. Two large
dragons, fighting above you. It almost looked like a dance. A dance of dragons.

“No…. Vhagar…..” You heard the broken voice of your Kinslayer uncle from above, as wind
whipped past your ears.

You felt weightless as you fell.

It was almost... peaceful.

Your eyes began to spot as you fell further into the abyss, rain beating against you. You couldn't
even breathe as you fell. You were frozen.

You were slowly losing consciousness.

What a funny way to die, you thought.

A broken smile slid on your face. You never thought that falling would feel like this, like time
stood still, like everything was happening in slow motion. Was this what it was like to fly?
You hoped you would see your brother.

A great fall.

Then nothing.
 A dragons breath
Chapter Notes

I bought a blonde wig there other day to put on, and you know what? I can see why the
Targs didn't want to fuck anyone else but themselves

Jaws.

Great gaping jaws.

Teeth as large as you, their sharp edges crushing down on your body, tearing through your flesh.
Each sharp blade piercing through your soft flesh. Pain unlike anything you’ve known erupted
through you. You tried to scream.

Nothing came out.

Your hands reached to touch the jaws that were locked around you, but your hand went straight
through them like mist. The dark tendrils curled around your fingertips as you turned them. Trying
desperately to grasp the intangible.

The jaws were gone. And the pain dissipated with them.

You blinked.

And again.

Where were you?

Looking around you, you could barely see.

Where you were, was dark.

You squinted into the pitch black room, willing your eyes to adjust. A burst of light came from the
side, tall flames exploding as large torches lit themselves rapidly along the wall surrounding you as
you spun in the room. You recognised the stone walls.

You were in the Dragon Pit.

It was empty.

You spun on your heel, turning to see if you could find anyone, or anything, but the walls were
blank and the cavern was silent. What was usually filled with sounds of other dragons was now
eerily quiet.

You walked towards the wall to grasp a lit torch, the flames dancing and crackling in the air. You
yanked it from its holder roughly, dislodging it from the wall as you pushed it out in front of you
before walking in the darkness, trying to see around you.
“Y/n?” A small voice came, hiding in the shadows.

You tried to turn to the sound but could not tell where its origins were, the call bouncing off of the
empty walls.

“Hello?” You called out, beginning to walk around the large dark room in search of the person with
you.

“Y/n?” The voice again, a bit louder this time.

You stopped. A confused breath paused in your chest.

You recognised that voice.

“L-Lucerys?” You called out hesitantly.

“Y/n!” Came the voice once more, frantic this time, yet seemingly further away.

“Lucerys?!” You cried, as you began to run through the large pit looking for your brother, your
footsteps echoing on the stone floors as you held the torch out in front of you.

“Lucerys!” You cried again, searching all around you, looking at each wall and shadow with the
limited light.

Stone brick after stone brick was all you saw. Their hard orange tinge pilled high and up around
you before they disappeared into the darkness above. The air felt damp as small rivulets of water
dripped down the stone.

You spun on your heel as his small cry came from around you, echoing on the stone ceiling above.
How many times had you told him to not come down here alone?

Panic began to rise inside of you as you breathed heavily, eyes desperately searching the pit in
search of your brother.

“Y/n.” His voice came from behind you.

You spun, heart jumping as you held out the torch in front of you.

There before you, stood your brother soaking wet in the cave with you.

“Lucerys, are you alright?” You searched his face, dropping the torch beside you, the thud echoing
in the room as the light shone from below you.

You rushed forward to hold his face in your hands. Raking your eyes over his body for any sign of
injury. Yet as your hands touched his face, you faltered.

He felt cold.

His eyes slid shut as you held him, pulling him against you, hugging him tightly to you, clutching
the back of his head as your breath began to steady.

“What are you doing down here? You’re soaked!” You pulled him back to hold him at arm's length
looking him up and down.

Lucerys' hair dripped onto the stones below you, the drops echoing in the silence. His robes were
drenched, the heavy material pulling his weight down and clinging to his small body.
His face held no colour. The robes looked familiar.

You rubbed your arms up and down his, “You’re so cold. Come, mother will have my head if you
get sick.”

You went to pull him with you, but he did not budge. You stared at your brother as he looked at
you, face blank.

“Luc? We need to get you dry, you will catch a cold.” You tried once more to pull him with you
but he just stared at you.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, he opened his mouth.

“You said it would be ok.” His voice was small, as he stared at you.

“W-what?” You ask, confused by his behaviour, “Enough of this game, let’s get you warmed up.”

“You said it would be ok. You were right behind me.”

“Lucerys? Are you feeling alright? I think…” Your hand reached to touch his forehead, his skin
was as cold as ice. He blinked. A shiver ran down your spine and dread pooled in your stomach.

“Lucerys, enough. You’re frightening me.” You watched him cautiously as he stood still,
observing you.

The young boy's eyes closed as tears began to fall. You stepped forward rapidly, holding his face,
worry beginning to fill you. What had happened? Who has made him so upset?

“Lucerys? What is the matter? What’s happened?” You asked frantically.

“He killed me.”

Dread.

Ice cold dread.

“W-wha-wh-“ Your words caught in your throat as you stared at the boy.

Jaws.

Great jaws.

A storm.

A fall.

Tears began to well in your eyes.

“Lucerys?” Your hands cupped his face and the small boy leant into it.

“He killed me, sister.” He whispered.

Oh Gods.

His eyes lifted back to your face and you watched in horror as blood began to drip from your
brother's mouth, large bloody tears falling from his eyes as he cried.
“No, no, no, no. Please don’t do this to me.” You scrambled to brush the blood away from his
face, “You’re okay, you’re okay. It’s going to be okay, we will be okay.”

He looked at you sadly.

“I’m dead, y/n. I cannot come back with you.” He cried, his tears of blood smeared across his face
as you frantically tried to wipe them away, but only more would come to replace them.

“No. No, it’s okay, this is just a dream, we will be okay. We will go home and tell mother what
happened together, and it will all be okay.”

You tried to pull Lucerys with you, to the mouth of the cave, a tiny light in the distance. He did not
budge as you desperately tried to pull him with you. The small boy would not follow.

“Lucerys, please!” You begged, tears falling from your face.

“I cannot come with you, and you cannot come with me.” He spoke, voice stronger like before,
when you both had left for Storms End.

His cold hands came to hold your face now.

“I love you. It's not your fault.” He cooed.

“Lucerys please, don’t leave me. Please. I love you. Please don’t leave me all alone.” You held
onto him tightly sobbing as the bloodied boy in front of you cried with you.

“You need to wake up.” He whispered, the walls of the cave flickered as they began to dissolve
into smoke. You frantically looked around you, holding onto him tighter.

“No! Please, let me go with you, let me stay with you. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave
me.” You sobbed louder.

Lucerys stepped forward to embrace you, holding your shaking form as you cried together. You
clutched onto him tightly, his cold wet body bringing you little comfort as the nightmare settled in.

“Mother needs you. You need to wake up. A spool of green, a spool of black. Three dragons fell,
and one must rise.” He spoke into your hair.

As you hugged him tighter to you, your hands began to slip towards your body. You looked down
at him in shock. Lucerys' form had begun to turn almost transparent. You could begin to see the
walls of the pit behind him, through his tiny chest.

Just like smoke before your eyes, disappearing through your fingers.

“Lucerys!” You cried, trying to grab at him to keep him with you.

“Y/n.” He cooed sadly, “It's not your fault.”

“Please d-dont l-leave me.” You hiccuped as your hand reached for his face, fingertips covered in
the black mist that was once his solid form.

“I will always be with you.” Lucerys spoke firmly, smiling at you, blood staining his small teeth.

“I don’t want to live without you, please don’t leave me here. Please take me with you.” You
begged as you watched him slowly fade.
“You must. They need you. He needs you.”

You sobbed as you watched the boy in front of you slowly disappear, gentle smile still on his face
as you reached out desperately to try and grab at the smoke, screaming as all that was left was the
wisps of black that curled around your digits.

Fingers curled into your fist as you tried to grasp the last pieces of mist in your hand. Your
knuckles ached and your hands shook with the force in which you clutched them. But when you
opened your hands, there was nothing.

No Lucerys.

No mist.

Just empty hands.

The walls around you rose and you felt yourself falling through the floor, your stomach dropping
as you held your breath. You looked up as you fell, watching the ceiling crack open into a stormy
sky above.

Two large dragons above you fought as rain beat down on your face.

You fell.

And then, you woke.

“Her injuries…” A voice cut through the fog, hushed tones surrounding you. Your head felt light,
yet so heavy. You groaned. Fading in and out of consciousness, the dark swallowing you up.

Nothing but black, and the feeling of being heavy as a stone.

“…may not….”

Then nothing again.

You did not dream. You simply slipped in and out of the abyss, bobbing through the waves of
consciousness.

You rose from the fog, eyes not opening as you breathed heavily, a dull ache strumming in your
side. You felt groggy and confused, groaning as you tried to move, but your body would not.

“Zaldristos.” A voice whispered. A hand came to touch your thigh.

You tried to open your eyes, your lids feeling heavy as you forced them to part. The light of the
room burning in your head, you shut your eyes, clenching them as you groaned once more, the pain
radiating through your body, before fading back into the abyss.

You fall.

A great fall, down out from the sky, like the Gods had plucked you from the ground only to drop
you back for their amusement. A curse. A punishment. You felt the wind rushing past your face,
breath not filling your lungs.

Lightning flashed around you as the sky rumbled, opening up above. A circle of blue sky broke
through the clouds above, as you continued to fall.
A figure in the middle. Small and young, with boyish curls around his face, sitting atop a small
dragon as they watched you plunge into the depths.

You reached a hand out towards him, extending your fingers to try to grasp the air and him within
it. But all you did was plummet into the abyss, your hand stretched out desperately, hoping to hold
Lucerys in your arms again.

But, you fell. And the earth opened up, and swallowed you whole.

Your consciousness swam unevenly as you bobbed to the surface, the waves dragging you back
down to drown before your eyes cracked open to the room around you. The light from the candles
caused you to squint, as you blinked tears sluggishly out of your vision.

A cough worked its way up your throat, your stomach and chest tensing as the air jerked out of
your body.

Red hot, searing pain flared through your ribs as you silently cried out, a dry whimper escaping
your lips as you scrunched your face tight, stuttered breaths leaving your form as you tried to push
through the agony.

A grunt came from beside you as you tried to suck in air greedily, ribs and lungs aching as your
chest expanded. A weight left your upper thigh. You tried to move, to pull yourself up, but with
each movement your body screamed in rejection.

A pained sob escaped your lips.

Sandalwood wafted into your nose as a gentle hand rested atop your sternum, “Rest zaldristos.” A
voice whispered, pushing the cold hard edge of a cup to your lips as you lay on your back, a milky
tart liquid settling on your mouth.

“Drink.” The voice commanded, as small beads of wet dribble down the sides of your cheeks.

You opened your mouth, sipping the strong liquid, spluttering as you inhaled some. You coughed
as the liquid burnt your lungs and throat, tensing as the pain in your side made you cry out again,
jerking your body.

Large hands come to rest on your shoulders, fingers soothing the skin there as you felt something
soft tickle your face. “Shhh. Still.” The voice beckoned as you slowly calmed, sucking greedy and
painful breaths into your body.

Warmth spread through you and you felt yourself sink deeper into the plush mattress beneath.
Your head swam, and you soon faded back into your dream of falling from a great height whilst a
small brown haired boy watched from above.

The earth swallowed you whole once, twice, thrice times more, and your body turned as you found
yourself standing at the Godswood, the large tree rooted in front of you, with nothing but open
space around it.

With uncertain feet you stepped forward towards the tree, its ancient face watching you as you
approached, the eyes blinking as you got closer.

Your hand reached forward as you stood before the Godswood, hand coming to touch the bark
around the face in the trunk. You opened your mouth to speak to the tree, who’s eyes watched you
closely.
“Kasta se Zōbrie.” (Green and Black.) Came a voice from around the trunk. Your head snapped to
the sound as you walked around to find the source.

You looped around the tree coming back to its face.

There was no-one there.

“Kasta se Zōbrie.” (Green and Black.) Came the voice again.

“Who’s there?” You call out, looking up into the branches of the tree, its red leaves shaking gently
in a breeze that was not there.

“Wake up.” The voice whispered.

You jolted, sucking in a sharp breath, immediately regretting it as your side twinged in pain. You
let out an agonised whimper, breathing shallowly as you rose to the surface of consciousness again.
Your body felt fuzzy and wrong, your drowsy limbs tingling as you tried to move.

“Stay still.” Came the same voice again.

Your eyes cracked open, blinking away sleep as you tried to adjust to the light in the room.

It was morning.

Your eyes were unfocused as you breathed heavily, whimpering as discomfort rolled through you,
you felt nauseous and lethargic. The smell of sandalwood and leather curled around you.

As you blinked your eyes, you turned your head sluggishly, looking to the side of the bed. Two
figures sat in chairs next to you watching, both with silver white hair.

“Mother?” You weakly called out, confusion muddling your mind, throat and mouth dry.

“Hm.” The low purr of a familiar voice replied.

You rapidly blinked your eyes, focus coming back to you slowly. Their two forms became more
focused and less blurry with every blink.

Helaena sat stiff in her chair, head down as she embroidered on a loom. Not looking up at you as
she silently muttered to herself.

Beside her, sat her brother.

Aemond.

You sucked in a sob as you looked at him. He did not wear his eye patch, and his one good eye
stared intently at you. His mouth was not in its usual smirk. Nor pressed into a hard line.

Aemond's face was unreadable.

A tear escaped your eyes as you stared at him, a wet trail pooling onto the pillow beneath your face
as it rolled gently down your cheek.

You were alive.

This was real.

And that meant Lucerys was dead.

“I’m going to kill you.” You uttered.

 Fire and Blood
Chapter Notes

You're probably wondering, how the fuck are they uploading so many chapters so
quickly? Well let me tell you. It's cause I am transferring it over from tumblr to here
lol

For days you bobbed beneath the surface of consciousness, breaking through the waves rising to
the top, looking around to observe your surroundings, your body still heavy as a stone before you
crashed down into the abyss once more, tart liquid on your tongue.

You emerged from the turbulent waves again, eyes sliding open, head turning sluggishly to the seat
beside your bed. Each movement of your head against the pillow made nausea climb up through
your throat.

The world spun as you were finally able to concentrate on the figure that sat rigidly beside your
bed. Donned in a tight green dress sat Alicent, watching you unmoving, with her lips pursed into a
tight line.

She sat so stiffly, you would not be surprised if a rod had been shoved inside of her. As though you
were to blame. As though by some inexplicable reason, that she had been put out by the actions of
her own son, who had been encouraged by her bitterness for years.

How dare she fucking look at you like that.

Fury burst through you as you struggled to pull yourself sitting, desperately dragging your body up
from beneath the sheets, grunting. The pain in your side was raw as you heavily laid your back
against the board of the bed. You sucked in greedy breaths, holding in whimpers of pain as your
side was alight with pulses.

She watched you impassively, having not moved as she waited for you to pull yourself upright. She
did not offer help, nor twitch at the sight of you struggling, or in pain. She was every inch an Ice
Queen.

You looked at the tables beside your bed, they were empty. No cups to throw at the Green Queen,
no blade to slit her throat with, no makeshift weapon to avenge your family.

You stared at her, begging to keep your grief at bay, and let your anger rise above it all. You
needed to hold strong. You needed to be a dragon.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, head tilted as she spoke.

How were you feeling?

How were you feeling?

Her son murdered your brother in front of you, chased you about the skies tormenting him. For
years she and her kin have made your families lives a living nightmare. Her son usurped the crown
from your mother as she forced people to support him. She made the realm a more dangerous place
for women, ensuring that you would never become heir to the throne.

How were you feeling?

You watched silently as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, pulling and twisting, waiting for
your response, though none came. The skin around her nails were raw and bloody as they twisted in
her lap.

You wished she would bite through the bone next time.

“I prayed to the Seven every night for your speedy recovery from certain death. You fell and
Aemond caught you. The Prince brought you here, gaunt, pale, wet with rain and blood. The
Maesters were sure you would not survive, but Prince Aemond insisted on saving you."

Saved you?

Saved you??

He was the reason you were in this godforsaken bed.

It was almost laughable. In fact, you did laugh, though the dryness of your throat caused your lungs
to seize. A ragged cough forced itself from your lips as you doubled over in pain, clutching your
side.

What had he done to you?

What was wrong with your side?

If he had saved you, why do you feel broken?

You sucked in an agonising breath as you leant back, pulling the white chemise up your side higher
and higher from your body, slowly exposing your skin to the room. You grunted with every
movement.

Around your ribs were thick bandages pulled taught against you. Blood stained the left of the
creamy strips. Tentatively, you went to pull the bandages away from your skin, to look at what lay
beneath.

“Aemond saved you.” She repeated, as though you hadn’t heard her.

You scoffed, but the rush of air caused your side to flare with pain. You sucked in a shallow
breath, snapping your head to the woman at the side of your bed.

Her face had not changed. Ever the martyr. Ever the goddamn self righteous woman of the Gods
who could do no wrong. Who could never be held accountable for the domino affect of her actions.

You swore to yourself then and there, that once you were healed and ready, you would kill her.
Present her eyes... No. Her head to your mother as a gift.

As you looked down at your side, large bruises peaked above the bandages, dark purples and reds
blooming across your skin. You breathed shallowly, fingers resuming their pulling on the
bandages, more discolouration becoming visible to your eyes.

“He saved you from the fall, a certain death if you were to hit the waves below you.”
Your fingers pulled at a bandage with dried blood away from your ribs, the strips resisting as they
had stuck to the wound below. You held your breath as you pulled the bandage further away,
feeling the scabs pull from your wound, a sharp stinging spreading across your side.

Beneath the bandages, your skin was deeply bruised. A large gash ran around the side of your ribs
from your front, to your back. Its edges were jagged, as though a blade had been roughly pulled
along your flesh, the tight skin snapping apart from the tension.

Through the ragged and torn flesh were lines of hastily done stitches, their dark thread holding the
wound tightly shut together. Every movement pulled on them. And the wound was swollen and
red, there was no sign of infection to be seen.

You sucked in a stuttering breath as you placed the bandages back against your side, slumping as
you watched the woman in front of you ramble.

“The Seven heard our prayers and saved you from The Stranger. Princess Helaena has prayed for
you too, as did the King. You are safe here. We have made sure that you have had the best medical
treatment in all the realm.”

You felt bile rise up in your mouth. You stared at her, unblinking until finally you spoke.

“My brother is dead.” Your voice cracked dryly.

Alicent stiffened in her seat, sitting up straighter as her hands came to a stop in her lap.

“I grieve-“

“Lucerys was murdered…” You cut her off. “By your son…A Kinslayer.”

Every word twinged your side in pain.

You breathed heavily, the strumming pain curling around your lungs as you waited for her to
respond. The Dowager Queen simply stared at you, waiting for you to talk again.

You both sat like this for some time, willing the other to talk as thoughts whirled through your
mind. You gave in to the silence.

“I suppose you have informed the Queen that you have me as your prisoner?” You inquired dully.

The Dowager Queen's perfectly manicured brows twitched above her eyes, lightly scrunching in
the centre as she suddenly shifted in her seat.

Her fingers picked at her skin more openly.

Realisation dawned on you, as you leant your head back, looking down at her from your nose.

“They do not know I am alive,” You prodded, “Do they?”

The Hightower did not respond.

There was your answer.

A huff of laughter jerked out of your mouth, side twinging. Your lips pulled into a wide smile as
you began to laugh, the pain from your wound ignored as joy coursed through your veins. You
wondered if anyone else in the Keep knew of your survival, except those trusted by Alicent to tend
to you.
You laughed loudly at the predicament as the Dowager Queen sat rigidly in her seat, fingers
clenching in her lap. Your laughter peeled across the room dryly, wisps and croaks following after.

What a delight to know that Alicent truly had made a grave mistake.

The door to your chambers opened as Ser Cristin Cole and Aemond walked into the room,
watching as you laughed heartily, clutching your side in agony as you felt the stitches pull tightly
in your wound, fresh blood soaking the bandages.

You laughed louder at their entrance, their confusion evident on their faces as they came to stand
beside Alicent, looking down at her, eyes searching for answers.

Aemond watched you intently, almost unsure of how to react.

Oh Gods, it just got better.

They think you've gone mad.

A cough worked its way up your throat as your laughter turned into a string of hacks, pain
capturing your entire body. The bitter taste of blood pooled in your mouth as you coughed, hand
coming to touch your lips delicately as you smiled through the pain.

“They do not know I am alive.” You laughed, hand pulling back to look at the spots of blood on
them.

You leant heavily against the board as you looked at them all grinning, blood in your teeth.
Aemond watched you curiously, eye patch once again gone, as he looked at your hand covered in
blood.

You pushed your arms below you, pulling yourself up to sit higher against the wooden board
behind you, as you shook your head gently at the woman in green, tutting her as you did.

“You’re all going to die.” You beamed viciously, “You know this… Don’t you, Alicent?” You
pushed out a grunting laugh again as your eyes skimmed to Aemond, watching him as you spoke
again.

“They’re coming for you. All of you.” You mimicked Rhaenys warning. You slid your eyes back to
Alicent who’s head sat higher on her neck. “Oh Alicent, I thought you were smarter than this.” You
chastised her, “Mothers favourite son, and fathers favourite daughter?”

You laughed again at the absurdity.

“You really should have told them that I was alive.”

You looked pointedly out of the window across the room, sighing dreamily as you spoke, the room
silent except for your voice, “I suppose they should be here very soon.”

Aemond shifted on his feet as he stepped forward, placing his seated mother behind him. Always
the protective young man you thought, as your laughter turned into little huffs of giggles before
you finally calmed yourself.

The bitter copper taste in your mouth made you run your tongue along your teeth to clear it.

“If you continue to allow the Queen and King Daemon to believe that both I… and my brother
were slain, you will find the Keep burnt to ashes before the morrow. If you were clever, I would
send a raven.” You mocked.

“We have tended to your wounds, brought you back from the brink of death, kept you safe he-“

“Safe? You have imprisoned me in my old chambers,” You looked about the room as you spoke,
smiling through the pain, “Your demented son chased me and Prince Lucerys around the skies
when we were messengers, and allowed my parents to believe that they lost two children at the
hands of your Kinslayer son.” You hissed.

“I would have sent a raven by now, though I have no issues with dying in the Keep with you all.”
You smiled, looking directly at Aemond, “At least I will get to hear you scream.”

Alicent pushed up from the seat beside your bed turning to Ser Criston Cole, before swiftly leaving
your chambers, the dark haired knight trailing after her as you guessed they were to send a raven to
the Queen.

“Send my regards to my mother!” You called out as Aemond stood stiffly beside your bed, looking
down at you.

You stared up at him as you sat lazily against the board of the bed, fatigue slowly working its way
through your body as your side began to throb viciously.

You sighed as you looked at him, his demeanour confused you.

The silver haired man looked tired, large bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin.
Most likely due to celebrating his murder and capture of his obsession.

The One-Eyed Prince went to turn away from you, but you stopped him.

“Aemond wait.” You called out to him, false desperation in your tone as he halted to turn and look
at you, eye searching your form before it paused on your bandages.

You swallowed thickly, looking down into your lap before looking back at him, pulling your face
tightly together as you faked a sob. The tall man twitched forward towards you as you pulled your
hands up to your face, hiding your sneer.

You dropped your hands back to your lap, looking at the man before you. Nothing but violent rage
curled through you as you looked at him. Images of your brother dying, flashed behind your eyes.

You sniffed.

“You saved me.” You spoke quietly, looking him in the eye.

Aemond shifted on his feet as he looked at you, saying nothing.

You sniffed again, wringing your hands in your lap before touching your side gently, “Thank you.”

He still said nothing.

Simply observed you.

Come on you bastard.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. You watched his form relax,
the tension moving slightly from his shoulders.
Men.

They are so easy to manipulate. How dull they all are. You simply bat your eyes, put a little bit of
stupidity in your tone and flash them your cunt, and they will do anything you say.

Anything.

"Thank you, uncle." You sniffled as you gave him a sad smile.

The Prince took two steps towards you, still towering over you as he watched. You looked into
your lap, twiddling your fingers together as he stood beside you.

Look innocent, and sweet.

Quite the performance you made as you reached a hand shyly to grasp at his that was by his side.

And he let you.

You reached for that hand and held it as though you were a maiden, shy and unsure. You pushed
down your disgust and the way your skin crawled at the contact of your brothers murderer.

You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles softly as you gazed up at him, before you brought his
hand towards your face. You felt him stiffen slightly, hesitant, and so you put the act on harder.

You almost dropped his hand, uttering a gentle whisper of 'sorry'. His hand squeezed yours gently,
keeping it in your grip. He was reassuring you.

You had him.

Hook, line and sinker.

Letting your lips pull into a mournful smile, you looked down at his hand before you brought it up
to your lips. You had to use every ounce of energy within you to not bite his fucking fingers off.

Those rough fingers. The ones that had been inside you. That had touched you. That have held
blades and swords, and books and wine. The same ones that had taken life, touched your lips as
you pressed a slow and gentle kiss to them, shyly looking up at the Prince.

It was every man's wet dream.

He leant into your touch, his eye blinking. He seemed almost shocked.

Good.

You rubbed your cheek against his hand, looking at him with your sweetest doe eyes. Something
you had learnt from your father. He said the eyes carry a thousand words that your lips cannot.

As you leant your face into his hand that was still clutched in yours, you smiled sadly at him.
Pathetically. Like a bird with a broken wing, singing a sad song to its captive.

And as you watched his shoulders sag, and the tension leave his brow, and his lips relax from the
god awful purse he always wore when angry, you let yourself smile.

A soft smile, just a hint.

A sort of smile you give to someone you might pity.

And you did pity him.

What a stupid fucking man.

You opened your mouth, closing it again for show as if in thought on how to thank him next.
Perhaps he was thinking you may ask him to bed you. He could certainly crawl into bed with you,
and you would certainly bite off his cock.

What an exhilarating thought.

You opened your mouth again and spoke in the most sickly sweet manner that you could muster.

"Thank you, uncle. For saving me. For saving my life."

You paused for effect.

“Now that I live... I will get to watch you die screaming.”

You smiled cruelly at him. Hand still holding his gently against you.

And then tension was back in his shoulders and face, and the spell you had cast was broken as the
older Prince seemed to come to his senses, his one eye locked on yours as silence captured the
room.

“You really should have killed me, uncle.”

 Blood and Cheese
Chapter Notes

Just thinking about how beside himself Daemon would be right now

Time moves differently when you're confined to the same space for days on end. You would even
dare to say that it doesn't work the way it should. One moment the days pass you by rapidly, the
next as slow as grass is to grow.

And what else could you do when locked in your chambers, barely able to move. You could roll
from one end of the bed, to the other, though in your case, you could not roll, and so you merely
shuffled if you dared to.

No mental stimulation is enough to send one mad. The Hightower's had not even left you a book to
read in your chambers, nor did they allow anyone to visit or talk to you. The only company that
you had was you, yourself and the odd whisper of someone you once knew.

Who that was, you couldn't say.

You spent the days staring at the walls laying in bed, drifting in and out of dreams of falling or
singing to yourself loudly. What else could you do? When the Maesters would come to your room,
or the maids, you would sing loudly and badly as a means of entertainment.

As you laid in bed, bored out of your mind and feeling pain pulling at your side, you allowed
yourself to slowly but surely fall into a sleep. This dream was no different to the others. You sat
atop Syndor, soaring high in the sky, clouds fluffy and white around you, sky blue.

In front of you was Lucerys, sat astride Arrax as he smiled boyishly at you. Dread coursed its way
through you as you screamed out to your brother, knowing what would happen next.

Yet, like every dream before it, he did not hear you. Nor did you save him. Screams were all that
was heard as two large jaws came up through the clouds below him.

You jerked awake, a cry spilling from your lips whilst you cringed, side strumming in pain. Your
body was covered in a sheen of sweat and the echoes of your screams rang in your ears. You
blinked groggily, willing the cries to leave your mind as you shook your head.

However, the blood curdling screams did not stop.

And anguish and despair filled your room.

As you blinked away the remnants of your nightmare you pushed yourself up to lean heavily
against the back of the bed as the cries continued.

They were loud and horrified and full of pain. You wondered for a moment if you were still
somehow dreaming, and you were unknowingly screaming, yet when your fingertips came to press
at your lips you found that your mouth was closed and no sound passed through them.
All that you could hear outside of your chambers were the horrified screams of a woman.

Anxiety began to pull through you as you listened, thoughts racing through your mind at what has
happened. Perhaps Aegon had drunk himself to death, you smiled. Or killed a servant girl in one of
his assaults, your smile fell.

Your thoughts spiralled as you tried to decipher the cause of the horrified screams.

Surely whoever this woman was would stop soon.

They didn't.

You called out in your room, to the knights who you knew guarded your doors, asking them what
was happening. No response came through the other side of the door. And the screams continued.

You called out again, feeling suddenly nervous at the noise. It was unsettling. Unnerving. It made
your skin crawl and your teeth ache. Who was screaming? You called out to the knights again,
more demanding this time.

All that came through your large wooden doors were the sounds of anguished suffering.

You sat perched against the back of the bed, listening to the screams for hours. The woman’s cries
never once stopped nor faltered except when her voice would break, but the cries would start once
more shortly after.

Even as the sun fell, and the moon began to rise, and a blanket of darkness settled across the realm
with the hours past, the woman did not stop. You found you could not fall to sleep, the wailing
causing you to feel uneasy. Their volume haunting you at all hours of the night.

The dark sky turned a lighter grey, then a lighter blue. The blue turned to pink, the pink to orange,
until finally the sun rose, shining warmth through your windows.

And yet, she had not stopped.

The cries had turned to loud mourning sobs, though the screams still echoed in your mind as you
sat slumped in your bed, waiting for any sign or indication of what had happened.

Once the sun had risen and your room was lit with its light, two maids came to your chambers,
silently placing a tray of food on the bed beside you.

Bread and fruit with meat slices sat steaming on the silver plate, a goblet of water in front of you.
Your stomach clenched. You could not remember the last time you had eaten anything but the slop
they had force fed you when full of milk of the poppy.

You looked at the tray and noticed that no cutlery was placed there for you.

Smart.

Though disappointing.

As the two maids turned to leave you called out to them, their steps faltering though they did not
turn to face you, heads kept down.

“What has happened?” You asked.

You would say the room was silent, but how could it be with the cries of distress from the
unknown woman, filling the Keep and more irritatingly, your chambers.

Neither replied as they continued their determined steps out of the room, large heavy doors
shutting softly behind them, the cries sliding through the gap of the door clearly until it was shut,
muffling the sounds.

You just wished to sleep.

You almost missed the quiet.

Almost.

Perhaps you were going mad.

Perhaps there were no screams and it was in your mind.

There were stories of women who were lost to grief, screaming without knowing it was their own
voice. Crying out into the air until none would reach their lungs, and suddenly they would drop
dead.

You sucked in a greedy breath at the thought.

Warm bread in your hands, you lifted it to your lips and nibbled on it slowly, watching the doors,
waiting for someone to come inside.

Perhaps your parents were even here?

Did your father slay Aegon?

Dread pooled inside of you.

Had Aegon slayed your father?

No, surely not.

For who would cry for him here?

The mystery of whose cries you heard made you gnaw at the insides of your cheeks.

You wished someone would come speak to you soon. Or give you a hint, even a puzzle. Put your
guessing behind you. You hated not knowing. You were never one for surprises.

Prince Laenor had once noticed this about you. You thought of him fondly. He was a good father.
And a good man. A rare one. You only wished that wherever he was, he was with a man he loved
dearly.

Once, when he had told you he had a surprise for you and your brothers, you had broken into his
and your mothers chambers to ransack the drawers looking for the surprise.

But he was clever.

And he knew you well.

And so he held the surprise with him on his person. When he caught you looking through the
drawers he laughed and told you a saying.
'Curiosity killed the cat.'

You remember immediately becoming enraged, as any child who was denied their wishes were,
but he had interrupted your pouting by continuing the saying, 'But satisfaction brought it back',
whilst pulling out a pair of golden earrings for you from his coat pocket.

Earrings you still had to this day.

Most of your morning was spent slowly picking at the food on your plate, the meal's heaviness
sitting uncomfortably in your stomach. You felt uneasy as the whispers of sobs came through the
walls, curling around you.

You did not know if they were real, or if it was the echoes of before as you pressed the heels of
your hands roughly against your eyes, begging it to stop.

It felt like the room was getting smaller around you. You were so, so tired, having not slept through
her wails and screams. Your breath began to catch in your throat and you felt lightheaded.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop." You murmured to yourself.

It did not stop.

"Please, shutup. Shutup. Shut up!"

"Y/n." A voice whispered.

Your eyes shot open as you looked about the room. You looked to the windows, to the chairs by
the fire, to the table, and around your bed.

There was no one there.

You were alone.

The gash in your side twinged as you had turned your body to look for the source of your
whispered name. You pulled the nightgown up your body as you stared down at the creamy
bandages wrapped tightly against your flesh.

As you pulled the bandages down gently, you looked at your side. Though the gash was still raw,
it had slowly started to scab together. The stitches no longer looked ready to burst as the swelling
had gone down considerably.

Each line of stitches was followed by the tiny needle holes in which the threads were pulled
through. It was almost strange to look at, like a roast pig at dinner whose flesh had been bound in
twine and herbs.

Surrounding the long wound was the blooming bruises around your ribs. The once deep purple
bruise that had spots of black and purple through it, had now turned a lighter shade of pink. The
edges turning to a faded yellowy green.

Judging by the wound itself, you guessed you had been in the Keep for some time, though not
longer than a full moon's turn.

Perhaps several days?

Maybe more?
There was no way to tell.

Time moved differently in isolation.

You sat yourself forward, sliding the tray to the side of the bed away from you, as you slowly
moved your legs to push them over the edge of the mattress, dangling them down as your side
twinged.

You felt out of breath, the movement making your head spin from effort. But you needed to do this.
You needed to try. And so with a sigh, you slowly inched your hips further towards the edge of the
bed, careful to not bend too far, as to not disturb your stitches, before your toes came to graze the
cold stones below you.

Once as a child you had fallen out of bed onto these very tiles. You had been jumping on the plush
bed with Lucerys, Jacaerys and Aegon before you tripped on the bed sheets, their soft thread
tangling about your feet.

The hard stone below you broke your fall, and you had bruises on your knees for a week. You
remember Aegon laughing at your fall, and Jacaerys holding in a small giggle. But Luc had looked
so worried for you.

Such a sweet boy.

Aemond and Helaena had watched the entire ordeal from your chaise, not daring to jump on the
bed with you. Helaena did not even look up, but Aemond's eyes were trained on your face, as if
waiting for you to cry. He had asked you after everyone had left if you were okay, and even
insisted on getting the Maesters to check your knees.

How he had changed.

Hands gripped the mattress as you breathed in deeply and then out, before you pushed yourself up
to standing. Your legs shook from the effort and pain streaked down your side as you tensed in
effort. You felt weak as you swayed on your feet.

Another deep breath.

You slid your foot forward along the cold tiles, moving to take a step.

As soon as you placed your foot on the floor below and placed weight upon it, your leg collapsed
from under you and you felt your body drop against the stone below you, your arms coming out
underneath you to catch your fall.

Your head knocked on the stone roughly. A pained groan left your lips as you felt the stitches in
your side tug painfully from the impact, fresh blood rising to the surface of your bandages.

Fuuuuck.

Your breath had left your body and you sucked in a raw gasp, tears pricking in the corner of your
eyes as you coughed, fighting the urge to purge your stomach of its contents from the pain.

The world began to spin.

Your head throbbed from its impact as you laid on the tiles, stuttering shallow breaths as you
fought through the pain. You laid on the floor for some time, convincing yourself to enjoy the cool
tile against your cheek before collecting yourself slowly.
Your hand blindly shot out to the edge of the bed for purchase. Don't throw up. Don't throw up.

Fist firmly grasping the sheets, you painstakingly pulled yourself up once more, struggling with
each movement as agony pulsed through you. The pain causing nausea to roll in waves with every
movement of your head.

Once straightened, you leant your weight on your hand, still grasped onto the mattress and sheets
underneath it as you hobbled forward, sliding your hand up as you went, pushing your weight into
it with each step.

You slowly moved about the room, using furniture to lean your body onto, black seeping around
the edge of your vision as you felt yourself becoming dizzy from the pain in your side, and the
impact of hitting your head on the stone.

Hand passed from bed to chair; from chair to table; from table to chaise; to table again, until finally
you reached the two large heavy doors before you.

Holding your hand out, you walked forward stumbling as you caught yourself on the bar of the
door in front of you, leaning heavily against it.

Your hands gripped its handle tightly, knuckles turning white as your vision swam, before you
tried to tug it towards you, muscles struggling with each tug and side straining against the
bandages.

You beat a frustrated fist against the door, grunting loudly as you moved to pull it again, the heavy
oak door not budging once as you growled a curse at it. Behind the doors came the shuffling of
armour, the knights hearing your effort in the chambers behind them.

Bastards.

Limping slowly to the chaise before the fire, you slowly lowered yourself onto it, the overall
journey taking quite some time. If only your father could see you now, you knew he would tease
you.

Eyes watched the flames inside, licking at the log that had been turned over the previous day. Quite
hypnotic to witness, or perhaps it was because you had knocked your head.

Breasts rose and fell heavily with every breath, as you sat and watched the flames. Dark spots in
front of your eyes multiplying with time.

"Y/n."

You blinked.

Something wet dribbled down your cheek.

You moved to brush the tear away, pulling your hand from your face only to see blood. Tentatively
you reached your hand up to your forehead, touching the tender skin that throbbed with every beat
of your heart.

You felt your fingers wet at a small cut on the large bump that had begun to form.

Great.

You leant back against the pillow of the chaise, letting your head flop back as you closed your
eyes. You breathed through your nose, trying to push through the radiating pain in your ribs and
the ever present nausea.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You sat on the chaise breathing slowly and watching the fireplace until the sun had begun to set.
The log in the fireplace was licked by the flames, slowly turning to ash inside as the log blackened
and greyed, falling apart into the embers beneath it.

An eerie silence passed through the room.

The sobs had finally stopped.

You felt yourself begin to drift into a dream, nausea still in your stomach as the world darkened
around you before the doors of your chambers opened roughly.

Footsteps paused as they entered before they made their way over to you.

Blinking your eyes opened, and stared at the fire, moving to push yourself up. You grunted softly
as you turned your head to your visitor. The movement caused the queasiness to rise within you as
you swallowed thickly.

A flash of green caught your eye.

Alicent stood beside the chaise, eyes tired and hair messy as she stared at you. The woman stood
uncomfortably as she watched you closely. You had never witnessed Alicent look so unperfected.

So... untidy.

Her usual stiff backed nature seemingly replaced with a tired woman.

She looked as though she had aged years since your last visit.

Her hands shook where they were held in front of her, shoulders tensed as her gaze turned sour
looking upon you. She looked as though she has not slept.

You knew now from her posture that the screams were real.

She stood there silently, watching you as you breathed, warm wet trail still lightly dripping down
the top of your face.

“I suppose you’ve lost your voice after screaming all night.” You mocked.

You watched as she let out a harsh breath, hands twitching in her grip. Her lips hardened together,
her face tensed in anger.

Silence.

You pushed again, “Is Aemond dead?”

Silence again.

“A shame, I would have liked to kill him myself.” You drawled.

No reaction, but a twitch of her face.

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

“An eye for an eye.” You parroted her.

“A son for a son.” She spat.

You stared at her. Watching her face as she looked at you in disgust. You straightened on the
chaise. A son for a son.

A son for a son.

It was not Alicent’s screams you had heard.

It was Helaena’s.

“Let me see her.” You demanded.

Alicent does not respond to you, simply watches you as you sit forward on the edge of the seat. Her
eyes roamed your side, the chemise spotted with wet blood before her gaze came to your face.

“Let me see her.”

Silence.

The Dowager Queen turned on her heel and made her way to leave your chambers, the wide heavy
doors opening at her approach.

“Let me see her!” You demanded, distress surging through you.

The Hightower ignored you, leaving your chambers, the doors shutting loudly behind her.

A yell tore through your lips as you looked at the doors.

Jagged breaths pulled at your wound as you tried to calm yourself. A new wave of grief rolling
over you as you thought of your aunt. Your sweet Helaena. She did not deserve to be pulled into
this war. She did not deserve the pains of grief.

Had she not given enough already?

You thought of her three young children, wondering if it was Jaehaerys or Maelor who had been
slain. All of her babes were kind and gentle just like her, not at all like their father.

This was war. This was Aemond's doing, you told yourself.

New tears fell from your face as you let the wave finally crash over you.

And for the first time since being in the Red Keep, you let yourself cry for your brother. For the
loss of the sweet boy taken in front of you. You cried for your mother and father, who have lost
their King, their children and their throne. You cried for your aunt, who was grieving her son.
You even grieved for yourself.

You spent your evening sobbing by the fire, not having moved, your side aching with each ragged
breath. From outside your chambers you listened to the loud wailing of your aunt rise again, as she
grieved her own child alone, yet in tandem with you.

You cried until the tears stopped flowing, until you could no more. Until all of your grief and
sorrow left your body completely. Until you felt empty.

Shallow.

A husk.

No more.

Your cheeks dried and your back straightened. No more tears fell from your eyes.

This was war.

Grief has no place in it.

 Wounds of Solitude
Chapter Notes

The poor reader can't catch a singular break, not even to catch her damn breath (I write
this as if I am not writing it to be true)

The days bled together.

The same monotonous dragging of time, with the same routine.

You would wake. You would eat. You would shuffle yourself around the room for some time,
trying to get your strength back. Steps slow as you leant on furniture for stability.

Then you would eat some more, depending on if they brought you a meal during the day, and after
that you would sleep. Recounting old tales in your head, speaking them out loud as you listened to
your aunt's wails from outside of your chambers.

From there you would pace some more, try not to think of your brother's death, blinking the
thoughts away as they came, before singing in High Valyrian, the song Daemon would sing to you.

There was nothing to do.

No one to talk to.

No one to grieve with.

Nothing.

But your aunt's cries.

You would walk and pace. Talk to yourself, to the walls or the skies until your nightly meal was
brought, the same as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that.

You would sing, and scream just to fill the air with anything but Helaena's anguish that leaked into
every crack and crevice, every pore and opening.

You would eat in silence. Drink your honeyed wine and then retire to bed. Following the routine.
Behaving. Like a good prisoner should, before laying on your back staring at the ceiling, praying to
have a dreamless sleep.

Your prayers were never answered.

The maids who brought your food and occasionally bathed you would not answer your barrage of
questions. The Maester's who came to clean your bandages did not reply either. Not even to your
questions of what had happened.

The only person who would talk to you was Lucerys.

You would occasionally catch his form in the corner of your eye, his voice whispering your name.
He was always in your dreams. The same dream, every night, where you fell into the abyss before
waking again in your chambers.

The first time you noticed him, it frightened you. You had cried and hid, and tucked your head into
your knees for hours until he had finally disappeared.

The second time, you just stared at him, waiting for him to reveal himself. Or for you to wake from
the dream you were in. Or even you yourself, come to the realisation that perhaps you too were a
ghost.

You weren't.

The third time you saw him was acceptance that he was there.

Acceptance that he would not leave you. Acceptance that he died under your protection.
Acceptance that he would not come back, and this was the only time that you would ever see him
again.

This was your punishment.

He always looked the same. Drenched in his wet robes as he looked at you sadly. His robes would
drip, but there would be no puddle beneath him.

You came to crave his presence in the end.

There was no one else with you. And although he only said your name, at least it was something.
At least it kept his memory in your mind.

He fuelled your fire.

With every day that passed, you noted that your side healed faster without the milk of the poppy
flooding your veins. One morning, a Maester came to change your bandages, his old withered
finger lightly prodding the healing gash.

His finger irritated the wound, making your skin twitch under his touch. He worked in silence as he
gently washed your side, carefully avoiding the stitches, as he rubbed an ointment into the skin.

It smelt of tree bark and oil.

You watched the fire blankly as you always did, waiting for him to finish and wrap you back in
bandages before leaving without a word.

“You’re healing well, Princess.”

Your head snapped to the man before you.

In all your days in your chambers, in every day that he came to change your dressings, not once did
he speak, nor reply to your words, or your questions, or your demands.

You had even begun to have conversations with him, responding for him to fill the empty space
around you.

The old man looked at you gently before back at your wound, long fingers spreading the ointment
on thickly, the wails of Helaena still muffled behind the thick doors.
“How long have I been here?” You asked quietly, hoping the ears about the Keep would not hear
with your aunt's mournful cries.

“Almost a moon's turn.” Came his quiet response.

The old man stood to wash his hands in a bowl of water beside him, the oily ointment rising to the
surface of the water. He picked up a cloth beside the basin, drying his hands thoroughly, and
slowly, slower than he had done before.

“Who maimed me?” You questioned the man before you, as he picked up a roll of clean new
bandages before walking back to you. He sat on a small stool as he slowly unrolled the pale cloth
strips.

“When Prince Aemond broke your fall, your side was gravely injured. Dragons talons are not the
gentlest of hands.”

The Maester leant forward, slowly curling the bandage around your body, each roll of the strips
slower than the last.

He was taking his time.

“Is Princess Helaena…” You trailed off.

You did not know what to ask.

The Maester's pale eyes looked up, but his head did not move as he considered your question, hand
pausing at your side as he began to wrap another loop around you.

“The Princess, I fear, has gone mad to grief.”

You did not respond, instead you gave a curt nod at the news.

The old man continued, wrapping the bandages around you tightly and more quickly.

He suddenly seemed nervous.

“Thank you.” You whispered down to him. His hands faltered as they continued, not
acknowledging your gratitude.

As he secured the bandage to your side, tightly tucking it amongst the others he stood, walking to
the small table that held the ointment, cloths and basin of water.

He swiftly tidied the space as maids entered the chambers, helping him to collect the items, before
wordlessly leaving you once more.

Blonde hair erupted into the room.

With long determined strides, Aemond came beside your bed, looking down at you, as you did not
move to pull your chemise down over your body, exposing the bandages to him.

Let him see what he has done.

Let him see how you have survived.

He looked perturbed. Almost as Alicent had days before. His hair was not as groomed as it usually
was, and the way he stood indicated sleepless nights.
Ha.

The One-Eyed Prince took another step closer looking at you. You craned your neck to look up at
him as he watched. As usual, he wore all black.

"A fine day, is it not?" You asked him, voice nonchalant.

"Hm."

"You look tired, my Prince. Have you slept?"

Aemond did not answer.

"There is this dr-"

His hand shot out and grabbed at your chin roughly, knocking your head back against the wooden
bed board behind you. You winced. His long fingers dug painfully into your face as he sneered at
you.

Touchy.

You let yourself smile at him in his grip, his fingers digging into you harder as your lips curled.

"Be. Quiet." He grit out.

"No. I don't think I will. You see-"

He pulled your head towards him before bashing it back against the board once more, watching as
you screwed your eyes shut at the impact.

It caused a dull ache to settle in the back of your skull.

His eye watched your face as you opened your lids to stare at your older uncle. Willing him to do
something next. To go too far. To hurt you. To make you feel.

Anything.

But he didn't.

His lone eye simply roved your face, then down your body to where your exposed stomach was,
before it crawled back up to your lips. He stared at your mouth for what felt like an eternity.

But it could have been just a moment. Time was lost to you these days. His tongue came out to wet
his lips before the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Aemond swallowed thickly before his hand slid down your neck, tapping a long finger against your
collarbone.

You held your breath.

With a low hum, Aemond spun on his foot, before marching out of your chambers, the large
wooden doors closing loudly behind him.

Alone again.

It was not until 2 nights later that Alicent visited you again.
You were sat beside the window, gazing out at the ocean before you, waiting for some sign of your
family or any sign at all. You prayed to see the large red wings of Caraxes, or the golden glow of
Syrax.

None came.

You did not turn as the chamber doors opened, you expected another silent exchange. You counted
in your head as you wondered how long this visit would be.

The previous evening, the maids broke a new record, spending less than 168 counts within your
chambers before swiftly removing themselves.

It was almost as if you had greyscale.

Footsteps walked loudly towards you, standing right beside the chaise where you sat. You did not
turn, not until the feet did not move again, still standing where they stopped. Slowly, you turned
your head.

Queen Alicent stood beside you as she watched you coldly.

In the Queen’s hands was a scroll of parchment.

Alicent did not move, standing completely still as she stared at you. You took your eyes away from
the parchment and stared back. A silent standoff.

You sat as she stood, waiting for the other to make their move first, when Alicent finally
straightened, pulling her shoulders back as she thrust the parchment towards you, fingers raw and
bitten.

You watched her warily as the scroll was held towards you. Her hand stayed outstretched as she
waited for you to reach for it. Grabbing the parchment you unrolled it, looking at the familiar
script within.

Dracarys.

That was all that was written, neatly across the scroll in your fathers script. The gentle slope,
dipping of the y and long stroke of the s, all familiar to you from times where you would watch the
Rogue Prince write letters, teaching you to write yourself, chastising you as you tried to rush the
slopes.

Patience was never a strong virtue for you.

Or Daemon.

This tiny scroll of parchment, to most would seem insignificant, but to you? This was everything.
This was hope. They knew you were alive. They knew you had fought, and they know you will
fight.

This was your hope.

A smile split across your face.

“Against my better judgement,” Alicent started, an air of moral superiority cloaking each word,
“and the advice of King Aegon’s council, I thought I would show you proof that your mother
knows of your survival.”
Your gaze was still on the scroll in your fingers as you huffed a small laugh through your nose.
The smile grew wider on your face with every passing second.

The Dowager Queen seemed to be waiting for your appreciation and thanks.

You gave neither.

“Dracarys,” Spoke Alicent, awkward accent as she butchered the word, “Dragon fire. But you
have no dragon." She paused as she grit her teeth, "A son for a son. Do you see the cruelty of your
mother now? Do you not see the madness of it all? Rhaenyra is not fit to be Queen.”

You shifted, turning your body to fully face the woman in front of you, eyes looking up at hers,
deep smile still on your face.

“Dracarys.” You purred, teeth showing as you watched Alicent's composure crumble, disgust
crawling onto her face.

"Iksā mirre jāre naejot morghūljagon.” (You are all going to die.) You laughed.

Your head was knocked to the side, a stinging pain blooming up your face. The room filled with
the crack of Alicent’s slap. Copper flooded your tongue as you looked at the flames in the
fireplace.

Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys.

“You will stand before the King. You will beg for forgiveness. Acknowledge Aegon as the rightful
heir to the Iron Throne and pray that he pardons you and your treason. You will ask Aemond for
forgiveness and offer him your hand. That is how you will survive.” The Dowager Queen hissed at
you, as she stood closer to you now, leaning down.

You licked at your lips, turning your head to stare at her again. This time neither smiling nor
scowling, instead your face became an emotionless void. Devoid of any pain, any fear, happiness,
anger, mourning, rage.

Nothing.

You would give them nothing.

Alicent stared down at you, eyes darting about your face as you watched the hand that struck you
curl into itself. Taking one last glance at you, she stormed out of your chambers, the door shutting
with a bang.

Your eyes turned to your lap. In your hand the scroll was still held, the parchment slightly crinkled
from your grip. Although it was light, it felt heavy in your hands. The word weighed heavily on
you.

You spent your day by the fire, reading the word over and over, not moving from where you sat.

Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys.

When you retired for the evening you lay in bed, turned on your uninjured side, holding the
parchment next to your head on the pillow as you read it over and over again, until your eyes
eventually became heavy and shut on their own.

Dracarys, dracarys, dracarys.

That night you dreamt of fire, not falling.

When you woke the next morning, the parchment was no longer in your hand. You searched
throughout your sheets, pulling them away from the bed, ignoring the pain in your side as you
searched.

You searched beneath the pillows, the sheets and blankets, under the bed and tables, even making
your way around the room, trashing it, looking for the tiny writing.

The small scroll was nowhere to be found.

Settling from your fit of rage you sat beside the bed once more, staring down at the floor, your feet
bare on the cold stones. You looked at the mess.

Pillows were strewn around the room, blankets and sheets in complete disarray, empty drawers
opened and discarded on the ground beneath, their holdings flung carelessly.

A subtle glint of gold caught your eye.

Beside a wardrobe, beneath the mess of pillows and sheets, was an object, its gold glinting at you
softly. Slowly you made your way to it, foot coming out to nudge a pillow from the object away.

As the pillow fell backwards a golden head of a dragon was revealed. The head was beautifully
crafted, and hook shaped for a hands grip. Painfully you bent down, pushing away the blankets that
obscured the rest of it.

Beneath the carnage was a walking stick.

The body was a deep dark wood, with its handle and base a solid gold. You reached for the cane,
pulling it underneath you as you used it to stand, pushing your weight onto it.

The cane was the perfect height, coming snug to your side. Its handle was smooth to the touch, no
sharp edges would press into your hand as you moved about. The craftsmanship of the cane
indicated that it had cost gold.

Lots of it.

You gingerly put your weight onto the head of the cane and limped around the room carefully,
testing its strength and getting used to using it. The soft clunk of the golden sole echoed around
your chambers as you moved.

Though it was not loud enough to drown out Helaena, who still cried and wailed outside.

No more would you use the furnishings in your chambers to move about, nor the slow and
torturous walk which pulled at your side.

No.

Now you had an aid, which would strengthen you and speed up your recovery.

You walked around the room again, not knowing how many times you had done before, when you
paused, eyes darting to the cane below your hand.

Who had left this for you?

Had they taken your parchment? Why did they leave this for you? Did you have more allies here
than you knew of?

You looked at the head of the cane. The dragon's head was familiar.

Syndor.
 A Debt
Chapter Notes

The reader needs a valium and a little treat

The next time the maids came to your chambers, you hid the cane away, stashing it behind the
heavy wood of your wardrobe out of sight.

You did not know if they would take it from you, or report you having it, but you were not to take
any chances for if it was a sign from an ally, you would not have the vipers nest turn itself inside
out in search of the person aiding you.

Four days had passed, and in those four days you used the cane all day, every day, determined to
strengthen yourself. And strengthen yourself you did, though at a cost.

Every evening after your hours of pacing, excruciating pain would rip through your side, and every
time you thought of resting, that word would appear in your head.

Dracarys.

You would not stop.

The clunk of the cane on the floors helped distract you from the cries from outside of your
chambers. As the sun rose and fell, so did the sobs and screams of Princess Helaena.

The Princess was so stricken with grief that she had not stopped. If being imprisoned in your
chambers did not drive you mad, her cries certainly would.

You did not know how much longer Helaena could wail the way she did, before her lungs or voice
would give out. Her voice cracked and broke as she cried, and each day you found the sound
whittle deeper and deeper into your composure.

Looking into the fireplace, you watched as the flames flickered and swayed, dancing with each
other as they devoured the logs within.

An icy feeling poured down your back.

The sobs outside had stopped, but you could still hear crying.

The sorrowful weeping was coming from within your chambers.

You spun from where you sat, desperately seeking out the noise in the room, looking for your aunt
and where she may be hiding.

“Helaena?” You called into the room, eyes searching about.

You pushed yourself up with your cane, and began to hobble through the room, eyes darting about
desperately.
No response came. How did she get in here?

As you walked deeper into your chambers, nearing the sleeping area, you spotted a shadow.

In the corner of the room stood a small dark figure, its back turned to you, light barely reaching it.
You took cautious steps towards the crying person, head stretching to try and catch a glimpse of
who it was.

As you got closer, the figure became more recognisable.

Atop its head was a small mop of brown hair, wet from rain.

The young boy shivered as his back was turned to you, drops of water now audible in the space as
they hit the stone floor below. Of each time he had been with you, not once had he cried.

You blinked, tears forming in your eyes. What had you done wrong? What has happened? Your
heart raced rapidly up your throat, as you felt dread rear its ugly head within you.

“Lucerys?” You shakily whispered.

A small sob escaped your lips as you got closer. He was still in his robes that he wore to Storm’s
End, still the same robes as he wore every time you saw him, but somehow tonight was worse than
ever.

You wondered if you ever told him how handsome he looked that day.

Upon his robes, you could see small small stains of blood around his body, in pockets. Like he had
been pierced by something, though the robes were not torn.

The small boy continued to cry, not facing you.

You inched closer, wary of the image of your brother in front of you. Why was he so loud? Why
was he crying? Had you gone to madness like your aunt?

The room was uncomfortably still.

All that could be heard inside the chambers was the dripping of water, and Lucerys’ small cries as
your cane echoed on the floor with every shaky step you took towards him.

Could a ghost cause you harm? Was his presence just in your head, or was he a spectre that was not
conjured up by your grief but here by his own design, or the Gods?

Could you reach out to hold him?

Could he reach out to hold you?

You stood behind him, watching his shoulders shake as he cried. Hands down by his side as he
stood in the corner not facing you, back stiff.

“Luc?” You tearily whispered, hand reaching out to touch him.

Please Gods, let me hold him again.

A large boom broke through your chambers. You sharply spun around, looking for the source.
Outside of your windows a storm had begun to roll in, lightning flashing through the space.
You turned back to reach out for Lucerys, but he was gone.

A wave rose inside and then crashed fiercely atop you.

An agonised sob ripped through your lips.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

You shook your head roughly. You had told yourself no more tears. But no matter how hard you
tried to stop them, they still came.

Your head darted about the room in search of him, finding the space to be empty. You cried
loudly, anger coursing through you as you lifted your cane to smash against the mirror on the
wardrobe, the broken shards spraying across the floor, storm raging loudly outside.

How many more times would he be taken from you?

The cane was hurled across the room, your side twinging from the movement as your hand came to
swipe the candles from the table, creamy wax spilling across the floor, hardening against the cool
stone tiles.

You cried as you destroyed the room, each crack of thunder pushing the image of Lucerys’ death
into your mind. Each booming grumble causing fear to pull at your heart.

It was just like the day you both fell.

With each boom came the jaws from beneath the clouds.

With each rumble came the laughter of your uncle.

With every strike of lightning, you saw Arrax falling beneath you into the clouds. You felt the
room begin to suffocate you, becoming smaller, as you struggled to suck in desperate breaths.

Collapsing on the floor you heaved, clawing at your chest as you cried, the lightning illuminating
shadows in your room. You cried, and cried until you felt yourself becoming hysterical.

“Y/n.”

Standing beside you was Lucerys.

Wet, and cold and dead.

You sucked in a shaky sob as you looked at him. His cheeks were rosy despite being soaked.
Lucerys gazed down at you with a sad expression. His cherubic features made your heart clench.

“Y/n.” He said again, softer. You felt your lips shake as you looked at him, a whole new wave of
tears forming.

“Dracarys, y/n.” He uttered, looking at you intently.

You gasped a cry as he spoke, hiccuping as you looked at the dead boy in front of you.

“Dracarys.” He said again.

The tears stopped as you panted, rage slowly replacing grief.

You breathed heavy, watching him as he watched you. His presence suddenly calmed you as you
took deep breaths. In and out.

In and out.

Dracarys.

The young boy slowly turned his head away from you, looking at the shards of mirror on the floor.
Light from the storm outside illuminating the pieces with every crack of the storm.

You blinked at the broken shards as you slowly pulled yourself up, walking towards them.

As you stared at the pieces of mirror below you, your reflection looked back up at you. Wet tracks
ran down your cheeks, your hair wild and untamed, eyes red and raw.

You watched yourself breath in the reflection, bolts of lightning illuminating you for seconds
before the low candle light would replace it.

TW:

How easy it would be to push the shards against the soft skin of your arm and slowly pull the blade
down, to watch the flesh pull apart from itself as the blood would spill forth. To let your life ooze
from you slowly. To finally join your brother.

To finally not be alone.

You bent at an awkward angle, picking up a shattered piece, holding it delicately in your palm.
The shard was long and twisted, the tip sharp and pointy.

You watched your reflection in the shard as you breathed deeply.

“Y/n.”

You looked up.

Lucerys was in front of a large painting beside your bed, watching you. His small hand coming up
to touch the art as he looked at you. You walked to him slowly, careful around the broken shards
beneath you.

His face was stern.

“Dracarys.” The young boy said again.

You breathed heavily as you looked at him, hand curling around the shard roughly, its sharp edges
stinging your palm.

No. You would not do their job for them. You would not give them the satisfaction. If they wanted
you dead, it would be by their hand, and not yours.

"They will pay for what they did to you. I promise."

Your free hand reached out to touch him, fingertips coming to his face. Lucerys closed his eyes,
your palm coming to move through him.

Then suddenly he was gone.

The young boy that had been standing in front of you was no longer there. His small face was
nowhere to be seen, his drenched robes creating puddles beneath him on the floor now gone, and
the stone dry.

An angry cry ripped through your throat as you slapped your fist against the wall he had been
standing by.

Thud.

The noise that came from the impact was dull and hollow. Your head tilted, attention coming to the
wall in front of you. The hand holding the mirror tightened its grip, small drops of blood running
down the shard and onto the floor, replacing the dripping of Lucerys’ robes in your ears as the
storm raged behind you.

You spread your hand against the painting, your palm feeling the rough grooves of the art as you
caressed it. How many years had you looked at this art growing up? How many times had your
hands been where they are now?

It felt almost like yesterday when you-

Your mind raced quickly as you stared.

How could you have forgotten?

How long had you spent moping in your chambers, forgetting the one way out.

The memory of your father flicked across your mind, of how he had snuck into your mothers
chambers and spooked you both, how your mother had warned you to not use the passageways or
tell anyone of them, lest you reveal their secret.

You thought of your own adventures through the passages with your uncles and brothers, sneaking
through playing a game of hide and go seek.

How many times over the years of your upbringing had you been in these very walls?

Bracing your palm against the painting you pushed your body against it, only hearing the hollow
thud of your body knocking on the wood. Angrily you pushed again, ramming your shoulder into
it, the shard slipping slightly in your grip, slicing your fingers.

The wall inched slightly away.

This could work.

You huffed a laugh in disbelief before ramming your body into it again. The wall moved another
inch, revealing a slither of darkness behind it.

You pulled away taking a deep breath before you hurled yourself at the painting once more, its
rusty hinges groaning in the effort as you stumbled through into the darkness.

You gulped in breaths, as pain clawed its way through your side, blinking as you tried to see
through the pitch black darkness of the passage.

As your eyes adjusted, you inhaled deeply, collecting your bearings. The air smelt dusty and dry,
the ground beneath you dirty from the years of abandonment and disuse. You tentatively reached
out a hand, placing it against the rough stone beside you before moving forward.
Stumbling through the dark, your eyes only just seeing the passage before you as you took twists
and turns through the keep, following your instincts, as your feet led the way.

The way you had been many times before.

The further you walked, the more your pace increased until you were briskly walking through the
dark, ignoring the pain in your side and your breathless gasps.

You ran your fingertips against the stone roughly whilst the other hand continued to grip the shard
of mirror, a trail of blood following you in its wake.

And though you had been in these walls many times, and knew of their secrecy, you were still
anxious of being found.

You did not know who or what lurked in the walls anymore.

Your heart was beating so hard in your chest, you could hear your pulse in your ears over the sound
of the storm outside, and the shuffling of your steps.

How many more paces until you reached the exit point? If you could ju-

Suddenly your feet stopped, and your chest heaved.

You moved your hand desperately as your fingers felt against the wall. You had found something.
Your fingers traced the groove delicately. Rubbing against the indentation, mind reeling.

Beneath the tips of your fingers was a small and crooked X that had been roughly carved into the
stone. You let your fingertips trace over it again and again, a bittersweet scoff escaping your lips.

Aemond had carved that X into the stone as a child for you one day after he found you, scared and
alone in the passage, seemingly taken a wrong turn and ending up in an area of the Keep you were
unfamiliar with.

Your uncle had pulled the blade he always had with him out from its sheath, and carved into the
stone beside you as you watched on.

He had told you that should you ever lose your way, that the X should lead you to safety.

You sniffed.

And lead you, it did.

You thrust your other hand out to the side, the back of it roughly feeling against the stone, shard of
mirror still firmly in your fist. You walked slowly as you dragged the back of your hand against the
stone, its rough surface scraping against the thin skin, searching for a break in the wall.

You walked for ten paces until you found it.

The back of your hand bumped roughly against a ridge. You flicked out your empty hand to feel it,
finding the groove of the entrance as you traced your fingertips up and down, in search of
something.

Until you found the dip.

Curling your fingers underneath you pulled, feeling the wall budge towards you. You did it again,
softer this time, wary of alerting anyone on the other side to your presence. The wall shifted quietly
towards you.

You waited, listening for movement behind the passage door, ear towards the crack in the
opening. Straining to hear an alert of your presence.

You heard no sound from within.

You pulled the heavy door towards you as it slowly slid open, a slither of light breaking through,
causing you to blink rapidly at the brightness as your eyes adjusted.

You paused, and waited again.

Nothing.

Pulling the door towards you further, your heart raced in your chest, blood trickling from your hand
down your arm as the shard of mirror dug deeper into your palm.

This was it.

You peered into the space, a low light coming from inside. There was little to no candles lit and the
fireplace was gently burning in the far end of the room, which illuminated part of the darkness.

Stepping through the door, you looked around the chambers.

Nothing but green furnishings and dark woods were inside. There was nothing to be heard but the
sounds of the crackling fire, the storm outside, and your shattered breaths.

Taking slow steps, you darted your eyes around the chambers until you found it.

There, to your right was a large canopied bed, deep green sheets messily strung about it.

Beside the bed sat a lone candle that flickered softly, illuminating the sleeping figure. An open
book lay on their chest, sleep seemingly stealing them away from their nightly reading.

Their chest rose and fell gently as you crept over to them, shard still firmly grasped in your hand.

That wave came again and pulled you with it.

You blinked.

Aemond lay sound asleep in his bed, unaware of your presence in his chambers.

Silver hair lay gently on a pillow like a halo, eyepatch missing from his face. As you observed
him, your fist tightened around the shard, blood seeping from the wound heavily now, as it dripped
onto the floor beside the bed.

He looked gentle like this.

His face was no longer hard with anger, there was no sneer or smirk on his soft lips, there was just
his face.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

He looked handsome.

You watched Aemond sleep as the wave pulled higher inside of you and the fire burned hot.
Is this what it felt like when he watched you sleep?

Is this what it felt like when he hurt you?

Is this how he felt when he took your brother's life?

When he called you all bastards?

When he stole your cousin's dragon?

When he defiled you?

That fire bubbled up inside you, consuming your every being as you continued to stare at your
uncle's sleeping form.

How could he sleep so soundly?

How could he live with himself after what he has done?

So many questions swirled in your mind, as that all encompassing anger and grief consumed you,
until suddenly you heard it. The smallest whisper in the back of your mind, that tiny voice echoing
in your head.

Your mouth opened as you took a rough breath.

Dracarys.

Your chest rose and fell as you breathed angrily looking down at him.

You blinked again, capturing the image of him like this to your memory. The boy you grew up
with was not this man. The boy who was kind, was no longer here.

This man was a stranger to you.

This man was a murderer.

A Kinslayer. A brute, ill-made, unkind, a savage, second son.

He took Lucerys from you.

He took Lucerys.

You only wished your father was here to watch. And your mother. And Jacaerys. And all of Kings
Landing. If you were swift enough, perhaps you could take a trophy of some sort. A souvenir from
your time in the Keep.

Perhaps you would take his eye after all.

As you watched your uncle sleep, observing the rise and fall of his chest, the fire within burnt at
you roughly, licking at your face, until you felt yourself sneering at the man, your chest heaving in
angry breaths until you felt yourself become nothing but rage.

There were no thoughts anymore. Only that burning hot fire. You knew now.

Your fist tightened on the shard as you looked at Aemond, arm raising above you with the sharp
tip pointing down at him.
A loud bang crashed through the room.

The chambers doors swung open violently, hitting the wall behind them as Ser Criston Cole burst
into the space, looking around wildly in search of something.

In search of you.

Brown eyes caught yours.

Do it now.

You looked back down at Aemond who started to wake, the sound of the Queen’s knight racing
towards you. Aemond’s eye opened and looked up at you in confusion, sleep still heavy in his face,
as your arm swung down towards him.

The One-Eyed Prince’s arm came up in reflex knocking your hand away from its intended course;
his throat.

Despite his defence, the sharp shard came down still with the force of your body, its point slicing
through the skin between the top of his shoulder and neck, ripping through his flesh.

The feeling of stabbing someone is a strange thing. The force needed is not as much as you would
think, and if the blade is good enough, or in this case a shard of mirror, then the sharpness of the
edge does most of the work.

It reminded you of when there was Lucerys' name day celebrations. There was a hunt. As there
always was. And you had gone hunting. As you always did. And you had hunted.

The shard of mirror entered Aemond the same way that your blade had entered the deer.

Your wild gaze caught the One-Eyed Princes.

Was that fear?

A large weight knocked into you and suddenly you were on the floor.

The world spun as you wheezed, trying to pull the air back into your lungs. You gasped a laugh to
yourself, disorientated as a blooming pain settled in the back of your head, side burning in protest.

The sound of a sword unsheathing scraped above you.

“Stop, do not kill her.” Aemond grunted quickly.

You tried to move as two arms grasped each of yours, hauling you roughly from the ground, your
head spinning making you nauseous and your side ache with the roughness of the movement.

Two guards held your arms restrained as Ser Cole stood before you, sword drawn, the tip pointed
under your chin. You grinned playfully at the Dornish man.

“There he is,” You slurred, tongue heavy, “the Queen’s lapdog.”

Criston’s face twitched as he straightened himself, sword coming to almost touch the underside of
your chin. You lifted your head higher, wobbling slightly as you smiled wider.

Here was a man that had once been devoted to your mother, following her around like a love sick
puppy.
Now, he had a new master.

“Take her to the dungeons.” Came Prince Aemond’s voice from beside the bed.

Lazily dropping your head to the side, you saw your uncle. He sat on the edge of the bed as he
clutched at his shoulder, thick rivulets of blood oozing from beneath his fingers as he grasped at
his wound.

Got you.

All you felt, was all encompassing joy as you watched his face twist in pain, white shirt stained red
from his blood. You laughed as you looked at him.

How pathetically small he seemed to be now.

His face looked the same as it did the night when his eye was taken. A small powerless boy, bested
by those who were born for greatness, unlike the second son.

You grinned cruelly at him whilst slowly being dragged out of his chambers by his guards, their
rough hands jerking you away from him.

He watched you with his lone eye, the other was empty.

It was not until that moment that you had realised the Kinslayer did not have his sapphire orb inside
of his empty socket. The place in which it usually sat was empty. A large gaping hole, dark and
scarred starred back at you.

He looked almost human.

Your feet dragged underneath you as you were pulled further and further away from him, neck
craned backwards so that you could watch him as you left.

“I told you uncle,” You sang across the room to him, “You really should have killed me.”

You watched as he blinked at you, and then you began to laugh.

A loud piercing sound as Ser Criston Cole called out for the Maesters. Your father would be so
proud of you.

You would avenge Lucerys, even if it was the last thing you would do.

Your laughter echoed through the chambers, as it became shrill and almost manic. Aemond's face
hardened as he watched you laugh at his expense.

"Bested by a bastard once again, uncle!" You called out to him.

His jaw set into a hard line, and the soft face that he had when sleeping, was now back to his
roughened glare.

"You kinslaying second son." You growled, before smiling at him giggling again.

Ser Criston Cole watched as the knights began to haul you faster out of the injured Prince's
chambers. The guard's hands tightened roughly against your arms.

"Ao enkagon iā gēlȳn." (You owe a debt.) You yelled across the room, parroting his words he had
called across the skies to Lucerys.
He blinked. Sneer pulled at his lips as his fingers dug into his wound.

Your laughter rose higher and higher, and with each breath you took, the more dizzy you became.

Feeling bruises form beneath their iron grip, you were hauled out of the chambers and dragged
down into the dungeons below, feet barely being able to keep up with the guard's as you laughed
and half sobbed. The pain in the back of your head blooming and your side burning in agony.

But it was all worth it.

Dracarys, echoed Lucerys.

Dracarys.
 A Refusal
Chapter Summary

Go reader! Go! Sorry for not updating in a hot minute, I got lost in the sauce of life,
and by that I mean depression. Slay

You were thrown roughly into a cell. The air around you damp and cold. You fell to your knees,
the thin chemise you were wearing tearing under the weight of your body hitting the hard ground.

The rough tiles dug meanly into your skin, grazing them, rubbing the top layer away from your
flesh. Your hands caught most of your fall, as they roughly jutted out in front of you, your cut hand
sliding painfully onto the ground.

Despite the stinging you felt in your hand, the throbbing at the back of your head, your injury on
your side and the shining bite of your knees, you still smiled.

Despite all of your loses, tonight was a victory.

You hoped you had gotten Aemond where the Maester's could not sew him together again, praying
that he bleed out in his mothers arms, in his pretty green chambers.

Perhaps then, Alicent would be seen in Targaryen red again. Drenched in her sons blood.

The guards slammed the metal cell doors loudly behind you, locking you inside with the twist of a
key. You leant back lazily, watching them walk away, the only light source coming from a lone
torch on a far wall.

The cell stunk of mildew and iron, rust most likely on the bars from the moist air. In the cell there
was a straw bed, sat pushed against a wall, no sheets or blankets, nor even a pillow atop it. Just a
bundle of straw with a moth eaten cover, small stray pieces of hay poking up out of holes and tears.

On the back of the cell sat a small window, too small to crawl through and yet still had bars
attached. Below the window sat an old rusted bucket.

You sniffed, turning your head away from the make shift toilet. There was no seat, nor stool.
Nothing in the room except the bed, the bucket and yourself and yet despite all, you felt
triumphant.

The world spun slightly as you moved your way through the dark towards the straw bed, laying
onto it heavily, staring at the dark ceiling above you.

The bed was lumpy and rough, straw poking into your sides, yet still nothing could shake the smile
on your face. You hummed to yourself, ignoring the thrumming in the back of your skull and
closed your eyes.

It was a cold evening, and the cells damp made the air frigid. You turned onto your side and curled
your legs up to your body, tucking them under your chemise. You hummed as you smiled, rubbing
your uncut hand up and down your body for warmth and comfort.

Eventually sleep caught up to you, and for once, you did not dream at all.

You woke to the sound of keys unlocking the cell door.

You opened your eyes to see four knights and a Maester, entering your cell. It was the same
Maester as before who had spoken to you. He avoided your gaze as he came closer to you, the cell
having some light that came in through the small window.

Sitting up in the straw bed you watched as he approached you, guards standing closely behind him,
monitoring your every movement sharply.

The old man began to sort his creams and healing tools beside him on a small stool he had brought
in. You held out your hand expectantly, watching the guards hands move for the swords as you
did.

They were wary of you.

Good.

The Maester gently took your hand and washed it with a rag, pulling away the crusted blood and
dirt from the cell off of the open wound. You watched as he looked closely at your palm,
inspecting it for damage or early signs of infection.

Once happy with his diagnosis, he reached beside him to open a tub of ointment, the same cream
that he applied to your side, spreading it generously along your palm and up to the more shallow
cuts on your fingers.

The ointment felt cool on your skin, almost minty as he worked. The ointment slightly stung the
wound as it settled in, though after, the cooling brought you relief.

The Maester bandaged your palm slowly, eyes flicking up to yours momentarily before going back
to work. Next he checked the back of your head. No wound was present to clean or sew, except a
large lump that had formed from the impact of the fall.

The Maester then moved onto treating your side. He looked uncomfortable as he went to pull your
chemise up, no privacy being permitted to you from the onlookers.

You sniffed and pulled the chemise up and over your head, baring your nude body to him and the
four guards. You did not care for their watchful gaze, nor did you care for your modesty.

The Maester turned his head backwards to the guards, as if to tell them to turn around.

All guards but one averted their gaze.

The shortest guard, with dirty blonde hair beneath his helm stared at you, almost in disgust as the
old Maester washed, cleaned and spread new ointment onto your wound. His eyes roamed down
your body, stilling at your breasts. Men were all the same.

Pig.

As the old mans hands worked, you felt something cold press up against your side.

You tensed.
Something hard and round was placed inside the bandage as he wound it tightly against you. His
eyes were still on yours as his fingers pressed the object on you so that you could feel it.

You steadied your breathing.

In for three. Out for three.

In for three, out for three, until finally he was finished.

The greying Maester stood, placing his ointments and cloths back into his satchel on his side,
picking up the small stool before wordlessly leaving your cell. The four guards followed after him
before the blonde man locked the cell door shut with a large clang.

As the mens footsteps faded, you sat still, goosebumps erupting over your skin from the chill of the
evening. The ointment on your side cooling you further in the cold damp cell.

You pulled the chemise back over your body, hand slightly throbbing at the movement. With your
fingers you touched your side, the round object still snug against your ribs in the bandages.

You dipped a finger into the strips of cloth, fingertip grazing over a cold metal edge. You dug it
upwards, careful to not disturb the bandages too much as the round object slowly dislodged from
its hiding spot. You held the silver object in your hand, looking down at it unblinking. In your
palm lay small silver broach.

You had seen many of its kind before.

A dragon with three heads.

A smile worked its way back onto your face. An ally indeed.

Though doubt sat in the back of your head. Do not get too comfortable, he may be a viper luring
you into a false sense of security. Though still, this small possession would fuel you. For now
instead of three objects in the cell, there was four.

You spent days in the cell alone, laying on the lumpy straw bed, staring at the leaky ceiling above
you. The guards would bring down a meal a day, or what you assumed was a day. It was hard to
tell time in the dark room, and although there was a small window behind you, barely any light
shone through.

Each day the Maester came to change your bandages.

Clearly the Hightower’s wanted you alive, for if they were to kill you for attacking Aemond, they
would have done it already. Dread had settled into you at that realisation.

What were they to do to you? What were their plans for you?

Perhaps they were using you to lure Queen Rhaenyra to the Red Keep, or maybe they were to kill
you at a better time? Either way, you were alive. Which meant you had time.

Time enough to pace the small cell over and over, feet creating a small path amongst the dirt and
grime of the cell. You had counted six meals since you had entered the cell. Six times the Maester
had come to change the bandages, and six times of dreamless sleep.

Your palm had scabbed nicely, the wound a thick dark brown when you looked at it.

You kept the small broach stuffed inside of the straw bed, amongst the strands of hay. Fingertips
searching the cold metal before you slept to turn the three headed dragon in your finger tips,
spinning it as you listened to the steady drip of water from a leak in the corner.

You sat and you waited.

Speaking to yourself, singing, reciting the histories, politics and law of the realm. You spoke to the
guard who would pace the hall, though he would never reply, nor look in your direction.

Anything, but silence.

You would count your steps as you walked around the cell.

Eighteen steps was the circumference.

Eighteen steps to be taken over and over.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen steps.

You paced again for the twenty-fifth time that day… Night? Only the Gods knew, and the vile
vipers in their nest above you.

You wondered if Aemond had taken eighteen steps today, or if he had taken any steps at all. You
prayed that he had taken none, imagining him laying in the sept as he was readied for his funeral.

You laughed.

Footsteps distracted your train of thought and fantasy of your dead uncle. A new pair of steps, not
the same monotonous pacing of a guard.

There were multiple steps, rapidly making their way towards your cell.

You continued to walk the circumference of the room.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

You were back to where you started.

You began again.

One.

Two.

Three.

The footsteps were beside you now, having stopped in front of the bars of your cell. You ignored
them and continued to walk in laps, counting in your head.
Four. Five. Six.

“You are charged with treason, for the attempted slaying of Prince Aemond.” Came the cold voice
of the Queen behind you.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

You paused.

Attempted.

“He didn’t die then?” Tone bored.

Alicent shifted behind you and sniffed.

“The Prince is strong, and in good health. Your feeble attempt at murdering him failed.” She
sneered.

You hummed in thought.

“Shame.”

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

“Bend the knee.” The Hightower growled.

You huffed an amused laugh.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

“Aemond has granted mercy. The King is willing to allow you to live. King Aegon in his wisdom
has offered you forgiveness if you bend the knee and declare him as the rightful heir to the Iron
Throne before the masses.”

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

“Swear your fealty to the King, and you shall be spared.”

Eighteen.

You stood in front of the bars of the cell before Alicent.

Her face was gaunt, dark circles were heavy beneath her wild eyes and her hair sat messily atop her
head. Never had you witnessed the Queen look so disheveled.

She wore a tight green dress, the same seven pointed star hanging heavily against her bust. Though
the dress looked crinkled, as though she had been seated in the same dress for hours. Or days.

The Dowager Queen stared at you, eyes dancing with rage.

Sighing, you looked down at your hands. One still heavily bandaged as you falsely played with
your finger tips in mock thought.

“I would rather die than bend a knee to your cunt of a false King.”
Her lips pressed into a hard line as she breathed deeply.

“Then you shall be put to death for treason.”

“A cause worth dying for.” You smiled, before you began to pace the room again.

One. Two. Three. Four.

You waited to hear the sounds of their footsteps retreating, but no sound came, and no feet moved
from their place. All was silent but the sound of your own footsteps as you gently hummed,
counting in your head.

“Do not be a fool.” She interrupted the silence of the cell.

You looked up into the tiny window before you, a small slither of light could be seen outside.

It must be morning? Or perhaps the afternoon?

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

“You can survive this war. The King would not go back on his word.”

Nine.

Ten.

You laughed.

“His word? Why would I trust that limaceous cravens word?”

You swivelled on your foot, the scars tugging oddly at the skin beneath, as you slowly paced
towards the cell bars again, eyes on Alicent’s cold face.

“He has offered me my life, yes? If I swear to him?”

“Yes.” She breathed, feeling as though she is finally getting somewhere.

“And what of my life, Alicent? For all I know, the remainder of my life could be to sit in this cell,
to pace and die alone. Or perhaps, he would parade me about the streets for his entertainment. Or
worse,”

You paused, stepping closer to the bars.

“He could curse me to the fate you gave to Helaena when you married them. I would spend my
days raped by your son and tormented for his entertainment. What sort of life would that be? No
wonder Helaena has been driven to madness, when you, her own mother, sent her to a fate worse
than death.”

You were breathing heavily. Anger rolling off of you in waves.

The Queens face twitched, jaw clenching as she kept her eyes on you.

“Let me see Helaena.” You demanded.

Alicent cocked her head, looking you up and down, eyes pausing to your hand before her gaze shot
back to your face.
“No. Bend the knee, and then maybe you shall see her.”

“Is she locked away in her chambers the way you have locked me away in this cell? Though she
can move about and has windows, and food, she is no less of a prisoner than I.”

Alicent stormed closer to the cell, the bars separating the two of you as you watched her exhale
sharply through her nose.

“Do you know what they did? What your parents did? The murdered her son. Right before her
eyes, in front of the other children.”

Your mouth went dry.

You swallowed thickly as ice cold dread spread across your heart. She watched as your demeanour
changed, suddenly becoming more venomous.

The viper in its nest has come to play.

“Your mother had two men sneak into Helaena's chambers and made her choose a son. 'A son for a
son’ they said. The Queen had no choice. They cut off Jaehaerys' head and took off into the night
with it.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

Jaehaerys was just a small boy, the twin of little Jaehaera. You had not gotten to properly know
him yet. The twins were so soft, just like Helaena. They knew things too, things that they shouldn't.

Just like her.

This was war.

You steeled yourself.

Lucerys was just a boy too. He was slain right before your eyes.

You sniffed, lifting your head up in defiance.

“Princess Rhaenyra is unhinged. Searching for blood from infants rather than the ones she truly
wages war with. Do you not see? We are giving you a chance. A chance that you do not deserve.”

You stared in shock and in anger. How dare she. How hypocritical of her. As if she had not
demanded Lucerys' eye. As if she had not come to take it herself.

How quickly she had forgotten.

“War will kill us all.” Alicent hissed.

“You started this war the day you donned green. The day you groomed Aegon for the throne, and
sat him upon it.”

Alicent though slightly composed, was beside herself in anger. She sneered once more at the bars,
“You stupid girl.”

You paused, before turning away to start your pacing once more.
You hesitated.

She had made you lose count.

Where were you up to?

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

“It is a shame," You drawled.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

“He won’t be so lucky next time.”

“The King should send your head to your mother.” She hissed behind you.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

“Then at least I will get to watch you all burn.”

 Solitudes Visitors
Chapter Notes

I need to get you all up to date with my tumblr updates, so expect a massive amount of
updates now. A trigger warning for this chapter though, noncon, sexual assault. Read
with caution x

You found yourself restless after your interaction with Alicent Hightower. Images of the lifeless
body of your aunt's son, played in a loop in your mind. A sick imagination toying with your sanity
in the space. Men could go mad from isolation, their minds making up scenarios.

And all you could do in the space was think.

And that is all you wished to not do.

On your seventh sleep, you dreamt.

You dreamt of falling. Of Lucerys’ death. Of the brown haired boy's lifeless body, mangled before
you. You dreamt of Jaehaerys being slain, Helaena's frantic screams echoing in your mind.

Every time you watched the murder of the child, it was your hands doing it.

It was you that she begged for mercy.

It was you who was covered in blood.

You woke up in a sweat. Heart racing, as you slowly recognised your surroundings.

The Maester had not come to your cell that day.

You shivered at the sudden chill of the room, the perspiration on your skin making your blood
cool. Tucking your legs up under your chin, you breathed deeply.

In for three, out for three.

Repeating until you felt yourself calm slightly. Though you tried in vain, you could not fall back to
sleep.

So instead, you paced the cell once more.

Counting aloud to fill the silence, anything better than Lucerys and Helaena’s screams that echoed
in your mind. You had completed your seventh lap of the cell before you heard hurried footsteps.

You turned to face the bars of the cell, looking out into the dark corridor. The footsteps came
closer, as you heard small breaths being puffed out into the air.

The movement of the guard alerted the presence of the person coming to your cell. You watched as
the guard moved towards the hooded figure, hand warily on the hilt of his sword.
As the figure got closer, the torch light illuminated their face.

“My Queen,” The guard bowed, “You shouldn’t be down here.”

She walked shakily towards you, steps uneven and frantic.

“Let me see her.” Helaena demanded, voice raw and uncertain.

“I am sorry, My Queen, I have-“

“I order you to let me see her.” She interrupted the guard, voice stronger, though still laced with
self-doubt.

The guard shifted on his feet, looking back at you as you pressed yourself up against the bar cells
watching her. The man gave an uneasy bow before muttering, “Yes, My Queen.”

He turned on his heel and came before your cell, pulling the key from beside his thigh.

The large skeleton key scraped against the keyhole of the cell before a loud click was heard as he
turned it, unlocking the metal that kept you imprisoned.

Helaena stood beside the guard as he pushed the door open to her.

The silver haired woman looked nervous, before she turned to look at the guard, back hunched.

“Leave us.”

“Your Highness,-” The guard began to argue.

“Leave, lest you be hung for your disobedience.” She hissed, frantic energy rising in her.

“Yes, My Queen.” The guard uttered, eyeing you carefully before turning on his foot to leave the
dungeon, footsteps disappearing up the stairs.

You stared at each other in uneasy silence.

Helaena looked broken.

The hood over her head covered the knotted silver hair beneath, neither brushed nor braided as it
spilled wildly over her shoulders and chest. Her eyes were sunken and hollow, the light they once
held, seemingly snuffed out.

She looked as though she was wasting away.

Had she come to free you?

The both of you stood quietly before she swiftly came forward into the cell, snatching your un-
bandaged hand. You squeezed hers as you felt tears begin to spring to your eyes.

Your sweet aunt. What horrors had she witnessed?

“There is a beast beneath the boards.” She frantically spoke at you, pulling you close, eyes crazed
as she shook.

“Helaena, are you alright?”

“There is a beast beneath the boards.” She hissed impatiently, eyes darting around the space, as
she looked around in search of danger.

“Helaena, I am so sorry.” You began to cry, watching your aunt fall to pieces before you.

“What was lost is replaced, a spider's web is spun.” Queen Helaena yanked you towards her,
holding your hand in both of her hands as she desperately searched your face.

A broken sob fell from her lips. Her eyes widening.

“His head. They took his head. They took his head. They took his head. They took it from his
body. They took it from me. He has no head. How will my boy see? How will he sing to me?” She
rambled.

Your hands shot up and held onto her face as she cried, watching you desperately try to console
her, try to calm her, give her any sort of comfort. She gripped your wrists.

“A dragons death for a dragon breath. I told you. I warned you. I warned you that this would
happen. I tried. I tried. I-“ You pulled her roughly against you, holding her in a tight hug. Her hands
were pressed awkwardly between the two of you as you held her tight.

The young woman continued to ramble as you held her. Breathing in her scent. She smelt as she
always did, of fresh flowers from the garden, sweet and soft in your nose, though sandalwood
lingered the more you concentrated.

You stiffened and pulled back holding her still as she began to wriggle and twist away from you,
swaying back and forth on her feet.

“Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black. Spool of green. Spool of green. Spool of green.”
She repeated.

You felt helpless, utterly at a loss as to what to do, how to comfort your aunt, the broken woman
before you as she uttered the same things over and over.

“Helaena, breathe.” You tried to hold her so that she would stop pacing around the cell.

“No!” She yelled at you as you touched her, her body flinching away. “Please do not make me
choose, please mercy. Mercy, I beg you.”

“Helaena it’s just me.” You began to panic.

The woman laughed brokenly, which turned to loud sobs. Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to
catch the Queen in your hands.

“Please do not make me choose. He is just a boy. Just a boy. So small. Such a small body. It was
wrong. It was so wrong. But I had to. I had to." Her fingers jabbed sharply at her chest, "It was so
wrong to hold him when I could not look at his face. I wish I could hold his face once more. But it
is gone. He is faceless. No more. No more."

Helaena was broken.

She rambled so quickly it made your head spin. You did not know what to do. How could you stop
her? How could you calm a woman gone mad?

Your aunt.
"No more small little face to smile at me. How could I choose? What could I do? Where is his
face? Where has it gone? It is gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.”

You grabbed her shoulders standing in front of her, lowering yourself so that you could reach her
eyesight. She looked at you dazed, suddenly realising where she was.

She looked around the cell, “Y/n?”

“Yes, yes Helaena it's me.” You gave her a small sad smile, “I’m here. I’m here with you.”

The Queen blinked slowly at you, brows furrowing.

“He is gone, y/n. My Jaehaerys.” A tear slid down her cheek as she stared at you, face broken.

“I am so sorry, I am so, so sorry.” You sobbed, holding her.

Helaenas eyes glazed over as she looked at you, face suddenly empty, mouth parted.

“Gone.” She muttered. “Lucerys.”

You sniffed, heart aching, “Yes, gone with Lucerys.”

“Gone.” She repeated, voice empty.

Noise snatched your attention from above, the sound of guards rapidly making their way down the
steps to the dungeon and cell, where you were with Helaena.

She heard the commotion and suddenly looked back at you in fear.

“Dragon's of flesh, weaving dragon's of thread.” She grabbed your arms sharply, fingers digging
painfully into your skin.

The guards were closer now, far down the corridor behind Helaena.

“Get away from her!” One yelled at you, as you held onto your aunt in desperation. You looked
into her eyes as the guards ran towards you. Their armour loudly moving throughout the dungeon.

“If the dragons dance, none will survive.” She whispered desperately at you.

The guards burst into the cell, roughly flinging you back away from Helaena. Large calloused
hands pulled you back towards the wall of the cell. She stared at you in shock as you tried to break
free from the men who pulled you further into the cell away from her, as two held her gently
pulling her away with soft words of encouragement.

“Helaena!” You called to her, as she watched you.

You cried out as one of the guard's roughly grabbed your injured side, fingers digging into the
tender flesh. Pain ripped through your body as he used the grip to pull you further into the cell, as
you watched Queen Helaena standing outside.

“You’re hurting her.” She whispered, the young woman blinked before her face crumpled rapidly.

“Spool of black, spool of black, a dragons breath. A dragons breath. To black, to black, to black.”
She rambled as they walked her away.

“Helaena!” You called out again, desperately fighting through the pain to try and wiggle away
from the guards and go to your aunt.

“Stop resisting.” One of the guards grunted, before he twisted his fingers into your side painfully.
Tears fell from your eyes as you wailed in pain, shifting in their grip, trying to get his hand off of
your wound.

The guard huffed a satisfied laugh.

New steps descended into the dungeon, their footfalls even and not at all rushed. Your heart raced
as you listened to the steps, watching the guards all wait for whomever they had alerted to
Helaena's presence in your cell.

A long leg stepped out from the staircase and another followed. The lazy steps moving the silver
haired man into the space. Aegon walked slowly towards his wife, head tilting to the side.

“Wife, you should not be out of our chambers in your condition.” He cooed, hand coming to brush
the hair away from her face.

“Spool of green. Spool of green. Beware the beast beneath the boards. Beware. Beware. Gone.
Gone. Gone.” She rambled, completely lost to grief and madness as he looked at her sadly.

“Please take the Queen back to our chambers, and ensure that some milk of the poppy is brought to
help calm her.” King Aegon commanded, watching as Helaena was gently moved up toward the
steps, as she continued to look back at you muttering, eyes filled with grief.

Aegon watched Helaena be led up the stairs before his attention turned fully to you. His purple
eyes roamed over your body as he watched you struggle in his guards grip.

His lips turned downward in a smug smirk.

You felt your heart beat rapidly inside of your chest. You had not seen Aegon since before
Lucerys.

Since before he was crowned King.

Aegon sauntered to the cell as you stiffened, watching him smile at you viciously. The Usurper
King swayed on his feet, only a white dress shirt and dark breeches donned his form.

He must have been in his cup, drinking.

“Thank the Seven that this guard informed me of Helaena’s visit to your cell.” He drawled, “Who
knew what you would have done to her once alone.”

You sneered at him, “Fuck you. Usurper cunt.”

You swirled your tongue in your mouth, and spat onto the floor in front of his feet. The guards
yanked you roughly backwards. Aegon looked to the floor where your spit lay, almost having
reached him.

Your eldest uncle laughed an amused laugh, the guards holding you still as he watched you, eyes
raking over your disheveled and dirty form.

“You look filthy.” He smirked. “Worse than the whores down in Flea Bottom. The Silk Lanes
have looked cleaner than you do.”

You yanked against the guard's grip, trying to move towards your uncle as he got closer to you,
finally standing before you.

“I’ll kill you.” You hissed at him.

The usurper laughed again, before looking at the guards beside you, nodding his head. A man
holding onto you suddenly let go, before a blooming pain seeped into your side.

The guard had veered a fist back, striking you in your wound with it. You slumped forward, ears
ringing before the other guards let go of you, letting you fall to the floor roughly.

Your ears rang and your vision went black. You could not feel anything, but the hot white pain in
your side. Nausea rose within you.

You desperately tried to suck in air, but your body would not allow it. You heaved against the
stone, your stomach emptying, only bile falling out of the side of your mouth, pooling onto the
stone below you. The acidic taste coating your tongue.

Your body curled in on yourself as you tried to breathe.

Eyes were shut tightly as a groan fell from your lips. Never had you felt pain like this before. You
thought your heart would stop. Your hands clutched against your sides as you curled further in on
yourself.

Moments passed as you tried desperately to breathe and to not heave as the pain and nausea rolled
through you in waves. Behind your eyes throbbed as you struggled with yourself.

The ringing slowly began to fade, as you heard the guards shuffle out of the cell, one by one until
you were alone.

With Aegon.

The soft crunch of dirt beside you alerted you to his presence.

You slowly opened your eyes, sucking in a painful breath of air, willing yourself to not pass out, as
your vision swam. Large black dots formed in your sight as you looked at the man kneeling in front
of you.

Aegon was crouched beside you, looking down in mock pity, lips pulled into a false pout which
curled at the edges where he fought to not smile at you. You breathed in another shaky breath as
you watched him, head spinning.

“You always did have such fire inside of you.” He cooed, as he looked over your tense form, still
curled in a ball on your side as you gasped in agony.

“It was always to be your downfall, of course. You just never know when to give in.” The King
tutted.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open, though your lids had become heavy as your breaths
evened out, and pain throbbed inside of you.

“Bend the knee. Acknowledge me as King and I will let you live. You may even see Helaena.” He
added at the end in a higher note, as though it was a gift for a child.

A small bribe to make them do as you wished.

You stared at him in disgust and breathed out.

You would not concede.

“A shame.” His hand came to touch the hair that had fallen on your face.

You flinched away, pain spiking in your side again.

“Such a waste. I could have even taken you as my second wife.”

He smiled down at you in thought. Eyes lighting up in excitement as his imagination began to run
wild.

“Now wouldn’t that be fun? To see you swell with my babe, and have your family know that it was
me who put it inside you.” He crooned.

A tear fell from your eye, rolling down your cheek as you felt horror blanket you. He watched your
expression with glee.

“Though, who is to say we should wait? When I could put a bastard inside you now.” Aegon
purred, looking at the thin rag of a chemise against your shivering form.

“A bastard for a bastard.” He purred.

Ice cold dread spilt over you.

Please Gods. Not him.

You wriggled away from him, breathing sharply through your nose at the throbbing pain in your
side, as you attempted to pull yourself up and away.

King Aegon stood to his full height, towering over you as he looked down in delight.

Is this how they all saw him?

His large hands came to the front of his breeches as he began to slowly untie them, smirking as he
watched you scramble backwards towards the far wall of the cell away from him.

Your uncle slowly sauntered toward you, the laces at the front beginning to sag. His smile grew
wider as he watched you, enjoying your fear.

“Stop.” You begged quietly, new tears falling from your eyes, “Please.”

His head tilted, “Please? Well since you asked me so nicely.”

Suddenly he lunged for you as you screamed, arms coming out to push him away from you.

“I can be gentle.” He teased you, laughing in your face as he pulled you against the rough stones
towards him.

Your back scraped against the floor, skin becoming raw underneath as the chemise pulled up, and
bunched away from you, above your hips.

You frantically kicked your legs out at him as he laughed above you. Aegon grabbed your legs
painfully before parting them, eyes darting down to your bare centre. His grip on your thighs made
you cry out as you screamed at him to stop, and to let you go, begging him softly as you cried.

"Aegon please. Stop."

Your uncle's grip faltered on one of your legs, and your foot shot out, clipping him on the side of
his face. He stalled, head still turned away, as you moved to race towards the open door of your
cell.

You scrambled on your hands and knees, trying to dizzily catch purchase on the floor and haul
yourself up to run.

A hand gripped the back of your hair and swung you painfully down onto the ground, as you
landed heavily on your back, air leaving your lungs in a silent cry.

Aegon jumped on top of you, the side of his cheek a soft pink from where your foot had struck
him. His face no longer bore the sinister joy from before, but was now hardened with anger and
irritation, as your hands came up to try and scratch him.

Anything to get him off of you.

You watched as his hand came down sharply against your side.

You fell still.

You could not breathe, as that same agonising pain rippled up your side, causing your to cry. You
saw nothing but white, as the pain bloomed up into your chest, and you felt his weight begin to
settle on top of you.

The Targaryen fumbled with the last of his breeches, as you stared at the wall of the cell.

The stone had a layer of green slime on it, the damp causing some sort of moss, or mould to grow
along its surface. You had never noticed that before.

How beautiful it must be to grow and thrive in such a dark place.

A large hand pulled at your chemise roughly as you laid flat, trying to catch your breath. You
moved weakly beneath him, attempting to push him off of you, as your head swum from the pain
radiating in your side.

'Fight back' the little voice in your head screamed.

Your hand came up to smack Aegon’s face, though your blow did not have much impact, only
seeming to amuse the man further. His eyes were half lidded, his pupils blown out so that you
could barely see the soft lavender of his eyes.

Fight back.

A tear fell down your face. Then another.

The pain was paralysing.

All you could do was watch as his free hand slapped your arm away, before moving down to pull
himself from his loosened breeches, which hung lowly on his hips.

It was thick and engorged, its tip a deep blush, weeping arousal onto his hand as he stroked it
roughly, smiling down at you. You felt nausea roll through you in new waves as you tried to move
away from him, but every time you moved, agony pulled your body closer to the abyss as your
vision tunnelled.
“I was going to be gentle, but now I think it will be more fun to break you.” He moaned as he
brought his cock between your legs which were wedged open by his hips.

“Please don’t.” You sobbed weakly, trying again to push him off of you with your hands.

“It's too late to beg now.” Your uncle cooed in your ear, as the tip of his cock touched your inner
thigh.

Your ears rang.

And you felt a part of you die.

This was it.

This was how you would lose your maidenhead. To your usurper uncle in a cell, alone and in
agony.

How you wished you had died when you fell, after all.

The thick head of his cock rubbed roughly against your dry slit as the man above you hummed,
trying to find your entrance. The sensation made you gag as you tried to wriggle away from him.

You couldn't breathe.

His tip pushed roughly on your entrance as he tried to force his way inside you. You cried loudly
underneath him, as you drowned in fear, his weight pushing you down into the stones below you
painfully.

“Ah.” Aegon sighed as the tip of his cock caught against your entrance. You stiffened in his hold
as he looked down in you lustfully. A sinister smile gracing his lips.

Then as suddenly as his weight was on you, it was gone.

You blinked up at the ceiling in shock, unable to move. You felt tears fall down your cheeks as
you sobbed on the floor, as sounds came from beside you.

You steeled yourself, scrambling backwards, digging your fingers into the stone floor messily,
trying to get to the damp green wall of the cell. Your head shifted and the room spun. You blinked
at the scene before you. Unsure of what you were witnessing.

A long silver haired figure, swung wildly at the other below.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh made you flinch, as Aemond’s fists came down onto Aegon’s face
brutally. You found yourself grow silent as you watched, hiccupping.

Aegon groaned in pain below the younger brother, as he punched back upwards at his attacker.

The One-Eyed Prince's hand snatched the throat of the King, lifting the older brother's head up,
before slamming it back down onto the stone below. The younger uncle breathed heavily, looking
down at Aegon whose own hands were gripping Aemond’s wrists tightly in anticipation of the next
blow.

The King laughed below his brother, nose bleeding and lip split as he gazed up, teeth stained with
blood. Aegon’s head reared up, spitting in Aemond’s face, a spray of bloody saliva coating the
Kinslayer’s cheek.
Aemond growled, pulling Aegon up to stand before roughly shoving him towards the exit of the
cell.

The Usurper King paused and stared at you in amusement, eyes roaming your form as you flattened
yourself further against the wall behind you, pulling your tattered chemise against you tightly.

The eldest son of Viserys hand came to brush his hair back, knuckles raw as he spat once more
unto the floor before turning away from you, slinking down the corridor calmly as he began to
ascend the steps.

You heaved a gag as you turned beside you, your stomach pulling up nothing, mouth dry and side
aching with every movement. A broken sob fell from your lips, as you shook against the cold
stone, eyes unseeing staring into the darkness.

Someone shifted around you and you flinched, looking up into the cell.

Aemond stood looking down at you, hair neat despite his assault. You looked at his face as his
gaze softened for a moment, concern in his lone eye, as he took an unsteady step towards you.

You flinched and scrambled back again, moving sideways along the wall into the corner away
from him, the bucket behind you falling as you moved.

Whatever softness was in his gaze fell away, as the mask was put back in place.

Aemond hummed.

With a sharp turn on his heel, Aemond swiftly left your cell, leaving you alone as he stalked up the
corridor, and loudly up the stairs back into the Red Keep. You stared at his back as he disappeared.

You sucked in a shaky breath as you watched the stairs where he had exited, anticipating his return.
Or Aegon's.

Or both.

Pain strummed in your side as you blinked.

What had just happened?

You felt a new wave of tears begin to well in your eyes, when suddenly you stiffened.

Your eyes darted to the side of your cell.

The cell door was wide open.

 Flea Bottom
Chapter Notes

What will the reader do now? Where will she go?

It felt like time stood still.

Your eyes were locked on the open cell door.

Lungs seized and pulled in a greedy breath. Shakily pulling yourself up to stand, you stumbled
back, the twinging in your side making you grow dizzier by the second.

Your eyes tunnelled, black seeping into the edges of your vision as your heart raced whilst you
stood, leaning heavily against the damp wall behind you.

Shutting your eyes, you breathed in deeply. In for three, out for three. Your vision began to settle.

Six steps was what it took for you to reach the open door of your cell.

Six steps more were what you took as you exited the iron bars.

If it was a trick, then you would soon find out. Aegon was cruel, and Aemond calculating. Perhaps
they were waiting for you outside to mock your efforts and tease you of your naivety. You can
imagine Alicent, stone faced beside them as they gloated.

The original ring leader.

Yet despite the risk, you still took it.

Each step caused your side to ache and your head to spin, though you pushed yourself through it,
forward down the dark corridor. Your ears listening for the sound of guards or the King and Prince
above.

You heard nothing and pressed on, reaching the steps.

You lifted a foot and placed it on the cold stone before pulling yourself up the first step and began
to count as you ascended the stairs.

One.

Two.

Three.

Your feet were numb from the cold and you sniffled quietly as your heart raced in your chest, one
hand clutched tightly against your side to sooth it. Your foot lifted before it paused midair. You
raced back down the three steps, into your cell, hand digging roughly into the straw bed before
your fingers found the cold steel.

Snatching the broach, you raced back across the room, feet slapping gently against the tiles as you
began to dart up the stairs, a headache steadily blooming as you clutched your side in pain. You
wound up the steps rapidly as you desperately tried to steel your breaths.

In and out. In and out.

As you wound up and out of the dungeon, more light came into the space from the torches on the
wall. Your hand reached out to grab one out of instinct before you snatched your hand back.

You could not be seen.

Soon you reached the top of the stairway, before you snuck out into the darkness of the open halls.
You ran silently, sliding against the wall as you raced away from the dungeons below you. All was
quiet in the space as you tried to catch your breath and gather your bearings.

Where were they?

Were they hiding in wait for you?

It felt oddly nostalgic, hiding and running in the dark from your uncles, however this time far more
sinister than the 'hide 'n' go seek' games you would all play as children.

Your eyes rapidly searched about, catching on the open expanse of a courtyard. You were near one
of the servants' paths down to the exit of the Red Keep, along the side, out of sight, out of mind.
Your feet dragged you to the path as you began to rapidly dart down the stairs towards Flea
Bottom.

Before you, the sky was dark and small lights could be seen in the commoners city below the
Keep. Small yellow orbs glowed in windows and paths, illuminating the smaller buildings and
houses. You descended the stairs, hand still clutched at your side whilst the other gripped the stone
below it.

You needed an out, somewhere to hide, or flee, anywhere but in the Keep, though you knew as
soon as your absence was noted, the entirety of the Kings Guard would descend upon Flea Bottom
until they found you.

No matter the cost.

Could someone die from their heart exploding in their chest? You were sure you had heard stories
of it before. Men's hearts that fluttered in their chest so fast and so hard that suddenly it stopped.
Your heart felt like it was trying to escape your rib cage.

As you wound down the stairs, the Red Keep loomed behind you, becoming further and further
away, and down below, the sounds of Flea Bottom became louder.

Jovial voices called out to friends or loved ones, jagged singing came from another and lusty
moans from the darkened alley ways curled out into the open space. You raced towards it, finally
away from the stairs and down the path towards the narrow streets, lined with a sea of people.

Some eyes caught yours, looking at you curiously before others looked away, going back to their
entertainment, whereas few watched you closely. You knew that if you were recognised, they may
descend on you, taking you back to the King in the hopes of a reward.
You needed a disguise.

You barged your way through the crowd as you ran, hair flying wildly behind you as you began to
feel sick from lack of breath and the agony that still rolled through you in waves, made worse with
every step.

Ahead of you, a line of robes were hanging on a line, drying after they had been washed. You
slowed your step and jumped up, snatching a faded black cloak from the line.

A person cried out in protest as the cloak came down into your hands, “Oi!” They yelled.

You did not turn back as you ran faster, pushing your legs towards a dark alleyway to turn into as
you ran through the streets without knowing where to go. You felt like a mouse in a trap, running
blindly without any idea of escape.

Your legs ached as you pushed forward, though your speed faltered as you breathed heavily,
feeling faint. You slipped into a dark corner of an alley as you swept the cloak over your shoulders
and head, covering your hair and casting a deep shadow across your face.

It was unbearably hot as your heart raced, sweat dripping down your brow, as you tried to catch
your breath. The pain in your side throbbing with every pump of blood your heart made. You bent
forward to suck in a ragged breath, your throat so dry your tongue felt like sand.

Breathlessly you gagged once more, the nausea from running, from the pain and from the sheer
horror of the experience, bubbling its way up your throat, though nothing came out.

You're wasting time. Move.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and back out into the busy street. The streets stunk of
waste and unclean bodies as you passed. The smell was pungent in your nose, almost enough to
make your eyes water.

You walked briskly in the sea of bodies. Men and women drank freely on the street as children
wandered aimlessly around them. A woman sat on a wooden chair, eyes milky as she told people's
futures. You had never been in Flea Bottom before, and suddenly you realised, Aegon did.

Often.

Aegon knows these streets, he knows these people. He frequents the Silk Lanes, and Flea Bottom
and has sired dozens of bastards here. You knew it. They all knew it.

Even the Queen knew it.

He would know his way through here.

This made you panic more.

You looked around in desperation until you saw a small boy standing against a wall, watching the
people around him. You stood still, blinking as you looked at the boy whose brown hair messily
sat on his head. You blinked again. It was not Lucerys. You felt your body gravitate towards him,
feet stumbling in the dark as he watched you come towards him.

As you stood in front of the boy, you looked at him up and down. His hair sat chaotically on his
head, loose greasy curls that came down below his ears going in all different directions. He wore a
cream coloured shirt that was dirty and crumbled against his body and brown breeches beneath
them. His shoes were old and worn, covered in mud.

He would be no older than Lucerys was.

The boy looked at you in annoyance as you gawked.

“What?” He asked gruffly, looking you up and down.

You paused, then blurted out, “Where are the docks?”

You swayed on your feet, feeling fatigue begin to catch up on you, your adrenaline slowly running
out.

The boy frowned at you, as if it was a stupid question.

Fuck.

But as you started to panic that you had given yourself away, the disgruntled youth sharply nodded
his head upwards, pointing away from you down the path to your side. You nodded you head in
thanks, and as you moved swiftly to follow the path, the young boy muttered under his breath.

“Fucking drunk.”

You breathed a breath of relief and moved down the crooked street. The ground below you was
dirty, with the stale stench of piss and vomit bathing the air around you. The further you walked
down the street, the further away you got from the crowd. Now only a few straggling people were
sat in the shadows, talking to each other lowly, or in one case to themselves.

The houses were squished together, and the further you walked the more poverty stricken it
became. The bricks were made of reddish and pale stones, though the further down you went, the
more the houses came to be made of wood. Crude huts that leant awkwardly, with washing drying
on lines above you.

How could the people live like this? In such poverty? How did no one see? How did no one do
something?

You pushed on, weaving through the hanging clothes until the air got less dense, and the path
widened. The sound of men talking ahead of you made you slink to the shadows again, hiding in
the darkness as you snuck down the street.

Ahead of you were the docks, with a large trading ship moored against the wood, a path on its
flank for those to walk along the ship, large planks letting those wander back and forth on the boat.
They were loading the ship.

Your eyes flicked across the men on the dock. There were more than 20 crew, and two kings
guards talking to a man you could only assume was captain. You pressed your back against a shack
and breathed in. You needed to not be seen, for if you were caught, you would no doubt be
recognised by the guards.

You pulled the hood of the cloak further over your face casting your eyes downwards as you
swayed with your step. The young boy thought you were a drunk, now was time to play the part.

If any crew was to see you sneaking around in the shadows they would immediately become
suspicious, but not of a drunken commoner stumbling about the dock. You would simply be
overlooked. Your bare feet were caked in filth and legs were dirty from days without bathing, the
cloak barely covered your shins as you shivered in the pale moonlight.

You walked out of the shadows along the side of the dock, making sure you swayed and stumbled
as you had watched Aegon do many times before.

Drunken fuck.

As you swayed towards the dock, you saw large crates and barrels, some empty and some full.
Your hand reached out to touch one of the barrels when a booming voice split the air.

“Oi!” The man yelled and you yanked your hand back, “Get away from there.” He growled at
you, before turning back to the guards who didn’t spare you a second glance. One of the guards
muttered beneath his breath about drunken peasants. You looked at the barrels again before you
ducked down behind them.

Breath in. Breath out.

With your free fingertips you grazed your hands along the wood of a crate, the dark oak chipped
and worn from use over the years. A net was half hazardously tossed over the top, its rough thread
rubbing against your side as you moved along the creates, ears listening for crew coming back.

Looking between a gap through the crate and a barrel you peered at the guards and the captain,
their bodies facing away from you as they chatted. The captain seemed relaxed and familiar with
the two guards. Perhaps they did this often, or grew up together.

You snuck behind the barrels as you heard footsteps begin to descend from one of the planks
coming towards you. You began to panic again. It would definitely cause suspicion if you were
caught hiding amongst the barrels and crates. You had to think quick and fast.

Your hand nudged the barrel beside you. It was heavy, but shifted slightly under your hand. It was
empty. The footsteps came closer now and you realised with great dread that it was too late. To
stand and crawl into the crate now would be to be spotted, you imagined the guards descending on
you and taking you straight back to Aegon where he could finish what he started.

You felt frozen in your spot as the footsteps got closer. Your breath caught in your throat as you
steadied yourself to be caught. Perhaps you could make a run for it.

“John!” The captain's voice barked across the dock.

The footsteps stopped.

You held your breath as the footsteps faded away from you, as John went to the captain and guards
began to whisper to them in hushed tones. Your ears picked up as you listened carefully.

“…escaped…be on the look out…if you see…”

Your heart pounded in your ears.

They knew you had escaped.

You needed to act now.

Sneaking up, you pulled the lid from the barrel carefully watching the guards and two men in front
of you, before dipping one leg, and then the other inside. The barrel top was held in your hands as
the man named John began to turn around. You watched in horror.
Please Gods, favour me.

But one of the guards caught his attention again, stepping closer to talk to both the captain and
crew member. With this pause in their attention, you shoved yourself the rest of the way into the
dark barrel, lightly placing the lid above you.

You held your breath inside, out of fear they would hear you and you tucked yourself into a ball.
The barrel was tight as you sat inside, your knees roughly brushing against the wood. The squeeze
made your side ache painfully as the skin was pulled taut in an odd direction. Your hand was
clenched on your side still, inside your palm the three headed dragon broach.

You felt the rough edges in your palm as you listened to the footsteps begin to approach you. Each
step got louder, the vibration of its weight tickling the barrel underneath you. You sucked in a
silent and short breath as the feet stood in front.

Hands pressed to the outside of the barrel pulling you sideways. You felt yourself tip towards the
side and shot your hands out to catch yourself before your head could collide with the other side.
The man above you grunted.

“Gods.” He muttered as he hauled the barrel up in his arms.

Your head spinning in the dark as you could not tell which way was up. That same nausea built
inside of you, making your stomach turn in knots and skin become sticky.

With every step the man took, the barrel shook you. The steps were loud on the dock's wood until
he walked atop the plant, the footfalls sounding more hollow than before. You held your breath as
you were rattled around inside, desperately trying to stay upright so as to not knock against the
sides.

Then suddenly you were heavily placed on solid ground once more. You listened as the man's
footsteps faded away, walking up what you assumed were the same steps you came down. They
echoed until there was nothing.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, listening for sounds of other men nearby. You sat in the
barrel and waited, feeling the slight sway of the boat's hull on the water as it rocked you gently
back and forth. The man came back several more times, sometimes alone, sometimes with others,
as you listened to them place other crates and belongings into what you now knew was the hold of
the ship.

You slumped against the edge of the barrel in exhaustion. Eyes beginning to close as you could
barely hold them open any longer. You pulled the cloak around you tightly as your legs cramped
from being curled up so long.

You would have to wait it out.

No matter how long it took.

The barrel offered a small comfort of protection as it cocooned you in its rough arms. The broach
was still firmly pressed against your side as you let the gentle sway of the ship lull you into a deep
sleep, adrenaline finally running out.
 Stowaway
Chapter Notes

I was thinking about this fic so much that I went to the store to buy a star fruit, and ate
it with a knife whilst in my mind palace. God i love those things

The gentle rocking of the ship roused you from your sleep. The back and forth pulling you up to
the surface as your eyes slowly cracked open.

It was dark around you and the taste of salty air was on your tongue.

You stirred inside of the barrel, your joints aching in protest from sleeping in the same crouched
position for many hours. Your legs were numb and cramped, and your back ached as you tried to
move forwards, adjusting yourself.

As you shifted, pain radiated up your side. You hissed, hand coming to press against the healing
wound, fingers feeling for the small broach.

A panic spread through you as your hand did not find the metal dragon. Fingers shot out to touch
around the bottom of the barrel in search of the broach, patting against the hard wood below you.

The cool metal touched your fingers and you sighed in relief, pulling the broach up to your lips to
place a quick kiss, before shoving it into the side of your bandages to keep safe. Your stomach
growled, hunger pangs making your stomach clench as you shifted uncomfortably.

You needed to stretch your limbs.

You leant your head against the barrel and strained your ears to listen for any sounds outside the
barrel's walls. Above you were faint footsteps and talking, below the sound of waves crashing up
against the side of the ship, as she sailed through the open waters.

Pressing your hands against the lid of the barrel you slowly pushed up, a small slither of light
coming inside of the barrel causing your eyes to shut in pain.

You blinked your eyes rapidly to adjust to the light in the hull. Though it was not very well lit, it
was lighter than inside of the pitch black of the barrel. The only light source was from the open
grate above you, a soft glow of the early morning sky cast a warm pink hue against the dark wood
of the hull.

Your eyes quickly scanned the space, looking for any sign of people inside before slowly pushing
the lid up, waiting for any reaction. Once the lid was up, you began to push yourself, your legs
stretching in pain from their previous squished position. Your knees buckled slightly, weak as the
blood began to flow back into them, causing pins and needles to prick at the skin.

Around you were various barrels and crates, stacked high in some corners and low in others. Large
brown nets were laid in piles atop some barrels and along the floor, where large brown ropes held
the barrels tightly together, so as to not tumble or spill from rogue waves.
The air was acrid, skin feeling dry from the layer of salt air that had settled on it. The men above
you moved about the deck as your legs fully straightened, hands gripping the edge of the barrel
before you lifted a leg up and over the side.

Your wound strummed, as the skin stretched from the movement and your cut hand clenched
against the edge, the pain distracting you from the one in your side.

Your bare foot brushed against the worn wooden deck below, toes feeling the indents of the woods
panels and cracks. Placing your foot firmly on the ground you shifted to pull the other leg out,
almost losing your balance.

Your barrel was pushed in the far corner of the hull, shrouded in darkness. The arm on the
uninjured side of your body came up over your head as you pulled up, stretching your back out
after many hours curled in a ball. The stretch pulled a small moan from your lips as you felt your
vertebrae pop.

Toes wriggling on the floor to fight the pins and needles, you looked about the hull. Some of these
barrels or crates would have food. You could take a small amount, though it would have to be
unnoticeable. Water was something that you may not be able to come by down here.

You began to search the barrels for food, stomach growling with every moment passed. You lifted
a lid from a barrel, struggling to pull the tight top away. The round disk budged and you peered
inside. Brown grain filled the barrel, piled high against the sides.

Fingers dipping into the grain, you lifted a small handful up to your nose, inhaling deeply. It smelt
of wheat. You put the lid down pushing it solidly back into place.

Pausing your moments you shifted your head, listening for sounds of incoming footsteps. There
were none. And so you continued your search. You pulled the lids from a few more barrels. Some
were empty, whilst others had more of the same brown grain inside.

A pile of crates caught your eye.

Your feet carried you to the crates that were stacked, and you peered at the lid. It looked like it had
been sealed shut by nails. Peering through the cracks of the crate you saw red and yellow balls. On
closer inspection you realised they were apples.

Your fingers traced the edge of the crate, feeling the lid for better purchase before you pulled the
lid up roughly, praying the nails would give.

They didn’t.

You pulled again, pain in your hand and side searing as your whole body tensed from the effort.
You felt dizzy from the movement as you paused to catch your breath, heat rising from your
cheeks. You took your fingernails and dug them against the nails, trying to pull them free from the
lid.

The tops of the nails dug into the underside of your fingers painfully as you pulled, struggling to
get a good grip of the metal. You grit your teeth and tried once more, the metal digging into your
fingernails painfully, almost breaking them at their tips.

You ripped your hand away angrily, wordlessly gasping as pain bloomed in your side. Your hand
came to clutch your ribs and stomach, pushing pressure onto the pain to make it go away.

Finger tips grazed the hard broach hidden within the bandages.
An idea popped into your head.

Your fingers scrambled to pull the broach from its hiding spot before jamming it under the nail in
the crate. Slowly but surely, you wiggled the three headed dragon back and forth, pulling free the
nail. You breathed out a sigh, and began on the others.

The Targaryen broach stared up at you as it worked.

It must have been an expensive broach, as the metal held strong and the craftsmanship did not
scratch, chip, nor dent with your efforts. You kept the old Maester's face in your memory so that he
may be spared when the time comes.

The last nail pulled free from the lid of the crate, its sharp tip chipping away some wood as it broke
away from the box. You held the nails, all six of them, in the palm of your hand, before sliding
them into the bandage on your side alongside the broach for safe keeping.

Fingers grabbed the edge of the lid and pulled up, revealing red and yellow apples of different sizes
inside. Their skin shone in the early light, and you found your hand grabbing three from their box.
You listened carefully once more as you shut the lid back down, slinking back into the shadows to
your barrel.

You did not want to risk being discovered, and so you crawled back into the tight hiding spot,
placing the lid lightly on top of you, apples still clutched against your chest. As you squatted back
down into the barrel, back against the side and toes pressing against the front, you let the apples
settle into your lap.

Without wasting a moment more, you lifted one up to your mouth and bit through the crisp flesh, a
loud crunch surrounding you in the barrel. You stiffened. Surely no-one could hear you deep in the
belly of the ship, biting an apple, and yet the flesh was so delightfully crunchy, that you pondered
the possibility.

Deciding that there was no chance that the men above could hear, you began to chew. The sound
was loud in your ears but the flavour was divine. You did not know how long you had slept, it
could have been hours, it could have been days, but your stomach demanded sustenance, and if you
had any chance of getting back home, you needed your strength.

You took another bite of the apple, and then another, until all that was left was the core and even
then, since you did not have the luxury nor the want to waste what little food you had, you ate the
core too. The seeds within were bitter and the core was woody, but you chewed through it
swallowing roughly.

All that was left of the apple was the stick, which you placed underneath you on the bottom of the
barrel.

Hunger still clawed at you and yet you did not touch the other two apples. Who knew how long
you would be on the ship, nor where your final destination would be. All you knew was that you
needed to survive. To find allies and get back to your mother.

You leant your head back and listened to the sounds above you as the men moved about a bit more
loudly. The crew were all awake now.

Footsteps echoed above you until they descended lazily down into the hull with you. You held
your breath and listened as the person rummaged about in the barrels and crates around you. Your
heart pounded in your chest as the footsteps came closer to where you were hidden.
Each step clunked loudly against the deck as they stopped just before your barrel. Your lungs burnt
in your chest as you held onto the same breath, refusing to breathe lest they hear you. You heard
the shifting of clothes before the lid began to move. You clutched your side, paralysed as your
fingers grazed the nails.

Light streamed back into the barrel and you blinked up at the young man who looked down at you.
He seemed as surprised as you were.

His hair was dark and curly, coming below his ears, and his skin was a deep tan. His eyes however
caught your attention. In the rising light of the hull, his eyes shone a brilliant green as they looked
down at you. He looked no older than eight-and-twenty.

You sucked in a breath of shock, and the man's head tilted as he looked down at you.

This was it.

They were going to take you back to King's Landing and give you to Aegon as a gift. You would
never see your family again.

Dread pooled in your chest as your heart felt icy. You blinked at the man, frozen as you stared at
him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Though he did not sound the alarm.

He did not cry out to alert the others of your presence, instead he just stared at you, hands still
tightly gripping the lid. Your mouth felt dry as you watched each other.

Your voice cracked as you quietly begged him.

“Please.” You whispered.

The man's head tilted, brows furrowing as his emerald eyes stared at yours. Behind you both, the
sound of new footsteps began to descend the stairs. Your eyes darted to the sound as his head
turned, before his gaze settled back onto you.

Violet and emerald eyes met once more.

The man's large hand came up to his face, one finger pressed against his lip slowly in warning for
you to be quiet, before suddenly it was dark again. The man had shut the lid back onto you. Your
breath was caught in your throat as your heart hammered, fingers desperately clutching the nails.

You readied yourself to fight.

The footsteps landed on the deck with you both, as a deep voice rang out in the hull.

“Stop fucking about and help me bring up the food.” The other man grumbled, as his footsteps
came closer to where you hid.

“This one is empty.” Came the voice of the man who found you.
There was a lilt to his voice, something familiar about the accent that laced his Common Tongue.

“Well find ones that aren’t empty.” The other man barked.

You listened as crates and barrels were opened around you, the sound of wood straining as they
were opened. A small breath escaped your lips as your heart pounded in your ears. Your hand
snapped over your mouth.

Gods, please help me.

One pair of feet ascended the stairs, whilst the other walked around the space, loudly loading
things into what you assumed was a basket, before also disappearing back up the stairs. You
listened as the footsteps slowly faded above you.

You let out a sigh of relief. Your fingers still firmly clutched against the nails on your side.

You found that after your run in with the man with green eyes, and your almost discovery from the
other man, you could not rest, nor settle your nerves. Your hand never left their grip on the nails,
and your eyes stayed firmly on the lid above you, as you waited for the inevitable.

And yet it never came.

The ship bobbed atop the waves as you swayed inside the barrel, adrenaline slowly leaking from
you as you listened to the crew above, not once becoming alarmed nor alerted of your presence.

Footfalls did not race down the stairs of the hull to you. Voices yelling at your discovery never
boomed into the space with you, and the eyes and hands of men upon your flesh never came.

Instead you were left in the frightening limbo of ‘what ifs’ for hours.

It was not until the day had passed, and your breathing had evened, and heart stopped racing, did
you hear footsteps once more. They were quiet as if sneaking, slow and unsure.

You listened with bated breath as their soft footfalls came to the front of the barrel, then almost
timidly, a small rap of knuckles came from the top of the barrel, before it was lifted away revealing
your crouched position.

Your hand struck out into the open space, nails pointed at the green eyed man who did not flinch at
your movement, nor did he step back. Instead, the man stared at you patiently as you slowly rose
from your crouched position.

His hands came up palms facing you in a show of surrender. Though in reality, the man was tall
and much larger than you, who could easily overpower you before you would realise it. And yet he
didn’t. He simply gazed at you with curiosity.

Your hand did not waver as you continued to point the nails at him, legs straight as you stood fully
before him. His deep eyes roamed your appearance, stopping short at the side of your chemise
which was spotted with blood from your wound, then back down your legs where he saw you wore
no shoes.

The man simply stared at you.

It set your nerves on end as you waited for him to speak, to say something, anything. To scoff at
you, to call out for the others, to mock you or offer you any sort of ultimatum but nothing came.
He was waiting for you to speak first.

Your mouth opened to speak, but he blindsided you. Again.

“What are you doing?” The man asked, soft accent rolling his r as he spoke.

What were you doing?

You were escaping. You were desperate. Hungry. Thirsty. You did not know how to reply, instead
a strained sound came from the back of your throat as you thought on how to respond.

“Are you lost, little stowaway?” He asked, head tilting as he gazed at you.

Are you lost?

You suppose you were. You did not know where you were, for all you knew, you could be sailing
to lands you had never heard of before.

Were you lost?

Lost of mind? Lost of courage? No. You didn't think so.

Lost of hope or joy? Perhaps.

“Can you speak?” The green eyed man asked, looking at you, brows furrowed.

“I can speak.” You cleared your throat, voice hoarse.

“Ah. So she can.” The man smirked, before he took a step back, lazily jutting his hip out as his
hand came to cross against his chest.

Your hand stiffened at the movement, holding the nails higher as you stared down your arm at
him.

“I am not going to hurt you, stowaway.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Well, I could have given you away to my friend before. But I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“You look like you need a friend.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Ah,” The man scoffed in enjoyment, “So you wouldn’t like the water I have brought you?”

You swallowed thickly, hand with the makeshift weapon wavering.

“You look like you need a friend.” The man repeated, as his hand came to clutch a leather water
pouch strapped to his side, pulling it away from his belt in his hand, as he unscrewed the lid.

The tanned man stared at you playfully like a cat, before unscrewing the lid, pulling the pouch up
to his lips, taking a long and slow sip. You licked your mouth as you watched a small droplet of
water escape from the side of his plush lips, down his chin. His thumb came up to brush the
droplet away as he stared at you.
“Do you need a friend?” He asked.

Swallowing all your pride, you whispered.

“Yes.”

The man stepped forward offering you the water container. Your hand shot out to grab it, but he
quickly pulled it away from your finger tips, scolding you with his eyes before he handed it gently
to you. You pulled the pouch to your lips greedily, skulling the cool water down your throat,
breathing loudly through your nose as you did, not taking breaths.

The water sat in your stomach heavily as you kept drinking. The man watched you with shocked
amusement as you drained the pouch dry. Sighing in relief, you wiped the back of your hand across
your mouth before thrusting the pouch back to him.

“You’re welcome.” The man drawled as he pulled the pouch back towards him, securing it against
his belt.

“Where am I?” You asked, voice no longer hoarse.

“You are on the Meria.”

“Meria?”

“Yes. The ship.”

“Where are we?”

“The sea.”

“What sea?” You snipped.

“How many seas are there? Are they not all one, connected to each other with the same body of
water? Does man own the seas?”

It suddenly clicked.

“You’re from Dorne.”

“Ah, the little stowaway is familiar?”

“Your accent gives you away.”

“And you are a Targaryen.”

Your heart turned icy as you stilled. The man smirked, as he stared at you, adjusting his stance as
he watched you freeze.

“Your looks give you away.” He parroted you.

“I’m nobody.” You rushed.

“You’re somebody if you are hiding on a ship you do not know of, nor where she is heading. You
are somebody.”

You did not reply.

“Ah! The little stowaway must be a Princess?”

Your fist clutched the nails again, ready for the oncoming fight against the crew who would
undoubtedly descend down the stairs to you, now that he knows who you are. Your eyes shifted to
the stairs behind you.

“Do not worry. I won’t tell anybody.”

“Why?” You asked him, unease spreading through you.

“Why not? I can see when a lady is in distress. What kind of man would I be to send her to her
doom?"

“A smart one.” You blurted, teeth clenched.

The man laughed. His laugh was soft and as smooth as butter, and you felt all your anxiety melt
away at the sound.

“No, stowaway. That would make me a coward. And the people of Dorne do not cower.” He
straightened in pride.

“The ship is named after Princess Meria, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

"So we are going to Dorne?”

“We are.”

You sighed in relief. At least now you knew where you were headed, but a new problem arose.
How were you to get from Dorne back to Dragonstone?

“If you are leaving Kings Landing in hiding, you must be the daughter of the Realms Delight.”

You did not answer.

He smiled.

“Why haven’t you given me away? Surely you would be rewarded.”

“Because I am a smart man, and I know I will be rewarded either way." He shrugged, "And,” The
man paused, and looked at you carefully, “To turn you in, would be cowardly and I am not a
coward.”

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet, stowaway. You do not know what I am asking for.”

You blinked.

“What are you asking for?”

“Gold.”

“We have plenty.”

“No, little stowaway, that is not all.”

“What else?” You began to fear the man's intentions.

The man looked at you in a way which made you nervous.

“A name.”

You stared at him in confusion.

The green eyed man gazed back at you waiting, a small smile gracing his face. The man was
handsome, his jaw was sharp and he had a shadow of a beard on his face. His hair was tucked
behind his ears, and you could tell as he stood, that any woman not in this situation would fluster at
his interaction.

“Y/n.” You told him.

“I was right. You are her daughter. A pleasure, Princess.” The man bowed his head as he stared at
you, eyes gleaming in the low light.

“And might I ask yours?”

“You may.” He coyly responded.

“What is your name?”

“Darras.”

“Darras.” You repeated, rolling your tongue.

You both stood in silence for a moment as you stared at each other. A multitude of questions ran
through your mind as you stared at Darras, questioning the legitimacy of his words. The green
eyed man seemed to sense your unease.

“We should arrive in Dorne in three days' time, if the weather permits us.”

You nodded in thanks as you lowered your hand with the nails to your side, no longer feeling that
Darras was an imminent threat. He offered you a small smile.

“Where will the stowaway go next?”

“Home.”

“And how will she get there?”

“I will find a way.”

“Do you need a friend, Princess?”

Footsteps above clunked on the deck causing you both to pause. Darras raised his fingers to his lips
before he pointed at the barrel, wordlessly commanding you back inside. You obeyed his
command, and went back into the barrel as the steps got closer. The lid of the was placed over you,
as a voice called down.

“Talking to yourself again Darras?” The voice yelled from above, carrying through the grate of the
hull.

“Got to keep my mind sharp somehow.” Darras’ smooth voice called up into the grate.
“How about you come keep your mind sharp up here. We need ale.”

“Yes, sir.” Darras called back, softly rapping his fingers on the lid of the barrel, before his
footsteps ascended back onto the deck above.

You sat curled in silence for the rest of the evening, turning the conversation over in your mind
before you drifted to sleep once more. The waves of the ocean rocking your body back and forth as
your fingers finally let go on the nails in your hand.

You awoke the next day to a soft tapping on the wood, you blearily opened your eyes before the
lid was removed and a pouch of water was thrust down at you, alongside a thick slice of bread.

You stood slowly, holding both as you stretched out your legs, thanking Darras softly as you took
the bread and water from him. The man smiled at you gently, leaning against the crate beside you
as he watched you ravenously eat the bread and skull the water once more.

“Are you sure you’re a Princess? You eat like a commoner.”

You ignored his comment and continued to eat and drink until there was none left. You handed the
empty pouch to the older man as you stood, stretching one arm up into the sky.

Darras noticed you wince slightly and not raise the other.

“You are injured.”

You slowly nodded, unsure if telling him was a good idea or not.

“Let me see.”

You shook your head.

“How am I to get my gold if the Princess dies of her injury.”

“I won’t die.”

“But it could be infected.”

You stilled.

It had been days since you last had ointment and clean bandages. Your hand came to press against
your side tenderly. The wound was sore but not hot, which was a good sign that infection had not
taken hold. Perhaps you were healed enough now to escape the worst of it.

“I will bring you clean rags. But I am afraid that is all I can offer.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any signs of deception before nodding. Silence filled the
hull, and all that could be heard was the groans of the ship's wood and the ocean racing past below.

“Have you thought about it?”

“Of?”

“Do you need a friend?”

“I think so.” You uttered.

Darras nodded before he pushed himself off of the crate coming to stand in front of you. His green
eyes searched yours before his face became stony.

“If I help you, and I find that you are indeed a commoner, you will owe me more than gold.”

“You will get your gold.” You assured the man, and as suddenly as the stone faced expression
came, a bright smile appeared.

“Good. Then we have an understanding.”

You swallowed, mouth feeling suddenly dry.

“Where does my friend need to go?” He asked.

“Dragonstone.”

“That, is in the direction we just came from.”

“It is.”

“Are you not running away?”

“I am.”

“Then why turn back?”

You stared into his deep eyes, he looked genuinely curious. There was no sign of deceit, or mock
on his face.

“Because I must.”

“For love?”

“Yes.”

“For a man?”

“No.”

“A shame,” He shrugged his shoulders, “I have always been a hopeless romantic.”

You watched as he stepped back in thought, pink tongue coming to wet his lips as he stared at you.

“Then we must take you there.”

 Tales of the Dead
Chapter Notes

I saw a new Aemond crumb today and cried.

You spent the next day hidden in the barrel, only standing to stretch your legs and spine in the
early hours. Darras came back that evening and gave you clean rags as promised.

He turned away as you unwound the dirty bandages away from your body, the Targaryen broach
falling into the barrel with a soft clank.

You had stiffened and looked at Darras, but his back was still to you and not reactive of the small
sound. Your wound was tender, but the edges were not pink from infection, nor did heat rise from
it. You were safe.

For now.

After wrapping your side with the new rags you wordlessly handed the dirty bandages to Darras,
who stuffed them away in the back of his breeches before silently leaving you in the hull alone.

You ate the apples and their cores, and the small slices of bread that he brought down with him.
The pouch of water, a small mercy that came with every rise of the sun.

The sun had rose and fell once more, before you saw the Dornish man again. His footsteps softly
came down the hull, and the familiar rap of fingers came from the lid of the barrel, alerting you to
his presence.

Darras helped you stand as he held out a pair of tired brown breeches and a worn white shirt. Both
were far too big for your body, and had hastily sewn holes about the edges. The pants were a
scratchy cotton and when in your hand, felt far heavier than they looked.

“I could not find anything else that would even be close to your size.” He explained, as you looked
down at the clothes in front of you.

You reached an unsure hand out to them, looking at them closely. You pulled the clothes towards
you, thanking him as you held them to your chest, no longer having to wear the torn and dirty
chemise.

Once again, the Dornish man turned away from you and allowed you to dress in private. You
pulled the tattered chemise away from your body before pulling the rough pants up your legs and
over your hips.

The material swam on your form as you bunched it at the front, tucking it into your inner thighs to
hold them up as you began to pull the dress shirt over the top of your head, struggling slightly with
the pull of your injury.

Finally the shirt was over your head, and you tucked it into the pants, holding them up tightly with
the fist of your hand. You cleared your throat and Darras turned to look at you.

His eyes swum in delight as he held in a laugh at your appearance. The shirt drowned you, hanging
off of your shoulders and sleeves pooling over your hands, whilst the pants only sat on your hips
because of the sheer death grip your hand had on them. You watched as he tried to not smile,
struggling against his own face.

You looked down at yourself.

You looked ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” Darras guffawed, “I shouldn’t laugh at you.”

You felt ridiculous. And it made you smile.

“I look stupid.”

“You do.” He agreed.

“You couldn’t find me a belt?”

“Ah, little stowaway. Beggar's can not be choosers, can they?” He chastised you smugly.

“This beggars pants will fall if she takes even one step.”

The Dornish man stared at you, holding back his laugh before his eyes caught sight of the chemise
laying messily over the side of the barrel. He came forward holding the chemise in front of you
both. The bottom was torn and covered in a layer of muck and the back was a deep brown. The
memory of Aegon dragging you across the cell floors flickered in your mind.

Darras tore the chemise into strips, picking the longest and sturdiest one before wordlessly flicking
his hand towards him, telling you to step from the barrel and out towards him.

You struggled to step over in the large pants with one hand, as the other held them up on your hips.
Finally, with great struggle you stood before him, bare feet firmly on the deck of the hull of the
Meria.

He lowered his head in silent ask for approval before you wordlessly nodded back. Darras came
forward and looped the strip of chemise around your waist, holding the pants tightly against you.

With skilled practice, he tied a thick knot at the front ensuring it would not budge. He stepped back
to look at his handiwork before nodding to himself, coming forward again to roll the sleeves of the
shirt up until your wrists were visible beneath them.

“A perfect fit.” He joked.

“You should be a tailor.”

“A new life calling.”

You nodded and smiled, thanking him softly, stretching your legs as he watched you in your new
clothes, thinking deeply.

“We shall reach Dorne soon.”

You nodded.
“You must listen to me very carefully. If you are caught, we are both dead. And I am quite fond of
my head sitting firmly on my shoulders. When we reach the Planky Town, we will meet with an
old friend. He has a Fisherman's boat that can take us up to Dragonstone.”

You nodded, feeling hope bloom in your chest warmly as you looked at the man in front of you.
The sudden urge to cry rose up your throat, but you swallowed it back down as he continued.

“It is important that nobody sees you. You must be nobody. You must act like nobody. Do not
walk, or talk like you come from King's Landing. Especially within the walls of the Red Keep. My
friend, he is trustworthy, but do not trust no other.”

“I trust you.”

“A mistake I am certain, though I always keep my word.” He was so nonchalant about the whole
process that it almost set you at ease.

“How do we get to your friend?”

“Ah.” He looked at you more sharply now, “Now that is entirely up to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. There are three options that I have thought over in my hammock at night, all have their
faults, and their strengths.”

“What are the choices?”

“One: You wait in this barrel, until the entire ship is empty of crew, captain, and guards. Then and
only then can you slip away.”

“What are the faults?”

“The ship may never be empty, and the cargo is to be checked and removed from the hull, and then
refilled, for its journey back to King's Landing.”

You swallowed.

“The second option is that you use this disguise, pretend to be part of the crew and slip away with
me when the time is right.”

“And?”

“You do not look like a part of our crew. You are far too small, your clothes do not fit, and you are
a woman. Despite all this, someone would recognise you if you were seen. There are no silver
haired women in Dorne. Thus, blowing our cover.”

“And the third option?”

“The third option is we need a distraction…”

You waited for him to finish, but he didn’t.

“Did you have one in mind?”

“Some. But only one seemed to stick in my mind, and I follow my gut. I think it was telling me that
perhaps option three has the best chance.”
“And what is the distraction?”

“Many women walk the port offering… services to the sailors and tradesmen who come through.
Men who have spent days, weeks, months on the sea without feeling the warm touch of a woman’s
flesh, if you understand what I am talking about.”

“You wish for me to pretend to be a whore?” You watched as Darras’ eye twitched at your
comment, before he steeled his expression, continuing.

“What other choice do we have? I don’t see you telling me of any options you have concocted? Do
you have a better idea? The men on this ship, and on this port, would not blink an eye at a woman
who has somehow snuck on board to steal herself a man, nor would they blink an eye at me
walking away with her.”

You thought about it for a second. It could work. But there was only one problem.

“And what if I am recognised?”

“Ah, little stowaway, I am so glad you have asked. I noticed that inside your barrel, you have a
cloak, and although many of the women at port wear fine silks and embroidered cloaks, you would
fit in. If you kept that cloak snuggly around your head, and after half the men have left the ship and
the workers have helped to unload the cargo, then we could walk together hand in hand. If you
keep your head down, and do not speak, it should work.”

You breathed before nodding.

“That's it? You agree?” He asked.

“I don’t have much choice.”

“Well, it is the right choice, because it will work. I have a good feeling about this.”

“What will you do with the gold?”

“Start anew.” His hands came up to the of his body before slapping heavily against his thighs,
though something in his eyes told you he was not telling you the whole truth. You looked at his
face, there was a small sadness to it. No man would risk so much if there was not something on the
line.

“You’re in love.”

“I am.”

“Who is she?”

“A girl, much like you, running away from trouble and doing what she has to survive.”

“Does she have a name?”

“She does.”

You sensed he did not wish to tell you it, so instead you asked another question.

“Does she know you love her?”

“She does, though I should tell her more.” Darras' eyes held a bittersweet look to them.
“What is she like?”

“The most beautiful woman I have ever known. Her kindness knows no bounds, her hair is as soft
as the finest silks, and her voice is as sweet as honey. She has these dark eyes I get lost in.”

“Does she live in Dorne?”

“She lives in Planky Town.”

“Is she a daughter of a sailor?”

“No.”

“What does she do?”

“She works at the port.”

“Oh! Does she work in trades?”

“She works the port.”

Oh.

You understood now why he reacted the way he did to your comment about your disguise.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, it was unkind.”

“It is what everyone thinks and says.”

“It still is not right. She is surviving, just like the others.”

He nodded.

“Where will you both go with the gold?”

“I do not know.”

You nodded and stood in the silence for some time, before he nodded at you and began to ascend
the stairs back up to the top deck.

“Darras?” You whispered out to him.

He paused and turned to look at you.

“Thank you.”

The Dornish smiled, “I will come for you when the time is right. Stay hidden.” And with that he
left you in the hull, feeling guilty for what you had said, and all the more nervous for what was to
come.

You sat yourself back inside the barrel for what felt like hours. Rethinking your comment you had
made. Women were not given luxuries in this world, and you were far more privileged than any
other. And although you did not have many choices, you hadn’t even thought that the women of
differing circumstances had less choices either.

Women were not often allowed to run businesses, or permitted into spaces with men. Instead
married off young, to become wives and mothers, and those who did not, working in Pleasure
Houses. Those who were not born into money, often struggled to find it.

How could you look down your nose at people surviving?

The crew above you became louder and more active, walking across the deck and barking orders at
each other. When a large splash came from beside the ship, its hull swaying gently against the
rolling waves.

You must have landed at port.

The noise above you was deafening, as men clunked about on the deck, causing your heart to jump
in your chest. You sat quietly and waited, hand feeling beneath you for the broach. You found it
with your fingertips before tucking it into your bandages, pulling the cloak over your head tightly
as you waited.

Four sets of loud footsteps clunked down the steps, the men conversing with each other casually,
the sounds of crates and barrels scraped loudly, as they were pulled away back up onto the top
deck.

You waited in the hull for some time, listening to the men come in and out, emptying the hull, their
footsteps coming closer and closer each time they arrived. It felt like you had been inside for longer
than anticipated and your hands became clammy.

More footsteps came and you felt yourself becoming anxious.

When would Darras return? Was he going to? Or had he run off ship to alert the authorities,
readying them to take you back to your uncle, the Usurper King?

The crate beside you scraped loudly as it was hauled upwards, the men grunting as they moved.

You listened to them loudly go up the stairs and suddenly you were alone. You waited and waited,
for any sound of them returning, and heard none until suddenly a pair flew down the stairs.

“Get out.” Came the whispered and hurried voice of Darras as he approached your barrel.

Your legs pushed beneath you, hauling you upright out of the barrel, the lid noisily crashing
against the floor. Your eyes widened as you looked at Darras who’s head whipped to look up the
steps.

“Oi!” Came a booming voice from upstairs, steps coming towards the staircase. “Don’t you be
dropping anything!” The feet began to descend the steps.

Darras rushed towards you and kicked the lid away from where you stood before whispering.

“Trust me.”

His hands grabbed your face before kissing you roughly, his lips colliding with yours in a hurry,
hands holding the side of the cloak against your face, hiding you from the footsteps behind him.

Your eyes were open in shock as the Dornish man kissed against you hurriedly, pulling you tightly
against him. His lips were soft, though his teeth clashed against yours in urgency. You felt a heat
rise up your neck.

The steps came down closer and the voice boomed again.

“Who’s that?”

Darras pulled his lips from yours, eyes wide as he silently told you not to react. The Dornish man
turned his head sheepishly as he went to look at the man who stood at the bottom of the hull now,
watching you both carefully.

“Darras, you sly dog.” The man laughed, looking at you both as you kept your eyes down and hood
tight against your face, concealing your hair.

Darras let out a breezy laugh. A performance was in play. Something you believed the man has
had to do before. The Dornish man turned and stood in front of you, hands up as he cockily tilted
his head letting out a sigh.

“You know you can’t have women on the ship, Cap’n will murder you.”

“I know, but it has just been so long, and the thrill of the risk…” He trailed off.

“Go on, get. Before he sees you.” The booming man spoke, laughing slightly at it all.

Darras turned to you and sighed silently as he held one of your hands, before roughly pulling you
towards him. Your feet carried across the floor lightly as you kept up with the older man's pull.
You felt the other man's eyes on your form as you walked past him and up the stairs.

Once atop the stairs you looked about.

It was night and dark, and lanterns were lit and hung around the deck of the ship. Darras pulled you
close to him as eyes looked you over from other crew, you shot your head down, instead looking at
the wooden planks of the floor.

Darras came to lean in your ear and whispered, “Laugh as though I had something naughty.” He
rushed, though you could hear the performative smirk on his lips.

You let out a giggly peel of laughter as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you
down the drawbridge plank to the wooden deck of the port. Your heart raced in your chest as he
continued to pull you along with him, your head tucked down as the hood was pulled down tightly
around your face.

You did not take your eyes from the ground, watching your feet pad along the wooden port and
then onto large stone bricks. You did not know if you could even ask him a question, and so you
stayed quiet, hoping he would give you signal enough when the time was right.

Darras’ grip on you was tight, but kind and even though you did not know what awaited you, you
trusted your instincts and felt safe with this man. Perhaps he would not lead you to your doom after
all.

You had little choice.

“Just a little further, stowaway.” He whispered in your ear.

Feet rushed to stay in time with him, and you felt your side twinging in pain from the exertion of it
all. A small grunt passed through your lips as you walked beside him, his pace slowing slightly.
“Sorry, I forgot about your…condition.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered back.

His hand guided you to turn with him and your feet stepped back onto a wooden deck, although
this time, it was much smaller and thinner than before, and the wood had rotted away in some
places by time and wear of the sea.

His shoes echoed confidently on the deck as he pulled you with him, calling out into the night air.

“Sumayl!” He called.

You lifted your head.

In front of you was a small fishing boat. It had a bright orange sail with a red sun and gold spear
through the centre. The sigil of House Martell of Dorne. Though the ship was far too small to be
owned by any Prince or Princess of the House Martell, the ship would be a runner for fishing.

“Sumayl.” Darras called again, looking at the ship as you both waited.

The boat was beautifully crafted, and you could tell that the owner took very good care of it. The
wood was clean and polished, and the sail sat unripped and unstained. A sound came from within
the ship's bowels, as a man, no older than your father emerged from within.

He was tall and tanned, and his body was muscular. He had black hair that sat in soft waves atop
his head, though streaks of grey ran through the front. His eyes were the same brilliant green as
Darras and suddenly you felt as though you could be looking at his father.

“Darras.” The man spoke, his eyes shifted to you, “And friend.”
 Two Brothers
Chapter Notes

Darras is such a cutie, I'm like damn.... I would run away with him.

Darras pulled you up towards the plank on the deck, allowing you to walk up it cautiously, holding
your hand firmly as you went. The older man Sumayl watched you with cautious eyes, and you felt
yourself tug the cloak around you tighter.

“Have you brought me a gift?” The greying man asked, as he watched his friend closely.

Darras, a man with usually so many words, remained quiet and simply nodded his head, before
moving inside of the ship. He sat you down on a dark wooden chair roughly as he went to Sumayl's
side, where they began whispering in hushed tones.

Sumayl looked at you as Darras spoke, brows furrowing.

“No.” Sumayl spoke loudly.

“Brother, please. I would not ask this of you if it was not important. Think of the gold, brother. We
would never have to work again! I could finally settle down, and you could follow your dreams.”
Darras’ voice became desperate as he looked at his brother, who’s eyes never left yours.

So they were brothers.

The eldest stalked forward before standing in front of you.

“How did you trick him.”

“Trick him?” You asked in confusion.

“You heard me. You are no Princess.”

You let your grip on the hood fall, the thick cloak falling away from your head to reveal your face
and hair. Sumayl did not react, instead stared at you with even more scepticism.

"For all we know, you could be a titleless bastard."

“Brother, please. I will never ask for anything from you again.” Darras begged.

You looked at Darras and saw the desperation.

You did not know how else to prove yourself.

"I am Princess Y/n Velaryon, First of her name, eldest daughter of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.
Please believe your brother, and I when I say you will be rewarded for returning me home." You
spoke with conviction, with a voice of commanding urgency. One you had learnt from attending
the courts.
Sumayl scoffed, shaking his head as he looked at his younger brother, "You fool."

If he did not believe your words, or your physical presence, then perhaps what the Maester gifted
you would help. With your hand you reached into your shirt, fingers pushing into the rags Darras
had supplied you, and pulled the small broach from its spot.

You walked slowly towards Sumayl and held your hand out, waiting for him to place his below
yours.

The man stared at you unsure, unamused, untrusting and waited, before pulling his hand up lazily.
You opened your fingers and let the broach fall into his palm heavily.

Sumayl's eyes darted to the new weight in his hand, looking at the three headed dragon in his palm.
The light from the lantern glinted off of the metal as he turned it in his hand, inspecting the craft.

“Take me to Dragonstone, and you will be rewarded heavily for returning the daughter of the
Queen home.” Your voice held steady.

Sumayl stared at the broach, then looked back at you.

His eyes were a deeper shade of green up close, and with the soft light of a lantern, you saw flecks
of gold nestled amongst the emerald.

Sighing, he looked at his brother and nodded before walking away.

Darras sprang into action and helped his brother ready to leave Planky Town and voyage back up
to Dragonstone. You sat back heavily in the chair, breathing a sigh of relief, the anxiety of
impending danger leaving you, causing you to sag against the wood which groaned in protest.

You sat for some time in a daze, staring at the same spot on the ships wall before Darras came
back to join you, smiling wildly at you. It was only then did you realise the ship had begun to bob
more intensely and that you were already sitting sail for home.

Home.

You felt as if you were going to cry in relief, but instead you buried your face into the palms of
your hands and sighed. Darras squeezed your shoulder in comfort and you lifted your head to look
at the tall man as he pulled you with him to stand on the deck of the ship.

Outside the stars shone brightly above you, moon rising higher and higher into the sky.

Behind you, the lights from Planky Town faded into the distance.

And ahead of you, lay the darkness of the open sea.

The stars made you feel so small. How many were there? Surely more than the people in the Keep,
perhaps even more than the entire realm.

A large glowing star sat high in the sky, whilst six others surrounded it. The largest flickered,
whilst the smaller ones glowed consistently.

The Seven Children of Aenyx.

Aenyx was a beautiful witch, with silver white hair, and bright purple eyes that glowed. She had
seven children. All of them bold and bright, but each with their own faults.
The eldest felt wrath unlike no other. When provoked he would tear down forests and mountains,
boiling water in rivers until there was none left.

The second had envy so powerful, she would curse all those in her path at the slightest provocation.

The third, was prideful, and would boast loudly of his achievements, and never back down from
confrontation.

The fourth child of Aenyx was gluttonous, and consumed so much food, that once the seas were
emptied of all it's fish, and people began to starve.

The fifth was so greedy that they hoarded piles of gold, digging deep into the earth to pull it out,
destroying the crops that lay atop.

And the sixth was lazy. Watching their siblings destroy the realm, themselves and others, not
daring to speak up, nor out.

The seventh son of Aenyx was lustful, and though he was married to the most beautiful woman of
the realm, his eyes still strayed. Siring hundreds of babes.

Aenyx loved her children dearly, and knew of their faults. "How could I create children so pure,
yet so tainted?" She cried.

One day, the eldest child was spited by his sister, envy, and began to destroy the realm. The rivers
we have now, were created by his wrath as he struck the earth sharply with his sword. His sister in
retaliation cursed him, causing his strength to leave his body with each swing of his mighty sword,
until he could scarcely lift a finger.

Aenyx watched on in horror, begging with her children to stop, as they all began to fight. She
watched as mountains were pushed up from the earth, and volcanoes erupted from the seas, the sky
began to turned black from the fire and smoke. The earth cracked open, and lava began to spill
across the land, destroying all in its wake.

Aenyx was at a loss of what to do. She loved her children, but she could not bear to witness them
destroy the earth and each other. And so in a final bid to end it all, she turned them into stars,
immortalising them for the rest of time, where they could help to guide people through the lands
they created, rather than cause further destruction.

You remember as a child, reading the tale of The Seven Children of Aenyx in the library of the Red
Keep. You had never understood how siblings could fight with one another, let alone harm them.
But now you were older and wiser, and the tale stood as a warning more than anything.

Waves rocked against the side of the ship, their salty spray wetting you lightly as you watched the
boat sail away from the mainland. The orange sail of the ship was pulled taut by the wind, as it
carried you all through the waves.

The Gods were taking you home.

“Perfect conditions to sail.” Came the voice of the elder brother.

The larger man stood behind the wheel of the ship, steering it further into the dark open expanse of
the ocean.

“It seems that the Gods are on our side. We may even arrive earlier than expected, perhaps two or
three days on the sea until we arrive.”
You smiled.

Only two or three more days until you were home.

But then the dread hit you.

Only two or three more days until you return home, without Lucerys.

You had left together, and only one would return.

“Thank you.” You called out to him, voice rising over the waves breaking below you.

The man smiled, before looking back out at sea.

Darras squeezed your shoulder again, before leading you back inside the belly of the ship. He led
you to the stern, a comfortable and cozy cabin where he and his brother most likely slept. There
were two bed on either side of the room and a small table with maps and books atop it.

A lantern swung gently above you, casting a low warm light over you both.

“Sleep, little stowaway. I am sure your body is crying for rest that isn’t upright in a barrel.”

You nodded and smiled, padding over to a mattress, and although it was thin, you found yourself
fall asleep almost instantly as your head touched the pillow. You did not dream, and as you woke
the next day you found yourself feeling refreshed from the rest.

The next morning, you sat on the deck with Darras and watched the water speed past you. You sat
mostly in silence, small conversation here and there as he told you about his and Sumayl’s
upbringing, and the woman he was in love with.

“Sumayl wasn’t always this grumpy, I assure you.”

“Oh?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was the surly one?”

“No.” You huffed a small laugh.

“I wouldn’t either.” He smiled.

Three white sea birds flew above the ship, circling as you rode through the waves.

“They think we are going to fish.”

“Do you think they will follow us the whole way there?” You watched them fly above you,
suddenly missing the feeling.

You thought of Syndor.

“Possibly, if they’re desperate enough.” He gave you a wry smile.

The day passed and you found yourself sleeping again in the men's quarters, having eaten a short
meal of bread and dried meats and fish from the two brothers. They even offered you spiced
Dornish wine, which you took small sips of, before laying down to rest.

Another day went by and you found yourself standing beside Sumayl as he looked out at the sea,
you had not spoken much and you felt compelled to thank the man who was sailing you back to
your family.

“Thank you… again.”

Sumayl shifted and looked down at you. His nose was large and hooked, and he had long thick
eyelashes, and eyebrows which made his eyes look all the more brighter. The stubble around his
face was grey and black, giving him a wise look. He was handsome, in a ruggish way.

“You had better hold good on your promise.” He looked out at the sea.

“I will. You will be rewarded greatly for my return.”

The man hummed.

“My brother has told me you are injured.”

You nodded.

“How were you hurt?”

“I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yes.”

“What, down the stairs of your palace?” He teased.

“No.”

“Then how?”

You sniffed, looking away from him.

“I fell from my dragon.”

The man hummed and silence surrounded you, until he asked a new question.

“And how did you survive?”

“Somebody caught me.”

“A friend?” He inquired.

“No.” You answered.

“Hmm.”

For the rest of your day, you sat alone against the side of the ship, watching the waves splash up
beside you. The sky reflected on the glassy waves, turning them a soft orange as the sun slowly
began to descend from the sky.

“Stowaway.” Darras called, and you looked up.

Before you was a small speck, that grew larger with every minute.
Dragonstone came to view and you felt your heart begin to soar. You jumped up from your seat,
racing to the bow of the ship, looking out across the water as your home came closer to view.

In the distance, two small dark specs flew in the sky around the volcanic island, and in that moment
you knew that you would be spotted, and they would be anticipating the arrival of the Dornish
ship, bearing the House Martell sigil.

You let out a sigh of relief as you watched the ship come closer to the volcanic island, and the
small speck grow larger. The wind raced you forward with large gusts, as the fishing boat bobbed
against the waves.

Darras came to stand beside you as he watched your excitement roll of you as you looked out at
your home. His hands rested against the bow of the ship's wood as he leant forward, his curly hair
coming into your sight.

“Why were you in King's Landing if this is your home?”

“I was taken... By my uncle Aegon.” You answered stiffly.

“Ah, the Conqueror King.”

“No, the Usurper.” You growled.

“Makes no difference to me. He is no King of Dorne.”

“He is no King.” You spat.

“Are all you Targaryens so full of fire?”

You smirked at Darras, looking back at the island that got closer as you spoke.

“If I wasn’t so madly in love, perhaps I would fall for you.”

You laughed.

“You are handsome, I will give you that.” You smiled.

“I am.” He smirked.

“And humble too. I can see why she stays around.”

The waves pushed up against the front of the ship, frothy white tips being broken apart by the nose
of the vessel, as she pushed through the dark sea to her destination.

“Dhana.”

You looked at Darras as the word slipped his lips.

“Her name is Dhana.”

“A beautiful name.”

“She is a beautiful woman, it is only fitting.”

You looked back out to the island which was about the size of your fist now as you got closer, the
two large dragons flying above, merely looking like small fruit flies. You felt yourself growing
impatient as you watched the island come closer, Darras standing silently beside you.

As you waited, you paced about the deck of the ship, back and forth to fill the time, the two
brothers eyes watched you as you moved. You were restless and unsure. So many emotions
bubbling up inside you.

What were you to say when you arrived empty handed, without your brother or dragon. What were
you to do when they ask you what happened. How were you supposed to look them in the eye and
tell them that you failed to keep him safe.

You closed your eyes and breathed through it all, trying to tame the bubbling panic and grief inside
of you. You needed to be strong. For your mother, for your family.

For Lucerys.

Your eyes stayed shut as you breathed until finally Darras’ voice interrupted your racing thoughts.

When you opened your eyes again, the sky was almost dark, the last of the sun dipping behind the
horizon as a soft blue hue fell across the sky.

Before you, stood the shore of Dragonstone in all it's mighty glory. Your eyes went to the sky.

There were no dragons in sight.

They knew of the ships arrival.

You sprung from your seat, racing to the side of the ship as Sumayl began to lower the plank. As
you went to run, he grabbed your arm.

“Steady on, stowaway. We have a deal.” His eyes held uncertainty as he looked at you.

He thought you were tricking them.

“My father does not like to be held waiting.” And with that you bounded down the plank, Darras
hot on your heels as Sumayl followed behind.

Your bare feet hit the stone deck of Dragonstone as you walked briskly up the path, your side
aching with your fast movements. With every step you fought off the tears that threatened to spill
from your eyes.

With every step you fought against the urge to collapse.

You pushed yourself forward, up the long winding path and stairs to the two large gates, guards at
the front of them, doors already open and waiting to lead you to the long path to the entrance of the
keep. The large stone dragon carvings watched you as you walked through the entrance, the two
men following behind you.

Your eyes scanned the path before you, the castle sitting behind it.

In front of you were two figures, surrounded by guards in the waiting area of the path, where you
had once stood when Otto came to offer terms from your uncle.

The two figures in the path were still as they watched you sprint towards them.
 Tales from the dead
Chapter Notes

My heart, I am sobbing at my own writing, live laugh love. No one breaks my heart
quite like I do

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was as if your body was on autopilot. Your feet pushed you forward as fast as you could go,
racing toward the two figures, pushing past the pain in your side, or the burning in your lungs.

There they were. They were real. In front of you.

Home.

And nothing in the world could have prepared you for this moment. You could not think, could not
do anything, but run towards them with every bit of strength you had left.

“Y/n?” Queen Rhaenyra’s voice cut across the open air, uncertain as your body ran towards them
both.

“Mother!” You cried out, as you got closer.

Your father beside her tensed as he watched you. You could see their faces now, Rhaenyra in
complete disbelief and Daemon in shock. Your side ached terribly but you pushed on.

Rhaenyra broke away from the path running towards you, hands clenched in her skirts, holding
them up as her Knight followed behind her. You ran as fast as your legs could take you, feet
slapping against the cold stone as you got closer to each other, when suddenly your bodies collided
together.

You clutched at her robes as she held the back of your head, crying loudly, pressing kisses to the
side of your face. You could feel her chest rise and fall, and shake as she sobbed. You inhaled the
smell of your mother, and that was when it hit you.

You were home.

The dam inside of you broke, and the tears began to fall. You could be strong for them and you
would, but in this moment, you could not hold it back. All of the loss, all of that grief and pain,
every single part of your experience flooded out of you.

Queen Rhaenyra pulled you back at arms length, looking at you for visible injury, and to reassure
herself that you were truly there with her. Her eyes were dark, and face wet with tears. Those
beautiful eyes you loved so much, red and raw.

You smiled through it all as you sobbed, before the voice of your father caught your attention.

“Y/n?”
Daemon stood behind your mother looking at you, still in shock, mouth agape. He was dressed in
all black as usual, with the Dark Sister blade at his side. He had large bags beneath his eyes, and
even his usually neat hair looked as though he had combed many a stressed hand through the silver
white strands.

His eyes were glassy.

You nodded your head tearily at him and sobbed louder before he broke the spell, wrapping his
arms around both you and your mother. You cried loudly into their arms as they held you tightly.
Your father pressing a soft kiss to your head, sniffing into your hair.

The Rogue Prince pulled back, looking down at you, eyes wild searching your face.

“How?”

You craned your neck and looked behind you to the two brothers who stood watching the teary
reunion.

“They helped.” You spoke through your tears, smiling gratefully at the two men whose backs
straightened as your mother gazed at both of them.

“It is not as valiant as she tells it to be.” Darras awkwardly intoned.

His brother gave him an irritated look.

“I promised them gold.”

Your mother looked at both of them as they waited with bated breath for the Queen or King
Consorts reaction.

“Give them whatever they want.” Daemon purred to your mothers Knight, before turning his
attention back to you.

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra spoke to the Dornish men behind you, voice soft as she still held you.

Sumayl and Darras bowed their heads.

“Come.” The Rogue Prince gently spoke to you and your mother, turning as he began to lead you
back up the path to the castle in front of you.

You stopped in your tracks, before letting go of your mother for one second, turning to walk alone
back to the two brothers. You threw your arms over Darras roughly, pulling him into a sharp hug
before gently kissing his cheek.

“Thank you.” You whispered to them both, nodding your head at Sumayl who watched with a
softer expression.

“You were not lying.” He stated.

“I was not.”

“Then we are rich men.”

“You are.”

You looked at Darras once more before holding his hand.

“Please do good by her.”

“I swear this to you, as I did before.” The Dornish man smiled, before you let go of his hand,
walking back up to your mothers side who held you close, as your father flanked your other side
hovering over you.

It did not feel real.

You walked up the path together in a blur, your surroundings flying rapidly as you felt your heart
beating in your chest. The halls were still the same, the walls were just as you remembered, and
there was warmth from the fires inside.

But there was something amiss.

There was no loud laughter to be heard, nor the racing footsteps of your brothers, nor the
recounting of stories in broken High Valyrian. For all that was the same, the castle felt still with the
absence of your brother.

There were no books strewn about your chambers as you were escorted there. There were no
snacks on the table, half eaten with crumbs left behind by greedy hands. There was no cloak, or
coat or jacket, thrown haphazardly on the chair, or chaise, or bed, by a boy who had grown warm
by the fire.

The emptiness in the room stifled you.

Your bed had been made, your sheets had been changed, and the fireplace was still lit in your
absence, waiting for your return. And although the room was full of your two maids who doted on
you, and the Maester and your parents, you still could not help but feel alone.

Even when Joffrey came to your side, and your eldest brother came and gripped you so hard you
could not breathe, and the pain in your side caused you to cry out, and all those around you rushed
to inspect what was wrong, there was still something missing.

There was no small mop of brown hair in your room. No small boy to laugh at your silly jokes, or
listen to your tales of Old Valyria. There was no small boy to eat dates with in secret, or fall asleep
beside the fireplace as he told you stories of ghosts. There was no little boy who was scared of the
sea, or becoming the Lord of Driftmark.

He was gone.

And with him, a piece of you died.

And as you sat in shock in your chambers which suddenly began to suffocate you, you could not
help but notice that he was not there to comfort your anxiety, to hold your hand and soothe you. His
cherubic smile was not there to assure you that everything would work itself out.

There was a stillness to the castle that had not been there before.

The brave little Velaryon boy who had stood up to his uncle with a blade was no longer. The small
boy who loved so deeply, no longer existed. Your brother was gone.

Lucerys was dead.

And the castle was still.

Your surroundings rushed back around you and suddenly your father was standing before your
face, uttering your name softly in concern.

You blinked. Once. Twice. And felt your face wet with tears. You sniffed and apologised softly, as
you looked about the room.

Your two maids stood by the fire, stoking the flames whilst peering back at you in concern. The
Maester had brought more maids to the room with medical supplies, and had begun to fuss about
the table beside you as you sat numbly.

Your mother stood at your side, stroking your hair gently as she watched you with hawk like eyes,
whilst your brother, Jacaerys stood beside her, watching you in concern.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat.

“My sweet, there is nothing to be sorry for.”

If only they knew the truth.

You felt that vile wave surge inside you again, grief clawing its way up your throat as you looked
down in your hands. You fought against the tide that surged within, its dark thick crest rising inside
of you. You began to drown in it, falling deeper and deeper into its swell as it dragged you down,
reality catching up to you.

You had been in survival mode for so long, that now that you stopped, you felt yourself slipping.
You sucked in a ragged breath as your ears rang. You cleared your throat again, sniffing as the
ringing disappeared and the surge subsided.

The Maester spoke again, in a tone that alluded to him having asked you once, or perhaps even
twice already.

“Where are you injured, Princess?” The old man asked.

Numbly you pulled the large shirt from beneath the loose breeches, pulling it up your side as you
leant to expose the makeshift bandages that Darras had given you. You felt your mothers hand still
against the back of your head.

“May I?” The Maester asked.

You nodded, looking away, eyes fixating on a spot on the floor by the fire. You had sat there
before many times. Reading, or drinking or eating with Lucerys. Playing games with him and your
brothers. Teaching him High Valyrian, listening to his ghost tales. And despite the spot being
before the flames of the fire, it looked cold. Empty.

Still.

The Maester's steady hands began to softly and slowly, as to not hurt or frighten you, unravel the
rags from your side.

Time stood still.

Your mother gasped quietly beside you, as the last of the rags were pulled away. The Maester came
closer inspecting the injury as you felt the hot gaze of two violet eyes staring at the wound.

Your gaze moved from the floor to the Rogue Prince, who stood in front of you. His hand was
clenched on the hilt of the Dark Sister blade, whilst the other was stiff beside him. His eyes were
burning with rage as they never left your side, jaw tensed and nostrils flaring.

“Princess,” The Maester began, unsure of how to continue, “These are quite extensive.”

“How?” Your mother blurted.

“Aemond.” You uttered, voice quiet in the room.

A flash of black moved in front of you, as Daemon began to storm out the chambers, hand on the
hilt of his blade, fury rolling off of his tense shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Your mother called across the room.

“Where do you think? I am going to end this as we should have in the beginning. With their heads
mounted on spikes.” Daemon spat.

“Kepa.” (Father) You softly called out to him.

His eyes flicked to yours as you called.

“Please.” You begged. "I have only just got you back."

The Rogue Prince stood as he made a hard decision, unsure of how to react as he stared at you,
watching him in anticipation. The Prince looked at his wife, before back you, and slowly made his
way back over, standing in front of you again, watching as the Maester continued to inspect your
side.

His gentle fingers prodded at what was left of the stitches. Humming as he softly wiped you with a
wet cloth. The cloth stung as it touched your wound and you grunted, flinching away.

“It seems that they treated your injury whilst in the Red Keep.”

You nodded down at the healer.

“You’ve healed well.”

You nodded again. The cloth stroked you gently.

“Though I see you have torn some stitches here.” His finger hovered above the open part of your
wound, which had begun to heal thickly beneath.

“New bruising.” The man muttered to himself as he looked on.

“New?” Your father asked.

Maester Gerardys hummed, finger hovering around your side where the stitches has pulled loose,
dark bruising blooming from the edges, underneath the old yellowed bruises.

You did not look up, nor did you attempt to.

You did not have the strength to meet your fathers eyes just yet, or recount your days in the Keep,
or tell them of Aegon’s assault. Or how you spent days in your room listening to the wails and cries
of your aunt at their hands.

Or how you fell into the depths of a storm after watching the brother you failed to protect, be
 crushed by Vhagar’s jaws. Or how you watched your own dragon be attacked as you plummeted
towards the sea below, unable to do anything.

You found that you did not even have the strength to tell them you were okay.

Nor did you have the strength to lie.

The wave began to build inside you again.

Chapter End Notes

Smoke, Fire and Ash can also be found on tumblr @asumofwords.

 Fools Dreams
Chapter Notes

We know Daemon sobbed as the reader slept

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The Maester sewed your wound back together, though he uttered concerns that the scar would heal
much larger now, and that the stitches may not assist anymore, but continued anyway on the off
chance it would and at the behest of your father.

Saria and Aella bathed you with a wet cloth, scrubbing the grime and dirt away from your skin
before gently brushing your hair, pulling the tangles and knots away from your scalp before
tucking you into bed to sleep.

Sleep came to you quickly and although you slept deeply, you did not dream. Even your mind was
far too tired to concoct visions for you in your slumber. You drifted off into the darkness and went
with it calmly.

It was your first night back home.

When you woke, your chambers were well lit with light, and the fire place still burned. You shifted
in your bed before turning your head to look about the room. The large curtains at the balcony had
been opened wide and the sky was bright and warm.

It would be midday.

The air beside your bed stirred and you turned your head to look.

Sat beside you was a very tired and slumped Jacaerys. His jacket was gone and his dress shirt was
unbuttoned and loose. He wore no shoes and leant heavily against the back of the chair beside your
bed, head in his hand.

“Jace.”

The younger boys head shot up to look at you face alert, but once he took in your relaxed
demeanour he immediately calmed. His hand came to brush his short hair back with a smooth
swipe, giving you a lopsided smile.

Small, tight.

Unsure.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently, scooting the chair towards the bed, the feet scraping
agains the stone loudly.

“Like I’ve been trampled by horses.” You joked, giving him a wry smile.
Jacaerys gave a small and sad laugh.

“You look it.”

You huffed a similar laugh as you slowly wriggled yourself up the bed, leaning heavily against the
back of the bed, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you lazily looked at him.

“Is that how you treat your sister who is back from the dead?” You mocked, trying to make light of
the situation but all it did was make the boy swallow thickly and look down at his lap.

You did not know what to do.

Nor how to act.

What could you do in such a situation as this? Who would ever be prepared to socialise after all
you had been through? After all you had lost? And then to come home to the people who not only
grieve that loss with you, but also not know how to tend to you.

You felt suddenly guilty for poking fun, and before you could apologise he looked back up at your
face, before making a show of looking at your side.

“The Stranger clearly sent you back. Not even they could handle you.”

You laughed in earnest, side twinging slightly as you looked at him sadly.

“Gods, I have missed you.”

The boy sniffed.

“It has been far too quiet here without your terrible singing.”

“My singing is not terrible.” You argued.

“Oh no? Then why does no-one compliment it?”

“The people simply are not ready for such a talent.”

A quiet fell across the room as you smiled at each other, unsure how to go forward. How were you
to behave or react? What was the appropriate way to grieve a loved one? One that you failed? How
does one recover from such a loss? Will you ever be the same? Will Jacaerys ever be the same?

Luc and Jace had always been inseparable. As children, Luc would follow Jace around, never
leaving his side unless by yours. And Jace was a fierce protector of Luc, always reassuring him
and comforting the young boy should he ever need it.

Lucerys had been protecting Jace and your cousins the evening he took Aemond's eye.

How was Jacaerys supposed to move forward from this? How had he been coping? Would he ever
forgive you?

“I’m sor-“ You began, though Jacaerys intercepted your apology and instead redirected the
conversation elsewhere.

“Mother sat here all night watching you sleep. She had only just finally gone to rest, but only
because I had to practically drag her from your chambers.”
You smiled at the thought.

“Where is Daemon?”

Jace smiled again.

“He was also here, pacing about the fireplace. I was worried he would melt holes in the stone
flooring with the speed he went.”

You let out a small giggle as you looked to the fireplace, imagining your father pacing about like a
madman. It was comforting to know.

“And where were you for all of this?”

“I was sleeping soundly in my room. You needn’t three mad men in your chambers whilst you
slept.” He grinned.

You grinned and closed your eyes momentarily. Allowing yourself to wake up fully as you pushed
yourself higher up on the bed, grunting as you went.

That quiet was back, and it unnerved you. The sounds of the waves outside crashing on the cliffs
caused a constant stream of white noise into the room.

When you opened your eyes to look at Jace, you noticed that it had unnerved him too.

“It is quiet, isn’t it?”

Jacaerys nodded.

“It’s almost unbearable.” You tried to joke, but it came out as a grimace.

“It’s so….” You fought to find the word, “still.”

The brown haired boy nodded, looking down at his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“We thought we lost you both.” His voice was quiet, he still didn’t look up at you.

“I thought so too.”

The tide began to surge inside you again.

“I’m so sorry, Jace. I’m so so-“

“Stop it.” His voice was kind and soft.

You stared at each others eyes wet, before his hand came to grasp yours in his, softly squeezing
your hand as he looked at you.

“It's not your fault.”

You shook your head as a tear began to fall down your cheek.

“I mean it,” His hand came to brush the tear away, “We all know it too. Do not hold this
unbearable weight on your shoulders. It will bury you.”
You sniffed and nodded your head before moving your legs to the side of the bed. Jace gave you a
funny look. His hands move to push you back into bed, but you shook your head.

“I want to be with you all.”

“All the Lords and Ladies are at the Painted Table. I think you should rest.”

You shook your head again and stood.

“No. I will rest when this is over." You sighed, "I have had enough time to rest.”

Knowing he could not argue with you, Jace gave a small nod, before leaving your chambers to
fetch your maids. The girls came and dressed you, braiding your hair back tightly against your skull
before you moved to exit your chambers.

When the doors opened your eyes met those of your Knight, Ser Darke.

He bowed deeply, “Princess. It is good to see you.”

Your hand came to touch his shoulder plate as you gave him a warm smile.

“And you, Ser Darke. Come.” You nodded your head away as he gave you a puzzling look.

“Princess, You should be resting. I was told to ensure your rest.”

“The Greens do not rest, so nor shall I.” You stopped and looked back at the man who still stood at
your chamber doors looking at you with uncertainty.

“Come.” You commanded, and so he did.

Your Knight walked you through the halls, maids and servants bowing their heads as you passed
and guards stiffening in respect. Ser Darke arrived to the Painted Table before you, walking down
the stairs as he announced your arrival.

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, eldest daughter of Queen Rhaenyra, First of Her Name.”

A hush fell over the room as you walked slowly down the stairs, head held high. Your mothers
eyes carefully watching you with uncertainty, whilst Daemon stood up the back proud, chin high
and back straight, small smirk on his face.

All bowed their head to you as you walked to the table, small uttering of “Princess” as you passed.
The table was lined with the usual allies, and you made your way to stand beside your mother.

Baela and Rhaena beamed at you softly and you smiled back nodding, you would reunite with them
later. Rhaenys stood off to the side behind the girls, not quite at the table, but not far away either.

It seemed that she still had no taste for starting a war, but it had already been started.The Queen
Who Never Was gave you a proud nod before looking back at the table.

Your mother watched you as she fought back the urge to tell you to rest. You pulled your hands
behind your back as you stood and looked about the room. Although the same men were present,
the air had changed.

Your mother no longer stood cautiously to the edge watching, instead stiff and strong by the side
of the table.
War was here.

The Noble Men all stared at you, unsure of how to proceed after your entrance.

“Please, do not let me distract you.” You waved a hand around the table, “Carry on.”

And so they did.

“We have word from the Blackwoods that the Brackens have sided with the Greens. There have
been small rebellions in the Riverlands, and whispers of an upcoming attack.” Lord Bartimos spoke
out, continuing his updates to the table.

Queen Rhaenyra looked down at the table where the Riverlands were carved. Her silver head lifted
to look at Lord Bortimos before she responded.

“Then we send a patrol to the Riverlands, stamp out the rebellion before it begins and deal with the
Brackens before they attack.”

The Lord nodded before speaking again.

“Our support from the Starks and Arryns mean we have a larger force that Aegon. We could send
some of the Northmen down to the Riverlands to prevent the Greens sway.”

Your mother nodded before looking to Lord Staunton, who stood still staring at you rather than the
table before him.

“And what of House Tarly?”

“The Tarlys have sent a raven, declaring their support for you, Your Grace.” He confirmed.

“With The Vale of Arryn and The Eerie secured, we have a strong hold in the East and North. Is
there any news from the Lannisters?”

Silence around the table, until Maester Gerardys spoke gently.

“The Lannisters have declared Aegon as their King, Your Grace.”

Anger rippled across your mothers face.

"Right, as was expected. Then we have no allies past the Golden Tooth. You say that we have the
full support of the Blackwoods?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Our hold in the Blackwood Vale will help us take Riverrun, which will shut off the Lannisters
from most trade.” You commented, and the energy at the table shifted.

It was tense. Uneasy.

Uncertain.

You stepped towards the table, pointing your finger to the Red Fork, where the House of
Blackwood had been since the First Men.

“Though, once we do this, we should expect the Brackens to use their might. The Blackwood and
Bracken Houses are ancient, and have power in the realm that should not be underestimated. The
Brackens may have sway in smaller towns or settlements that we may not know of.”

Your mother nodded at you, before commanding an envoy to travel to the small settlements to keep
them at bay.

“And what of the Greyjoys? Any news?”

“The Greyjoys have declared for neither you, nor Aegon, Your Grace.”

“I see. We should also expect House Martell to be of no use either.” She hummed, fingers touching
the edge of the table as she looked down in thought.

“House Darklyns support allows us to have Duskendale secured. With Lord Corlys’ fleet, we may
have the port there protected.”

Lord Corlys sat on a chair beside the table watching your mother, his chin was rested in his hand.
The white haired man nodded and all went back to looking about the table to plan.

It was quiet as everyone thought, until Lord Bortimos' voice disturbed the still air.

“Princess Y/n, please forgive me for any offence at what I am to ask…” All eyes were on you.

You nodded warily.

“You were at the Red Keep for some time, yes?”

The tide began to rise, though you quickly squashed it.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“I was.”

Your mother stiffened.

“And did you see or hear of anything whilst there? I only ask a-“

“I did not see, nor hear any plans of future attacks, or whispers from their allies.” You interrupted
him.

The Rogue Prince was staring daggers at the Lord before you started again.

“In my time at the Red Keep, I was imprisoned. No-one was permitted to speak, nor talk around
me, and the Dowager Queen barely spoke a word. As you can imagine, I was not invited to the
council meetings.” You glared at the man, before continuing, “Though, there was a palpable
tension there, Aegon and Aemond still bicker as they did when they were children, and Alicent
becomes more frayed as the days go by. Helaena is no longer a threat to us, although I would argue
that she never was. So we can rule her out as a Dragon Rider.”

The men nodded at the table as the Queen stared at you.

You continued.

“In my short time in Dorne, I quickly learnt that none of them see Aegon as their King… Nor you
as their Queen, Your Grace. So we can definitively say that Dorne would be no threat, nor would
they accept Aegon’s request. Borros Baratheon has sided with the Greens, as I am sure you are all
well aware of by now, at the promise of a marriage between Aemond and one of his daughters."
You breathed a sigh.

“Thank you, Princess.” Your mother nodded, before turning to begin again.

The Lord's all seemed to be staring at you before they looked away to the table. It made you feel
useless. It made you feel defeated, and angry and bitter.

They thought you had nothing to offer but losses.

“There is more.” You blurted.

Now you had their undivided attention. All waited for you to speak as you pushed down at the
swell inside you, the mounting tide trying to drag you down.

“At Storm’s End, Aemond had intercepted our mission to seek allies. Borros Baratheon took great
delight in this, which seemed to aggravate Aemond.” You cleared your throat.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Y/n.” Prince Daemon called to you, a subtle hint that you did not have to continue.

You blinked and started again.

“Lucerys and I took to flee, when Aemond threatened to take his eye. A fight ensued on
dragonback, and Lucerys was slain. I was knocked from my dragon and fell, I do not know what
happened next, except waking up in the Red Keep.”

Your mother was stiff beside you.

“Vhagar is barely controlled by Aemond, and he is more unhinged now than he has ever been
before. He is dangerous. I was able to sneak into his chambers and stab him, though
unfortunately,” You drawled, looking at your father whose eyes widened in delight, “I was not able
to kill him, but he was injured nonetheless.” You grinned.

All waited for you to continue.

“Aegon drinks more heavily too. The Greens have their weaknesses, and they showed their hand
when I was there, despite all odds. Alicent even implored that I take Aemond’s hand in marriage,
to unify" You scoffed, "our families and prevent the war from escalating further, despite his
proposal to the Baratheon daughter. I believe that Alicent knows they stand little chance.”

You took a breath, the tide was still.

The table was still.

And all who gazed at you were quiet.

You waited for anyone to respond. For anyone to use that information at the table, but no-one
stepped forth. Could that have been useless to tell them? Had all of that been for naught?

“If Alicent is shaken, then there is reason for it.” Jacaerys stepped to the table.

“Aemond’s lack of control and Aegon’s demeanour combined will be the end of the Greens, and
she must know it.”

You nodded, thankful for him stepping up.

“The Greens even treated Y/n when she was at the Red Keep, keeping her alive. Why did they not
let her die?" He asked the room, "There is a reason she is here before us today, and a reason for the
Greens keeping her there.”

You waited for anyone to add their thoughts, though most looked at you in pity.

You hated it.

“Send word to the Blackwoods. Tell them that we shall be sending men to assist in keeping a
stronghold from the Brackens. A small fleet is to be sent to Duskendale to patrol the water and
skies. If Aemond is unpredictable, then we must be ready for anything.” Queen Rhaenyra looked
at you as you spoke.

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief spread across you. You had helped in some way.

It was not all for nothing.

“Send a raven to Lord Cregan Stark to update him with the news and return of the Princess.”

The table was then dismissed, and the Lords and men went to their duties to fulfil the Queens
wishes. You and your family stayed behind, all looking at the table, waiting for one person to
finally break the silence.

You didn’t want to wait.

“This is good news. The North is large and to have the Starks support is a turning point.”

Your mother softly nodded before coming to hold both of your hands.

“You should be resting.”

“I have.” You smiled.

She looked at you softly before kissing your hairline.

Daemon still stood on the end of the table staring, unsure of what to do, whilst Jacaerys was behind
you. Rhaena and Baela stood to the side with Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys.

Rhaena caught your eye, and suddenly the tide was back.

Her posture was far too stiff as she stood to the side, and her eyes were stormy and dark. Not only
had she lost her cousin, she had lost her betrothed. Someone she had loved and grown with.
Laughed and shared memories with.

Planned a future with.

“I am sorry for your loss, Rhaena.”

She looked at you sadly, before looking away. Baela held onto her hand tightly as she watched
you.

“My condolences, cousin.” She uttered to you, her voice quiet, though a simmering rage beneath it.

The quiet came again and it made you shift on your feet. Why were they all looking at you like
that. You felt agitation begin to boil inside of you, until suddenly Lord Corlys spoke to you.
 “Only my granddaughter could escape away from the Red Keep, full of guards, surrounded by
enemies, only to find her way back on a ship with not one, but two Dornish men.” He gave you a
smirk.

“I must admit, the dungeon was empty when I escaped.” You gave him a small smile.

Daemon's eyes followed your every movement as you stood beside the table with your family, your
knights and guards in the corners of the room.

“I can see you all have questions, but are either too polite, or too frightened to ask me in fear that I
may break. I can assure you, if I was to break, I would have done so already. So I ask you to
please, stop looking at me as if I am about to fall apart.” You snipped.

Jacaerys lowered his head and no-one replied which made you more mad.

“I did not survive as I have just for you all to cast me aside, thinking I am weak. Broken. Too
fragile to assist.”

“Syndor is dead.” The Rogue Princes voice was sharp.

You felt another piece of you die alongside Lucerys. Your heart cracked and a broken sob almost
worked its way up your throat. And although you knew in your heart that he was, and that when
you fell you witnessed the fight begin, you had still kept out some small piece of hope.

Taking a breath you sniffed and nodded. Rage bubbled within.

“I assumed as much. Have the other dragons been claimed yet?”

Your father titled his head at you, jutting his hip out, hand lazily rested on the hilt of his blade.

“No.”

“Good.”

Chapter End Notes

Smoke, Fire and Ash can also be found on tumblr @asumofwords.

 Purgatory
Chapter Notes

Vermithor and The Cannibal... I wonder what will happen...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

War creates monsters out of people. It will twist even the kindest, most gentlest of people into one
who would not take chances. Creating someone unforgiving. One whose hope had died a long time
ago.

Mercy did not belong in times of war, and neither did joy.

And death came with war.

As the Lords had said, the end goal was to fill the graves with more of the enemy's men than your
own. But graves had already been dug on your side.

Lucerys. Visenya. Viserys. Syndor. A grave had even been readied for you. The Stranger had
carefully crafted it for you, but somehow you were still here.

Death created new beginnings, if that was hard to believe. It created a purgatory for those left
behind with the dead.

And you were in it.

Dragonstone’s castle was still. And all those within it jerked in anticipation of the next loss. The
next casualty of war. The next person to be snuffed from life itself. To have their grave readied. To
have the dragons ready for the cremation of it all.

That purgatory was where you sat. You were living, but you weren’t alive. Not how you had been.
Life had a dullness to it now. Like silver that had tarnished.

The worst part about war that they don’t tell you about, is the waiting.

The never ending waiting for a new attack. A new plan. A new loss. A new ally. The waiting for
the right time to strike, the waiting for the right time to fall back, to retreat to beg for mercy. But
that would never come for you, and you all knew it.

And so for days you waited for news, for something tangible to do. For something to happen next.
But nothing had come. Nothing but more planning, and more ravens, and more letters, and plotting,
and talking, and thinking, and waiting. Waiting for the Greens to come.

Waiting for the inevitable.

And as you waited, you found that your family were waiting too. But not for new word from Lords
and Ladies in the realm who threw their support behind your mother. No. They waited for you to
break.
For you to inevitably crumble. For the other shoe to drop. But it didn’t.

And you didn’t.

But that waiting, their hovering. Their unassured words and tiptoeing around you was making you
more volatile. More reactive.

More angry.

Though you knew it was not their fault. Their love for you was so deep, and they had already
thought they had lost you once. You did not know what it must feel like for them to have the
option to lose you once again.

Queen Rhaenyra, despite her duty to the council and the war that was brewing, spent most of her
time with you. Doting on you, watching your every movement, as though if she blinked you would
suddenly disappear. It was almost suffocatingly lovely.

You could never understand what it was like for her. To lose your father, your throne and to think
you lost three children all within the span of a few days. You knew that it had irrevocably changed
her. She carried herself differently now.

The days of the sweet Realms Delight were gone. In its place was a hardened and sharp woman,
who almost seemed broken herself, and though the crown she wore was heavy, she held her head
high.

Your mothers once warm eyes now held an iciness to them. And you knew once you had returned,
that she was willing to do anything now. You had not yet asked her if it was her idea to slay
Helaena’s child. Aemond’s child. But you had a sneaking suspicion that it was your fathers plan,
that your mother greedily agreed to.

You did not blame them. You would have done the same.

You would have likely done worse, all things considered.

A few days had passed, and then a few more after and soon the moon had turned and you had spent
your days stuck to your family like glue. Thinking of ways to help, attending the council meetings
and arguing with Lords who were throwing anything at the walls, just to see if it would stick.

This morning you had taken yourself to the library to read. And although the size and collection
was nowhere near the one at the Red Keep, it suited you all the same. You spent the day reading
books and tales of war, searching for anything that would help. Any tactics, any methods, any
whispers of cruelty, and ways of destruction that you could find.

You read ‘Ten Thousand Ships’. ‘King Aegon The Conqueror’. ‘The Tales of Visenya’. ‘The
Warrior Queen’. ‘War and Tribulations’. ‘The Secrets of Dorne’. Consuming each word as
greedily as you could, though you had read them before, merely serving to refresh your memory.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled you away from ‘The Scorpions of the Sand’. Looking
up and away from the aged pages of the tome, King Consort Daemon slowly approached you,
hands locked behind his back.

You scooted down the chaise, just the barest of amount, for your father to sit himself beside you.
His eyes did not leave your face as he approached, hand coming to touch your cheek as he sat, eyes
flicking to the tome and back to you again.
“‘Scorpions of the Sand’. Should I have been worried about the two men who brought you here?
Perhaps you have gotten a taste for Dornish delicacies?” He teased.

You smiled a lopsided grin at him.

“No need to fear, I won’t be running away with any Dornishmen any time soon.”

“Good. Had quite hoped you would grow old and wrinkly here with us.”

You hummed an amused laugh, as you picked the heavy tome from your lap, placing it onto the
small sitting table in front of you, keeping the pages open on the one you were up to. Daemon
followed your movements with his gaze.

Your father was an enigma.

Though he was relaxed enough and confident to say what he pleased, and do as he liked, earning
him the name The Rogue Prince, he was also sometimes unsure of himself, needing the approval
of the ones he loved most. Everything he had done in the past had been for his brother, or your
mother.

Or for you.

“It was you, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

Your father searched your face carefully, before nodding.

“Yes.” He said bluntly.

“Why?”

The Rogue Prince tilted his head.

“Because they took you from me.” His hand came to hold yours.

His hand was rough, and large, the palm covered in calluses, and fingers strong from years of
sword and riding. You gripped his hand back, leaning your body against him, head tucked into his
shoulder. Your father kissed the top of your head, lips lingering against your skull for sometime,
holding you like he may lose you again.

“I still don’t forgive you.” You sighed.

The Targaryen tensed above you.

“For how you treated us that day.”

Visenya.

You felt him let out a breath, his chin coming to rest atop your head.

“It is unforgivable.” He agreed.

You nodded, feeling his chin digging into the top of your skull.

“But I understand now. More than ever.”

Daemon sighed your name, placing a kiss against you again before he wrapped his arm around
you, pulling you fully against his side, hugging you tightly against him. Both of you watching the
fireplace, the flames twisting over the wood inside.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” You asked.

Your father was quiet, silent in thought at your question. But before he could answer you, you
continued.

“I still see him sometimes.” You whispered.

You felt Daemon’s gaze on your face.

“It… helps. When I was alone in the Keep, he pushed me to keep going. He led me to the
passageways, and to Aemond’s chambers.”

The man beside you did not respond. His gaze still locked firmly on your face.

“I tried to kill him. Went straight for his throat, like you told me. But he woke and I missed.”

Daemon hummed.

“I got him though, sliced right through him like a pig. I wished you had been there to see it. He bled
more than I thought he would.” The words tumbled out of your mouth with the stream of
consciousness.

“Ñuha byka vīlībāzmio. I will just have to be there for when you do it next.” (My little warrior.)
Your father said proudly, kissing your head again.

You both sat in the quiet for a while, watching the fire, nestled up against his side as he held you.
It was nice to be held. To be loved so fiercely by someone. For their love to be so violent, so
possessive, so-

You thought of Aemond and grimaced.

The King looked down at you, at your drawn brows before he ran a finger along the furrowed skin,
wordlessly asking you to relax.

“I tried to come for you.”

“I assumed as much.”

“I tried to come each and every day. But I couldn’t leave your mother. I couldn’t risk it. If I were to
come, Aegon surely would have killed you. And then I would have nothing.” The mans voice was
hollow, rough and cracked at the edges.

“You won’t lose me.”

“I know. I won’t let it happen again.”

“It wasn’t your fault, kepa.” (Father)

“And yet I wasn’t not at fault either.”

You pushed your head into his side, pulling your legs up beneath you to curl tighter into him.
Despite your loving and close relationship to your mother, your bond was much stronger with your
father.
“What is all this reading for?” He asked, looking at the various tomes and scrolls laid upon the
table before you both.

“Looking for something that could help us.”

“And the ‘Scorpions of the Sand' could help how?”

“Well, when women are allowed to fight, the odds are doubled.”

“The women here are already fighting.”

“Not nearly as much as they should be.”

“Y/n.”

“I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs like a useless twat. I am going to fight.”

Daemon sighed in resignation, “I know. But I only just got you back.”

“The quicker we end this, the sooner we can spend more time doing nothing.”

He laughed a small laugh, a gentle huff of breath above you, before he went to speak again, but a
new voice came from the side of the room.

Ser Eryyk stood by the rows of books and tomes, his voice cutting through the air.

“Apologies Your Grace,” He turned and bowed his head to you, “Princess. The Queen has
requested both of your presence at the Painted Table.”

“Thank you Ser Eryyk.” Your father nodded, before pulling himself to stand, holding out a hand
for you to grab.

You placed your hand in his as you stood, swiping a quick hand down your skirts and pushing your
hair back behind your shoulders before you looped your arm through Daemon’s arm, looking up at
him softly as you both began to walk to the chambers together.

The walk from the Library was not long and before you knew it, you were both entering the
chambers together, your names being announced loudly to the room full of Lords and Ladies who
stood beside the table.

Your mother at its north, with Jacaerys beside her.

When you entered, the air was still and the tension was palpable.

In Queen Rhaenyra’s hand was a scroll of parchment. Her eyes were on yours as you moved closer.

It felt all too familiar.

Oh gods. What now?

Jacaerys stood beside your mother. He wore nothing but the darkest of black robes. Leather now
on his figure. He looked like a man. A man just only a boy. A man ready for war. Ready to fight.

Ready to die.

Your eldest brother's face was hard, jaw locked in place and eyes searing into yours. Heavy
uncontrolled breaths fell from his chest and he watched you. Daemon dropped your arm from his,
brushing a hand along your shoulder before he stood in front of the table at the south with you,
looking around at all the Lords who were suddenly all too quiet.

Rhaenyra looked as though she was steeling herself, for what she was to tell you. One hand
clutching the scroll, the other brushing down the side of her skirt. A nervous habit she had when
anxious or upset. Her face however looked angry.

The Queen sniffed as she looked at you.

“The Greens have made their move in the Riverlands. Ser Amos Bracken led his men onto
Blackwood lands and has led an attack.”

She breathed heavily as she continued.

“Aemond took to Harrenhal,” She paused, failing to calm herself. You watched as Jacaerys tensed
beside her, “And has slaughtered any man, woman and child with Strong blood. They say he…”
Rhaenyra stiffened as she grit her teeth, mourning her lost lover's House, “…Stacked their heads
atop each other in a pile, three feet high.” She growled.

Sickened at the thought, aching for her sons, and her old lover Ser Harwin Strong.

Your two brothers, it seemed, were the only Strong blood left.

A shiver ran down your spine.

And then all that waiting had ended. The inevitable loss of war was here. A moon had passed and
the inescapable had arrived through the doors of Dragonstone. You breathed a sharp sigh, as you
began to look at the Painted Table, eyes roaming the Riverlands and the holdings there, looking for
answers of what to do next.

“There has been whispers of Aemond sparing a woman, Alys Rivers.” Your mothers voice pulled
you from your thoughts as you looked across the tables.

“Rivers is a bastard name.” You furrowed your brow.

“Indeed. They say she is a witch, and has put a spell on the Kinslayer.”

You scoffed a sickened laugh.

Aemond would rather die than lay with a bastard, or so you thought. The whole of the Greens were
nothing but hypocrites. Staring down their noses at you and your family when their’s do just as
worse. If he had spared this woman, it was not out of the kindness of his coal heart. He would have
spared her to warm his bed.

“A raven came from the Red Keep.” The Queen continued.

Her soft violet eyes would not leave your face, despite you looking about the table at the others,
who would not look up from the table. What has war come to bring you now? What has it yet to
leave at your step?

Your heart began to race.

“Helaena is dead.”

Oh.
War had come to leave the cruellest of gifts there was.

Your mouth went dry. You blinked. You were vaguely aware of your fathers gaze on you as you
stared blankly at your mother. Your mind was slow as it wrapped itself around those three words.
Just three little words that brought the world tumbling over the top of you.

Helaena was dead.

Gone.

Just like the others.

“How?” Your voice carried across the table but it felt foreign.

It did not feel like it was you speaking, but the words sounded like you, and they came up from
your throat, and your mouth had moved the singular word outwards. But still it was as if you were
watching yourself. Not even aware of your own voice.

Had you truly spoken?

You don’t remember doing it.

Rhaenyra shifted on her feet, looking down at the table, working up the courage to speak the next
words.

“She threw herself from her window.”

“Fuck.” You half sobbed, half gasped, fingertips shakily coming to rest against your lips. That felt
like it came from you.

And then you were back. Back in your body, aware of your surroundings. You could feel
everything, it was overwhelming. You could feel the material of your clothes, and the way it pulled
against your skin. You could feel every brain in your hair, and the way your feet sat in your shoes.
It made you want to rip it off. It made you want to scream, cry, bite and scratch.

She was gone.

Your aunt was truly gone. First gone to madness, and then grief. Now gone from life. She had
given so much in her time. Had been exposed to so much cruelty. Had been sold to her brother as a
broodmare out of spite from her mother. Been taunted and mocked her whole life for having
wisdom and knowledge that most could never comprehend.

She did not even have a chance.

Another little piece broke away from you, and the cold icy wave built inside, pulling higher and
higher as you tried to fight against it. But it was too strong, and the current began to pull you under.

A hand came to rest on your shoulder, but you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You tried to
blink it away.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.
 A tear slid down your cheek.

But trying to swim against the tide, only meant you would tire yourself out and drown. And so you
let it suck you in, pulling you roughly with the force. Letting the crest rise over you, crashing it's
dark water down onto your body as you stood there, staring at your mother.

But as soon as you fell beneath the icy waves, grief was not all that you felt.

“Excuse me.” You addressed the room, before swiftly turning on your heel, speeding out of the
chambers away from your family and the Lords who watched you in concern.

No-one came after you.

As you were leaving the chambers, out of the corner of your eye, you saw the familiar curls of
brown hair on a soaking wet boy.

Lucerys watched you as you left.

And behind him, a familiar head of silver.

Chapter End Notes

Smoke, Fire and Ash can also be found on my tumblr @asumofwords.

 Sōvegon arlī
Chapter Notes

Crying, sobbing, shitting, pissing, throwing up. Poor Helaena

You left the chambers swiftly, moving as fast as your legs could carry you, as short and uneven
breaths left your mouth. You did not stop as you let your body carry you to where they were
desperate to go.

The war had only just begun, and yet you felt as though you had aged years from it already.

That fiery rage bubbled inside of you, your steps erratic as you moved.

You thought of what was to come. What was to be expected of everyone. Your brother would
surely fight, your mother and father too, and all her men.

What little use you were without a dragon.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips.

As a child, you remember not having an egg put in the cradle alongside you, as was tradition for
anyone of Valyrian blood. Though for some unforeseen reason, Syrax did not hatch a clutch for
you, and so you went out and claimed Syndor instead.

Such determination for such a small child.

Aemond was similar in that way.

Determined.

Harrenhal was a stark reminder of that.

He too did not have an egg placed in his cradle, and he too claimed a dragon later in life. And
although he was in the same position as you were, he was the one they made fun of, not you.

What a different upbringing you both had.

Would you have turned out the same way that he did?

He had taken so much from you, including your one way to assist in this war.

How were you to fight against your uncles without one?

Though you had spent countless hours training with Ser Harwin as a child, and even with Daemon
and your brothers with a blade as you grew older, you knew that your skills were of far better use in
the sky.

Daemon had said that none of the dragons on Dragonmont had been claimed thus far, and you
knew that there were new clutches of eggs. But, the war would not wait. And it would take years
for those dragons to grow and bond with you and be ready to fight.

And so you were presented with a choice.

Claim a dragon now, or never ride again.

The skirt of your dress swept behind you as you stormed your way through the castle determined.

You walked for what felt like almost an hour, twisting and turning through the Keep, passing
Lords and guards as you went, until finally you were ascending the rolling green cliffs, and sharp
volcanic rocks.

The walk was steep, and your legs ached as you followed the worn path to the edge of
Dragonmont.

The island of Dragonstone itself was created by the large volcano that the castle sat upon. It built
on the face of the mountain, carved into the volcanic rock already there, perfectly nestled between
cliffs and hills.

Though it was a small fortress in comparison to others, it was a formidable one.

Prince Daemon however, had told you different tales of Dragonstone's creation.

He had told you Dragonmont had erupted up from within the bowels of the sea, by the birth of a
dragon, its bursting lava burning its way to the surface before creating the island you now lived on.
Your father had said it was created two hundred years before the Doom of Valyria, which is why
the craftsmanship of the castle itself was seen nowhere else in the realm.

There are rumours of course, that the stone was melted down by magic of your ancestors, the rock
giving way to carve the castle into its side. Though as a child you had wondered if perhaps it was
not magic at all, and instead the large flames of dragons you had never seen before.

Some things, you would never know.

Dragons had lived on Dragonmont since its creation, living inside of the tunnels and caves that
wound through the active volcano. Atop its peak, plumes of grey smoke curled into the air, giving
Dragonstone a sulphuric smell.

When you had first moved there, the smell had made your nose scrunch up, but you found the
longer that you were there, the more used to it you had become, until eventually you do not notice
the smell at all.

The island often had storms, the heat and smoke from the volcano stirring the air in such a way
that lightning would crack about the sky, and rain would fall to the ground beneath it. And
although for anyone living in King's Landing it may be seen as hard to live atop a volcano, there
were small villages that resided there.

Fisherman and farmers alike, living together atop Dragonstone with you.

Because of the heat of Dragonmont, dragons laid their eggs in the hot walls of the caves, and there
the Dragonkeeper's kept watch of the eggs and all the dragons that resided there.

Dragonkeeper's wore plain garments and wielded long quarterstaves. They lived in the villages
with the fisherman and farmers, whilst others lived in small keeps around the castle.
You were thankful for the Dragonkeeper's, for they were the ones who had told you tales of your
dragon before you went out in search of him when you had visited Dragonstone. Curiosity had
gotten the better of you, though in the end it was a success.

They work hard and keep their eyes on the eggs inside, wary of the Cannibal, who often liked to
sneak inside to feast upon them.

You felt yourself grow out of breath as you continued to climb up the rocky cliffs, feeling the heat
of Dragonmont begin to stifle the air the higher you got. Your fists clenched as you moved, and
you became more determined than ever.

Vermithor resided within one of the smoking caverns of Dragonmont, and had lived there since
King Jaehaerys died. He had been riderless ever since. Your Grandsire had told you many tales
about Vermithor. King Jaehaerys flew to King's Landing and claimed the Iron Throne atop the
Bronze Fury.

Since the death of Syndor, Vermithor was now the second largest dragon in all the realm. You had
tried to see him before, once when you were younger, sneaking into the walls of the volcano as you
began to do now.

All you saw was a glimpse of bronze scales before a plume of flames came towards you. Luckily,
Daemon had followed you through the mountain and pulled you away from the cavern, growling at
you in High Valyrian tongue at your stupidity.

If you did not have a dragon, you would most likely never leave Dragonstone, and would be
confined to the Painted Table to strategise with men.

And you were no man.

You were the blood of the dragon, and what little use were you if you did not have one? What kind
of Targaryen had no dragon to fly? Especially in a time of war?

Why did you keep holding back?

You were a dragon. It was time to be a dragon.

You pushed on. As you came round a rocky cliff side, you arrived to your destination.

Before you was a large entrance to the cavern within, the same one in which you remembered
sneaking into as a child. There were other tunnels that led inside from within the castle walls,
though you knew if you were spotted, your plans would be halted.

The cave was deep and dark, and as you stepped through, the heat of the volcano instantly
surrounded you. You felt a light sweat break out on your skin as you pushed inside. There were
torches along the walls, lit by the Dragonkeeper's as you descended into the bowels of the
mountain.

As you walked, you grabbed a torch from its holder, pulling it free before continuing forward.
Inside, the only noises were your feet, the breeze at the mouth of the cave, and the subtle cracking
of the torches flames.

It was silent again.

You thought of Lucerys, of Helaena, of her son, and of your Grandsire. Of Syndor and Visenya.
And you let that surge of anger and rage, and spite, and brutality, push through you to move further
into the cavern.

They will pay for what they did.

As you walked in further, you were wary to not sneak up on the old war dragon, and so you began
to sing Hāros Bartossi (With Three Heads) the way you always did to Syndor, into the cavern, your
voice echoing off of its large walls.

You sang loudly and smoothly as you went in High Valyrian, praying that the Gods were on your
side, as you finally entered the large empty cave.

It was so dark inside, and so large, that all that you could see was four to five paces in front of your
torch, and the ones surrounding the walls.

But once inside, any small whispers of uncertainty and fear left, and you became more steadfast
than ever.

“Fire Breather, Winged Leader, but to heads, to a third sing.” You began, accent rolling from your
lips as you moved about the space.

“From my voice, the fires have spoke, and the price has been paid,”

A large ball of fire was shot into the air of the cave, the already humid cavern, now almost burning
your skin as its flames illuminated the large Bronze Fury. Although your heart sped in your chest,
you continued to sing confidently, with no fear.

“With blood magic. With words of flame, with clear eyes,”

The ground shook beneath you as the large dragon began to slowly walk towards you. You lifted
your head, and held your arm strong as you looked into the darkness.

“To bind three, to you I sing.”

A large horned snout and jagged teeth became visible in the depths of the dark. The large dragon
snorted a breath towards you, as he sniffed, the air pushing your hair back as you held firm.

Only his teeth and nose were visible.

“As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined.”

Flames erupted above you again, the cloud spilling against the ceiling, its red tendrils crawling
across the cave as he stretched his head up. The flames made sweat drop from your brow, the front
of your hair becoming wet with perspiration. A smile wound its way on your lips.

“Beautifully, freely.” You finished.

The large bronze dragon came closer, as its jagged teeth opened right before your face. If you were
to sway on your feet, your nose would brush against the large canines as they shone against the
torch beside you.

Vermithor's head turned as he brought an eye close to you, staring at you with intention. You held
steady, looking back at him. His eye was a brilliant gold, and as his pupil dilated as he stared at
you, your own reflection shone in his eye.

You watched yourself in the reflection as you stood.

Your hair was braided back, your gown was tight, and your back was straight as you kept your
gaze on the ancient dragon, who was rumoured to be a hundred years old, willing all of your anger
and rage into holding still as he watched you.

Be strong. Be the dragon.

You had claimed one once before, you must do it again.

Another breeze of air brushed against you as his mouth opened wide, teeth almost grazing against
your body as you stared into his wide open mouth. Inside was a large thick tongue which curled,
and behind it, the slow build of flames.

A threat.

You were going to die.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor! Lykirī.” (Serve me, Vermithor, calm.)

King Jaehaerys' dragons mouth still widened, the light from the flame building inside growing
rapidly.

You had two options.

One: Run.

Two: Hold steady.

You stood your ground.

“Dohaerās!” Your voice echoed into the cavern, and suddenly the flames inside the Bronze Fury's
gullet faded.

Vermithor's head pulled away from you as his jaws slowly closed, large eyes watching you
carefully.

“Lykirī, Vermithor.” You said again, torch still firmly in your grip.

“Dohaerās.”

The large dragon watched you and did nothing, but breath hot breaths onto your face.

He was still.

Waiting for you.

A deep crackling purr came from within his chest, and you could feel the vibration move through
the air and into you.

He was waiting for you to move.

Slowly you lifted the hand that lay limp beside you, fist so tight together that your nails dug deeply
into your palm. The fist released, and you spread your fingers out, moving towards the large bronze
snout that was covered in scars, mouth slightly agape as teeth still showed in a lesser threat.

The scales beneath your fingers were hard and felt hot to the touch. You spread your palm
smoothly against him, until your entire hand was flat on the Bronze Fury’s snout.
Another hot blow of air came from his nose as he sniffed you, nostrils flaring widely as his eyes
tracked your movements.

“Lykirī, Vermithor.” You softly commanded, hand brushing against him as he allowed you to pet
him.

In that moment you wished it was black scales beneath your fingers. You wished that Syndor was
the one breathing on you, or purring at your touch. But he was not here anymore and gone with
Lucerys. And now you had claimed another.

You had claimed Vermithor.

You stepped closer, watching the dragon as he watched you back.

His teeth were gnarled and crooked, and some were missing, their large points slightly yellow with
age. Crawling across his mouth and down to his nose was a large scar, its indent deep into the
dragon's scales.

He had flown to war.

An advantage that before, only Vhagar had.

Vermithor has seen all of the realm, flown through all of the lands, and witnessed all of the terrains
from the North to the South, even further down to Dorne.

With Vermithor by your side, you had an upper hand.

You moved slowly to his side, the dragons head turning to watch you as you walked over to his
legs and wings. Vermithor was around the same size as Syndor had been, only just a bit smaller
than Vhagar. His wings had scars and holes in them, but you knew they would not affect his flight.

Although you had not come face to face with the dragon since you were a child, you had still
witnessed him fly about the top of the volcano and across the sea. His scales always shone a
brilliant bronze.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor. Dohaerās.”

The dragon rumbled as you stood beneath his curled wing, before you reached to grab hold of it.
With what little strength you had, you attempted to pull yourself up onto his wing.

The painful pulling in your side prevented you. You hissed and gripped your wound, before
placing a hand on the large bronze wing.

“Dohaerās.” You commanded, as you pushed down with your weight on the wing, attempting to
get him to lower it.

The dragon did not move.

“Dohaerās.” You said louder and pushed again, and slowly the Bronze Fury bent to the side,
leaning so that you could pull yourself up.

You shifted your body up from his wing to his back, the dragon moving to assist you, before you
sat in between his shoulders. An air of familiarity surrounded you as your heart beat in your chest.

You would not fall.

You would not fall.

You would not fall again.

Vermithor was different than Syndor.

He had no spines along his back to settle into, only horns and scales which you could straddle.
Leaning forward you exhaled a deep breath, and found two large horns to wrap your ungloved
hands around. Your dress moved up from your calves, bunching against your thighs as you
clenched against him.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor. Sōvegon.” (Serve me, Vermithor. Fly.)

At the command, the large dragon stood higher and slowly, one foot after the other, walked you
back through the path to the cavern you had came in, chest grumbling as he purred.

With every step, you swayed, the large dragon less smooth and cat-like than Syndor’s movements
had been. Instead, he walked with purpose, and his footfalls caused the earth the vibrate beneath
you.

You held on tightly, the tension in your body causing you to lean into your injured side, favouring
it over the other to compensate for the pain. His scales and horns beneath you were hard, and you
struggled to get comfortable.

But this was something you would think of later.

The light from outside began to shine through as he continued forward, walking with more speed,
as you finally broke out of the cavern, the large beast calling into the air as he ran forward to the
cliff. His large bronze wings spread out beside him before suddenly, you were in flight.

His wings pushed you up into the sky, over the top of Dragonmont as your eyes shut tightly. You
could scarcely pull a breath into your lungs, you felt your chest seize in sudden fear.

Vermithor let out another shrill call into the sky, and another came in response. It's cry was
mangled and warped in comparison to the old rumble of the Bronze Fury.

Opening your eyes you looked around you.

You were soaring above Dragonstone, looking down at the volcano below you as it puffed grey
smoke into the air.

A breath whooshed out from your lungs, as you let out a small laugh. Relief. A small piece of joy,
bubbling back inside of you, rather than the sticky molasses of grief and despair that seemed to
drown you, and the rage that pulled you apart from within.

You were flying again.

You laughed into the air, joy building within of you, the worlds troubles falling away for even the
smallest of moments, giving you a second of reprieve. It was magical. It was inexplainable, and it
made you feel powerful again.

There was nothing in the world like riding on dragonback.

Again, came the sound of the broken cry of another.

Peering over Vermithor’s wing, you saw a large, coal coloured dragon below you.

You blinked in a double take.

Syndor?

It's cry came again as you stared, whilst Vermithor responded loudly back, his cry vibrating your
body above him as he flew.

The coal coloured dragon took flight away from you both, having been disturbed from its perch on
a cliffside of the volcano. As it flew, you looked at its body.

It was not Syndor.

Instead of his deep, black, shiny scales, this dragons scales were coal coloured and dull, with large
streaks of scarring on its side.

Instead of Syndor’s brilliant eyes, this dragon had menacing green ones that seemed to almost
glow. Its wings were sharp, with horns spilling off of the edges, whilst its face was covered in
jagged points.

The dragons tail was clubbed, and the way it moved was wild, and skittish.

As Vermithor replied to its calls, you realised which dragon you had disturbed.

The Cannibal.
 War Creates Monsters of us All
Chapter Notes

Vermithor has a new rider.

The sun was high in the sky as you steered Vermithor east, across the ocean away from
Dragonstone, and back to the mainland. Each beat of his wings carried you swiftly across the
ocean.

It was a strange thing to be flying again, on a dragon so foreign. So unknown.

Unfamiliar.

Despite his age, and his sheer size, he heeded your commands as you felt him faintly through the
bond. And then it hit you all at once.

You were riding the famed Bronze Fury.

A dragon that had made men bend the knee out of fear.

A dragon almost as famous as the Black Dread.

But it would never be enough.

You had lost so much already, and with every moment, you felt yourself losing pieces that made
you, you. You were not the same woman that you had been before you returned to the Red Keep.

War did that to people.

So did grief.

It mangled you, and mauled you, and created something new. Something unrecognisable.

A monster.

The day Viserys had died, you had changed.

The day the succession was given to Jacaerys, you had changed.

The day Lucerys was killed.

You had changed.

Today, with the news of Helaena, and the massacre of Strong’s.

You had changed.

You felt Vermithor grumble beneath you as he sensed your fury, coursing through your veins. His
loud growl pierced your ears, as he continued forward towards your destination. You had only
hoped that once you got there, Aemond would still be there too.

As you flew, the sun sunk lower, and lower into the sky. You passed over the ocean, and back over
the rolling hills, and cliffs of the shore. Then soon you passed over the waters of Blackwater Rush,
and then, and only then, did you know that you were nearing your destination.

Your anger did not once settle within you.

Those hours you spent atop the now claimed dragon, let your mind reel with thoughts and
memories, fuelling your fire. You felt it boil, and turn, and twist inside you like a blade. Sharp and
vicious, ripping you apart from within, no possible way to stem the bleeding.

Loss is a powerful motivator.

As the sun got lower, it shone brightly on the dragon's bronze scales, their warm colour glinting in
the light beautifully. Such a wondrous colour to behold on a dragon. Not golden like Syrax, nor red
like Caraxes, but its own unique bronze, unlike any other.

You smoothed your hand along the scales in awe, and as you stroked along his back, a crackling
purr broke forth from his chest in appreciation.

“Sȳz, Vermithor.” (Good.) You cooed on his back, channeling all of your emotions into the dragon
you sat atop.

You pushed that rage, that anguish, the sorrow and grief through your body, and into your hand.
You did not know if this was how to properly bond or not, and no one truly knew the truth behind
it, but you tried it anyway.

Vermithor did not react, except the most diminutive twitch alongside the thick, corded muscle of
his neck. So small, so almost ephemeral, that if you had blinked, you would have missed it.

But hope was a fool's ally, and you did not need hope in a time like this.

You needed rage.

And rage, you had.

The sun had begun to lower behind the horizon when you first saw it.

Off in the distance, was the subtle burning of fires. Tiny little orange dots, surrounding each other
in a large encampment, on what you knew now to be the Riverlands. The flames flickered as you
flew towards it, the men unaware of your approach.

You leant forward, pushing your weight down upon Vermithor’s back, willing him to move with
you. The Bronze Fury swooped down closer to the ground, so that you could see clearly as the
small dots came closer.

Below you now; a trail.

The grass sat green alongside the dirt track, in which thousands of feet had walked across, where
horses had trotted, and wagons and rolled. As you flew closer, the larger those flames became, and
now the sight of tents and wagons and the tiny figures of men came into view.

“Sōvegon, Vermithor.” (Fly) You called as you came closer.

To the figures on the ground, if they were to look to the sky, they would see a large bronze speck,
slowly coming towards them, wings spread as he approached, until finally they could make out the
form of the large dragon.

As you swooped above the camp of men, you looked below, watching as they faltered in their
steps looking up at you. Others ran to their tents, unsure. The tents were beige, and the wagons
were dark. You struggled to discern whose men these were.

You felt your chest begin to heave as you looked down at them all.

Vermithor let out an almighty cry into the sky, deep and grumbling as you grabbed at his back,
whilst peering over his side down at the ground below. Horses and men, and carts and tents. That
was all you could see with the sun setting upon the horizon, a lazy blue hue settling over the land.

Your breath caught in your throat.

There below you, was a flag.

A signet of a house.

Your breaths became ragged and all too suddenly, that blinding rage was back.

A three headed green dragon stared back at you.

You pulled roughly against Vermithor, pulling him to fly higher into the air above them, circling
the camp.

You watched as the men began to scramble below you like ants, upon the realisation that you were
not one of the Princes, nor the King. No, your dragon was not Vhagar, or Sunfyre. You were not
here with them.

You were here for them.

A cruel smile cracked across your face as you watched them desperately mount horses and prepare
themselves. These numbers were small, perhaps the rest of the men were at Harrenhal, not too far
away.

Such a bitter taste in your mouth to see the men below you, who had gone against your mother, the
rightful heir to the Iron Throne. How they had supported your usurper uncle. How they supported
the Kinslaying Prince.

How they support Alicent and the Hightower’s thirst for the throne, subsequently thrusting the
realm into war.

As you looked around in search of a large green dragon, you became disappointed to know that
Aemond was no longer here. If he was here at all.

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as Vermithor felt the rage within you, his cry calling out into
the sky as he turned back around to fly towards the tents. You leant forward, and thought of
Lucerys. You thought of the fall.

Of your uncle's hands.

Of your Grandsire. Visenya. Helaena.

And then you snapped.

“Dracarys.” You commanded.

Vermithor flew closer to the lines of tents and carriages, men crawling about underneath before
opening his mouth, his whole body beneath you vibrating, as he pushed out an almighty gush of
fire, incinerating the tents and men below you.

The screams of fear and agony curled up into the air, and you could find nothing but delight at the
sweet music.

Vermithor kept flying above and onwards as you looked back, watching the tents burn and crumble
beneath the flames, and the bodies of incinerated men laying in the rubble. The smell of smoke,
fire and ash curled its way around you.

You inhaled deeply.

Vermithor’s chest expanded slowly, before another long plume of fire barraged against the Greens
army below you. The sound of the flames was deafening in your ears, alongside the screams and
cries of the men, and horses who crossed paths with the flames.

Flying forward, you came to the end of the camp, watching as the men began to flee in all
directions, the smart ones anyway, whilst others stood rooted to the ground, swords drawn, ready to
fight.

Foolish really. How were they to fight flames?

Once turned around, you could see now how the tiny little flames of their camp were now
swamped by the larger ones of your dragon. Their tents fell to the soil below them, and horses ran
away in fear. Small figures of men, their bodies alight, ran frantically, desperate to outrun the
agony of their bodies, before they dropped dead to the floor.

You pushed down on the Bronze Fury’s neck again, and he slunk close to the ground where you
sucked in an excited breath.

This was for you, Lucerys.

This was for everyone that has been lost. For Visenya. For you.

Helaena.

“Dracarys!” You screamed out into the air, as the old dragon reared his head backwards, hovering
above the camp, before large flames licked down at the army below you, their cries lost in the
waves of your laughter as you watched.

You could feel the heat of the flames licking up your body, casting a warm blanket, of almost
comfort, around you, as you watched Vermithor land roughly onto the ground, talons digging into
the soft earth, as you watched men run from him.

The sky had turned dark, but now the earth was lit by the flames all around you.

The smell of burning flesh rose under your nose. An odd smell. Something you had smelt before,
though nothing like this. Nothing so, pungent. It was almost a sickly sweet scent, comparable to
when pork was cooked.

Vermithor let out a mighty cry into the air as he stalked through the camp, blowing flames at any
man, or horse, or tent that he saw as he walked. You watched as you felt the rage lick at your face
and your chest.

You had not even realised that tears had begun to fall, until you felt the wet of your neck. Your
breaths were shallow and stunted, heaving as you pushed through your fury.

They did this.

They killed them.

You blinked.

Behind the flames was a figure, who smiled at you.

Lucerys was here.

Vermithor’s head snapped down to where Lucerys had been, and you jerked back in shock. You
almost cried out, but then the dragon jerked its head and bit the man who had been there, arm
poised with an arrow. Directed at you. You blinked as you watched the Bronze Fury tear the man
in half, before swallowing him.

Time blurred so strangely.

Who knew how long you spent stalking through the camp with Vermithor. Who knew how long it
had been since you had started. By the time you felt aware of your surroundings, it was eerily quiet
in the camp.

The only sounds you heard were Vermithor’s deep rumblings as flames poured from his mouth,
and the crackling of burning flesh and wood. The camp around you was flattened. Every tent,
every cart, every post and every man was burning beneath high flames, ash falling around you and
into your hair.

Lining the dirt ground were the ashes of men, or corpses burning gently in the soft night's air.
Some had fallen where they had tried to run, their legs and arms splayed in unnatural positions.
Others were caught underneath the burning flames of tents, or hiding places. Horses lay on their
side dead, much to Vermithor’s delight, who would pick them up, eating their cooked bodies
greedily as he passed through.

Piles of ashes and bones lay about the Greens camp, and all you could do was sneer and smile.
Laughter rose from your chest and fell from your lips almost unnaturally. You couldn’t stop it.

You wouldn’t stop it.

They deserved this.

They reaped what they had sown. This was on them. What they had done to you? That was on
them.

Such a feral excitement was inside you, as you turned your head, looking in search of any survivors
you had not found yet. You almost struggled to breath from the smoke and ash that curled its way
around you. It waa thick and suffocating, but invigorating.

Such destruction.

Now you knew why all had feared the Bronze Fury.

But it was not enough.

It would never be enough.

They needed to pay. They needed to all burn for what they did.

You thought of Alicent, and Aegon and Aemond.

Aemond.

His face. His hands. His sneer.

You leant forward, hands gripping roughly against Vermithor’s back as you thought of it all. The
pain that he had left between your legs. The sorrow that he had gifted you when he took Lucerys,
and Syndor.

It would be a short flight.

Almost half of what it took you to get here.

You could end this all.

You could end it, right where it began.

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing.

A familiar cry called out into the air, the bronze dragon's head pulling up away from the horse
below his claws. The sound of flesh tearing and bones crushing beneath his jaws filled your ears,
and the metallic smell of blood settled on your tongue.

The cry came again, and you turned your head.

In the sky, not too far from you was a dragon, flying steadily towards you.

You breathed deeply, in and out, as you watched the scales light up from the flames of destruction
around you. A familiar shade of dragon. A comforting one. The bright red scales of Caraxes shone
in the night sky as he and your father approached you.

You lifted your chin as Vermithor called out to your father and his dragon, a most commanding
call.

The King of the Dragons.

A King’s dragon.

Caraxes flew above you before turning around, wings slowly beating, so that the long necked
dragon could land nearby in between the flames of a tent, and open, bare path of the once Green
stronghold.

The dragon's long neck stretched into the air and cried out in recognition of you. You could see
your father upon his back, looking around at the destruction desperately, before his eyes settled on
yours.

His body relaxed at the sight of you.

He still wore his robes from when you had last seen him, and he did not wear his riding gloves that
he almost always wore. It looked as though the Rogue Prince had come to you in a rush, and had
been searching for you for some time.
Daemon’s face was a mixture of shock and awe as he looked at you, and then back down at the
dragon he had tried for so long to be readied to be claimed, never once guessing that the new rider
would be you.

Movement caught your eye.

To the side of Vermithor, a man had begun to run from his hiding spot. The presence of two large
dragons caused him to forfeit his hiding out of sheer shock. He might have survived if he had
stayed hidden. You watched as the man ran, pushing his legs against the grass and dirt, ashes and
bodies, desperate to get away.

Might have.

You looked at your father as he watched you before you leant on Vermithor. The dragon began a
slow stalking chase of the man, like a cat plays with a mouse. The man gazed back at you briefly,
realising he had been spotted, before he ran with more desperation.

You lazily watched him run and channelled that rage inside of you, letting it burn you from the
inside out.

Vermithor took three large steps forward rapidly, before his head snapped out, biting down on the
man. His cry of pain was short lived, and soon replaced by the sickening crunch of bones and wet
sound of flesh.

The Bronze Fury lifted his head, throwing the mans body down his gullet.

But you were not done.

You would not be done until you killed each and every one of them. Until you would reach King’s
Landing and burn them all.

“Tala.” (Daughter) Daemon called into the air.

Vermithor turned beneath you, walking back to Caraxes and Daemon, the smaller dragon chirping
out towards yours.

You looked at your father, your chest heaving as you readied yourself to fly.

“Gaomagon daor sagon doru-borto.” (Don’t be stupid.) He called out.

He knew.

He always knew.

“Nyke jāre naejot mōris bisa.” (I’m going to end this.) You called back, teeth clenched.

Why was he stopping you?

“Ȳdra daor.” (Don’t.) Daemon growled, and for the first time in your life, your father made you
nervous.

The Rogue Prince was here.

“Pār māzigon lēda nyke.” (Then come with me.)

Caraxes began to circle you, his neck stretching up, and then low to the ground as he watched,
purely reacting to Daemon through the bond.

They looked nervous. On edge.

Unsure.

“Tala.” (Daughter.)

Your laughter rang out into the cold air. What was happening? He had been the one to always
remind you of what you were, of who you were. He had always been the first to jump to action in
court.

What had changed?

“Y/n.”

“Issi ao jāre naejot keligon nyke?” (Are you going to stop me?) You joked mirthlessly.

“Lo istin.” (If I must.)

What?

You grunted angrily, staring Daemon down, who only reacted to your action by tightening his
hands on Caraxes’ reins.

“Don’t think I won’t.” He threatened.

Vermithor called out into the air agitatedly, and Caraxes responded in a high pitched screech.
Daemon swayed side to side, as his dragon began to move more rapidly on the ground, the flames
around you illuminating his bright red scales.

They knew something you didn’t.

“Our Queen commands it.” Your father called out.

You jerked your head to the side, looking at the camp around you, razed to the ground, flames
licking the corpses and ruins. Fire was mesmerising. Beautiful. It was cleansing. So very cleansing.
Fire could rid the world of scum, and allow for new growth to come forth.

You knew of certain trees that could only bloom with the assistance of fire.

Targaryens bloomed in the flames too.

If you went to King’s Landing, Daemon would no doubt try to stop you. And at what cost?

Would you really fight your own father?

Would you hurt him?

Kill him?

No.

You ground your teeth, and tightened your legs around Vermithor’s back, ignoring the twinging
pain in your side. Your chest rose and fell in short angry breaths as you looked at your father.
His eyes glowed in the flame light, and Caraxes had not stopped moving from side to side, readying
himself to fight if he needed. The Rogue Prince watched your movements closely, almost cautious
of you.

Gritting your teeth, you nodded, and saw Daemon visibly relax.

“Sōvegon.” (Fly.)

Unbeknownst to you, beneath the rubble of the Brackens camp, Alicent’s youngest son Daeron,
laid beneath the ashes. Your youngest uncle had died amongst a sea of his men.

The young Prince’s body lay at an ungodly angle. Half of him had been burnt to a crisp, legs and
arms splayed in an unnatural position, in his hand, the blade of his sword.

A pained expression permanently sat on what was left of his face.

And although you did not know of his presence, the Greens certainly did.

And would.
 Smoke, Fire and Ash
Chapter Notes

Reader went sicko mode. We love a feral queen

The look your father had given you was new, but a command nonetheless. And so after Vermithor
had finished feasting upon the dead horse from the camp, you followed your father on Caraxes,
flying back towards Dragonstone.

The flight seemed longer than the journey there.

It seemed to drag on as you flew beside your father, his gaze on you, burning a hole in the side of
your face. You glanced at him a few times, offering smug smiles to the Rogue Prince, to which he
returned.

You are your father's daughter.

As you reached the ocean and began to fly across it, the sun had slowly begun to rise high in the
sky, and you felt a small ache of fatigue. The sun's rays glistened on the water below like
diamonds.

Your side had begun to burn from tensing, but that could wait until you delivered the good news to
your Queen.

You could not wait to tell your mother of what you had done. You had singlehandedly secured the
Riverlands for her. This was a win for you all.

A step closer to securing the Iron Throne.

The sky was a soft and gentle blue when you finally reached Dragonstone, circling around the
volcanic top beside your father, as you both made your descent down to the island below.

Vermithor landed shortly after Caraxes, and clunkily moved to allow you to slide from his back.
You walked alongside his body until you reached the side of his face.

There was ash caught in the crevices of his scales, and blood smeared along his snout and the front
of his chest. He smelt of fire and smoke, and the metallic tang of blood, and gore surrounded the
both of you.

The smell of war.

And whilst the scent was repugnant, you sighed dreamily, leaning your forehead against his scales,
hand brushing gently as you whispered praise to him. The dragon purring in response.

“Ao gōntan sīr sȳz.” (You did so good.) You scratched at his cheek, eyes still closed, forehead
leant against him.
“Sȳz, Vermithor.” (Good.)

You felt the Bronze Fury bristle slightly, and the burning gaze of your father on the back of your
head once again.

He uttered your name.

You turned, looking at the man.

The Rogue Prince, for once in his life had no witty quip, no snarky comment, or jest to make. He
stood stiffly as he looked at you, small amount of ash on his person and hands resting at his sides.

Daemon simply stared at you with an intense warmth.

Why was he looking at you like that?

Then just as sudden as he appeared, he had pulled you desperately into his arms, tucking your head
beneath him.

“You stupid girl.” He uttered into your hair.

You were so shocked by the movement that your hands hovered beside him, until finally coming
up to grasp around his waist. He was warm, and inviting, and safe.

A small huff of a laughter left your lips as he squeezed you tighter, kissing the top of your head
roughly. Daemon held the back of your skull roughly as he always does with one hand, as if
terrified you may fall away beneath him with the wind.

“You stupid, stupid girl.” He repeated.

A tiny smile slithered onto your face as he held you.

He pulled you roughly away from him, gripping your arms as they slightly stung from the
movement. His light, violet eyes searched your face crazily, fingers brushing your hair behind your
ears, before pulling your face towards him, lips pressing against your forehead.

“You stupid, brilliant, little thing. Ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” (My little warrior.) He breathed
breathlessly.

His eyes floated to the large dragon behind you, who watched the interaction with curiosity, and
also possessive protectiveness of his new rider.

Vermithor had lost one rider, and he surely would not lose another.

Daemon's fingers brushed against your cheeks roughly, seemingly trying to rub away what you
assumed was settled smoke and ash upon your pores. You smiled up the Rogue Prince as he
continued to stare at you.

He was not mad.

He was proud.

You had done well.

“We should tell the Queen of the new updates in the Riverlands.” You said breathlessly.
A guffaw left Daemon's mouth as he watched you, before roughly pulling you to his side and down
the track, towards the castle.

As you walked, neither of you spoke. You could tell the mans mind was racing away from him as
he continued to glance at you, mouth opening and shutting.

Then finally,

“Are you mad?”

You shrugged in humour.

“You claimed the Bronze Fury, flew across the ocean and decimated an army.”

You shrugged again.

“Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”

Shrug.

“You may have won us the war.”

You blinked.

It would not be that simple, but it would definitely get you one step closer.

Once you entered the castle walls, you felt jittery in anticipation of what was to come.

Of walking into the Painted Table chambers and declaring a victory for your mother.

Of showing proof of your usefulness.

To prove that you were better suited out there, than in here. That you were willing to do anything to
win this war.

Anything.

All heads turned as you entered.

Your arrival was announced and suddenly the air was sucked out of the chambers. Your mother
walked on stuttered steps, looking at you in confusion before standing before you, hand coming to
touch your face softly as she looked you over.

You only beamed, back straightening as you lifted your head, nodding at your Queen.

Rhaenyra looked at her husband beside you, then back to you, before she returned to the table.

Before she could even reach her usual place, Daemon's voice excitedly carried across the room.

“The Riverland’s have been secured. Harrenhal and House Bracken have been taken.”

All eyes were on you again, and Rhaenyra looked at you in confusion.

“How?”

“Vermithor has a new rider.”

You lifted your chin higher, as you walked towards the table with your father.

Pride swelled in your chest.

Was this what it felt like to be a Queen?

To be a God?

“The Princess claimed Vermithor, took to the Riverlands and burnt the entire Green stronghold
there to a crisp.” Daemon's voice came quickly.

Rushed.

Excitedly.

“The Riverland's are yours, Your Grace.” You bowed your head as you spoke.

I did this for you.

For us.

For them.

“You claimed the Bronze Fury?”

You nodded.

Jacaerys stood behind your mother, at the side of the table walking closer to you now.

“You flew to the Riverlands?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What of Harrenhal?”

“Yours, My Queen.”

She smiled, looking at the Painted Table, as Lord Bortimos stepped forth to place a metal indicator
over the Riverlands and Harrenhal.

Hers.

Rhaenyra gave you a nod and smiled, and the pride rushed back inside of you. She was pleased.
You had done good. You had made her see what you could do.

What you were capable of.

Jacaerys however, did not look pleased.

She nodded to the table as all stepped forth, hand pointed towards map.

“With the Riverlands secured, we can now cut off trade to the Golden Tooth, weakening the
Lannisters. This will shift the tide in our favour considerably. Though I have fears, not enough.”

She smiled at you again, and you beamed, feeling Daemon beside you.

Not one of the Lords spoke, nor congratulated the Queen, instead they all stared at you.
They looked almost shocked by your presence, your actions. The actions of a woman, you likened.
Let them underestimate you. You were ready to open your mouth to address the tension, but then
your hands caught your line of sight.

Slender fingers were covered in ash, and hints of blood, likely from rubbing the scales upon
Vermithor's face. Your fingernails were caked with the ash, as grey and black smudges were
smeared along the skin.

The sleeves of your dress were covered in a thin layer of the grey powder, causing the black to look
almost white.

And now you knew why they stared.

You probably looked like you had crawled from the Seven hells themselves.

You wondered what the state of your hair looked like now. Perhaps just as dark as your brothers...

And yet despite the tension from the Lords watching you, there was something unmistakable
coming at you in waves from your eldest brother. His eyes never once leaving yours as he stared.

His posture was stiff, and those hands you had held many times before, were bawled into fists
beside him. Sensing the tension, Rhaenyra cleared the room of the Lords, dismissing them and
thanking them for their time, only to reconvene when summoned.

You watched as your cousins, Rhaena and Baela gawked at you in awe as they left. Prince Corlys
nodded, and Princess Rhaenys smirked.

They were proud.

So why was Jacaerys so visibly enraged?

As the last of the Lords left the chambers, your mother turned to her knights, dismissing them and
the guards as well, until all that were left in the room were the four of you.

It was silent for some time, as both parties waited for the other to speak up, to voice their gripe. To
begin the argument that had been brewing the moment you arrived.

“Have you gone mad?” Jacaerys asked incredulously.

“Have you?” You scoffed.

“You left us, without consulting first, without a note. Not even a word to the council? To us?”
Came the aggravated voice of your brother, who stood wearing all black, watching you intently.

“I saw a problem, I found a solution. And now, the Riverlands are ours.” You smiled.

Your mother and father watched the both of you bicker in uncomfortable silence.

“What would have happened if Aemond was there? If you had been killed?”

“I wasn’t.” You bristled.

“You could have died.”

“And yet, I didn’t. You should be happy. At least I did something.”

“You put us all at risk!”

“Risk?! At least I’m taking them. I know you would much rather have me stuck in these walls, all
the more useless than already, so that you can look like the better fit for succession.”

The words rushed from your lips before you could stop them, but you held steady.

Rhaenyra shifted as she stepped forward towards you, whispering your name softly.

“Don’t.” You snapped.

The tension back inside of you.

“What did I do wrong? What did I do, but do what was asked of me. What was needed of me. I
went to the Riverlands and I did what I had to, because I knew what needed to be done.”

“If you had been caught-“

“I had spent Gods know how long in that Keep after Lucerys was murdered. Do you think another
day in that very Keep would make any difference? Do you think any of that would make a
difference? Whilst I waited for you to come?”

You let out a bitter laugh, “Because I just did something that did. We hold the Riverlands now,
there is no question about it. Which means we are one step closer to taking back Kings Landing.”

“You could have died!”

“Dying would be better than sitting here, watching you all cast me aside, time and time again! I
am not weak! I am the eldest, and I have done things you could not even imagine to keep you all
safe. To keep this war from breaking sooner than it would have.”

“Y/n-“ Your mother started.

“Let me finish! I have spent my entire life preparing myself for the throne. Preparing myself for my
duties. Preparing you for yours!”

You angrily looked at Jace, “Why was I not named successor? Please tell me, because I had time
plenty to think about it in the Red Keep with Aemond watching over me as I slept.”

“Now is no-“

“No, please. Please mother, I beg you to enlighten me. Because when has Jacaerys shown even a
skerrick of interest in the throne? When has he ever known duty? Sacrifice?”

“I have sacrificed plenty.”

“Oh, what? Being called a bastard? Is that your only suffering in your life?”

“Watch your mouth.” Your mother snapped.

“Tell me!”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you wildly looked at your mother and brother before you.

Both looked shocked at your outburst, like they had been waiting for you to snap, but the reason
for it was not what they expected.
“I have just claimed, once again, the second largest dragon in the realm. I flew to Riverrun, for
you. I razed their army to the ground and watched every single man fall. I made sure that each and
every single one of them burned.” You scoffed a laugh.

“So tell me, why not me?”

“You have gone rogue.” Jacaerys growled.

You laughed.

It was funny.

Rogue.

As you stood next to the Rogue Prince himself.

Your father.

You looked at Daemon and Rhaenyra.

“As if you didn’t have two men sent to the Red Keep to take the head from Helaena’s child in front
of her. As if you didn’t make her choose which son to save, and then do the opposite."

You spin to look back at Jacaerys, "And you call me rogue? This is war! Unlike you, I know my
duties, and I am willing to do anything to ensure mother takes back her rightful place on the Iron
Throne.”

“Y/n, enough. You are clearly in shock, and need to rest.” Your mother pleaded, though you could
see the patience in her eyes begin the flicker.

“Tell me why, and I shall never ask you again. Tell me why, and I will go rest.”

It was silent in the chambers.

You felt Daemon's hand come to touch your back but, you shrugged him off angrily.

“You don’t even truly know why do you?”

You were met with silence.

You shook your head angrily.

“I have done everything that you have asked of me. I have held my decorum. I have gone to
meetings with Lords and Ladies. I have studied philosophy and politics, and language and war. I
trained with the sword, with Ser Harwin, with my brothers. With father. I ride the second largest
dragon in the world! I have readied myself for the throne since birth." You spat, pacing about the
chambers as you spoke,

"Gods, I let him touch me and did not say a word to any of you, so that war would not break loose!
I have done everything to keep you all safe, and you throw me aside like some second fucking
son.”

“Wh...Touched you?” Your father halted, grabbing your arm as you looked up at him angrily.

“Oh, don’t you all act as though you did not notice something had happened. You were all so
pressing with your questions on what was wrong, and I had dismissed them knowing it was the
right thing to do. I did this to protect you.” You sneered, shaking him off.

Your mother and Jacaerys suddenly looked less angered, and all the more concerned, stepping
towards you.

The Queen's hands came out to touch you but you moved back away from it, shrugging your father
from you again.

“He didn’t take my maidenhead if that is what has you so worried. Don’t worry, I won’t give birth
to a bastard child.” You hissed angrily.

“What did he do to you?” Daemon's voice became raw with anger.

Your mothers face held some form of understanding.

She was a woman.

She would know.

“I don’t want your pity. I don’t care about what he did to me. It is meaningless now. I want to
know. Why not me? Haven’t I given enough? Haven’t I given you everything that I have? That I
am? And yet all anyone else does is take from me!"

You stepped forward, hands angrily moving across your body, "Would you have named me
successor if I had been born a man? I have been cursed to the same fate you were born into. I have
done everything that was needed of me, and more." You inhaled raggedly as you felt a familiar
rage begin to build higher and higher inside of you.

"I have been the dutiful daughter. Princess Sister. Niece. What more could I give? Will it ever be
enough for you? Will I ever be enough?"

You look at your mother, and sneer.

"I will never be a son."

"You are my daught-" Rhaenyra begins and you interrupt her.

"Do not mistake me, I love you all dearly. I would throw myself head first into the flames for you.
I would lay on my own sword if it is what you asked me to do. Though sometimes I question if it is
reciprocated.”

The bitter words spilt from your lips before you could even stop them. The more they came out,
the more words followed. It was a never ending of stream of consciousness, that you had tried so
hard before to bury.

But burying oneself is suffocating, and for the first time in months, you felt yourself breathe.

“Y/n…Please.” Daemon touched your face, pulling you to look at him as he watched you sadly.

“Tell me.” You turned your head to look at your mother.

The woman you loved most dearly in life.

Someone who had raised you to be as headstrong as you were today. To believe that men and
women were equal, and that women deserved to be in positions of power, where men had
previously prevented it.

And that is why this stung you so greatly.

“Please, mother.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward and grabbed your hands, looking down at them. You kept them limp as
she held onto you, watching her face.

She sucked in a breath.

“The realm is simply not ready for two Queens. One is a shock enough already, and we have seen
the way that the people have split the realm in two; in support of Aegon, and support of me. If I
were to name you successor, our support would be halved."

She took a deep breath, squeezing your hands tightly, "Please know that I did not do this because I
didn’t think you were not worthy, or ready to sit on the throne. You both are.” She looked at Jace
who was still intently watching you, though all malice had gone from his face, and a solemn frown
replaced it.

You gripped her hands roughly.

She gave you the saddest of looks and it made your stomach clench.

“It is not what I had wanted for you. You know more than anyone that if Aegon hadn’t-“

“I understand.” You said dully, voice devoid of emotion.

“Y/n.” Your mother pleaded.

You squeezed her hand once, and gave her a short and curt smile. You pushed down your anger
deep into your chest, letting it burn inside of you.

You knew there was nothing more to be done.

And so you bit your tongue.

“Apologies, Your Grace.” You paused, giving her a small smile, squeezing her hand in assurance,
“I will continue to uphold my duties to this family, and to the realm. I swear to you as my Queen,
that I will do everything that is needed of me in order to win this war.” You bowed your head
before turning to look at Jacaerys.

“I am sorry, my Prince. Please take no offence to my outburst. It seems I am tired after all. You
will be a fine King, just as mother said.”

You let go of your mothers hands before turning to smile stiffly up at your father, and began to
make your way to leave for your chambers. Rhaenyra called out to you and you turned.

She looked as though she was struggling to find words.

“It’s okay. Once we have won this war, and you take back the Iron Throne, you will be able to
create a new order. Like the one you have spoken about for so long." You paused, looking at your
family before finishing,

"And I will make the realm bend to it.”

 Burdens of the Realm
Chapter Notes

The reader sure does have a temper on her...

You spent the rest of that day in your chambers. Refusing entry to anyone except your maids who
brought up your bath and steaming hot water, which you sank into slowly.

Their soft hands had brushed through your hair, pulling away the knots as you bathed, and washing
the ash and smoke from your long tendrils.

The bathwater turned a deep sooty colour by the end of their careful washing, and they had left
your chambers to bring up new water to rinse you with.

Saria brushed scented oils into your hair before braiding it into a single, long braid down your back
for you to sleep in. You had spent considerable time in the bath pulling the ash from beneath your
fingernails, the dark soot encrusted in the lines of your palms.

By the time you were out of your bath, and dressed for bed, the sun had been set for many hours
and a dark glow had settled in your chambers. You sat on your chaise, staring into the fireplace,
watching the flames dance as you let your anger simmer inside of you.

The flames flickered and waved.

Even after all you had done, it would never be enough.

It would never be enough that you had done more than your male peers, because you were a
woman. It could never be enough for the realm to be you. You were not a son.

You would never be a son.

You could not completely fault your mother to this. Change does not happen immediately, it will
take time, but time is something you were short of. You hoped that during your mothers rein that
she could change things.

If not for you, for others to come.

As you stared at the flames, a knock was heard on the thick wooden doors.

You turned your head to look at the carved wood, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, and
deciding to ignore the unwanted guest.

A moment passed, and you turned your attention back to the flames again.

Another knock.

You breathed heavily out of your nose, before pushing yourself to stand, ignoring the twinge in
your side as you walked to the chamber doors. The grain of the wood crawled the same way, its
dark oak smoothed by a steady hand.

The oak echoed with the thud of three soft taps.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

You stared at the entrance as your fingers moved to touch the handle of the door, fingers curling
around the cold steel. You took a breath, and pulled the handle towards you, opening it up to allow
for a gap in the door to look at your visitor.

Rhaenyra stood behind the door, hands clutched together at her front as she looked at your through
the gap.

Her eyes looked sad.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was soft.

Maternal.

You said nothing as you looked her over.

“Please.” She asked again.

You sighed, pulling the door wider, allowing for the Queen to enter your chambers. The door was
shut behind her as you stood waiting. If she was to talk, she would need to begin. You had said all
that you needed to.

She watched you, eyes scanning your face.

“Could we sit?”

She was trying.

You gave her a soft nod, before following her back in front of the fire, to sit by the chaise. She sat
first, looking up at you as you hesitated, before slowly sitting beside her. Your thighs touching
hers.

You loved her more than you could express. But it hurt.

Her head tilted as she watched you, her expression mournful. It reminded you so much of Lucerys.
There was just so much of her in him.

She breathed deeply in thought, hands fidgeting in her lap as she thought of what to say. Then as
sudden as that meekness came, the power came forward. Her hand came to grab yours, pulling it
into her lap.

Physical touch was important to show her affection. You couldn’t remember a single time as a
child where she had shown you love without holding you.

“I have thought all night of how to talk to you, but I find I am lost for words.”

You looked down into your lap.

Why did you feel guilty?

Mothers had that sort of power.

“I have watched you grow into such a fierce strong woman…” She paused.

You waited for her next words. For the but that felt like it was coming, for the other shoe to drop.
For her to tell you how she resented you. How you were a disappointment, how your actions had
changed you forever in her eyes.

“And I could not be more proud.”

You head snapped to look at her.

You were shocked. This was not what you had expected.

“You are everything that I could have hoped for, and more. Unfathomably kind, smart, courageous.
Your love and devotion to your family is your biggest strength, and also your weakness.”

There was the other shoe.

You looked back down, and she squeezed your hand tighter.

“If the realm was different, if this was different, you would be my heir. How could you not be? But
the realm is cruel, and unkind to women. They believe us to be better fitted for bed chambers, as
decor to the men who hold us on their arms." She paused to breath, her fingers stroking yours in her
hand.

"In saying this, I know it is not fair to you. We women are built up, only to be pushed back down,
no matter if you are of noble birth or common. Rhaenys had tried to warn me once, when I was
younger and I didn't listen.”

You straightened your back.It felt like rubbing salt in the wound.

“I tell you this now, because I had planned to name you my successor. I had plans for you to rule
after I did. That is why I prepared you. It was not all for naut, for me to just pull the rug from
beneath your feet unkindly. But then... Viserys died…” Her thumb rubbed against your hand and
you felt her gaze fall away from you.

As you looked up, your mother was staring at the fire, watching the flames in the same manor as
you had.

“And Aegon was crowned King. The realm was divided before, but now I fear, more than ever,
that there may be no winning this war. Even if I sit upon the throne, there will be those who do not
accept it. There will be those who conspired with the Greens to place my brother on the Iron
Throne, so that a woman would not. To name you successor, would be to put an even larger target
on our backs. On yours.”

Rhaenyra’s side profile glowed from the warm light of the fire. Her brow was furrowed as she
watched the flames. You looked down at your hands, where her thumb had ceased its comforting
stroke.

It was your turn to comfort her.

You reached your other hand to hold hers, pulling it into your lap as you looked down, not raising
your eyes even as you felt her gaze come back to you.

The warmth from her hands settled you.

“I know that you are angry. I know that you are bitter. And you are right to feel this. I felt it the
day Rhaenys came to tell us Aegon had usurped the throne. I felt it the day Otto came to give us
Aegon’s terms. I know that there isn’t anything that I can say to make this better. To make you not
resent me, or your brother, but please know it was not because you aren’t fit to wear the crown.”

The ring on Rhaenyras hand glinted in the flames as she spoke to you, your finger coming to fiddle
with the gold.

Anything, but look up at your mother.

“What you did at Riverrun…” She sighed, and you waited. “Was reckless. You could have died,
and I had feared I had lost you again… I worry about you… About this… anger you have.”

“Fear is the strongest ally of all.” You murmured.

“I suppose it is.”

“They should fear you. Us.”

“They will.”

"I do this for you. And if not for you, then for them. For Visenya. For Lucerys. For Syndor.”

“You are far too young to know such loss.”

“This is war.”

“Ñuha dōna riña.” (My sweet girl.) She cooed, before pulling your face to her lips, letting them
brush against your temple gently, as she placed three kisses there, as she always did.

Like how she always did for Luc.

“I want to fight.” You whispered beneath her.

“Y/n.”

“Please. I cannot bear to sit in these chambers and do nothing. Let me fulfil my duties, if not as
your heir, then as your daughter. To the crown. To you.”

You watched her eyes as she thought.

Those light purple irises glowing in the low light of the room. She held so much beauty. It oozed
from her pores, from the way she held herself. From the way she just was.

Both of your mothers hands came to frame your face, holding you to look at her before she nodded.

“I suppose I cannot stop you, even if I tried.”

A smirk pulled on your lips.

"Give me your word." You demanded softly.

The Queen looked at you unsure.

"Give me your word," You repeated, "That you will let me fight. That you will let me fulfil my
duties to ensure your ascension to the Iron Throne. No matter the cost."
Rhaenyra continued to watch you, not answering, eyes full of thought.

"I swear to you, that I will consult you before I act. As my Queen, and as my mother." You assure
her.

The silence in the room was heavy as you waited for her to give you her answer. For her to swear to
let you fight. To be a true Targaryen Princess. To give your all to her cause and help win back the
throne.

"I give you my word." She breathed, and you let yourself relax into her.

It was done.

She pulled you to lean against her shoulder, as you sat in silence, letting the days tension burn away
with the fire.

“Is Jacaerys alright?”

“He is fine. Only worried about you.”

You hummed.

“He loves you. More than you know.”

You both sat in silence for some time, held tightly against your mothers side as she brushed a
gentle hand up and down your arm, soothing you. There was not much more you could say to each
other, but now there was more of an understanding.

As you felt your eyes begin to grow tired, and slowly drift shut, Rhaenyra gently pulled you up and
led you to bed. She tucked you underneath your covers before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead,
her lips lingering gently against your skin, then leaving you to fall asleep.

When you woke the next morning, you built up your courage to go and apologise to Jacaerys in his
chambers. You had your hair brushed out of its braid, and into a new style, the oil from the night
before making your hair smooth and soft to the touch.

You dressed in all black and at your breakfast slowly, delaying the inevitable.

As you picked at the bread on your table, your door opened, and Jacaerys walked into your
chambers, without announcing himself.

“I knew you would be avoiding me, so I came to talk.”

You swallowed the mouthful of crust that sat on your tongue.

“I’m not avoiding you. I had plans to come to you.”

The young prince pulled the chair beside you out and away from the table, before sitting into it
heavily, leaning back as he looked at you expectantly. He wore a deep red tunic today, with dark
silver buttons lacing him up. His brown hair brushed neatly atop his head.

You rubbed at an eye, as you inhaled deeply, ready to begin your disgruntled apology to your
brother.

“I forgive you.”
You cocked your head to the side, brows furrowing.

“I have not apologised?”

“You were about to. Whenever you have to say sorry, your lips pull into a grimace like it pains you
to do it.”

You frowned.

“To win this war, we can’t fight amongst each other. If we stand divided, the faster we fall. I know
that what you said came from a place of hurt, and anger. And you were right. What would I know
of sacrifice?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a hand raising into the air.

It reminded you of a King.

“Let me finish. You did enough speaking yesterday and now it’s my turn. I will never truly know
what it is like for you, or mother, or Rhaenys. I will never know what it is like to be a woman and
to have the men of the realm look at you as nothing of consequence. I will never understand the
burdens that are placed on your shoulders from birth, nor will I ever begin to understand the ones
that you will carry until death. But you can help me understand. Tell me before you get to your
breaking point. Do not hold it all in.”

You reached forward to full more bread off of your plate, rolling the soft flesh into a ball before
placing it into your mouth to chew. You leant back in your chair watching your brother, waiting for
him to continue.

“I was expecting an argument.” He commented.

“None so far. Continue.”

It was like he was apologising to you.

“I had told you before in the Throne Room back in the Red Keep that you deserved the throne, not
me. And I meant that. But that is not the way of the world, as much as we both wish different.
Hope is a fools ally, and-“

“Don’t quote the Lords now.”

“I don’t wish to see you broken. What you did was stupid. I will not apologise for that. You could
have died. You could have cost us the war. You could have given them the upper hand, by having
you again. But you didn’t, and so you afforded us a win amongst a sea of losses.”

You watched as Jacaerys leant both elbows onto the table, hands coming to grasp his own on the
table in front as he looked at you.

“You are my sister, and I am loyal to you. I will do whatever is in my power to protect you. But I
will not fight with you about the succession of the throne. I refuse to. It is a mute point. And
something that neither I, nor you, can change. If we are to win this war, we need to do so together.”

“You sound like you’ve spoken to mother.” You smiled shyly.

“I may have. And I hold no shame for it. She is wise, wiser than she lets on.”

“She is.”
“I love you, y/n. And I cannot even imagine what you have endured for all of us. I cannot imagine
what you have kept from us in order to protect us. Much like mother. But you can’t keep this going
on. You can’t keep sacrificing yourself for others. I know you have that fire inside of you, but one
day it will burn you up, and everyone else in its path.”

“Now you do sound like mother.”

“I mean it. You get this look in your eye, it frightens me. And the way you razed that army to the
ground like it was nothing? We got word today that there were no survivors. Not a single tent left
unburnt, bodies torn and mangled…I do not wish to see my sister become another Maegor.”

“It would be what they deserve.”

“Even still. It comes at a cost. Yourself. And I- we, cannot afford to lose you.”

You nodded, as he watched you. His soft brown eyes watched you before cocking his head to the
side lazily, leaning back in his chair to bring his arms to cross in front of him.

“I’m sorry," Your hand came to grab his as you let out the two words,

“I will do better. But I will not sit back and do nothing. I will fight in this war, and you cannot stop
me. I will do what is needed, whatever it is, to give us the upper hand. To give us time. To win. I
will not allow us to endure any more loss. I will do what I have to, to ensure mothers claim,
whatever the cost.”

Jace held your hand as he looked at you, brows furrowed.

“I know you will... And that's what worries me.”

You let out a gentle laugh and went to place more bread in your mouth, watching him observe you
with a certain unease.

“I won’t break.”

Jacaerys eyes do not leave yours.

The chambers are quiet, and in that moment you realise the depth of the silence.

His eyes were so much darker than you remember Ser Harwin's being. They had this deep, brown
to them, gold flecked around the edges, so that when his pupils were wide, his eyes looked
completely, and utterly black.

As you stared at each other, the stillness blanketing the room, neither of you responding, it was
then, in that moment that you realised what Jacaerys was saying.

He thought you had already broken.

That was what scared him.

 The Proposal
Chapter Notes

Oop

After Jacaerys had left your chambers, you joined him to walk around the castle. He told you of all
that had happened in your absence. Of how incensed Daemon had become, and how your mother
had broken down.

He told you of how the Lords and the Queen could barely talk Daemon from Caraxes.

He spoke of how he spent his evenings, questioning whether or not he should sneak into the Red
Keep to get you himself. He spoke of how Joffrey noticed your absence, and Lucerys’. He spoke of
how little Viserys and Aegon The Younger, with their soft silver hair, had babbled your name
every day, waiting for you to join them in your parents chambers.

It was more detailed than the previous talks.

It was not an uplifting conversation. It was solemn, but it was needed. You told him about your
time in your chambers, of the pain. Of the milk of the poppy. Of the Maester who had helped you,
and your escape from the dungeon.

You told him of how Aegon tried to hurt you, but you did not tell him in which way. You told him
of Aemond’s assault, and then your escape.

Jacaerys was quiet for this retelling. His eyes never left your face as you walked, and relived
watching Aemond, hunched over Aegon, laying his fists brutally against the Kings face.

You told him of your days on the ship with Darras, and of meeting his brother. You answered all of
his questions, except ones of Aemond. Those you did not wish to answer.

He asked once, to which you denied. He tried once more a short while later, to which you denied
again. Only then did he not ask you a third time.

Sometimes, things were better off left unsaid, and this was one of those cases.

You ate dinner with your family that evening, and although it was a little stiff and uncomfortable at
first, you all fell back into something familiar, something full of joy and relief. Almost as though
the world around you wasn’t happening.

Almost.

There was still the ever present black cloud that hung over all of you.

The war.

Lucerys.
Visenya.

Your anger and bitter rage.

It was inescapable.

But as you had all learnt, all too abruptly, time with family was precious. You did not know when
the next of you were to fall. That was war. It was inevitable. And despite all of your best efforts, it
was to come sooner or later.

Daemon had walked you to your chambers that evening, more quiet than usual. His mind escaping
him as he sought of a way to connect.

To talk to you, to ask of your wellbeing.

But you knew that he didn’t need to. Instead, you gave him a soft kiss on his cheek as you got to
your door, a small smile, and a gentle bid of goodnight, before entering your chambers to sleep.

Days passed in a whirlwind of meetings and updates from the Lords at the table and Maester.

The war seemed to be at an impasse.

The eye of the storm.

The sudden calm before the destructive winds.

You all held a breath as you waited for news to come, that would shift the tide once more.

And suddenly, it was presented.

As you all stood around the table, looking at the map, the markers and thinking of how to move
Lord Cregan Starks men into the Golden Tooth without endangering the entire war efforts, Ser
Eryyk came to the table, small scroll in hand.

The paper was rolled neatly, a green wax stamp holding it shut. The sigil of House Targaryen
pressed into the wax. You all waited with bated breath as the scroll was handed to your Queen,
before she pulled the wax seal apart from the paper, slowly unravelling it at the head of the table.

A myriad of emotions moved across the Queens face.

Anger. Confusion. Hope. Disgust. Sadness.

And then, back to anger.

Something that was not uncommon in these times now, though you noticed that it looked harsher
on her face more than ever.

There was once a time where such raw anger was not easily present on your mothers face, though
because of the war, and all of the losses that came with it, her face had hardened.

Furrowed lines became permanent above her brow, and her lips were often, more than not, pursed
into a deep frown.

You watched as Rhaenyra breathed, lowering the parchment onto the table as she looked down at
it, before back up at the room, eyes stopping on you. Her lips twitched as you watched each other
before she straightened.
She handed the parchment wordlessly to the Maester, who began to read aloud to the chambers.

“Prince Daeron is dead. He was present at Riverrun alongside the Greens army. His body was
found amongst the masses.”

Daeron was dead…

Your youngest uncle.

In the Riverlands.

You had killed him.

You were….

“Aegon has expressed the possibility of a treaty.” Even Rhaenyra’s voice sounded shocked as she
interrupted the Maester.

All eyes were on you.

You were a Kinslayer.

Just like Aemond.

You blinked.

“No.” Came Daemons voice from across the table.

“The realm would be split into two. Queen Rhaenyra would rule where her allies are, and Aegon
where his are. Aegon would remain at Kings Landing.”

“You aren’t seriously considering this?” Daemons angry voice came from beside Rhaenyra.

“My Queen, what are the terms they have sent?” Lord Bartimos asked, voice cutting into the
tension.

Rhaenyra looked down at the table, cutting her eyes away from you.

That was when you understood.

Daemon snatched the parchment from the Maester as he stormed down the table to stand beside
you, the heat from his body crowding your space, as he swayed agitatedly on his feet, watching his
wife.

Jacaerys stayed near your mother, looking at her for answers.

“Aegon has ordered the execution of Princess Y/n.”

You felt an ice cold chill spill over your body as you stood in shock, looking at your mother as her
lavender eyes met yours.

“No.” Daemon growled as he read.

“Unless, we agree to the other conditions.” Rhaenyra finished for Maester Gerardys.

Without even being told, you knew what the other conditions were to be.
The proposal.

“If you think for one moment that I will let my daughter go back to that vipers nest, and marry that
Kinslaying cunt, you are mad.” Daemon growled, moving his body slightly in front of yours as he
slammed his hands down on the table.

The Maester stood stiffly to the side, looking at the Queen. You snatched the parchment out from
underneath your fathers hand, beginning to read the sloped script.

You felt his keen eyes on you.

“Your Grace,” Lord Bartimos began, “You cannot be considering these terms?”

She did not answer, instead kept her eyes on you.

“In his wisdom, Aegon has offered terms of a treaty. The split of the realm into seperate Kingdoms
so that both Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, and King Aegon Targaryen may rule.” The Maester
continued.

“They offered The North? But the North is independent. That in itself would set us up to fail with
the Northerners and Cregan Stark.” You interrupted.

All was quiet as Gerardys continued.

Your eyes paused on the script.

“King Aegon proposes that Princess Y/n, The Merciless, First of her Name, Eldest Daughter of
Princess Rhaenyra, be wed to Prince Aemond, First of His name, Son of the late King Viserys, in
the tradition of House Targaryen to further unify and strengthen the treaty.”

The Merciless.

“Fucking cravens.” Daemon growled.

“I’ll do it.” You blurted.

Daemons head snapped to yours, and Rhaenyra’s eyes widened.

“No you won’t. I refuse to let you do that. You will not marry that Kinslayer cunt.” Your father
sneered before placing his hand on the hilt of his sword in habit.

Rhaenyra seemed to break free of the spell as she looked at you.

“No. We will not concede to the Greens, now that we are at an impasse. I will not trade my only
daughter as a bartering piece for the throne.”

“It is not your choice to make.” You countered.

“I am your Queen. And you are my daughter. If you think that I would send you back there, after
all that has happened.”

“This is what we had sought many years before. A way to unify the family. I had almost accepted
before we went out in search of allies.”

Before Lucerys.
“I will burn our House to the ground before I let that happen.” The Rogue Prince roared, “I would
sooner burn us all, than leave you to that fate. We will not use you as a means to win this war.”

“We are at a standstill. This could be a way to prevent further losses. This is an opportunity to be
the tool that is needed when the hand reaches for it.”

“You are not a tool to be used in a war, nor are you a piece to be moved about a board. I refuse. We
will send word to my brother, that I will have the throne, or I will have his head.” Queen Rhaenyra
spoke.

“You are not listening to me.” You argued.

“No. You are not listening to me. You will not be wed to Aemond.”

“This could be a way to get into the vipers nest and turn it from the inside. This could be a way for
me to-“

“No.” Jacaerys’ voice cut through the air. Baela stood stiffly at his side, whilst Rhaena stood
behind with her grandparents.

Lord Bartimos however, seemed interested in what you had to say.

“Princess Y/n, what do you propose?”

Daemon swore under his breath and began to fidget beside you, as Queen Rhaenyra looked
between you and the Lord who had spoken.

No other Lords at the table dared to speak.

“If I am not to be heir, then my marriage will need to be advantageous, and this is an opportunity
for just that. Political and not for love. It was a fate that I could not have run from, much to both of
your efforts.” You gazed at both of your parents, whose faces were stoney.

“I am no fool, do not let me be misunderstood. Aemond is cruel, but he is dutiful. I do not believe
he would hurt me.”

Liar.

“The fuck is this.” Daemon growled at you.

“If I wed Aemond, in the tradition of House Targaryen, we will have something that we didn’t
have before.”

“An ally in Kings Landing.” The Maester Gerardys spoke.

You nodded.

“Not only would this allow for me to be with them, to see the comes and goings of the Keep, it
gives us an opportunity to turn on them when the time is right. I could send word to you all to
ensure you of my safety, and reconnect to Gold Cloaks who still are loyal to the King Consort,
Daemon.”

“I know who is loyal to me and who isn’t.” The Rogue Prince snipped. “I will not have you taken
from me again. I will sooner fall on my sword than allow that.” His voice rising with every breath
he took.
You turned your attention to the Queen, who watched you in horror.

“The treaty they have given you, was set up to make you fail. The handing of the North would
raise tensions with Northerners in no time. Conflict will arise from this, and I think that was their
reasoning for it. But this is an opportunity for it to work in our favour. For days I have thought of
what Helaena had said to me-“

“Helaena?” You father asked, incredulously.

“She told me that if Dragon's dance, none shall survive. And I believe her. She tried to warn me of
what was to come, she tried.”

Daemon scoffed, moving away from the table, pacing behind you. Your mother stood still looking
at you now, the lines in her forehead pressed tightly.

“She told me this. I swear to you.” You spoke to your mother, as the men looked awkwardly about
the table in confusion. “Aemond is sick. His obsession with me is twisted and grotesque, but I
know that he would protect me from Aegon.”

“And who will protect you from him?” Came Jacaerys’ low growl.

You did not answer.

“This is an opportunity for us to be close to the Greens, to keep an eye on them. And when the time
is right, we can strike and kill them all. You will have the throne, and take back the crown.”

“This is madness!” Daemon yelled.

“Madness yes, but it could work. You said it yourself, this could be a means to end the war. You
know it. I know it. We can all see it. We are at an impasse. Although we hold the Riverlands,
Aegon’s army is still spread across the realm, turncloaks are everywhere, and until we have firmer
footing, this is our answer. They have ordered for my execution. If I were to go to other lands, and
an ally of the Greens were there, they would have me killed. And I know what that would mean. I
would be kept here for the rest for this war. And I made a promise to myself, and to My Queen that
I would not."

"You gave your word to me that you would let me fight.” You stared at your mother, begging her,
“Let me fight this way. I had gotten close enough to Aemond and almost killed him. I was injured,
and desperate. Could you imagine what we could do when we are prepared? Rather than fight
when pushed into a corner, we could take a final surge all at once.”

No-one replied to your words, and the room took steady breaths, basking in the silence.

“How many more loses can we take until we break?” Your eyes flicked to Jacaerys.

“Your Grace, if I may?” The Maester began.

Daemon roughly placed the Dark Sister blade against the table. The clunk echoed in the room.

The Maester continued, “For days now, we have sat in this stillness of war, and I fear that it may
last. And if it does, our ability to hold the seas would diminish, slowly each day. As we are cut
from the taxes that Kings Landing brings, your wealth alone is not enough to sustain the Velaryon
fleet. In four moons time, your army would become almost obsolete, and the fleet is what we need
most, to block the waterways.”
“Are you suggesting we send off my daughter like a brood mare to the very people who we are
warring with? To the people who tried to kill her?” The Rogue Prince spat.

“To have an ally in the Keep, would change the course of the war to be sure, and all that comes
with it. The Princess is well liked by the people, and any wrong doing would surely stir the masses.
Any harm upon Lady Y/n would jeopardise the shaky foundations of Aegon’s reign."

The Maester kept his eyes on your mother as he spoke, speaking to her, and her only, "To wed
Aemond, would mean that the treaty would allow us for time. Of course, Jacaerys would have to
send word to the North, to let them know that they are truly independent. But having those eyes in
the Keep, especially so close to the Greens, is an opportunity most advantageous.”

The air is thick with tension.

The entire chambers are silent.

All waited for the Queens response.

Daemon had paused his pacing and come to stand beside you, starring angrily at Rhaenyra who
looked down at the Painted Table in thought. Eyes roaming over the markers, the realms and all
that would be hers if she accepted.

“If you are to accept this, you would live out your days in Kings Landing. You would be wed to
your brothers murderer, and you would be expected to perform your duties as a wife, and a Princess
to the realm. Do you understand what is being asked of you, should you accept this?” Your mother
asked slowly, sadly, and almost angrily.

Angry at herself, or at you, you could not tell.

“I will perform my duties as I always have. And in this, it will put us one step closer to ending the
war.”

“Gaomagon daor gaomagon bisa.” (Do not do this.) Came the soft voice of Jacaerys.

It jarred you.

The young Prince rarely spoke in High Valyrian. And to hear it so raw, so broken from his lips was
almost enough to turn you away from a decision you had already made.

“Gaoman bisa syt īlva.” (I do this for us.) You called across the table.

“Dōna riña, kostilus pendagon nūmāzma bisa.” (Sweet girl, please think about this.) Daemon
lowered his voice.

“Eman.” (I have.)

“Ñuha tala. Ivestragon daor” (My daughter. Say no.)

“You told me back in the Red Keep, ‘By any means possible.’ This is it. Shijetra nyke, kepa.”
(Forgive me, father.) You bowed your head.

You sniffed, straightening yourself before signing your fate. You swore to fulfill your duties, no
matter the cost, and now was your chance.

“Accept the treaty terms. I shall wed Aemond Targaryen. I will live in the Red Keep, and when the
time is right, you shall have the throne.”
A deadly pause laid the room in unease.

A singular movement. Such a small one at that. No one would ever suspect such an insignificant
flex and pull of muscle to be capable of causing such chaos. But it did, and as soon as it happened,
the room erupted into chaos.

Queen Rhaenyra had nodded.

King Consort Daemon had cursed.

And you had bowed.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Please excuse me.” You turned on your heel, leaving the room, as the
Lords and Queen all spoke, Daemon calling after you.

“Get back here!” He yelled at you.

You let one foot step in front of the other as the reality of your actions settled into your skin.

Before long, you were out by the cliffside, sharp footsteps following behind you, as you leant your
body against the stone wall, looking down into the waves as you breathed in and out.

Deeply, slowly.

“Tala.” (Daughter.)

You did not need to turn to know that your father stood behind you. A firm hand gripped your
shoulder and spun you. His wild, angry eyes searched yours, before his face fell.

The Rogue Prince wordlessly pulled you against his chest and held you. You stilled in his arms and
listened to the steady beat of his heart, like it was the last time you would hear it.
 Preparations
Chapter Notes

Even though Aemond is evil.... I could not resist his proposal even if I tried. I would
be possessed by the spirit of horny and grow wings to fly to him

The warmth of Daemon's body soothed you as he held you by the cliffside, brushing a gentle hand
through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings into it, letting you melt into his hold. His scent
grounded you as he kissed the top of your head, rocking you gently.

“Don’t be stupid. You know you don’t have to do this.”

His words brought you out of your daze.

“But I do.”

“You don’t. We will find another way. I will fly to the Keep now and-“

“We cannot risk it. I cannot lose you too.”

“They could never take me from you.” He murmured, squeezing you tighter.

You looked out at the crashing waves, as your father held onto you for dear life.

“It will work.” You told him.

“Y/n-“

“It will buy us more time.”

The Rogue Prince pulled away from you, looking down his hardened face at your impassive one.

“I won’t let you.”

“I know. But you must… Please. Let me do this.”

His purple eyes bore into yours, face not changing. Lips in a hard line, anger present beneath the
fear and sorrow.

He knew it would work.

“For mother.” You dipped your head at him.

Daemon opened his mouth to argue but you cut him off, feeling a sting of impatience float up to
the surface, “I am not a son. I was born a woman, and with that comes a burden. I am not even the
realms second, nor third choice. I have no worth… So it must be made. I am not asking for your
permission, nor will I ever. I am telling you what I am to do.”
And as any father should, he let you sit with your choice. His two large palms came to hold your
face, as he let his eyes drag over your features, memorising every detail.

“The Merciless. Even to yourself.” He whispered.

“This is war.”

“This it is.”

His face moved forward as he pressed his lips against your hairline, holding you there. You closed
your eyes and let yourself bask in the gentleness the Rogue Prince possessed for you, for his wife,
and for all of their children.

“Iksā se rōvēgrie irudy se Gods mirre teptan nyke.” (You are the greatest gift the Gods ever gave
me) He whispered.

You stood side by side, to watch the waves below crashing up against the cliff, the tide, slowly
receding, revealed jagged rocks beneath. The rough swell calmed as you both did, and soon the air
began to grow cold, as the sun lowered from its peak in the sky, down behind the horizon. Only
then did you both move, and only then did you walk back into the castle of Dragonstone, arm in
arm to face your family.

Together.

Walking back into the castle was a blur.

Your legs moved without you, whilst your arm was pulled snugly into Daemon's side. Your father
did not once let go of you out of fear that you would disappear. When you finally made it to his and
your mothers shared chambers, you found that they were already sitting in wait for you.

Rhaenyra looked distraught, her eyes were red rimmed and her hair had looked as though many a
stray hand and brushed through it out of frustration, or grief.

Jacaerys looked ready to murder you. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pulled into a barely
visible sneer, but you could see it. You could see it in his posture.

His anger. His rage.

His fear.

Instinctually your eyes flicked to another chair beside him.

Empty.

You cleared your throat as your sniffed before sitting in the other chair, leaving Lucerys’ usual spot
open for him. But he would not come to sit in the chair, nor would he argue with you for your
stupidity.

You wondered if your mother did the same thing.

As you took your seat, Daemon's hand did not leave you. Coming to rest gently on your shoulder as
you slowly looked at your mother, who seemed to soften at your presence, though her eyes were
alight.

The room was uncomfortably quiet.

No one was willing to speak first, to break the silent peace of the room, but you knew it had to be
you. And so you did in the only way you knew how.

With a sharp tongue and the wish to ease the tension.

“Shall we say a prayer?” You joked, hoping to lighten the space.

Daemon let out a sharp guffaw, angry yet trying, whilst Jacaerys scoffed angrily.

“Y/n.” Your mother sighed.

“What? I should start now to get used to it. I’m sure Alicent will be praying every night, thanking
the Smith for the treaty.”

You tried to smile, you really did, but instead your lips pulled into a grimace.

“This isn’t a joke.” Jacaerys growled, staring daggers into his empty plate.

“Jace.” Rhaenyra warned, but you let the comment fly.

“I know. Just trying to lighten the sour mood.”

Why was he doing this?

Could he not see that you had no choice?

“This isn’t a game. You’re giving yourself to them. After all he has done to us, to you. You’re
going to lay in bed with him.” The brunette sneered.

“That’s enough.” Daemon snipped.

“No. It’s true. It isn’t a game. This war is not a game. How many more losses? Hm?” You looked
pointedly at Jace, “How many more losses are you willing to endure? I could not live with myself
if another one of you were killed. I would sooner throw myself from the cliffs than see that.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

You smiled sadly, “But I do. It is my duty. And I know that none of you ever wanted this of me.”
You gazed at your parents, as Daemon's hand tightened on your shoulder, “And you both gave me
so much freedom, saved me from marriage that should have happened years before.”

“What of Cregan Stark? If we offered your hand to him, it would unite us with the North.” Jacaerys
looked desperate.

“And what of Cregan? If I were to marry him, it would not change the fact that we are at a stand
still. It would not change the fact that in four moons time, our supplies for the army would run
scarce, and our fleet's power would diminish. Trust me when I say this to you all, I have had a very
long time to think on this. This offer did not come to me yesterday.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Daemon whispered.

You turned to look at your father beside you. His eyes were drawn down to the table, lips pulled
into a tight line, fighting with himself as he tried to stay calm.

For you.
You swallowed, “I see little choice.”

Rhaenyra’s soft voice flitted across the table as she watched you.

“Does my birth right to the Iron Throne mean more to me than the happiness of my only daughter?
What kind of Queen would I be to allow you to sacrifice yourself like this.” She seemed disgusted
in herself.

Angry.

Distraught.

But the way she spoke, as if only to herself, served to tell you that she knew there was no other
choice.

“A smart Queen. One who will sit upon the Iron Throne. One who will be better for the realm. For
all of us.”

“You will be wed to a Kinslayer.” Jace spoke in disgust.

You paused, the energy in the room beginning to drain you. This was not how you wanted to spend
what little time you had left with them.

“Daeron is dead.” You snipped, “I am a Kinslayer just as much as Aemond is.”

The table fell silent. There was no denying it.

And there was no escaping the bitter truth.

Would you have burned the camp if you had known he was there? Would you have stopped if you
had known?

A part of you wants to think that yes, you would. You would never do something as depraved as
killing your uncle, an uncle that you knew little about. For all you knew, he could have been kind
like Helaena.

But you knew in truth, deep down, that you would have still done it.

And that was something you could not escape.

“Please. I don’t want to fight with you all, nor do I want you to feel guilt, or sorrow. I wish to
spend what time I have left with you all in good spirits. I don’t want to go to the Red Keep with a
bitter taste in my mouth. I wish for you all to see me, as I am right now. And I wish for you to
understand that this is my choice, not yours.” You narrowed your gaze on Jacaerys, whose dark
brown eyes held yours.

You could see his pain.

You could see his anguish, his anger.

But above all, his grief.

“Helaena spoke many things to me. She warned me of what was to come. She told me ‘a spool of
Green to Black.’ The Greens' hold will turn back to your rightful rule. I know this will work. It will.
It has to.”
Then slowly, the Queen reached across the table, grasping her goblet before she stood, her chair
scraping along the stone floors. All eyes were on your mother.

“This act of selflessness will not go unforgotten. Your sacrifice to not only the realm, but to me,
will be a debt in which I will never be able to repay. Your courage in the Riverlands whilst
reckless, bought us time which we did not have before. It has bought us this treaty and in turn, an
opportunity to win this war.” Her violet eyes bored into yours as she lifted her cup towards you.

“When this war is won, and I have my brother's head, you will be heir to Dragonstone, as
intended.” You looked at your mother as she continued, “Your marriage to Aemond will be
annulled, and I shall ask you for one more favour.”

Your heart raced in your chest as you waited, your fathers grip on your shoulder squeezing before
he reached forward to grasp his own goblet, his eyes on the side of your face.

“Your knowledge of the realm, of its politics, and its history, is more than even mine. Your
dedication to knowing the realm, its peoples, and its needs, as you prepared yourself to become
Queen has not been forgotten.”

Your heart raced wildly in your chest.

“I ask you to be my Hand.”

The world tilted.

She wanted you to be her Hand.

“When I sit upon the Iron Throne, I will need someone who will know the realm, the people, and
its laws. I will need someone who I know will not charge head first into conflict, like you had tried
to prevent us from doing at the very start of this war.”

You felt your breath stop in your chest. Your mouth parted as you stared at your mother who
looked at you with conviction. Your father lifted his goblet up into the air towards you, and in your
periphery you saw Jacaerys do the same.

“You will be my most closest advisor, appointed and authorised to make decisions in my name.”

The tingling of tears began to spring in your eyes as you watched your mother in shock.

The Queen’s Hand.

Though not the Queen yourself one day, the second highest position. You would not be left to
Dragonstone to be nothing. To do nothing. You would be the Hand to the Queen of the Seven
Realms.

But a lingering piece of doubt curled its way around your mind.

The Hand of the King or Queen has never been a woman.

You would not be named heir, but named Hand instead? An honour, to be sure. But why this? Why
not just offer the throne? Offer for you to be her successor?

Would this announcement not shock the realm? To have a Queen and her womanly Hand?

"You honour me, Your Grace.”

“I honour you in the way you have done me, the crown. This family.”

“To the Queen’s Hand.” Came the proud and strong voice of your father beside you, as he shifted
his cup upwards.

“Hear, Hear.” Jacaerys responded.

You shakily reached forward to grasp your goblet, lifting it up as you kept your eyes on your
mother, smiling graciously before taking a sip.

You were to be the Queen’s Hand.

You could scarcely believe it. You had thought that your mother would appoint Daemon to that
position. You had thought she would appoint Maester Gerardys, or Lord Corlys.

Anyone, but you.

“Now,” Your mother seated herself down, pulling her chair forward back to the table, “Let us enjoy
what time we have now, before we are eventually reunited.” She gave you a small smile, and you
let one rise on your face.

Your evening, despite its rocky start, continued to be one of joy, albeit stiff.

You all spoke together, telling stories of youth, or memories together, acting as though the war was
not raging outside. As though Rhaenyra had not been usurped of her throne. As though you were
not to be married to the One-Eyed Prince.

Though the empty chair beside Jacaerys served as a stark reminder of the losses you were all
desperate to ignore, just for the time being.

There was no Lucerys to laugh and make jokes at the table with his rough boyishness. There was
no Lucerys to argue with you for being stupid enough to accept the terms of the treaty. No Lucerys
to make you change your mind.

And in truth, if Lucerys had been there, you would not have accepted the offer. You would not
have claimed Vermithor. You would not be preparing yourself to enter the vipers nest once again
willingly.

If Lucerys was there with you, you would all be charging head first into battle. Not knowing the
pains of grief and loss yet.

But he wasn’t there.

And so you all knew the threat and fear all too well.

After you had eaten and drank more wine than you would have liked, you let Jacaerys walk you to
your chambers. You could sense that he had more to say. That he wanted to say more, though he
kept his mouth tightly shut.

He surprised you with a rough hug, holding you tightly against him as he tucked your head into his
shoulder. You let him hold you as you squeezed him back, smelling his familiar scent as you felt
his chest rise and fall. The young man pressed a chaste kiss the side of your temple before bidding
you a goodnight, stiffly walking away from you, hands clenched by his sides.

As soon as your head had touched your pillows you found yourself deep in a sleep. The turmoil and
anxiety and grief of your choices draining you of all energy. You did not fight to stay awake, to fret
and stress yourself further, instead letting yourself sink into the dark abyss, rather than the
unknown.

On the morrow, a raven was sent to King’s Landing, accepting the terms of the treaty. You had
watched the Rogue Prince write the letter himself, watching his pen curl over the script roughly in
anger and regret. Once finished his writing, he handed the scroll to Maester Gerardys, before
pulling you roughly against his side, holding you to him as you stared into the fireplace of his
chambers.

The days bled into each other rapidly.

The Lords were informed of the treaty terms, and terms were sent to the Greens on the details of
the marriage. You were expecting to be wed in King’s Landing, though Aegon sent word of
Aemond’s desire to be wed on Dragonstone, in tradition, as your ancestors had for hundreds of
years.

Your marriage would be affirmed before the masses in King’s Landing by King Aegon himself.
No doubt his way of making a show of the treaty.

This caused quite the stir from the Lords and Maester, terrified that this was indeed a trap. And not
even you knew if it were or not. After much arguing and yelling on both your mother and fathers
part, Dragonstone would be emptied, save yourself and your father.

You had argued that the Queen should not be present, nor her successor. Rhaenyra had argued until
she was red in the face, until you lowly suggested that this be your first act as her Hand.

Only then, did she concede.

The wedding was to be held at the end of the moons turn, only a few short days from now and that
was when the chaos had truly begun. The union had been set, and the time you had left on
Dragonstone with them all was now limited with a due date.

Each day you spent with your family, eating and drinking together.

Talking until you were out of breath, laughing until your sides ached, and your stomach began to
curdle. You all made the effort to make new memories, ones that were not tainted with war.

You spent hours in the Library with your father, him reading to you tales of spinsters, and widow
makers, his subtle reminder to you that you should kill Aemond sooner, rather than later.

You walked to Dragonmont with Jacaerys and flew your dragons around the island together, slowly
strengthening your bond to Vermithor and even adding, at the behest of your brother, rope around
the dragons neck for you to hold on to should you need or want it.

You did not have the heart to tell him that you most likely would not be flying in King’s landing,
but accepted the offer with thanks.

With every rise and fall of the moon, the closer the day came.

And with every day closer, the more you dreamt of falling, and Lucerys.

Each time you fell in your dream, you would land back inside that cell, Aegon waiting for you
before he would pounce, and then you would wake.
It put you on edge, but you knew that if you showed that to your family, they would become more
distressed than they already were.

Daemon had become more irritable as the days passed, and you knew that it was due to stress.
Rhaenyra however, kept strong. She did not show her anxiety or worry, and made to ensure that
when you spent your time with her, and your youngest siblings, that it was to put you at ease and
distract you.

She told you of tales in the Red Keep.

Of the fun she had had as a child. Of the mischief she had gotten up to. Memories of her mother,
and father the King, memories of Ser Harwin Strong, of Prince Laenor, of Daemon.

You greedily absorbed every word she gave you. Every tale, every laugh and every smile. You
committed it to your memory. The way her lips would pull back to show her straight white teeth
and pink of her gums. The way her eyes would crinkle in the corners. The way she smelt, and the
way she held you. You let her hold you against her tightly as she would stroke your hair or braid it.

You spent hours playing with Joffrey, little Viserys and Aegon the Younger, hoping to keep your
memory fresh in their minds for when you would eventually come home.

You would pick them up and race around the room, hearing them squeal in delight. And then you
would go to bed to sleep those evenings and cry, missing them already.

It was not until your last day together did you feel the fear steadily creep in. Doubt and uncertainty
coming with it in a vicious trio. Where one came, the other followed, and you found yourself
questioning your decision as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

What if this was a trap after all? Or perhaps they would throw you back into the cell? Would they
publicly execute you before the masses? To set an example?

To force your mothers hand?

These were the constant questions that circled like vultures above you.

Yet you found your strength as you always did. As you always must do, and readied yourself for
the day.

You flew with your family on dragonback. Watching the gold, red and olive green scales fly about
you on your bronze dragon. Daemon and Rhaenyra flew beautifully together. You had not seen it
for some time, but even their dragons had a bond together.

Syrax and Caraxes danced in the sky, gold and red above the clouds, as Vermax stayed close to you
both, not quite as skilled in flight yet.

When you all landed, you walked together back to your chambers to change and wash, all smelling
of dragon as you prepared yourself to dine one final time together.

You dressed in your finest black gown, wore earrings your mother had gifted you, and rings from
your father. The long jewelled belt he had brought you hung heavily on your hips, and you had
Saria and Aella braided your hair in a way that was familiar to you.

Dinner was held in the dining hall, and all the Lords and Ladies who resided on Dragonstone
joined you. Baela and Rhaena sat with their grandparents, Baela on the side of Jacaerys.
The dinner was extravagant, you guessed your fathers doing. Meats and dishes of all kinds, with
more spiced wine than one could drink.

Laughter was shared, and joy was present, though an underlying sense of loss was present too.
Rhaena forced herself to smile, though you knew she was missing Lucerys’ presence just as much
as the rest of you, and was dreading the inevitable loss of you too.

Dessert was brought out and you all ate greedily, even indulging in more than one star fruit with
your father. And as soon as the day had begun, the night had ended, and you all began to make
your way to your chambers.

In the days that had passed where you had found sleep, you found that it evaded you that night.
You tossed and turned in your sheets finding no relief from your turmoil.

It put you on edge, it made you agitated, it made you want to scream and cry and lash out, but you
wouldn’t.

As you tossed and turned, the door to your chambers opened and shut gently, and you listened to
the soft footfalls reach your bed, before a weight dipped the mattress beneath you.

You turn your head to watch as Jacaerys, who also looked restless, crawled under the covers with
you, clad in his deep red sleeping robes.

Your younger brother pulled you to him, tucking your head beneath his, as his breath began to even
out. You held onto him tightly, feeling a stray tear slip from your eye as you gripped him tighter.

And soon the weight of the world drifted away, as you both held each other one last time, before
falling into a broken sleep.
 A Union of Black and Green
Chapter Notes

Jacaerys is such a sweet brother :(

When you woke, Jacaerys was already awake, seated in a chair nearby the bed, watching your face
carefully as you sat up to lean against the back of the bed board. You rubbed the sleep from your
eyes as you peered out of the open balcony. It was early morning, the sun having not fully risen,
and the sky still a deep blue.

“Please-” He began but you stopped him with a small smile.

“I don’t want to argue.”

The boys head dropped down as he gazed into his lap, inhaling deeply, and straightened himself in
his chair.

“We will be leaving soon.”

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed before pulling yourself up. Your side itched and you
already felt jittery from nerves. You slowly walked to your brother as you reached to hold his hand.
You squeezed it tightly as his brown eyes met yours.

“Then I best see you off.”

You put on a large coat, hiding your chemise beneath it, not bothering to brush or braid your hair.

You would do so later.

For now, you had to say goodbye.

You walked arm in arm to your parents chambers, before softly knocking and walking inside.

Rhaenyra stood dressed and ready, and beside her, seated, was your father who anxiously picked at
one hand whilst a leg was crossed over the other. Upon seeing the both of you Rhaenyra softened,
before all but running towards you to pull you into a tight hug.

You felt her dig her nose into the top of your head as she held you tightly.

You felt a familiar tide within begin to pull at you, but you pushed it down. You needed to be
strong for them. You could not show your fear or apprehension.

You would be strong for them.

Your eyes lifted to your father, who still sat sitting, watching you carefully, head tilted.

“Do not let them break you.” Your mother whispered into your hair.
“They could never.”

Soon she released you, pulling you back at arms length. The sun slowly began to rise on the
horizon, and so the soft blue glow of morning began to stream into the room. As you smiled at her
the doors to the chambers opened, and four maids entered the room. Two of your mothers, with
Saria and Aella.

In their arms was the ceremonial gown.

The cream and red was held delicately in Saria’s hands, whilst Aella held the belt. The two other
maids, one pale with dark black hair and the other tall with light brown hair, held your shoes and
the head piece.

It felt as if they were dressing you for burial, to be laid to rest. And in a way, it was. It would be the
death of your freedom. And the death of your happiness.

“I had wished that my mother was there for my marriage. And I regret that I will not be here to see
you today. Though I promise you, I will be the next time, if you so choose it. You will be wed the
way we were, and the way our ancestors were.”

The girls walked forward with the items so that you could look at them closely. The sleeves, collar
and bottom of the dress were a vibrant red that bled into the cream of the rest for the gown. It was
just as you had remembered.

Your hand came to stroke it. Under any other circumstances you would have been elated to wear
the robes that so many before you had. The robes your mother and father had.

But today was different.

And looking at the robes only seemed to cement the fear inside of you.

Daemon finally stood, walking slowly towards you as he looked down at the robes in the maids
hands. Before he nodded to Jacaerys and both of the men left the chambers, leaving you, the maids
and the Queen inside.

“I may not be present, but I will be with you. Let me help prepare you.” Rhaenyra smiled sadly at
you, and you struggled to hold in the sob within your chest.

You nodded softly as the maids came to help dress you, pulling your bed slip over your shoulders
before guiding a small chemise over to replace it. You felt eyes on your wounded side as Rhaenyra
watched the four maids dress you slowly, with care and love, in the ceremonial garb.

The material was soft and warm as it fell over your legs gently, flowing like water. The soft fading
red catching your eye as you looked down at the floor. It was as tough you had waded through
pools of blood, soaking the material of the gown.

The air in the room was tense as Saria and Aella began to fasten the belt around you, careful to not
pull it too tight around the skin that had finally begun to scar. A reminder of the danger you were
willing throwing yourself back into.

The waist band fit you snuggly and you watched your mothers face break, as a tear slid down her
cheek.

“Iksā sīr gevie.” (You are so beautiful) She cooed, stepping forward to wipe away the tear that had
begun to slide down your own cheek, unbeknownst to you. You smiled sadly, eyes catching the
mirror behind.

You did look beautiful.

You looked every piece a Valyrian Princess. The embodiment of fire and blood. The legacy of
dragons. The dress hugged your body perfectly and brought out the softness of your skin. Saria and
Aella brushed your hair, and braided it half up, half down.

You watched in the mirror as your mother walked forward, object in hand.

She lifted the headpiece up, placing it upon your head. It was heavier than expected. The V of the
front came down atop the front of your forehead. Gold beaded disks covered the top before arching
over the risen top. Intricate beaded designs then rose from the top of it, whilst long loops of beads
hung on the side of your face.

Tears fell from your eyes freely now at the vision.

If only things were different.

If only it wasn’t him.

If only it was under better circumstances. You would have been happy, you would have been
elated.

You should have been.

The door to the chambers opened and Jacaerys and Daemon entered once more, their feet slowing
as they watched you turn to look at them over your shoulder. Queen Rhaenyra’s hand landed on
your shoulder as you stood beside her.

Jacaerys stared at you, and you felt your resolve being to crumble.

Daemon’s composure broke. And the rising silence in the room was broken as he stalked towards
you, roughly grabbing the sides of your face as he looked at you.

“Sīr gevie,” (So beautiful,) He uttered, “Ñuha gevie tala.” (My beautiful daughter). New tears
flowed down your cheek as you leant into his touch, your mothers hand moving to the small of
your back in comfort.

Sniffing, you opened your eyes, smiling widely at your father.

"Avy jorrāelan.” (I love you.) You breathed, before looking at them all.

You straightened your back looking at them, the Rogue Princes hands dropping roughly to his
sides as you moved to kiss your brother upon his cheek.

The light of the room had risen as the sun rose higher in the sky, no longer a soft blue hue, but now
a warm pink. It instilled an anxious energy amongst you all, as you shifted on your feet.

The day was here, and they could not be.

“I will write to you.” You assured your mother, “Do not mourn me, mother. You will have your
throne, and I do not plan to give up my position as your Hand.” You smiled.

Ser Eryyk entered the chambers, bowing as he addressed you all.

“Your grace, the ships are ready for you.” He announced to the room.

It was time.

Rhaenyra stepped forth and pulled you to her, murmuring in your ear, “Sagon kostōba.” (Be
strong,) She breathed, “Do not endure more than you already have. Run if you need to. You mean
more to me than any crown would.”

She stepped back looking at you once more, eyes darting to Daemon who gave her a solemn nod
before moving towards Ser Eryyk, pausing as she waited for Jacaerys.

The young man stood still, not speaking, and not moving as he stared at you. You stepped towards
him. One step, then another, before you stood before him. You grabbed his arms as you looked at
him, before yanking him forward to hold him.

You felt him stiffen in your arms before his hands came to clutch at your robes at your back. His
chest heaved as you felt him fight off the tears.

“I will be okay, I swear.” You murmured in his ear, clutching him tighter.

“I know.” He whispered back.

He pushed away from you abruptly, smiling tightly as he nodded, before turning to leave with your
mother out the chamber doors, Ser Eryyk bowing before following as the remaining maid left with
them. The doors closed softly and you were left in the room with Daemon.

You spun to look at him as he stared at you. He stood leaning on one leg, hip jutted out and head
titled. He was dissecting you with his eyes.

“You can breathe now.” He sighed, and you felt the breath of air you had been holding fly from
your lips, hand coming to rub at your face roughly as you began to pace the room.

Only Daemon would see you like this.

You moved about the room as your father watched you, only stopping to pulling your shoes on
roughly. You heard the familiar screech of Syrax and knew that your mother and brothers had left
Dragonstone.

It was time to go.

Daemon walked with you slowly up the grassy hill to where the Maester had begun preparations.
The stone table outside and its melted candles dripped slowly from the sides, small flames licking
the red and cream wax in waiting.

Red and yellow strings hung across the space whilst long poles were stuck in the grassy ground,
intricate detailed sigils above them blew gently in the breeze.

Cups and bowls sat upon the candlelit alter, and you felt yourself take shaky steps as you looked
about.

All that were present were you, the Maester, and Daemon.

You stood in the breeze waiting, and it felt that the days that had gone so quickly had suddenly
slowed unbearably. Time seemed to drag its stubborn heels into the ground as you waited, and
waited for the presence of the One-Eyed Prince.
The breeze blew the skirts of your robes as you stood beside your father. His large hand had come
down to grip yours tightly in his grip, grounding you. It was the only thing that kept you firmly
planted where you were. The urge to run was so strong, and yet you kept yourself firmly beside
him.

You both watched the horizon, waiting for the Greens to arrive to Dragonstone. And as you waited,
the unbreakable silence came to be. The sun was high in the sky as it cast a gentle warmth across
the grassy hills, and rocky structures of the volcanic island.

Would he arrive on Vhagar? Would he burn you all without even blinking? Would an entire fleet
arrive and take you back to King’s Landing for a public execution?

“It’s not too late.” Your fathers voice interrupted your spiral.

You looked up at him beside you. He wore his riding leather, all black and stiff on his form.

He was ready to fight.

Dressed for battle, not celebration.

For you.

You squeezed his hand, “We need time.” You smiled small, before letting your eyes cast out
towards the horizon once more.

In the distance on the sea was a small ship. Barely a dot on the horizon as it approached you both.
Your heart raced in your chest as you looked along the rest of the horizon.

It was alone.

There was no war fleet heading your way. No battalion coming forth to make ruins of your home
and the people that resided there.

“Tala,” Daemon began again, holding your hand in both of his as he watched the ship get closer,
the three headed green dragon flying high upon its sails.

“Please.” He begged, and his mask slipped away, you saw the grief and anxiety of the man who
had helped to raise you. You let a shaky hand reach up to cup his cheek and his eyes closed,
pushing air out from his nose.

“I am your daughter,” You began, watching his face tense, “You should know by now I will not
make it easy for them.”

The Rogue Prince leant his head forward, pushing his forehead to press against yours, holding it
there as you both closed your eyes. A show of affection and love you had seen him give to your
mother time, and time again. To his brother who he had leant his head roughly against his shoulder,
and to you, as a child, and even now.

Some things never change.

You let yourself lean against him as you breathed heavily, preparing yourself for the inevitable, as
the ship behind you got closer and closer. Daemon shifted, lifting to press his lips against your
hairline before straightening, looking into the horizon.

At first you thought it was nothing.

But then you heard it again.

The soft roar of a dragon you had not heard since the night that changed everything.

You couldn’t breathe as you listened to Vhagar cry into the air again, closer this time, as she
approached Dragonstone, with your uncle fastened to her back.

You turned with your father, facing the expanse of the ocean as you watched the ship sail closer
and a large green mass fly slowly towards you. You blinked as you felt your stomach drop. But
you would not show them your weakness.

You stiffened and diverted your eyes to the alter as the Maester settled the cups and bowls upon the
table, gold rope and dragon glass placed neatly beside each other in preparation for the wedding
rights.

Vhagar’s loud cry echoed through the air and you felt your palm begin to sweat, one in your fathers
grip and the other unconsciously stroking your scarred side. You blinked away the fear and went to
turn your head away from the alter.

But there he was.

Beside the candles, to the back of the space, stood Lucerys in his black and red robes. He was not
drenched in water, nor bleeding from his eyes or mouth. His curly hair was brushed neatly atop his
head. The young boy watched you with a small smile on his lips.

He was here.

And suddenly you were not so alone.

 Farewell
Chapter Notes

Holy fuck. Here we are....

It is not an easy burden to bear, being a woman. It is far harder when you are the eldest daughter at
that. You will have to navigate your life at the whims of men. Stand pretty, but not too pretty. Be
confident, but not loud. Be quiet, but have wisdom.

To be a daughter is a paradox.

To be the eldest, is to be a second mother.

You have to mature, and fast, whilst your brothers are given the allowance to grow slowly, and
mature with age. You must support your parents and family at all times, and put the needs of your
blood above your own. You are to be the doting daughter, sister, mother, wife, maid, and servant
all in one.

To be a nymph and a maiden. A teacher and a student.

To be a woman is a terrible thing.

A life of struggle, doubled by the sex of your birth.

Today you were faced with the hardest sacrifice of all. And whilst you would never be ready for it,
your entire life had prepared you for this moment. To be wed to a man, who held no love for you.
A political move no doubt, despite the attempts of your mother.

A man who is cruel and unforgiving.

Many women had faced the same fate as you.

And you would endure it.

Daemon and you had watched as Vhagar flew above you, light green belly passing over the castle,
and the glimpse of a long scar on her back leg, courtesy of Syndor.

None of you were left unmarked.

Aemond, his eye.

You, your side.

The large, dark ship had moored itself down in the waiting docks below, the green banner of the
three headed dragon staring unforgivingly at you as it had approached.

A vision of misery.
A reminder of loss.

The harbinger of sorrows.

As you waited beside Daemon, two heads appeared, walking steadily up towards you both from
the long winding path that led to the lush greeneries where you stood. The long face of Otto
Hightower approached, flanked on his side by a helmeted Ser Criston Cole.

You felt your father start to move, and you uttered beneath your breath at him.

“Set aside your grievances, if not for mother, then for me.”

The Rogue Prince did not move after, standing beside you stiffly as they approached.

Otto wore deep green robes and Ser Criston Cole wore his armour, bright white cloak clasped on
his back. Such a funny thing to see on a man who had broken his vows.

The white cloak is to signify purity, yet this man had been nothing but filth.

Otto, despite being at war with your father for years before Viserys’ death, lowered his head stiffly
to address you both.

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted you.

You shifted on your feet.

“King Aegon wishes that he could be here to bear witness to this union, however he had more
pressing duties to the realm. I have come as his Hand to witness this union, and ensure the
agreements of his treaty.”

The Rogue Prince shifted, muttering beneath his breath in High Valyrian.

You nodded.

“The King in his wisdom,” Began the Hightower, looking just as pompous and self righteous as
you remembered, “Offered this treaty to your House out of duty to the realm and its people. Blood
needlessly spilt over the Iron Throne would destroy the realm, which was not the King’s wishes.
By splitting the realm into two,”

Movement caught your eye.

You watched as Aemond walked down the grassy knoll towards you, dressed in the traditional
garb of Valyria. The cream of the robes moved in the wind, whilst the seeping red brought out the
violet of his eye.

“Both King Aegon and Queen Rhaenyra may rule in seperate Kingdoms, bound to peace by this
unification of each House.”

Aemond’s sapphire eye shone in the light of the sun, the depth creating small stars within the
precious stone as he got closer to both you and your father. Wordlessly, Daemon turned to look at
you, to see one last time if you wished to run.

If you wished for him to fight.

You gave him a small smile, and that was all he needed.
Daemon walked to one end of the stone alter, opposite to where Otto and Ser Criston stood, where
the Hightower continued to rattle on about the farce of the treaty. Aemond’s eye never left you
once, and you felt heat rise into your cheeks.

The robes fit him well, and you fought the urge to accept that he looked handsome. He had pulled
half of his long, silver hair back, the top braided down gently, and you watched as he took
determined steps towards you.

Three Septon’s of House Targaryen walked up the path, large offerings in hand as they made their
way to the table as both you and Aemond stood together, staring at one another.

Reunited at last.

He towered over you, gazing at your face, and the headdress that sat upon your head.

There was no going back.

There was no running from this. There was no escape from the marriage that was about to be
affirmed, in the tradition of your House. There would be no more Dragonstone with your family,
and no more nights alone.

The Septon who had married your parents stepped forward beside you, as you walked to stand
before the alter together.

It was so quiet, so silent in the space, that only the sounds of waves, wind, and robes moving about
were heard. The gentle breeze brushed your hair over your shoulders, a slow shiver running
through your body.

The Septon wore a grey hooded cloak, with a golden vest atop, old Valyrian runes were
embroidered on the front as he began the ceremony, eyes peering at the both of you, and then to
your witnesses.

“Ānogar se perzys,” (Blood and fire) The Septon began, as the other two stood behind him, “Konir
sagon skoros mazverdagon Targārien Lentor” (That is what makes House Targaryen.)

Your eyes settled on Aemond’s face as the Septon continued to speak behind you, his words lost to
you as you looked upon your soon to be husband. His lone eye was soft as he gazed at you,
appreciative, drinking in every inch of your face.

His lips were not pulled into their usual smirk, nor their hard line, instead they were relaxed as he
watched you.

Your eyes inspected his scar closely, now that you were both still.

No bickering or fighting, nor moving or yelling, no violence or lust. Simply observing what you
had not been able to before. The scar was deep and the tissue had scarred a dark pink on his face.
The lid where his eye had been was rippled and torn, permanently opened to the world.

To witness his sins.

The skin around the flesh looked tired, dark and sore. You wondered if his scar brought him pain
to this day, if the nerves had grown badly into the scar tissue, bringing agony to him at random
hours.

You hoped that it did.

The sapphire was a choice that you would never understand. It was beautiful, polished and shaped
to fit perfectly within the empty socket, and shone under certain lights. Your fingers itched to reach
up and touch it, to feel the smooth precious stone lodged inside of his head.

You clenched your fist instead.

As you observed him, he observed you.

A lazy smile pulled from the corner of his lips. The most his mouth had moved this entire time. He
had not greeted you when he arrived, he had not taunted you, nor had he mocked you. Instead he
was quiet in waiting.

“Perzys.” (Fire) The Septon spoke, handing two lone unlit candles into either of your hands.

You both took the candles from the Septon, before each lighting the others with a soft lit wick. You
held the wick to his candle, watching it come to life, and stared as Aemond’s long fingers moved
forward to do the same to yours.

When both candles were lit, you let yourself look up at him. He was already watching you.

You turned to place the candles upon the many others on the stone alter, securing your position in
Valyrian ritual, ensuring your candles sat amongst the many others who had placed theirs before
you.

“Se ānogar.” (And blood).

Your heart raced in your chest as you watched Aemond pick up the sharp blade of dragon glass
from the alter beside you. It looked so small in his grip as he moved forward towards you, slowly.

You flinched as he lifted his hand up. His face remained still.

Slowly Aemond dragged the dragon glass down your bottom lip, almost with reverence, almost
with care, as you felt the stinging slice cut through the soft flesh of your lip.

How many times had he cut you? How much blood had he taken from you forcefully? How many
times had he watched you bleed at his hands?

But this time, it was different.

This time, you let him.

You swallowed thickly, his eye drawn to the blood that had been to leak from the cut he made.

His hand came up gently, thumb pressing into the slit, causing a dull sting, as he swiped blood onto
his digit. He did so reverently, with caution and a carefulness you could not place. It was ritualistic,
and confident.

It was intimate, and it was almost more than you could bear.

It made your heart race and your stomach flip as he lifted his thumb gently, running the warm wet
blood of your lips down the middle of your forehead between your brows.

And then his palm opened to you, small blade resting atop his large hand. Hands that had killed,
hands that had been inside of you. Hands that had forced yours into this marriage.

Your own grabbed the black dragon glass, lifting it up to his lips, less gentle as he had been, more
anger than you should’ve had, and sliced roughly into his bottom lip.

His eye fluttered close as you dragged the blade down, revelling in seeing his blood pool from the
cut, before you pressed your thumb sharply into it.

You wished to hurt him, you wished to maim, but you paused as your thumb pressed against his lip.

His violet eye opened to watch you, as you held your breath.

Thumb pressed to his forehead, you drew an arrow with his blood, where he had drawn on you.
You felt the smooth wet blood spread against his skin, its warmth diminishing as your hand
lingered. The One-Eyed Prince looked down at you from his height as he breathed deeply.

Taking the blade from you, he cut into his palm, the skin pulling apart gently, blood quickly rising
to the surface and pooling in his palm. You grasped the blade and moved to do the same but
stopped.

You looked as the tip of the blade pressed into the scar of your palm. The skin was raised where
you had once grasped a piece of mirror, before plunging into the man before you’s shoulder.

Aemond blew out a sharp breath out of his nose as he waited. You pressed the tip into the scar and
dragged down slowly, revelling in the pain as you watched blood rise from the cut, the Septon’s
voice pulled you away from your thoughts.

“Hen lantoti anogar.” (Blood of two.)

Aemond’s hand pulled the blade away from you, placing it on the alter beside you, before he
gripped his bleeding hand with yours. A sharp stinging shot through your hands as he held onto
you, mixing your blood together.

It was the first time he had held you so softly since you were children.

The Septon stepped forth to wrap red cloth around your bound hands, as you stared at each other.

“Va syndroti. Vaedroma.” (Joined as one. Ghostly flame.)

Another Septon stepped forth, handing the officiant another strip of material, soft black and
embroidered in gold as he gently wrapped it about your hands, keeping them tightly together. You
watched as blood began to drip from where you hands met, the thick liquid dripping onto the rock
and grass below.

Joined as one.

Your blood and his.

Coursing through each other's veins.

A bond that cannot be undone.

A goblet was placed in your hand and you pulled to sip it, the unfamiliar burn laying on your
tongue before slowly sliding down your throat as you swallowed.

“Mero perzot gihoti. Eledroma iarza sir.” (And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers.)

Aemond’s hand reached forth to grasp the goblet from you, his fingers grazing yours.
It felt so wrong.

So wrong to hold him like this.

So wrong to be wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, and the mighty House Targaryen.

It felt wrong to feel a spark of something in your heart, and emotion you couldn’t quite out your
finger on as he slowly raised the goblet to his lips, eye on you as he drank deeply.

“Izuli ampa perzi. Prumi lanti seteksi. Hen jeny mazilarion. Qelossa ozundesi. Syndroro ono jedo.”
(Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken
through time.)

And as you stood together, and the breeze brushed against your legs, you let your eye stray beside
you, to where Lucerys had been, to where he had been you watching you the whole time.

But now stood empty space, and that little piece of loss made you squeeze against Aemond’s hand
in your grip, blood seeping out in thick rivulets into the cloths, before dropping to the earth below.

“Ry kivia mazvestraksi.” (Of darkness and light.) The Septon ended, and you felt a small piece end
with you.

You gazed at each other, waiting to move, waiting for the inevitable to happen and you felt your
heart race faster in your chest, shuffling on your feet before Aemond stepped forward, closer to
you, his face in front of yours, nose almost brushing each other.

And then he closed the gap, lips coming to brush against yours gently at first as your eyes slid shut.
You held still as he came closer, free hand coming to grasp the back of your neck, so soft, so unlike
him that it almost startled you.

It was so unlike him that wondered if it was him.

His tongue pressed up against the cut on your lip, pushing sharply into it as he licked the blood,
causing you to quietly gasp, mouth opening. He deepened the kiss, and you followed, nipping
roughly at him, making the hand at the back of your head grip your hair roughly.

And as suddenly as a warmth began to pool in your stomach, he pulled away, eye wild and lips
smeared with the both of yours blood.

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” Aemond purred, looking down at your lips as
his tongue darted out to lick away at the blood that had begun to drip down from his mouth. (One
flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.)

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” You repeated back, voice quiet.

You both stood and waited as the Septon’s came fourth and undid the binding of your hands, gentle
fingers pulling the ceremonial rope away, leaving your hand still firmly clasped in his, blood
leaking slowly as your hand began to throb.

The peace was broken.

One small word. One little utterance under his breath was all it took for the gentleness of the
ceremony to disappear. To wither and die, right before your eyes.

“Wife.”
Your husband purred, testing the word on his tongue as he smiled, hand tensing in your shared
grip, causing more blood to leak from the union of flesh.

“In the eyes of the Seven, and witnessed by King Aegon the Second’s Hand, the marriage of treaty
between Prince Aemond, First of his Name, and Princess Y/n, First of Her Name, of House
Targaryen has been confirmed.” Otto’s voice rung out into the air.

Your grip on Aemond’s hand faltered and he let yours go, your hand limply falling beside you as
you turned to face your father who looked at you in both awe and pity. You found your legs taking
you to race towards him before you could stop yourself. You threw yourself into his arms, his
hands catching you as he held you against him, eyes piercing a hole through Aemond.

“Shh, you did good. I am so proud of you.” He cooed quietly into your hair.

You pulled back away from him, nodding gently.

“We will have the Princess’ belongings brought down to the ship, before we make our voyage
back to King's Landing.” Otto continued.

And then it was over.

The ceremony was complete.

And you had been wed to a man who you never thought you would have since you were a child.
Back when things were simpler between the two of you. Back when things were not murky, or
clouded with hate, and loss and despair.

You had thought when young, how good it would have been to be wed to him. How kind of a
husband he would have been to you. How you could continue to read and play and enjoy each
other's company.

Back when he had done no wrong.

Back when he had not lost his eye, or become the cruel man he was now. Back when you had an
unbreakable bond, though nothing lasts forever.

Life included.

There would be no celebrations. There would be no joyous dinner. There would be no families
coming together to celebrate the union, or end of the war. Because there was nothing to celebrate.
There was no joy. And there would be no reunion of blood.

You all but raced back into the castle, sparing neither your father nor husband a glance as you
moved to ready yourself to leave. Each step closer you got, the more your feet became heavy until
suddenly you were standing outside of your chambers staring at Ser Darke.

Your knight looked you up and down before giving you a soft and sad smile, opening the chamber
doors, but you would not enter. You shifted on your feet, trying to delay the inevitable as you
watched the dark haired knight step forward towards you.

“I wish I could come with you, My Lady. To protect you, as I was sworn to do.”

You inhaled deeply and then out.

“But you cannot, and so I ask you to protect them all in my absence. You are sworn to me, and
must do as I command-“

“You do not need to command me to do this for you.” The Knight smiled, and you were grateful,
as you gave him a short tight hug before entering the chambers where Saria and Aella waited.

Neither spoke a word to you as they undressed you, before you pulled on your riding leathers. They
worked gently to quickly buckle you in before saying short and strained goodbyes.

You promised them you would be back, and they promised to wait in your absence. But you felt
that they did not truly believe you.

You could not waste more time saying goodbyes, more time waiting about in the castle, avoiding
the fate and future that lingered outside of Dragonstone’s walls. When you exited your chambers,
your father stood waiting with your knight, both silent as he walked you towards the front of the
castle doors.

Aemond, Otto and Ser Criston were all waiting for your arrival.

Aemond was now dressed back into his dark leather riding garb too, and he looked you up and
down shamelessly. The blood on his forehead and lips had not been wiped away, much like yours,
and his hands were held tightly behind his back.

Your palm itched.

“The Princess will join us on our ship back to King’s Landing. Your belongings have been loaded
for you.” Otto spoke, looking down his nose at you as Aemond smiled gently.

You turned to Daemon as he looked at you, before you stepped to hug him once last time. One last
time for Gods know how long, would you be able to hug your father. To hold him. To smell his
familiar and calming scent.

One last time in his presence.

It would never be enough.

The Rogue Prince pulled you tightly against him, placing a lingering kiss atop your head before
muttering quietly.

“Dracarys, ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” (Dracarys, my little warrior.)

You buried your head further into his chest before pulling away.

“I’ll write to you.” You promised.

“When you are ready, Princess.” Otto interrupted, rushing you to leave.

You could not bear to linger any longer. Nor look at your fathers saddened gaze. It would break
you. It would make you not leave. And so you forced yourself to go, before you broke in front of
them all.

And with that you turned on the balls of your feet as you made your way to move up Dragonmont.

They were mad if they thought you would leave your dragon here.

They were mad if they thought they could seperate a Targaryen from their dragon.
“Princess!” Otto called after you, but you pushed on, hearing your fathers laugh in the air, which
served to make you smile.

Truly smile, for the first time that morning.

 The Return to Kings Landing
Chapter Notes

Whelp... I wish that was me. Not really though.... unless.....

You had walked quickly up to Dragonmont, finding Vermithor before mounting him, brushing his
bronze scales as you looked about the island, to commit it to your memory. Footsteps of another
had interrupted your gazing, as Aemond rounded a cliff and came to stop, looking at you atop the
Bronze Fury.

You could have sworn you saw your husband smirked, but paid no mind to it, commanding the
large bronze dragon into the sky to fly back to what you used to call home. Not too long after, the
sound of familiar grumble came from behind and your heart had skipped a beat, looking back to
see Vhagar and your uncle seated atop.

This time she was not chasing you.

This time she flew with you.

The flight to Kings Landing was not too long of a journey, and you had allowed yourself to silently
cry atop the dragon as Dragonstone became smaller, and smaller behind you. It was something you
could do alone on your dragon, despite the burning presence of Aemond, who now flew ahead of
you.

As King’s Landing came closer, the sun had begun to set, casting a rusty glow across the vast stone
structures. Vermithor landed down near the entrance to the Dragon Pit, where Syndor had once
waited for you. Letting you slide from his back, your fingers stroked the ropes Jacaerys had put on
him before he took off to the skies again, leaving you at the mouth of the cave.

You let your feet carry you through the pit, walking into the Keep alone. Not waiting for Aemond,
and wherever he was, to escort you inside.

If this was to be your home, then you would act like it.

Although, it was odd to be back in truth.

To be back in a place where you had not long ago escaped from. To be back where so much had
happened. To willingly walk yourself right back into the vipers nest. To where so many horrors
had been witnessed and committed in the name of the crown.

In the name of the Targaryen legacy.

And whilst you let yourself walk without purpose, you found your feet had led you somewhere you
had always sought solace in times of need.

The Godswood stood tall, and exactly where it had before. Its dark ruby leaves moved gently in the
breeze and night began to fall over the realm. Its bark was still rough to the touch as you let your
fingers graze over it.

It was the one thing in the Keep that had remained the same.

The one thing that had stayed true.

As you rested your cut palm against the bark, you watched as a small part of coagulated blood
pulled away from the skin, causing new blood to flow. The dark, red liquid dripped gently onto the
bark of the tree, starkly standing out against the brown of the bark.

You looked at the face of the tree, staring at it as you dug your palm sharply into its surface,
feeling the sharp edges of wood dig into the open cut of your hand.

It was grounding, that pain.

Made you focus on one thing, instead of the racing thoughts inside of your head.

Servants walked through the halls and corridors, and passed through the courtyard where you
stood. None stopping to greet you, nor stopping to report you. It seemed that they were all aware of
the reasoning to your presence, and to your return.

You closed your eyes, praying to the old Gods to hear you. To save you. To take mercy upon you.
To forgive you of your sins. Of your wrongdoings.

To protect you from what was to come.

And as you prayed, you felt someones gaze upon you, skin prickling with unease. You ignored it
and kept on, lips softly moving as you begged for mercy and forgiveness.

“The God’s won’t hear your prayers.” Came the soft voice of your husband.

You balled your hand by your side into a fist as you were pulled from your prayers, attempting to
desperately start again.

Please Gods, let me survive thi-

“Come. I will show you to our chambers.”

Our chambers.

Our.

You let your hand slide from the bark of the tree, taking one last glance at the red leaves above you
before you turned to face Aemond. He stood not too far way, in his riding leathers, hands held
behind his back and posture stiff. His lips were pulled into a soft smile and it made you nervous.

Why was he smiling at you like that?

What was wrong with him?

You lifted an unsure foot over the roots, and began to walk down the grass towards him, watching
as your husbands smile grew wider. The blood on his lips had mostly gone, from flaking away or
perhaps the gentle lapping of his own tongue.

Though the blood on his forehead was untouched. It had dried a darker shade, almost a deep brown
like the bark of the tree.
His posture was so similar to how he had been at Storm’s End. Leg lazily jutted out with his arms
behind his back. That smile you realised, was most likely a smug one.

The cat who got the cream.

The man who finally got the wife he wanted.

“I wish to return to my old chambers.” You spoke, and you watched as Aemond’s head tilted to the
side, as he lazily looked you up and down.

“No.” Was all he said before he turned, not waiting for you to follow him.

You stood unmoving as you watched him leave, feet carrying him swiftly across the grass to the
cobblestones. You thought of not following him, and returning to your own chambers. But you did
not know if it would be locked or guarded, nor did you know of how he would react.

Now was not the time to be a steadfast fool.

And so you let your feet carry you towards him, following the man like a dutiful wife, albeit ten to
fifteen paces behind him. Watching his legs work, and his hands that were clutched tightly behind
his back. Hands that were now permitted to touch you. Hands that would undoubtedly bring you
pain and suffering.

One hand gripped the others wrist, the cut hand on display as dried blood had begun to settle on his
palm and finger tips. You watched it flex and tighten, fingers digging into the cut at random as he
continued onwards to his wing of the Red Keep.

You wondered if it would be his chambers, or new ones. If you were to return to the chambers you
had been in, not so long ago, makeshift dagger in hand as you plunged it into the soft flesh of his
shoulder. You wondered if he would disrobe himself before he took you. If you would get to see
with your own eyes the damage you had done to him.

Not unlike how he would see the scars he had given to you upon your body. Almost too many to
count during such a short period of time. He had truly put his mark on you in every way possible.

Your body.

Your heart.

Your mind.

Every piece of you now belonged to him.

The castle began to darken from the setting sun, and the torches along the corridor served to light
the path ahead. Aemond did not pause, nor did he slow down as he approached his chambers.

The chambers you had been in before.

So there was no new chambers for you. Just the haunting memory of the old one. You wondered if
it kept him awake at night? Or if he stayed there to serve as a reminder of what you had done to
him.

As he approached, a knight pulled open the doors for him, nodding his head to you both. You
watched as his silver hair disappeared into the chambers and you slowed your step. You could not
make a run for it. You know you couldn’t, but your body wanted to.
Your mind wished for you to run, to escape the inevitable of what was to come.

You knew what was expected of you the moment you entered those chambers. Now that you were
man and wife, it needed to be consummated. But this did not mean that despite knowing, that you
would ever be ready for it.

You had always thought it would be different.

Perhaps loving and gentle, shared with someone you loved. Perhaps if Aemond hadn’t grown into
the man he was now, you would have willingly given it to him. The thought made your heart rise
into your throat as you palms began to feel cold and clammy.

Step after step, you slowly moved forward to seal your doom.

When you reached the knight at the door, he waited for you to enter, not looking at you, instead
looking over your head as though you weren’t even there. Clearing your throat, you straightened
your back and held your head high, before swiftly walking into the dark green chambers.

It was as you had remembered, though this time, brighter. The fire place raged with flames, and
candles were lit upon every surface to light the room. Your eyes flitted to the side of the bed, and
the passage in which you had snuck through to get him.

It was still there, and he had not blocked, nor barricaded it.

“You wouldn’t be able to leave that way, if that’s what you are thinking of.” His voice called
across the room.

Aemond stood to the side, filling two cups full of spiced wine, not even looking at you. He must
have sensed or known that your eyes would flit straight there. As his large hands grasped the wine,
he made his way towards you, holding a cup out.

It was almost like an offering of peace.

A treaty.

You timidly grasped the wine from him, and he watched you with a hum, before he pulled his
goblet up to his lips and sipped deeply, turning to go sit in an armchair by the fire. You stood
where you were, in the middle of the room, near a large round table that was surrounded by six
chairs. Books sat atop the table, and one in particular caught your eye.

Atop the table, in a pile, was your book.

Faded red cover, golden lettering and all.

How?

“Sit.” Your uncle beckonned, eye not having left the fireplace.

Slowly you walked towards him, before sitting in the chaise opposite, letting your eyes roam over
his form.

Aemond sat lazily, and comfortably in his large green armchair. Hand holding the goblet as he
sipped, whilst the other rested upon the arm of the chair. It reminded you of the first night he had
snuck into your chambers.

“Drink.” He commanded, and you obeyed.

You would not argue with that.

You would surely need wine for what was to come.

Would it be painful? Would he enjoy hurting you? Would you bleed as you had been told you
would?

You pulled the goblet up to your lips and emptied it, resting the cup in your lap as your fingers
trailer over the rim, waiting for his next command to strip and lay on the bed for him.

To lay spread for him.

To be ready for his brutality.

But he didn’t.

And instead, your husband continued to sip the wine, not talking, nor moving, until his cup was
empty too. Once his goblet was dry, and he had sat for many moments more, he turned his face to
look at you.

The light from the fire cast a sharp shadow across his face, causing his already pointed features to
look more defined. He was hauntingly beautiful you mused.

A shame.

And a waste.

“The King wishes for us to dine with him this evening. To celebrate our union.” Aemond told you,
eye roaming to where your hands had stilled at the lip of the cup.

Aegon.

You were to dine with Aegon this evening.

Memories of your last meeting in the dungeon flashed through your mind. His hands on your
throat, the feeling of his cock brushing roughly against your sex. Nausea began to roll through your
body, and your heart ran a marathon within your chest.

“He will not touch you.”

Aemond’s voice pulled you from the dark memories of your mind. You blinked at him uncertain.

Aegon may not touch you, but Aemond surely would.

And you did not know who would be worse.

For all of Aegon’s devious desires, they were laid bare to the world. He did not hide himself nor
his actions. Where as Aemond held his close to him. He did not let anyone know of the man he
truly was, nor what he truly desired.

What was worse?

The knowing of such cruelty, or the unknown of what cruelty lies before you.

Aemond watched as you spiralled with your thoughts before he abruptly stood. He stalked towards
you, looking down as you clutched harder at the cup in your lap. A large hand came towards you
and you could not help but flinch at the movement.

If he noticed you jump, it did not stop him, as he plucked the goblet from your hand, moving to the
side of the room, to place both of your empty cups back where the decanter was.

“I will have the maids come and dress you for the evening.”

Aemond swiftly walked across the room, opening the door before exiting, leaving you in the vast
emptiness of the space of the chambers that you would now call yours.

Chambers that you would now live and breathe in for Gods knew how long. Chambers that you
would eat, and sleep and bathe in. Chambers in which you would share a bed with your husband,
and have him put his seed in you.

Chambers where you may begin to swell with a child.

It was all so much, that you found you could not even cry at the thought. You do not know how
long you spent sitting where you sat, eyes still on the fire, that when the maids came to pull the
heavy riding leathers from your body, and replace them with robes for dinner, you did not resist.

Nor did you resist when the familiar gaze of your now husband watched on as they stripped you.
Nor did you resist when he crowded you so suddenly, hand on the small of your back, as he moved
to lead you out of your chambers towards the dining room you had all dined in before.

It was not until you were halfway there did you come back to yourself.

It was not until your feet had begun to feel heavy, and the scarring on your side began to feel tight,
did you realise you stood in the corridor, with Aemond standing beside you, eye half lidded as he
looked at you.

It was not until then you realised you had stopped walking, and noticed your surroundings.

“Zaldristos.” Aemond uttered, as he looked down at you.

That was what broke the spell.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at yourself.

You wore a deep red dress, almost the colour of your combined blood. It was tight, but not too
tight, the sleeves were soft, and upon each wrist were embroidered dragons.

One the left side, a black dragon, embroidered scales shimmering in the light of the torches.

One the right, a green dragon.

A dress you had not seen before.

As you looked at the gown, Aemond hummed, moving forward again, neither touching you nor
waiting for you to follow. You were left to trail behind him towards the familiar wooden doors,
with their soft rounded tops.

He waited at the entrance for you, as the two knights held each side, only when you stood beside
him did the doors open, and the room was revealed to you.

It had changed.
There were no familiar curtains or tapestry on the walls. The table had been replaced and the chairs
reupholstered. The room had no sigils of the House Targaryen, and instead were replaced with
gaudy green tapestry, and symbols of the Seven Faith.

What was left of the small reminder of home was now gone.

Alicent had been busy.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen, and his Lady Wife, the Princess Y/n Velaryon.” Came the low timber
of Ser Criston Cole.

Lady Wife.

His.

It felt so strange.

Your eyes settled to the table.

Aegon sat where your Grandsire once had.

It was wrong.

Unnatural.

To see the seat where Viserys had sat, and laughed, and smiled with vigour, to now be replaced
with someone who sneered, and drank, and whored, was blasphemous.

The conquerors crown sat heavily atop his wavy hair, and deep green robes were upon his person.
On his right sat his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and his left, Ser Otto Hightower.

Further along the table sat Lord Larys Strong.

And as you looked at him, you could scarcely see any resemblance to his brother, Ser Harwin
Strong. You wondered what he thought of Aemond slaying his entire House?

But he was most likely just as vicious, having become the Master of Whispers to the Queen, and
now your uncle, the King. His face held an odd look to it. He had sad brown eyes, and was built
thinly.

A lean man with no strength of his body, only his mind.

A dangerous man indeed.

You had heard and only witnessed once yourself that the man had a clubbed foot. Perhaps his
family gave him grievances like yours had to Aemond.

Perhaps he was relived to be rid of them.

Lord Jasper Wilde, and a familiar blond head of Lord Tyland Lannister sat at the table, watching
you silently as you walked up the few small stairs to the table.

You were in the presence of the Kings Small Council.

They had all been invited to witness the proof of your union, and proof of your despair.
“There they are!” Came the sickening boom of Aegon’s voice as he roughly pushed himself up to
stand, palms opening out widely as he smiled smugly at you.

“The newly weds! Congratulations on your union brother,” Aegon kept his eyes on you as he
spoke, “And welcome back to the Keep, Princess. You left without so much as a goodbye last time
you were here.”

He was goading you.

As you reached the level ground, Aemond stepped forth and pulled a chair back for you, looking at
you expectantly to sit in it. You hesitated, before coming forth and sitting in the chair as he pulled
out his own and seated himself.

Alicent’s watchful gaze did not leave yours.

Her face was unreadable, but the same sour, downturned lips you had gotten used to as a child was
ever present. You felt the gaze of everyone at the table upon you. You held your fingers in your
lap, digging your nails into the cut of your palm, which was now bandaged from the maids.

You had not even felt them do it.

“Apologies that I could not make it to witness such a beautiful union. But now we can celebrate
together.” The Usurper King continued, clapping his hands loudly together.

You did not take your eyes from Alicent, keeping your gaze locked on her as he spoke.

This is what you have done.

You started this.

Your only solace was knowing that you had taken one of her sons, the way she had taken Lucerys
from you and your mother.

You heard the giggle of Aegon as his hands clapped together again in excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve heard my niece be so quiet before. Have you broken her already, Aemond?”

You grit your teeth, and pushed your finger deeper into your palm, feeling the bandages wet, and
still, you kept your eye on the woman who started it all.

Aemond simply hummed, before acknowledging his mother who sat opposite him.

“Don't tell me she has snatched your voice too, brother? One minute in her cunt and already you’ve
gone soft.” Aegon snickered.

“Aegon.” Came the warning voice of Otto Hightower.

The energy at the table was so tense, that even the guards and knights stationed about the room
shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

“It is good to have you back in King's Landing,” Otto began, “I am sure that you and Aemond shall
settle in together in no time.” He gave you a warm smile, and it made you more uncomfortable
than Aegon’s comments.

Aegon let out a high pitched laugh though his nose, before clicking his fingers out beside his head.
The noise and movement made you stiffen.
Alicent witnessed the reaction.

And soon the table was being filled with foods and more wine, your own goblet being filled, which
you snatched from the table and emptied rapidly. Aegon watching, smile widening.

As the Usurper King sat back in his large chair and drank from his cup, he kept his eyes on you as
he told you of plans for the treaty and how it would work. Insisting that the North would surely
love to have your mother as their Queen, which the both of you knew; they wouldn’t.

In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table knew.

Just as you had expected.

When your plate was filled with foods, you found that you had no appetite for it, instead turning to
your cup, which you drank from heavily, having it refilled by the cup bearers more than thrice.

And before long, conversation flittered around the table stiffly about the union, and expectation for
children, much to Aegon’s delight, and your disgust. And so you let yourself retreat back into your
mind, letting their words become a distant hum as you stared at Alicent, drinking from your cup.

The Dowager Queen did not sit still as you stared at her. Her eyes would meet yours and flit away
to look at the three Lords at the table and her sons, before she would gaze back at you, finding that
you had not moved her from your sights.

“Tell me brother, have you bed her yet?” Aegon’s voice pulled you from your numb haze.

No reply came.

“Do you remember how it is done? I’d be happy to show you.” He snickered, and the Lannister let
out an uneasy laugh.

Alicent growled Aegon’s name again and Otto began to speak before Aegon interrupted him.

“We should hold a bedding ceremony, to ensure that the deed is done properly. I can talk you
through it.”

You let your gaze leave Alicent for the first time, and turned your head to look at your husband
beside you, who sat straight in his chair, hands bunched in balls by his side.

His jaw was tight and tensed, and his brow was furrowed.

“Come now brother, surely you have not forgotten what I showed you on your thirteenth name
day.” Aegon laughed, pulling his goblet up to his lips.

You watched as Aemond’s mouth pulled into a sneer.

“The King is merely joking with you, My Prince. We are all in good spirits for this union.” Otto
tried, and failed to cover for the King.

“You heard the old bat, we are all in good spirits! You are finally wed to the one woman who had
given you any attention at all. Sure, she is a bastard-“

“Watch your tongue.” You sneered at the King, resolve disappearing.

“So she speaks!” Aegon declared proudly to the table, looking at the Lords as they all smiled
unsurely, “Finally. There is my niece who I know and love. Though I fear if you are able to speak,
perhaps my brother did not fuc-“

Aemond shot up from his seat at the table, fists tight on the wood near his plate as he stared down
at his hands. You looked up at your husband who breathed deeply, knuckles white as he fisted
them.

“Aem, brother.” Aegon mock cooed, “You know I am only teasing. Come,” He looked across the
table, picking up his goblet, “Lets raise our cups to this fine union!”

The Lord’s and the Dowager Queen picked up their cups, holding them towards you both.

You kept your gaze on Aemond, whose head slowly turned to you to meet your eyes, his violet orb
half lidded and scowl upon his lips. He looked full of rage, just barely controlled beneath the
surface of his bristling posture.

Your hand came up on its own, to reach out to touch him, to calm him, but as soon as your hand
moved, you found that Aemond looked down at in in disgust before he seated himself, no longer
looking at you, instead stiffly grabbing his goblet before him.

You mirrored his action, trying to push down your budding fear and anxiety, now that Aegon and
riled him up.

He had done it on purpose.

“To my brother, may she warm your heart and your cock, and may you make me a grand-uncle
soon enough.” He smirked, before turning his gaze on you, “And to my wonderful niece, may you
warm his bed, and birth his heirs, and feel the warmth of his love.”

“Hear, Hear!” Came the confident voice of Tyland Lannister, followed by everyone else,
seemingly ignoring his crude remarks.

Or perhaps, they had gotten used to it by now.

He was their King, whether they liked it or not.

Neither you nor Aemond spoke, but drank deeply from your cups, before placing them down.

A beat passed before Aemond spoke.

“Excuse us,” His voice cut across the table, stilling the King in his excitement, “I wish to spend
time with my wife.”

Your husband stood from his seat, moving to stand beside yours waiting. He did not hold out his
hand, nor offer to assist you in any way, simply stood and expected you to follow as he bid the
table a good night, bowing stiffly to his brother, anger rolling from him in waves.

Standing you stared once more at Alicent, before turning on your heel to follow Aemond out of the
dining hall, and back to your shared chambers. You did not spare a glance to Aegon, nor the other
Lord’s, nor did you spare a glance at your husbands face.

You let Aemond lead you to the chambers, his strides quick and purposeful, until finally you
reached the room, and you were inside, and the door behind you was shut softly with a thud by the
knights.

And then you were alone, with your husband Aemond, on the night of your wedding.
 Duty
Chapter Notes

Alright you horny little fuckers.... Here we are.... And here I must warn you and
remind you this is a DARK FIC. Please read the tags and warning.

TW: Rape, Noncon

Please read with caution.

<3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Septa Daella had told you when you were younger, that once you became of age, you would be
married to a fine Lord of the realm.

That your duty to the realm required it, and that you would birth his children, as expected by
tradition.

A woman’s duty to her husband could be measured in many ways.

To honour him and obey his word, was what the Septa had drilled into you most fiercely.

To build the home, and support the husband in his ambitions, was another.

To bear his children was an expectation, and a reality in which no wife could escape, unless her
womb be barren.

And that is the greatest shame there was.

‘What good was a wife if she did not grow her husbands seed?' The Septa had said.

When you had your first bleed, you were so frightened that you could not leave your bed. You had
sat in the white sheets, and looked down at your shift and mattress, stained red with your blood.
You had cried fiercely and curled in on yourself, as the sharp cramps pulled through your body.

You had been ten-and-two.

You had expected then, and there that since you had bled, that a marriage would soon be put forth.

Your mother Rhaenyra had come to your chambers at the request of your maids, who could not get
you to leave your bed. Upon seeing you, she had sat and held you, letting you cry nonsense into her
chest as she brushed your hair with a gentleness that only she possessed.

Rhaenyra had held you against her and promised that she would not send you away, nor would
your betrothal come any time soon. She had called for the maids to bring you a warm bath with
lavender oil, as well as fresh sheets to change your bed.

She had congratulated you on becoming a woman, and soon enough, your father Daemon had
congratulated you too. And suddenly becoming a woman became less scary for you. Rhaenyra
taught you of how to tend to yourself during your bleeds, and even reassured you of any questions
that you had had.

And as you got older, and watched your siblings be readied to be betrothed, you had more
questions. Rhaenyra however, was not who answered your burning inquiries.

Daemon had.

‘A good husband should bring his wife pleasure, not pain. He should kiss the ground she walks
upon, and worship her as the God she is.' He had said.

'Are women not the closest beings to gods? Targaryen women even more so. For who else can
grow life the way you do?’

‘Marriage can be political, though you can find your pleasures elsewhere. You needn’t suffer a
dead marital bed.’ He had encouraged.

Yet despite your mothers reassurance, the Septa’s teachings, and your fathers words, you found
that in this moment you could not imagine that Aemond, as your husband, would ever bring you
pleasure, nor worship any ground that your feet stepped upon.

Aemond had walked straight to the decanter of wine, pouring himself a full goblet, and sitting upon
the armchair where he had been when you first arrived. You followed his movement, picking up
the heavy wine and pouring it slowly into your own cup.

You looked down at the deep, red liquid.

It reminded you of blood.

Blood from your first bleed. Blood from when Aemond’s eye had been taken. Blood from your
feet, your hands, and side. Blood that you had drawn from him in return.

Blood from your mother.

Blood from your brother.

And blood that Aemond would soon draw from you once again.

Your feet carried you to sit at the chaise, uncomfortable and stiff, perched on the edge of your seat
ready to run. But you could not run.

And you wouldn’t.

Anger rolled off of Aemond in waves as he sat, eye locked onto the flames of the fire place, one
hand gripping the goblet tightly, whilst the other sat in a fist on the arm of the chair. His shoulders
were stiff, and his chest rose and fell shakily.

Aegon’s words at dinner had stoked the fire in Aemond, and he had known that you would bear the
brunt of it. One of Septa Daella's lessons rose in your mind.

‘Soothe your husbands worries. Tend to his wounds.’

Pulling the goblet up to your lips you drank deeply, feeling the sharp burn of the spiced wine
pooling in your empty stomach, the glow of alcohol having slowly bloomed within.
You watched him empty his goblet.

You need to calm him. To soothe him.

For yourself.

Standing, you placed your wine down on the table before you, as you slowly walked towards him,
cautious to not startle him or crowd him, lest he come at you like a boar.

As you got closer, you could see the scowl on Aemond’s face.

His lips were pulled tightly into a familiar line, and his brows were so deeply furrowed, that his
scar wrinkled upon the stretch of his face.

Aemond snapped his head towards you at your slow approach, and you found your hands curling
into small fists, as if to protect yourself, at your front.

“Would you like some more wine, husband?” The word felt foreign on your tongue.

Husband.

It felt heavy, and held a sour aftertaste.

Aemond watched you closely, eye roaming your body, stopping on your closed hands before his
eye slid back to your face.

You held your breath.

The silence in the room was so uncomfortable, you shifted on your feet as he continued to observe
you with scrutiny. You were about to move back to sit in your seat in silence, and drain the rest of
your cup and the decanter back at the wall, when he wordlessly raised his goblet towards you, eye
back on the fire.

Pulling the cup from his hand a little more roughly than you should have, you moved towards the
side of the room to fill it up for him. You took your time filling it, looking down at the cup as your
stared at your hands, bandage wrapped tightly around one.

“Why ask if you’re not going to do it.” Came the snarky voice behind you.

You clenched your jaw, back still facing him, before you snatched the cup from the table, wine
almost spilling over the lip, as you walked back towards him, holding it out expectantly.

Aemond watched you the entire way, and smirked up at you, not taking his goblet from your hand.

Your teeth ground down against each other as he still did not move to take the cup from you. And
so you turned on your heel, placing the wine heavily on the table in front you both, as you moved
to the side of the room to grab the decanter, filling up your cup to the brim.

“Gīda ilagon, zaldrītsos.” (Calm down, little dragon.) Aemond purred, reaching forward to grasp
his goblet, drinking as he watched you.

By now the wine had settled strongly in your stomach, coursing through your veins. You felt the
familiar heat of alcohol rise in your cheeks and in your chest, as you leant back looking into the
fire. Aemond let out a small humming laugh as he drank, anger still radiating from him despite his
teasing.
“You’ve been exceptionally quiet this evening. I expected more from you.” He mused, eye back on
the flames.

Irritated, you took an angry gulp of wine, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

Do not let him goad you.

“Are you feeling well, wife?” He asked boredly.

Do not let him goad you.

“Quite well, thank you, husband.” You said back flatly.

A hum came in response.

Aemond pulled his goblet up to his lips, drinking. It seemed the both of you were using alcohol to
ease the rising tension that was slowly building.

And soon, it would explode.

“I wonder what he would think of this.” Aemond mused, and you let your eyes slide to him.

You breathed heavily.

“Who?”

But you already knew the answer.

That familiar, sickly smirk curled up his face, and although Aemond had not let his gaze leave the
fire in front of you, he knew he had you.

You had taken the bait.

“Lucerys.” He purred, sipping his drink.

You felt your heart begin to race as you breathed raggedly in your seat.

You fucking bastard.

You shoved the goblet to your lips, draining the rest of your cup, before sharply leaning forward to
fill it up again, eyes locked onto his form.

One large leg came to rest atop the other, the wine in his hand swirling.

“Wonder what your Strong boy would have thought about you being wed to me. Do you think he
would cry? Or try to take my other eye?” He mused.

“Don’t speak about him.” You said lowly, struggling in vain to contain your seething anger.

“Merely trying to have conversation with my darling wife.” He purred the last word.

Don’t take the bait.

Don’t be stupid.

Be smart.
You stood from your seat sharply, and finally Aemond’s gaze fell on you, looking at you eyebrows
raised.

“I am going to retire for the night.” You grit out, turning on your heel as you began to stalk towards
the large bed, dread sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach as you looked at it.

“It was a shame he was not there to witness it,” His voice called across the room, “I would have
liked to see his face.” He smacked his lips.

You snapped.

Turning on your heel you sneered at him, watching as he looked at you blankly, sipping his wine.

“Fuck you.”

Aemond’s lips twitched.

“How did my other nephew react? The eldest and strongest of boys?” He continued, his anger and
amusement rising.

“Disgusted that I would be married to a second son. You, no less. Just as I.” You sneered, chest
rising and falling sharply.

He set you alight.

He always did this to you.

He always had this way to get under your skin.

Your uncle stood and moved to the side of the fireplace, looking back into the wild flames, before
raising his gaze to you, as you stood angrily beside the bed.

“And how do you truly feel?”

How did you feel?

Horrified.

Afraid.

You felt grief. Loneliness.

Uncertainty.

“Nauseated at the thought of being married to a kinslayer.”

“Hm. I am wed to a kinslayer too.”

Daeron.

Your uncle.

His brother.

Aemond stalked towards you.

“You killed my brother.” He said emotionless.

It was haunting.

You sniffed, stiffening your back as you looked at him, long legs slowly approaching you.

“Aegon wanted your head. I convinced him otherwise. You’re alive because of me.” He growled.

He saved you.

For him.

“A fate worse than death, I am certain.” You snipped, hands coming to wrap around your front as
he approached you, your legs walking backwards towards the bed.

“You have no idea what he had planned for you. You would not have been put to death quickly.”

You stiffened, locked in fear.

Aemond smiled cruelly at you.

“The King wanted to lock you down in the dungeons again. Make an example of you to the knights
of King’s Landing. They would have taken turns with you, you know. After him of course.” He
spoke as if it did not bother him.

You felt nausea roll inside you.

“You act as though you aren’t just like him. Like you aren’t worse.” You scoffed.

Aemond stopped, a mere three paces from you.

“You think me the same as Aegon?”

“I know it.” You sneered in fear, like an animal cornered, baring its teeth one last time.

“You think you know what he is truly like?”

You breathed heavily as he looked at your face, watching as you struggled to keep your
composure.

“You think I am worse than him? A fate worse than death?” He growled.

“You’re a monster.” You sobbed in anger.

Aemond crowded your space so quickly, you did not even see him move. You felt his breath fan
across your face, smell of wine on his tongue.

The man towered over you, heaving as he watched you stay rooted in your spot.

One final act of bravery.

“A monster you wed.”

The slap rang out in the room, and your palm stung sharply.

Aemond’s head was still turned away from you, your hand having clipped the scarred side of his
face, red heat beginning to bloom upon his pale skin.
Slowly, he corrected his posture, stiffening himself as he straightened his neck, looking down at
you from his nose.

Your chest heaved as you looked at him.

A tide of emotions swelled inside of you.

You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run to.

You were trapped.

Trapped in these chambers with a man you hated most.

Trapped in a Keep full of enemies.

There was no escape.

Aemond took another step forward, chest brushing against yours and you instinctually stepped
back. He took another, then another. You retreated, trying to create distance between the both of
you, until the soft plush of the mattress hit the back of your knees.

He loomed over you.

“Get away from me.” You warned, voice shaking.

The One-Eyed Prince smiled down at you.

You rose your hand once more to slap him, but his own caught your wrist, squeezing painfully.

You cried out.

“Try it again. See what will happen.”

“Let go of me!”

You desperately tried to yank your hand out of his grip as he sneered down at you, lips twitching
into a smirk. His grip did not falter, and instead tightened, causing pain to shoot up your arm.

Your other hand flew up in instinct, and hit him on the other cheek. Not a strong hit, but one to
cause a sting. A pathetic display of a warning.

A minuscule piece of proof that you would always fight back.

Aemond’s smirk only deepened, hand shooting out to grip your throat roughly as he pushed you
backwards, down onto the bed. His fingers dug painfully into the flesh, and cut off your air supply.

You wriggled in his hold, desperately trying to claw out of his grip as he straddled you, other hand
coming down to wrap itself around your neck. He squeezed and you saw stars begin to appear in
your eyes, his soft hair brushing against the sides of your face as he hovered above you.

And then his hands loosened, and you sucked in a breath, but not before one large palm roughly
reached down and began to hike the skirt of your dress up your body.

Dread pooled into your stomach and you find yourself thrashing against him.

“No!” You grunted, trying to drag your nails down his face, his other hand leaving your throat to
catch both of your wrists in his, painfully pushing them onto the bed above your head.

Your legs kicked out as you struggled against him, the dress being roughly pulled up, shift going
with it, before your bare core was revealed to the room.

Aemond’s eye left your face to gaze down at you, as you struggled against his hand, tears pricking
in your eyes. His lips pursed and a low hum rumbled in his chest.

Large, rough fingertips pushed meanly against your heat, rubbing through your folds before
dipping inside of you without preparation, and you felt the biting stretch of his fingers.

Tears fell from your eyes.

This was it.

It was real now.

Your husband roughly fucked his fingers into your heat, stinging pain rippling through you as you
desperately tried to wriggle away from him. He kept you trapped beneath him with no way out.

Aemond jammed his fingers inside of you, a sharp cry leaving your lips before pulling them out,
hand moving to the front of his breeches as he began to untie the laces hurriedly, pulling at the
string.

You thrashed beneath him, trying to rip your hands away from his grip as you watched in horror as
his hard length was slowly revealed from the confines of his pants. The tip angry and red, leaking
pre cum.

“You think I’m a monster?” He purred, shoving his legs between yours roughly, grip bruising your
wrists.

“You think I am my brother?” He sneered from above, heat from his body surrounding you.

“Aemond, stop. Please, stop.” You begged, sob working its way up your throat.

Aemond hummed as he held his length in his hand.

You had never seen it before.

It was long and thick, and veins protruded down the length whilst beads of pre-cum began to leak
from his tip. He pulled his hand up and down his cock roughly, before beginning to settle between
your hips.

“No!” You cried out, trying to wriggle away from him as he descended towards your heat, but it
was no use.

You felt a sharp pain as Aemond forced his way inside of you dryly, splitting you open upon his
cock, as he pushed himself roughly to the hilt. The tip painfully kissed at your cervix and you cried
out loudly.

Your uncle looked down at your face as he slowly pulled out, watching as you winced in pain and
tried to pull away.

It was unlike anything you had felt before. It seared through you, curling into your gut, nausea
rising into your throat. You felt so full, so fit to burst, ripping from his intrusion, and all you could
do was cry, and whimper, and try to wriggle away from it.
Aemond looked down to where you were joined, revelling in the blood that streaked his length and
began to leak onto the white sheets below. He pulled out slowly, letting you feel each and every
vein of his cock, before he roughly shoved back inside, head of his shaft beating painfully against
the end of your core.

“Aem, please, stop.” You sobbed, eyes scrunched up in pain as you cried.

Aem.

You had not called him that in a long time.

You felt his hips stutter, but before you could find any relief, he began to rut into you sharply,
more aggressively than before, his thrusts pushing your body up the bed as you cried loudly into
the chambers.

Each stroke felt like hell, and he did not relent, no matter how much you begged. Aemond grunted
from above you, hand letting go of your wrists to grasp onto your hip.

Disgust and fear curled up inside you, so all that you could do was pull your hands to push at his
chest and cry whilst your uncle had his way with you, roughly taking your maidenhead.

Your first time, taken so violently.

Without love, or care.

No pleasure was given to you as Aemond sought out his own high. His eye only leaving your face
to gaze at his length disappearing inside of you with every thrust.

You cried brokenly, letting your head lay to the side, voice becoming hoarse. You felt yourself
cramp as the older man continued to beat against the sensitive end of your core.

It was agony.

Just as the Septa had said.

She had told you it would be painful, unpleasurable, but a burden you would have to bear.

His fingers bruised your hips as he sat up on his knees, pulling you against him as you squeaked,
dragging you down the bed as if you were weightless, before he continued his assault on your
body. Using you for his own pleasure, pushing his cock as deep as it could go.

Aemond's hair was dishevelled, and face concentrated, brows furrowed in anger as he thrust into
you wildly. The room was filled with the sounds of his flesh meeting yours, and the cries and
whimpers that left your lips.

His good eye was wild, pupil blown wide in the dark of the room so that it almost looked black,
whilst the sapphire orb glinted sinisterly in what little light there was of the chambers.

“Gods, please.” You hiccupped, begging for it to end.

Begging for him to finish, for the pain to stop.

But it would not.

Aemond shifted, sitting back on his heels as he held your hips in his lap, the new angle causing
you to cry out as he thrusted up into your heat, grunting from the force he was using.
It caused a tingle to spread across your lower stomach.

It horrified you.

“No.” You whimpered, and pushed at his stomach, as he did it again, feeling your cunt clench
around him.

Aemond moaned above you, setting a faster pace as his cock dug painfully into the soft, spongey
spot within your walls.

“No. No.” You babbled, cheeks wet with tears, voice hoarse from crying.

Your hands weakly pushed against him, nails digging into his pale skin to stop him, to push him
away, but he kept on, slapping your hands away from him as if you were a fly.

Your husband's thumb came down between your bodies and pressed against your bundle of nerves.
Painful pleasure rose in your body as he roughly rubbed against you, trying to get you to reach your
peak with him.

“Aem, stop. Please, Aem. Uncle, please.” You begged, trying to move away, but his grip did not
falter, instead increasing the pace of his thumb against your bud.

A familiar coil began to wind itself inside of you.

The chambers were filled with the sounds of your whimpers and cries, Aemond’s soft moans, and
the sound of his cock burying itself into your now wet heat.

A long moan flittered past his lips and you felt yourself clench out of instinct.

His pace began to falter, cock sliding in and out of you almost messily, as his thumb pressed
sharply against you, pulling painful pleasure from within. Aemond's breaths came out in sharp
puffs and grunts as he continued his assault.

He shifted, leaning his body back over you, hair surrounding your face like a veil, as he rutted into
you desperately.

“Take it.” He moaned, his pace beginning to falter, thumb swirling around your swollen bud
roughly.

"No. No. Aem stop, no. Stop." You cried out.

But it only seemed to spur him on, feeling your core begin to tighten around him, and so he pressed
and swirled his thumb against you harder and faster, his eye never leaving your face as you stared
up at him in horror.

You sobbed loudly as you felt the coil inside of you snap.

Your back arched from the bed as a painful climax washed over you.

“That’s it.” He cooed.

“Please.” You cried, trying to push him away from you, as you clenched around him, pleasure
ripping through you cruelly without mercy.

Aemond's lips came down to press against your neck, teeth lightly grazing the skin.
You sobbed loudly as he continued to piston himself into you, your walls gripping him tightly as he
began to lose himself in pleasure. Aemond chased his peak until finally he slowed, pushing into
you raggedly as he moaned loudly into the humid air of the chambers, his cum spilling inside you.

“Fuck.” He moaned above you, hips stuttering as he continued to thrust into you languidly, feeling
a new wetness within you as you laid stiffly beneath him.

In shock.

In disgust.

In horror.

You could feel his cock twitching inside of you as his spend continued to come out in hot ropes,
movements causing it to leak out from within you and onto the soiled sheets below.

Another broken sob escaped your lips when Aemond finally stilled above you, feeling you cry
beneath him. He looked down at you, eye half lidded, mouth slightly agape.

Aemond had just raped you.

He raped you.

Your uncle.

Your husband.

Someone you had once loved.

Someone who had once been your friend.

Someone who had killed your brother.

You felt nausea begin to rise in your throat as he slowly pulled out, sharp pain strumming in your
core and an odd emptiness settling in, before he rolled lazily onto the bed beside you, his gaze on
the ceiling.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sobbed brokenly, ragged breaths spilling from your lips as
you tried to calm yourself to no avail. Your eyes looked above you to the ceiling, and you gagged,
feeling bile rise up your throat.

You were in agony. Every breath you took caused pain to rise up your body, and a different pain
settled in your heart, causing it to clench. You felt defiled. Dirty.

Broken.

You tried to steady your breathing, to stop the sobs that flew from your lips as you began to
hyperventilate, but you found that his presence beside you could not allow you to relax.

To distract yourself, you attempted to concentrate on the roof.

It was a different ceiling to yours back in Dragonstone. Much different to the one that used to be
yours, here, in the Keep. But even as you tried to distract yourself from what had just happened,
you could still feel him inside of you.

Leaking from you.

And with every throbbing breath you took, you found you could breath less, and less.

Breath in. Breath out.

Breath in. Breath out.

Pain throbbed from your centre as you laid there, trying to steady your breathing. You could feel
his eye on you, feel the way the bed dipped beneath his weight beside you. And even see him in
your periphery.

You turned onto your side, facing away from him, curling into yourself in an attempt to self soothe.
But it didn't work. Silent cries caused your body to shake, and shudder in the bed beside him. Your
skin erupting in goosebumps as you felt his heated gaze on your back.

Was this to be your every waking moment now? To be raped by him? To be defiled? To be used for
his pleasure?

To be tormented by them all, and find no solace in your chambers?

You did not move from your position on the bed, terrified of stirring him again, curled up and
gripping your sides as tears fell from your eyes and onto the pillow below your head.

You could feel the wet of your blood and his release, thick on your thighs, and below you on the
mattress. You were in agony as you laid there, terrified to move or to speak. Unable to do either
even if you had wanted to.

You could still feel his weight on top of you, the way he felt inside of you. You could see his face
as he looked down at you whilst he thrusted harshly into your core. You could feel the bruising
sting of his grip on your hips and wrists.

It was like it never stopped.

“Y/n.”

His voice was so quiet, so different to what it had just been as he whispered your name.

You tensed, heart beginning to race faster. You gripped your sides tighter, shoulders rising around
your neck as you held your breath. You stiffened, and waited.

Waited for the next blow of pain.

Waited for the next moment of his defilement.

His torture.

His cruelty.

And then he uttered the name he had called you as a child.

A nickname.

Something you had not heard in so many years. A name in which he had called you in moments of
fondness, or play, and you could not stop the loud sob that flew from your lips as you heard it.

That name felt so tainted now.

You clutched onto yourself tighter, gash in your hand strumming as you tucked three fingers into it,
trying to distract yourself from the pain between your legs.

Aemond breathed in a loud breath of air, as though he was to talk to you again.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the soft graze of a hand came to touch your shoulder and your found yourself flinch away
from it, a terrified sob falling from your lips as you curled into yourself tighter, tucking your knees
against your chest in an attempt to protect yourself.

A feeble attempt.

The room felt still and the air felt stuffy. And all you could do was cry in the bed you would now
call your own, beside your husband, that you would be tied to for some time.

Tears fell from your eyes until you could cry no more, and you found that all you could do was
stare blankly at the wall beside you.

You could hear the Septa’s voice in your head.

“To satisfy your husband is your duty. It is not always an enjoyable one, but it is needed.”

The Septa would be proud.

You laid on your side and stared blankly at the wall, feeling a wave of numbness begin to cover
you.

It was nice to not feel. To not think. To not be present in a moment like that.

Aemond did not make another attempt to touch you, nor did he try to talk to you. He simply laid
beside you, also not moving, as you felt the heat of his gaze.

You laid on your side, not stirring, nor crying, or sobbing, not knowing for how long. Even if you
did try, any movement you made caused sharp pain to ripple from between your thighs. And so it
was best to lay still, and let the tide suck you in.

You felt the wave rise within you, it's dark tendrils caressing your body as you relaxed into its hold.

These waters were familiar. These waters would be kind to you.

You let yourself sink into the depths, letting your weight take you deep down into the murkiness,
where the cool water calmed you until your breath evened, and any pain, or feeling left your body.

Movement on the bed jerked you as Aemond abruptly removed himself. You listened to his
footsteps move loudly, and swiftly across the room. It sounded muffled, almost like you were truly
under water.

And you found you could not rise from the depths you had sunk into willingly.

The sound of the chamber doors opened, and slammed shut, echoing around you.

And then you were alone again, alone as you could be, left to the waters as they swallowed you
whole.
Chapter End Notes

The poor reader omg.

Please take care of yourself if this chapter triggered you at all. Know that it was and is
never your fault, and that you are survivor. There are helplines out there if you are
experiencing Domestic Violence and Sexual Abuse. You are not alone.<3

You can find this fic and other one shots on my tumblr @asumofwords.
 Isolation
Chapter Notes

TW for this chapter:

Memories of abuse, thoughts of suicide and self harm, mental distress and dissociation,
PTSD and depression.

Please read the warning for this fic, and read with caution.
Know that if you are going through any of this, that you are not alone.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There was a sweeping cold in the Red Keep that evening. The room of the chambers grew cooler
as the fireplace dwindled. It was a biting cold that made your toes and fingers ache, and the tip of
your nose feel frosty.

Not that it bothered you.

You had not moved, nor tried to cover yourself after the events of that evening.

You laid on your side, gown askew, legs bared to the world as your fingers did not relent their grip
on your soft, tender flesh. You could feel the pressure of your grip, but no pain. Even the throbbing
ache between your legs had dulled.

Your body could not find sleep even as you grew numb to the world around you. So instead, you
kept your eyes on the side of the wall in front of you, looking at the paint and green decor.

The room was dark when he had left, the candles and fire slowly dwindling, leaving the room in
the dark shadow of night. You watched the wall slowly brighten with the rising sun. Dark black
turned to deep green, until soon you found that the room would not need the aid of a fire to light
the space.

Blinking you shifted, moving to sit yourself up, joints stiff from their locked position all evening.
As you moved, an ache ripped up your body, a hollow throbbing between your legs. You moved
yourself up, feeling the sharp bruising sting, sliding your legs across the cool sheets.

As you looked down at yourself you saw the evidence left behind from Aemond’s assault. Your
inner thighs were stained with dried blood and his spend, and beneath the sheets the same proof
that was upon your skin.

Slowly, you inched your way to the side of the bed, until you pulled yourself to stand, an
unfamiliar hollowness in your core made your brows furrow. It felt so strange.

You felt strange.

Like it wasn’t you, it wasn’t your body aching.

You moved across the chambers, in the same dress as the day before, shuffling towards the
windowsill, and its inbuilt seat below it. You blinked as you saw the familiar presence of someone
in your chambers.

A welcomed presence.

Lucerys sat at one side of the window seat, looking out at the water, not having turned his head to
look at you. He sat, dry and not drenched, as if waiting for you to join him.

And so you did.

Was this how Helaena had felt?

When she was with Aegon?

Was she subjected to this cruelty, day in, day out, for years? Was this what the Gods had signed
her fate to? To be brutalised and assaulted, riddled with pain?

Did she succumb to the numbness? The dark waves that would have swallowed her hole.

Was Aemond just as cruel to her?

Aemond.

Where was he?

His absence confused you, and as you pressed yourself to sit at the window, staring out at the
ocean, sun glittering atop its surface, you let yourself look down to the cobblestones below.

In your periphery you could see Lucerys’ red and black robes as he tensed, following your line of
sight.

How did it feel for your aunt to throw herself from her window?

Is this what she had felt then?

Did she look down at the stones below and think, ‘What a greater fate than this?’

Did she regret it when she took the leap?

Or did she finally feel at peace as she plummeted to her death below?

You wondered if it would feel like flying. To be free of the world and its pain. To feel entirely
weightless as you made an important, and life altering, life extinguishing choice.

Or would it feel the way you felt the day you fell.

No control.

Fear.

An anxious wait for the inevitable.

“No.” Came Lucerys soft tone, still not having looked at you, still keeping his gaze on the horizon,
yet he seemed to know what you were thinking, even if it was not voiced out loud.

Or perhaps it had been voiced it out loud?

You let yourself flick your eyes to look at him.

He was the same as you remembered. Small and sweet, with full cheeks that were rosy. His
precious mop of brown hair curled, and messy atop his head. No sword was at his side.

He looked solemn.

As you sat, you heard the entrance of the maids who would now be tending to you in your new
chambers.

They were not your maids. They were not Saria and Aella. They were not two girls you had bonded
with over years. They had not seen your ups, nor downs. They had not been an ear to your worries,
and a soft hand when needed.

They were strangers to you.

Alien.

And they served Aemond.

And so you did not move your head from its gaze of the sea, nor did you answer their calls, nor turn
to face them when one touched you with an unsure hand. If it had been Saria or Aella, they would
have held you and let you grieve. They would have brought your favourite treat, and fetched a
Maester.

But instead, these maids gave up on their short lived attempts to rouse you from your spot to eat,
and dress. And instead moved to the bed, no doubt witnessing the evidence of the reason for your
state, and simply pushing through. Ignoring the blood and his spend, ripping the sheets off with
practised precision to replace them with fresher ones.

Was this practise due to dissolving the evidence of Aegon on the many servant girls in the Keep?
Of his sins against his own wife, Helaena?

Or perhaps the sins of Aemond upon her?

Or Aemond upon the unknown women he surely must have taken to his chambers?

You wondered if Alys had been laid down in the same bed you had. You doubted it was by force,
she would have willingly spread her legs, and let him part her folds with his fingers and-

A shiver rolled through your body at the thought.

When the maids in the chambers had finished their fussing, and had thoroughly tidied the space,
and changed the sheets upon the bed they left, and you resumed your thoughts of the cobblestones
below and if it were worth the risk.

But what would your parents say?

What would they do?

Daemon would burn the realm, no doubt, your mother beside him. Jacaerys would stop at nothing,
not even if it meant his own life to avenge you. Your half sisters/cousins, Rhaena and Baela would
turn the skies to ash.

And that was a risk that you could not take.

“Dracarys.” The young boy whispered to you from your side.

Perhaps one day, when your mother was finally seated upon the Iron Throne, all Seven Realms
hers for the taking, could you meet the Stranger in peace and go with him. Perhaps he would be
kind to you, and seek you out himself.

Or perhaps you would have to force your meeting.

“Stop.” Lucerys spoke.

Aemond did not return to your shared chambers until later that day, when the sun had rose to its
peak, and begun to fall beyond the horizon, light upon the cobblestones shifting to a soft orange.

The sky was so beautiful here.

The doors of the chambers opened and shut with little force. No booming slam was heard nor a
creeping opening. He was neither sneaking in, nor barging in. It was a casual and calm entrance.

You supposed it was his chambers, despite your presence.

You did not turn your head, but you knew it was him.

Lucerys did not look to watch his murderer approach you, nor did he turn to look at you, instead,
keeping his vision to the ocean. Your core clenched painfully and you curled into yourself further
on the window, hugging your sides harshly as you waited for his next assault.

But none would come.

Instead, he surprised you.

Again.

Aemond walked across the chambers, and began slow and gentle steps towards you, his feet
walking across the stone floors quietly. You could feel his gaze on you, but you would not to turn
to meet it.

Your uncle stood nearby, watching you look out of the window, waiting patiently for you to turn to
him, and meet his burning gaze, to acknowledge his presence, or greet him. Perhaps even sneer at
him or hiss, curse him and call him a monster. And yet you had no strength to do any of that.

“Y/n.”

You simply blinked and continued to stare out the window, head coming to rest against the glass,
its cold pane pressing against your skin. You didn’t turn to meet his gaze, nor move to shift your
body. You stayed still and kept your eyes on the cobblestones far below you, at the bottom of the
Keep.

You felt the gaze of the young brown haired boy on you.

What if you pushed hard enough on the window, to make him watch you fall?

Aemond uttered your name again, his feet stepping towards you, and you could see the blurry
outline of him in your periphery. You could feel tears begin to build in your eyes, stinging your
vision, before they fell in fat rivulets down your cheeks.

You could not stop them.

You heard Aemond shift again, clothes rustling, but not moving forward.

“Did you eat?”

You had not.

And you would not.

Food would not have sat in your stomach. It would have worked its way back up your throat, even
if you had tried. Even if you forced yourself, your stomach would not be able to hold it.

But despite this, you had no hunger, and felt no urge to drink or eat.

“Zaldristos.” Your uncle said, so quietly, so softly, that it was almost like it wasn’t real.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Luc sat still, watching you move your eyes to meet the horizon and the glittering ocean again. His
presence was so welcomed, and you had missed seeing the boy. And so you concentrated on his
form beside you, letting your gaze float to his face as you stared back at him.

His eyes were the same deep brown that you remembered.

One time, when you were younger, you had been sitting in the gardens together, Lucerys in your
lap, as you read to him the tales of Nyra. And when you had looked down at his sweet face, a
stream of light had caught his eye, and you saw the wondrous, deep brown they held with golden
flecks nestled throughout.

As you watched the vision of your brother, you let the tears fall freely. You knew that he was not
there, but even so, you did not wish for him to leave. The ghost of him was all you had. And it
made you not so alone in the Keep, you were very much alone in.

“Please don’t leave me.” You whispered to the boy, and he simply blinked at you.

Aemond behind you shifted, stepping forward, thinking that perhaps you had uttered to him.
Perhaps you would finally speak to him, but once you saw the movement, you turned your head
away again, looking back out at the ocean, refusing to gaze upon your uncle.

“You need to eat.” Aemond tried again.

After standing behind you for some time, Aemond finally left you to your silence, looking at the
water with the company of your dead brother.

You had sat at the window until the sun had set. Not moving to eat nor drink. Not moving to rise
from your curled position, nor to look back at Aemond as he attempted to command you to join
him in bed.

You did not move as the sun rose again, high into the sky, watching as the oceans surface created
the most beautiful colour show. Something unwitnessed by you before. A deep black to dark blue,
dark blue to lavender purple, lilac to a blush pink, pink to orange and yellow then finally to the
same crisp blue that it usually was.

The maids came and tried again in vain as Aemond had left for his day. They left food on the table
for you, with wine and water. You could smell the meal, but did not move to it.

You were stuck.

 Cemented in place at the window beside your brother.

The pain was still there, though distant like all things you felt or thought. You felt that you were a
whisper inside of yourself, that you had shrunk and could not call out anymore. And so you stayed
in the depths of the dark, and enjoyed the numbness that came with it.

But as the sun had begun to set once more, and you still sat where you were, the pain soon began to
creep in again, and your surroundings became less muffled.

A hand touched your shoulder, breaking you from your revery.

Chapter End Notes

Be kind to yourself <3

 New Life
Chapter Notes

Sorry for slow updates ppls, prepare yourself for another spam because I am forgetful
:)

You followed your line of sight up the hand that sat on your shoulder, to the arm clad in grey
robes, the shoulder in just the same, until you met the greying and wrinkled face of a familiar
Maester.

He looked down at you, eyes concerned as his mouth moved.

You blinked.

The room was dark again.

When had it grown so dark?

“Princess?” The Maester asked, and you shifted your head.

The windowsill beside you was empty.

Lucerys no longer sat beside you and you wondered when he had left. His dark hair, and deep eyes
were not looking at you, nor his small presence there to calm you.

“Princess?” The Maester asked again, fingers gripping your shoulder harder.

You turned to look at him again, nodding your head slowly, as you gradually came back to the
room. You let your hand come to touch at your lips roughly. The cut was still there.

This was real.

It was all real.

The wedding.

The assault.

You nodded again, letting your eyes flit up to his as he stared down at you.

Movement behind him caught your gaze.

Alicent stood in the chambers, with Aemond by her side as they watched you, faces blank. Alicent
stood in a stiff necked, green gown, her Seven Pointed Star heavy around her neck, whilst Aemond
was in his usual black attire, though his patch was snuggly fit upon his face.

Why was he covering it?

“I asked if you were feeling well, Princess.” The Maester started again, drawing your attention
back to the man in front of you, hand on your shoulder.

“F-“ Your throat was dry, and the word could scarcely start, nor finish itself. You cleared your
throat, mouth full of cotton as you attempted to respond again.

“Fine.” You hoarsely whispered, keeping your eyes on the man.

You shifted in your seat, moving to make yourself stand, but as soon as you shifted you winced,
pain shooting back through you, though duller than the day before.

How long had you been sitting there?

The Maesters hands came to steady you as you stood, eyes roaming your face as both hands kept
on your shoulders. The man turned his head, uttering to a maid in the far side of the room, who
came swiftly over to the both of you, offering you a cup of water.

You eyed it for some time, before a shaky hand came to grasp it, lifting it up to your parched lips
where you drank it in one gulp. The cool liquid sat heavily in your stomach and you felt hunger
pangs begin to build and nausea roil.

“You must eat, Princess.”

You nodded, feeling yourself sway as pain ripple up your core. You let yourself take one last
glance at the windowsill, hoping to see Lucerys there once more beside you.

But he was not there.

Just empty space.

When you turned back, Aemond was watching you with a furrowed brow.

You cleared your throat, voice feeling foreign in your body.

“Thank you, Maester.” You croaked.

It felt so weird to speak.

It did not feel like you.

You tuned to look at the maid who had brought you the water, “Please, bring my supper to the
chambers.”

The Maester’s hands were still on your shoulders, fingers twitching as you spoke. You shivered as
you felt the gazes of all in the chambers.

You felt like prey.

You let a small smile grace your lips.

You have faked being put together plenty of times before, what was another?

You could not show them you were broken.

They would be like sharks in the water, smelling your blood.

You looked over at Alicent and Aemond, letting your eyes graze over the both of them.

“I fear the chill of the Keep has made me fall ill. I was seeking warmth from the sun by the
window.”

“Why not sit by the fire?”

You blinked at Alicent, who’s head tilted.

“Why indeed.” You let an unnatural laugh fall from your lips, causing you to wince at the noise, “It
was a long journey back to the Keep, and I find myself unsettled.” The smile stretched your cheeks
painfully.

Unnaturally.

You took unsteady steps towards them both.

Aemond’s eye never left you as you moved. And though his face was carefully schooled, you
could see in the tiniest of ways that he was watching you very, very closely.

For signs of cracks in the mask that you wore.

You turned to look back at the Maester, dropping the smile momentarily before placing it back to
turn and look at the others. The maid still stood to the side as you faced the Dowager Queen and
her son.

“Now,” You grinned at Aemond, “If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to spend some time with my
Lord Husband.”

You took determined steps forward, despite your heart rising into your throat. You had to force
yourself forward towards him, before reaching out a shaky hand to loop it into his arm. He was
warm, and smelt as he always did, and it made you feel more, and more unnerved.

Memories of your wedding night flooded your mind as you held onto him, desperately holding
down the bile that rose in your throat. You remembered the way he had touched you. How rough
he had been with you. How he had hurt you, and tore you open.

How he had made you cry and bleed below him, and how he had not stopped.

The room was uncomfortably still as you forced yourself to look up at him and smile, it almost
looked like a grimace.

The One-Eyed Prince looked down at you, eye looking to where you had looped your arm around
his, noticing your hand clenched into a tight fist to steady yourself. The same fist that had the large
gash in it.

The pain was the only thing grounding you.

His lip twitched and a low hum came through his chest, vibrating up your arm.

You let your gaze fall to Alicent who watched you with wary eyes, before nodding to the Maester,
who excused himself with a bow, leaving with the maid who left to the kitchens to fetch your
supper.

The auburn haired woman let her gaze flit between you and her son, before leaving the room. You
watched her turn and leave, curled hair cascading down her back, where she disappeared out the
chamber doors. As soon as the knight shut the large wooden doors with a heavy thud, you jerked
your arm out from Aemond’s, and stumbled back a few steps away.

Putting distance between you and your husband.

You sucked in a steady breath and let your anxious hands brush down the sides of your gown in
habit, all while Aemond watched you like a hawk.

Or more suitably like a vulture, circling above you, waiting for your first sign of weakness.

You stepped away from him, putting the round dining table between you and your uncle, letting a
hand come to wipe at your mouth, acrid taste on your tongue from the false smile you had laid bare
to the chambers.

“Quite the performance you gave.” Aemond mocked.

You scoffed, “And what would you have me do?”

“I thought you had gone mad.”

“A madness you would have driven me to.”

Aemond stepped towards the table, keeping it between the both of you. His eye roamed up and
down your figure as he drank you in. You assumed you looked pale, and gaunt from days of not
eating or drinking water, nor sleeping.

Days of grief, and pain in solitude.

“Have you given up?” He asked, head tilted.

“There is nothing to give.” You met his violet eye.

You pulled the chair out from the table, sitting gently in it, holding in a whimper at your bruised
core. He watched you manoeuvre yourself to sit on its edge, favouring one side of your hip as to not
put complete pressure on yourself. Your eyes dropped to the table in front of you.

In the centre of the table, upon its wide surface was a pile of books. Nestled amongst the stack of
brown and black leather, loose sleeves of parchment skewed out from certain tomes, was a book
familiar to you.

Your book.

Faded red cover, gold writing, and all.

You looked at it longingly, as your fingertips itched to reach out and grasp it. To bring it to your
chest and hold.

The one last thing in the Keep which held fond memories for you.

But now that it was in these chambers, you feared it too would soon be tainted by Aemond.

Your husband clicked his tongue as he watched you, “Will you eat?”

You took your gaze from the books to him.

He stood just as he were, looking down at you, observing the way you sat, the way you held
yourself and the way you so clearly yearned to reach forth and grasp your book.

You let your eyes drop back to the table, not answering him.

“You will need to if you are to have the strength to kill me.” He mocked.

“Are you going to rape me again?” You snipped, letting your gaze rise back to him.

All playfulness dropped from his face as he looked at you. His eye no longer glinted in amusement,
nor false pride. You watched as his tongue pushed into the side of his cheek, as if stalling his
response.

“Only if you force me to.”

It was said so casually.

So matter of fact, that all you could do was chew the inside of your mouth as you waited for your
supper to arrive. Aemond walked away from the table, picking up a book from the top of the pile as
he walked to his usual seat, the green arm chair by the fire.

He sat down with a gracefulness that none of your brothers, nor his own had, and opened to a page
in which he was up to, finger skimming down it to find his line, as he began to read silently in front
of the licking flames.

Not too long after, the maids came to your chambers and brought your meal. Meats and vegetables
with spiced wine, and soft fluffy bread sat warm on the plate.

The bread you always craved and loved stared back at you, and you felt excitement to eat it again.
And so you did yourself a little mercy and pulled the bread towards you, tearing it apart with your
fingers to place in your mouth.

You felt nauseous forcing yourself to eat, but the more you let the bread settle in your empty pit,
the more you found yourself growing comfortable enough to eat the rest.

Aemond was right after all.

You would need your strength.

You finished most of what was on your plate, slowly sipping at the wine. Aemond had moved
from his chair, and begun to prepare himself for bed, ignoring you as you sat at the table, knife and
fork in hand. He stripped himself of his outer clothes behind you, before the soft rustling of the
sheets alerted to you of his retirement.

You let yourself look up, hoping to see a familiar face. The window was dark as you peered out of
it again from where you sat, and there was no familiar brown hair to greet you beneath it.

The sky was a deep blue, and the ocean had turned a dark black. There was no life to be seen out on
the water, nor was there any movement in the chambers to match. The room was quiet, and so you
let yourself peak behind you at the bed.

Aemond lay amongst the fresh sheets, hair splayed around his pillow as his chest rose and fell
gently. He had fallen asleep whilst you were still awake.

He did not fear you.

He did not fear you at all.

He did not worry that he may wake with the knife on the table lodged in his throat.

Perhaps you were weak after all.

Your feet carried you over to the bed where you looked down at him, it felt familiar to look at him
like this. The light in the room was dimmed from the out candles, and the soft, warm glow of the
fireplace cast tiny shadows about the chambers. His good eye was closed, and his eyelashes tickled
the tops of his cheeks. They were long and thick, and you wished to rub a finger along them.

Would they be soft as they looked?

Or sharp like him?

Aemond’s lips were relaxed and plump, and it disgusted you that you thought of how they had
kissed you when you were wed. Or how you had chased their touch in the gardens at Aegon and
Helaena’s union celebrations.

The eye that was lost however, made your breath hitch.

There was no usual sapphire lodged into the opening, and instead the space was empty, and
scarred. Hollowed out by the actions of your younger brother.

It looked haunted.

And yet despite it, he was still handsome in the way only a Targaryen could be.

Ethereal.

You imagined what it would have been like if your family had let Alicent take Lucerys’ eye that
night in retribution.

Would the war have happened?

This marriage?

The usurpation of the throne?

Would Lucerys still be here? With the exception of one eye?

Lucerys.

You turned your head to look at the window one last time.

Still empty.

A wave of fatigue had begun to roll over you when you had first begun eating, the days catching up
to you finally. And so with what little resolve you had, you lifted the sheets on the side of the bed
that Aemond was not on. You moved slowly, and quietly as to not disturb him.

Your heart raced in your chest.

You almost expected the blood to still be there, despite the sheets having been changed. Or perhaps
he would be hiding a blade amongst the sheets, pretending a false sleep in order to get you to lower
your guard.

And yet when the sheet revealed the clean, crisp sheets, unmarked by his seed or your blood, and
pulled back further revealed his hands with no blade clutched within them, you let a gentle sigh of
release flow from your lips.

You forced yourself crawl into bed beside your uncle.

A childhood companion. A tormentor. Your brothers murderer.

Your husband.

And fell asleep.

 Star Fruit
Chapter Notes

Okay, not gonna lie, I am obsessed with star fruit, theres just something about them.
But my fav is pomegranate or maybe a cheeky lil mango.... anyway :)

When you woke the next morning, Aemond was nowhere to be found. His side of the bed was
empty and cold, sheets drawn back from where he had left them.

But there was little relief from his absence. Your entire body ached, and you felt that you needed
more sleep than you had gotten.

As you sat up in bed amongst the soft plush pillows, a familiar, dull ache settled in your core. You
looked about the chambers. The table was already full of an array of food for you, ready to eat and
having been there for Gods know how long. You had not even heard the maids enter, nor Aemond
exit.

Still in the dress you had been wearing for days, you padded over to the table to sit. Meats and eggs
that had gone cold, sat stacked on a plate, and beside it a bowl of mixed fruits. A ripe star fruit sat
uncut atop the pile. Fresh juice, water and wine sat surrounding the meal, but that was not what had
caught your eye.

Beside the towering plate of food, along side fresh bread, sat your book, no longer nestled beneath
the pile that was now nowhere to be seen. Instead your book had been placed beside the food for
you, to see, and touch, and hold. Neatly placed with careful precision beside the cutlery for you to
read at your own leisure as you ate.

Was this an offering of peace?

A crude apology?

You sat and picked at the bread and nibbled on the fruit, not touching the cold meat as you kept
your eye on the faded red cover.

Had Aemond placed it there for you?

To take it as an offering of a treaty between the two of you?

An apology for his actions?

Or had one of the maids placed it there for you?

Regardless of your burning questions, you forced yourself to eat. It would not do well to continue
becoming weaker, and if you were to help your family as you had promised to do, you would need
to hold strong.

As you began to finish your fruit, the maids entered the chambers with a bath in tow, leaving to
retrieve buckets of steaming hot water with the assistance of other maids. They must have been
ordered to bathe you.
And bathe you, they did.

They stripped you wordlessly and led you to the fire, helping you into the large copper bath to
bathe in the hot, soapy water. You were handed a wash cloth and for a moment you had been
confused. But as you finally understood, their gaze gently dropping to your waist, you let a
tentative hand wash between your thighs, cleaning away the crusted blood and spend that had dried
there.

You winced, still sensitive to the touch, flesh raw from his assault.

The two maids washed and brushed your hair, braiding it into a modest braid style, not at all like
what you were used to. Just two simple braids at the back of your head, letting it fall down the
back.

It reminded you of Aemond’s hair.

You were surprised when they pulled you from the milky water to dress. Slipping a chemise over
your head, and presenting you with a gown you had never seen before. It was a warm black, with
the most finest of gold threads woven through it into patterns.

Was this from your wardrobe back home?

The sleeves were long and draped almost to the floor, the lining a deep red. The waist fit against
you snugly, perfectly tapered to your body, whilst the skirt was sweeping and thick, the bottom
hemmed with the red leaves and branches of the Godswood.

It was beautiful. Simple, but not too simple. The finer details pulling it nicely together.

You were surprised that you would even be allowed to wear these colours. You had thought that
once you had entered the Keep, any and all black or red possessions would be put to the fire, and
instead a wardrobe of hideous green to replace it.

But you were wrong.

After dressing you, the two maids wordlessly left you in the chambers, the door shutting behind
them. You assumed they would be back to collect the bath shortly. But as you stood in the room
alone, dressed and ready for the day, you felt an urge to leave the chambers you had been confined
to.

After all, how much of the Keep had changed?

You were curious.

And the longer you stood in the chambers, the more anxious you became. Surely Aemond would
not force himself upon you in front of the court, so the more you avoided your shared chambers,
perhaps the safer you would be.

You left the room, sleeves and skirts sweeping behind you as you held your hands together in front
of you, just how you had been taught as a child to do. Just as what was expected of a Princess. And
you would not give the Greens anymore fuel to create whispers in the court to spite you.

Or your family.

There may be a treaty, but it does not mean that there is not a secret war waging at that very
moment.
A war between yourself, and your husband.

The halls were as you remembered, however what little was left of the Targaryen legacy on the
walls in form of sculptured sigils, was now replaced with the gaudy Seven Pointed Star. It was
hideous and so incredibly distasteful, that you could scarcely believe it. Your lips turned down as
you gazed upon the changed Keep.

This was not at all what the Targaryen legacy should be. This was not at all the tradition of your
House, nor the showing of pride for it.

How many years of history had been changed? Had Aegon the Conquerors work been for nothing?

The longer you walked, the more angry you became, only fuelling that fire burning steadily inside
of you.

Why had you spent so long in your chambers, silent, and decaying?

Wasting away as Aemond no doubt, watched in delight of finally breaking you. Now was not the
time to give up. Or give in. Your family needed you. You needed to be strong for yourself. What
cruelty lay ahead of you would be dealt with in time. You just needed to keep your head about you.

You walked until you found yourself at the familiar bark of the Godswood, and so as you always
had as a child, you sat yourself beneath its branches, tucking your legs beneath you in a way that
would be proper, and let your head lean back against the trunk.

The bark pulled at your braids lightly as it caught strands of your hair, and you felt it was a sign
that the braids that you wore were not right. As though the Gods did not approve of the plain style,
nor the manner in which you wore it, or had it braided.

A tiny, minuscule sign that gave you hope that the Gods were on your side after all. That you
would endure this all for a purpose. That soon it would work.

You let yourself sit amongst the branches for some time to think.

How different it had become.

How different you had become.

You were not the same girl you had been a mere few moons ago. You were more scarred than
anything you could have imagined. Had endured more loss than you could have preconceived. So
many sacrifices you had made, all in the name of love. In the name of family.

And you would do it all again.

For them.

Grief was something that no man could ever reconcile with. That no person could ever truly make
amends with. When the Stranger came to call, it would always be too early. Too unexpected. Too
untimely.

Even when one expects to lose, the loss will always be a powerful foe.

As you had waited for your Grandsire to finally move from this life, and into the next. Watching
him slowly wither, and the life be taken from him with his illness. When he was finally taken, you
had not expected it.
But that was the way of it all.

You always expect to have more time.

To be able to prepare yourself, and be ready for it. But you could never be. How could you ever
prepare yourself for something like that? To have someone no longer exist in the present with you?

Their presence completely disappearing from your life.

How many years had you watched him get sicker?

How many moons did you have to prepare yourself for the inevitable?

And yet you weren’t. And it still shook you to your very core.

It seemed you would never be ready for such loss.

Not for him.

Not for Visenya.

Lucerys.

Or Helaena and her young boy.

You wondered if the people who willingly go into the Strangers arms, waiting, wanting and
patient, chosen at their own time; Were they ready?

Did Helaena make her peace with the unknown? With the knowledge that she would be passing?
On her terms?

Or was there the fear that you all carry?

This was something that you supposed, no book, nor words, nor reassurance could ever prepare
you for. And you had to make your own peace with that.

You sat beneath the tree until the sun had set, and only when the torches were lit to line the walls
to assist in those moving through the dark passages, then and only then, did you remove yourself
from the ground to return to your shared chambers.

Food was already placed at the table for you, and Aemond was nowhere to be seen. Nor was there
food set out for him on the opposite end. And so you ate without him, and readied yourself for bed.

When you lay amongst the soft pillows that evening and stared at the ceiling above you, you had
clutched the sheets against you so tightly, that your knuckles had ached in anticipation of your
uncle’s return to his chambers. To pull back the sheets in which was your shared bed, and to force
himself inside of you.

And yet he did not return.

And so you fell into a restless sleep.

When you woke the next morning, Aemond was still not there, and breakfast sat on the table as it
did the day before; Ready for you. So you rose, and sat, and ate, and stared at the book that had not
been moved from its place, waiting for you to open it, or hold it.
But you resisted the urge.

The maids came to your room as they had the day before. They brushed your hair and dressed you
for the day, and you left the chambers again to sit beneath the Godswood. Looking up through the
branches at the leaves, ignoring the gazes of Lords and Ladies of the court, or the servants who
walked through the halls.

When you returned to the chambers that evening, when the sun had lowered from its peak, and the
moon began to rise, you found food, once again, readied at the table in anticipation of you. But
beside the meal this time, was not the book that you had grown up with. Beside the silver cutlery,
and the plate of steaming food, there was a parchment.

Its red wax seal had been broken, and thus the letter had been read.

A familiar sigil was pressed into the waxy surface.

A red three headed dragon.

A letter from your family.

Beside the letter was a quill and a glass pot of black ink. A long roll of parchment flanking its side.

You sat at the table in shock, looking at the opened letter, unsure of how to move. Unsure of how
to reach forward with your own hands, and grasp the paper between your fingertips without the
world around you crumbling.

Your hand stretched across the table to the goblet in front of you that had been filled to the brim
with spiced wine. Your favourite of all drinks. You brought the cup to your lips and sipped, letting
the warm spices coat your tongue and travel down your throat.

Liquid courage.

And as you pulled the goblet away from your mouth, and ignored the food before you, and gazed
at the letter in front of you, you took another shaky sip, before placing the goblet back on the table
to replace its space in your hands with the letter.

The paper shook in your grip as you looked down at it, letting a finger brush over the broken wax
seal. Two of the heads from the three headed dragon had been separated from the other when it had
been torn apart. You supposed that they would be reading your letters that came and went.

You opened it slowly, and had to control yourself from sobbing as you saw the familiar, slanted
writing of your father.

It was so bitter sweet.

It was so emotionally tumultuous. It brought you comfort and also reminded you of your solace. It
was a double edged sword that had plunged itself through the viscous flesh of your chest, breaking
through the brittle bones of your ribs.

‘Dearest Y/n,

Rarely would I write such a letter, however I find that I have become beside myself without your
presence here at Dragonstone. The days do drag on without you here, and there was a large storm
on the island the second day you were gone.
Perhaps Dragonmont senses your absence?

Jacaerys has insisted upon sending this letter at the earliest time, and wishes to correspond with
you more often, if that should please you? Joffrey and Viserys are well, though Joffrey grows taller
by each day that passes.

The Queen asks after you, and wishes she could have been there to witness your marriage to her
brother, the prick Prince. You should expect letters from her very soon, though I snuck away to
send you this one to you before the rest. So write back soon, or I shall fly to the Keep myself.

Aegon the Younger already misses his sister, and asks after you on the daily. Even Caraxes seems
to sense our melancholy and calls out into the night, hoping to race you through the skies once
more.

How has your Lord Husband, Aemond been?

We hope that the journey back to the Red Keep was not too strenuous upon you, and that the night
of your wedding was spent in good spirits and celebration.

Write back promptly.

Yours,

Daemon

*If you have no Star Fruit in the Keep, tell me, and I shall make the arrangements to have them
sent to you by the barrel.’

A tear fell down your cheek as you read the letter. Though something was off. You read over the
letter multiple times.

It was such an unusual tone from Daemon.

So proper and stiff.

But then the more you read it, the more the words stood out to you. His slopes on certain letters
were darker and larger, in haste but not standing out if you didn’t know his writing as well as you
did.

‘Dearest’, ‘Rarely’, ‘Aegon’, ‘Caraxes’, ‘Aemond’, ‘Red’, ‘Yours’, ‘Star’.

Your heart raced as you looked down at the sloped letters.

It was a message, so small, so unnoticeable to anyone but you.

You noticed.

And you wouldn't have if you hadn't spent so much time as a child watching him write, and
learning from him.

Dracarys.

You could not stop the broken smile that rose from your lips, nor the tiny sob of happiness that
escaped you.
This tiny moment, with its eight letter secret, gave you more than what could have ever been
imagined.

It gave you hope.

It gave you comfort.

It made you feel not so alone anymore.

And as you continued to try and fight back the tears, you lifted the paper up to your face to smell.
To see if there was any lingering scent from your family. Any hint of the sulphuric smell of
Dragonmont.

It smelt simply of parchment.

You let your lips press against the paper, holding it against you as you breathed, before pulling it
away from your face to look at again. You used one hand to dig the four prongs of the fork into
some meat and vegetables, lifting them to your lips, as the other did not let go of the letter.

You ate in silence, chewing and staring at the slanted writing until almost all of your meal had been
devoured, and the spiced wine in your goblet had been drained.

Dracarys.

The more that you stared at your fathers letter, the more intrigued you had become at the small,
last second, throw away sentence. The comment about the star fruit.

Surely they would have remembered its abundance in the Keep on your last visit?

Was this them giving you a way to communicate distress?

Or were you becoming paranoid? Losing yourself to hope far too quickly?

No.

Your father was not one for last minute thoughts. Daemon was always thinking five steps ahead.
And a letter that was sent to you, would not have been done with second thoughts. It would have
been thought out and planned to every single dot.

Star fruit was your way out.

If you needed it.

 Routine
Chapter Notes

So I got asked to do an Aemond POV for the wedding night by so many people on my
tumblr page which is the same username as here, and boy oh boy, I had to split it into
two parts because I got severely lost in the sauce of the moment of being inside our
silver hair babes head

That evening, you had waited for Aemond’s return, and yet he did not come. And so you went to
bed, and slept, holding the letter from your family tightly in your hand under the pillow as you
thought of your fathers offering.

Sleep came to you far quicker than it had the days before, and you found yourself waking in the
early morning to the sound of the maids entering your chambers with food for you to break your
fast.

That morning you had not slept through their sounds, and instead rose with them.

And so a routine began.

You ate at the table, the book nowhere to be seen, an odd sting of disappointment coursing through
you at the absence of its faded red cover.

You finished your breakfast quietly as the maids had made your bed, and tidied the space. You
allowed them to dress you in a deep red gown, and brush your hair, but as they moved to braid it in
the same, simple, two style braid, you stopped them with a raised hand.

“I wish for you to braid my hair properly.” You had spoken to them, before looking straight ahead.

Their hands had faltered in their movement, before beginning to braid more hair than usual, and
you felt satisfaction sink in at the tiniest piece of power you had been given since arriving back in
Kings Landing.

You sat in the quiet as the two girls braided your hair in a style that was far more familiar to you
than the bland braids that your husband wore.

You felt more like yourself.

They had twisted the thick strands over each other, winding them up at the back of your head, to
then let them fall down your back with the remaining hair that had not been braided. There was
comfort in the way the braids felt tight on your head. Comfort in their familiarity and the way it
gave you strength.

Comfort in knowing this was the one thing they couldn't take away from you.

When the braids were finished, the girls had left the chambers with a soft bow. You let a hand
come to touch at the back of your head. It reminded you of your mother.

You stood, pushing out your chair before making your way across the room. Your eyes looked to
the side table, where the wine and decanter usually sat. Books were piled atop the table near the
wine, and on the very top of the pile was your book.

You moved across the room swiftly, picking up the faded red book, letting your fingers rub against
the soft, worn cover before tucking it against your chest, feeling its cold, hard cover dig into the
flesh of your breasts, then removing yourself from the chambers.

You pulled open the chamber doors with one hand, the other clutching the book, and made your
way down to the Godswood to find peace and read in the quiet courtyard. Sitting in your usual
spot, legs tucked beneath you, you let yourself read the story, starting from the beginning, letting
your fingertips caress the pages with love.

In no time at all, you were lost in the story, the world around you melting away as you
concentrated on the writing and pages. It felt good to read, to lose yourself to the world in the story
and have a moment of reprieve from the one crumbling around you.

A chill swept across the courtyard, and the light from the sun began to dim. Lifting your head from
the book you looked up to the sky. A large dark cloud had begun to move across the realm, taking
away the warmth that the sun had brought. It looked like it was going to rain, and so picking
yourself up from your spot, you moved to go back to your chambers.

On the table still sat the quill, ink and paper for you to respond to your fathers letter, and so you
did. It had been a long time since you had written anything. You would wager that the last time you
had picked up a quill was before the war began.

It shook in your hand as you dipped it into the ink pot, watching the dark liquid rise up the nose of
the pen, scraping off any excess against the rim of the ink well. It smelt like the library back on
Dragonstone, or the table where Daemon wrote and studied.

Your writing was a little messy. Difficulties arose holding a quill with your cut hand, the tensed
tendons causing your palm to ache, but you continued on, writing back in vigour, telling them of
how the Keep was fine, and all was well.

How you missed them all dearly, asking them to hold each other for you. How you wished to fly in
the sky with Caraxes, and how their letter meant the world to you.

You wrote of how Aemond had been a good husband thus far, tending to your every needs and
ensuring of your comfort at Kings Landing.

It was a brazen lie, but one you knew you needed to make.

You mentioned how you were gladdened for the treaty, and soon hoped to see them all soon, with
intentions to perhaps visit them on Dragonstone, or Driftmark.

You signed off with your name, and implored that they write back soon. Then below your sign off
you copied your father, a small scribbled star and more writing, though the ink ran heavy and so
the star looked more like a blob of ink that had fallen from the nib of the pen onto the page. You
watched it bleed through the parchment, spreading widely before you continued on.

‘Thankfully for this moment, there is no need for a barrel of Star Fruit. My Lord Husband has
ensured that there is plenty for me to eat. But if I am in need of more, I will be sure to write to you,
and you can send them promptly to the Keep.’

You hoped that this would be enough for them to know that you were okay. Okay as you could be.
And hoped that they would understand that you knew of their meaning, and would ask for help if it
came to it.

But for now, you must go alone.

You left the parchment on the table, looking down at the ink before you stood to leave the
chambers, the day slowly moving by with no return of Aemond, and no sign of Aegon. It was a
relief that could not have come sooner.

The sky had gotten darker once you left, and a biting wind had begun to sweep through the grounds
of the Red Keep. It traveled up the base of your neck and down your spine as you walked with
purpose.

No knight or guard followed you as you travelled through the Keep, gazing at the grey stones and
bland decor. The Lords and Ladies who came and went inside the Keep were dressed in their finest
robes, though you had noticed their attire had become more modest since the last visit.

You wondered if it was due to the redecorating, and severe presence of the Seven Faith.

Or were they following Alicent’s strict traditions?

You headed towards the Dragon Pit with great determination. Strength in each step as you got
closer to one of the entrances.

You wondered if Vermithor would be down waiting outside the cavern of the pit for you. Or
perhaps he had flown back to Dragonstone. Or maybe he was away hunting. Treating himself to
food to fill his gullet.

This end of the Keep was colder and darker than the rest, and with the looming storm cloud above,
it felt unnerving to be where you were. But you kept on, and wished to see if you could even
venture down there.

Would there be guards stationed at the entrances preventing you from entering?

Would there be gates in place, locked to keep you out?

You could see the entrance up ahead. Large open walk way, and to your surprise, no-one guarding
it. Excitement ran through you as you continued forward, your pace quickening.

“My Lady, stop.” Came a booming voice from behind you.

Your feet faltered in their step but you kept on, ignoring the presence of Ser Criston Cole behind
you.

“By order of the King, you are not permitted to be down here.” He spoke, voice behind you as he
caught up to your steps loudly.

You were so close to the entrance, that perhaps if you made a run for it, you could sneak through.

A hand grasped your shoulder, and you spun around, shoving it off of you angrily. His touch made
your skin crawl and you fought hard to keep back a sneer as you faced him. You did not want to be
touched, especially from the likes of him.

Ser Cole stood, taller than you, dark hair and tanned skin, brilliant eyes, all looking down at you,
as his face held steady. He was a handsome man, but a viciously prudish one. He would have had a
lot of potential if he was not the lap dog of the Dowager Queen.
“Ser Cole, if I am not mistaken, I live in this Keep. I am permitted to go where I please.” You
argued, craning your head to look up at him.

“The King has forbade your entrance to the Dragon Pit.” He said blankly.

“The King then serves to defile the sanctity of this treaty.” You sneered at him, anger and rage
coursing through you.

“You may go wherever you please, Princess, except here.”

“And what would my mother, the Queen, think of this? Nowhere in our treaty agreements did it say
that I would be forbidden to ride my dragon.”

Ser Cole said nothing and looked down at you.

It made you all the more angry.

You turned to continue to walk forward.

Fuck the King.

The sound of armour clinked around you, as Cole moved to stand in front of you, blocking your
path. His silver armour shone brightly, even in the dim light of the corridor. It was as though he
spent his evenings, every evening, polishing it with his tongue.

“Move.” You snipped, trying to side step the man in front of you, but he followed your step,
blocking your path again, a hand coming out to prevent you from moving forward.

You attempted to side step him again, only to be blocked by his hulking figure. You huffed out a
breath looking at him. Criston kept his face impassive as he looked down at you, though you could
not help but notice the small frown in the corners of his lips. As if looking at you disgusted him.

As if you were beneath him.

“The Prince is looking for you.”

His words made you stiffen.

Aemond was back.

And he was looking for you.

“Fuck you, and fuck the Prince.”

Ser Coles jaw tensed, and you watched in delight as he took a calming breath through his nose.
You continued to glare up at the man, waiting for him to give you a reason, any reason, to hit him
across the face, but he said nothing more.

Disappointing.

You would have liked to blacken his eye.

You both held your ground, and then the slow looming realisation set in.

There was no way you were going to be able to get into the Pit today.
You turned away from the man angrily, walking briskly back out the way you came as you tried to
steady your breaths. If you could not go to the Dragon Pit, then you supposed you would have to
find another way in.

One of your questions however, was now answered.

You were being watched.

The sky above you grumbled as you moved towards the Godswood, looking up through its
branches, begging it to give you strength. A breeze pulled sharply through the courtyard, swaying
your skirts as you stood beneath the crimson leaves.

A single wet drop landed on your arm, breaking you from your unheard begging. It slid down your
skin leaving a wet trail behind, as you lifted your head to the heavens. Fat drops of rain began to
fall from the sky. One drop landed on your cheek, sliding down your face. Then another, and
another. Until soon, the sky opened and rain fell freely and heavily, down to the earth below.

The smell of rain was something that you always loved. Sometimes you could smell it, even before
it happened. It was something that could not be recreated, and its heavenly scent was earthy and
wet. But it was the way that the soil and grass smelt after a storm that was your favourite.

A most addictive smell.

Drop after drop of rain fell through the cracks of the branches from the Godswood, falling onto you
below it, soaking through your gown. You did not move from your spot. The rain pelted down
deafeningly, the sound of the water beating on the Keeps stones and roof, surrounding you loudly.

It created a calming white noise.

But then it brought back memories.

Arrax flew into a cavern and you and Syndor pulled to the side violently, barely missing the
rocks of the cliff. Syndor pulled out across the water beside it, both of you disoriented by the
thunder and rain.

“Lucerys!!” You called out, hoping to hear him call back.

You blinked sharply at the memory, your hair and gown drenched by the torrential downpour that
beat around you. And yet despite this, you could not move. As though your feet had grown roots
and dug deep down into the earth, entwining themselves with the Godswood.

“Sōvegon, Lucerys!” You screamed into the air, heart racing in your chest as the rain beat
against your skin. Your brother disappeared into the clouds above, the small dragon flying into a
clear patch of light.

Your breath was caught in your throat as the images flooded your head, you couldn’t make them
stop.

The clouds separated below Lucerys, and jaws rose from beneath them. Vhagar's large form
burst through the clouds, jaws snapping over Lucerys and Arrax.

Arrax screamed.

A hand grabbed your shoulder and you gasped, heart rising in your throat as the hand spun you
around.

You were met with the concerned face of your husband, who stood just as wet as you were,
beneath the Godswood. His hair was heavy with the rain, it’s tendrils sticking to the leather of his
robes, and his dark leather eyepatch was snug on his face once more.

Why was he wearing his patch again?

“Have you gone mad?” He asked, voice loud so as to not be drowned out by the rain.

You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his palm on your shoulder as new memories flooded
forth.

Skin met skin as Aemond held your hips in his lap, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he
thrusted painfully up into your heat, grunting from the force he was using.

His hand tightened on your shoulder. You ripped yourself out of his grip, digging your nails into
the skin of his hand as he looked at you.

“Do not touch me.” You sneered, chest rising and falling.

Your dress was stuck to your skin from the rain, the gown growing more, and more heavy with
every passing moment. It chilled your flesh, causing goosebumps to erupt over you.

“Come out of the rain.” He commanded.

You were shivering.

“No.”

You knew that you should. But you pettily argued anyway.

“Don't be a child. You will catch cold.” He growled, hand grabbing your arm again tightly, fingers
digging into the flesh.

“Let go of me.” You growled, trying to pry his hand off of you as the rain continued to pour.

Aemond did not listen to you as he began to drag you away from the Godswood and towards the
shelter of the Keep. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled back, desperate to free yourself
from his grip.

You were terrified.

“Let go!” You cried, voice drowned by the rain.

He pulled you over the roots of the tree, your feet fumbling, and down to the grass. You fought the
whole way, your own fingers trying to bend his back to be rid of his bruising grip. Not until you
were pulled onto the cobblestones, out of the rain and beneath the roof of the Keeps open corridors
did Aemond finally release you.

You leapt back, away from him, chest rising and falling as you brought your hand to where his grip
had been. The skin tingled and stung and you knew that there would be bruises from it. Aemond
stared at you expectantly, watching as your chest rose and fell.

Water dripped from your hair and face, your eyelashes clumped together from the rain, or tears, or
a combination of both. The red gown you wore was almost a deep black from the rain, and it's
many layers weighed you down.

You shivered uncontrollably under his stare.

Aemond stood tall, and drenched, looking how he did the day he sat upon his dragon when he
plucked Lucerys from the sky. His hair was dripping down onto the floor, puddles forming beneath
the both of you.

“Come.” He commanded, eye never leaving your face.

You only stared back at him, defiant until the end.

Much to your detriment.

“I will not tell you again.”

Aemond turned on his heel and began his way towards your shared chambers, wet footsteps
marking the stone floors as he went. You did not move, watching him get all but ten paces in front
of you, before he turned around to see you in the spot he had left you.

A shadow crossed your uncles face before he made large, swift steps towards you. His hand
gripped your arm where it had before, and he jerked you towards him, dragging you through the
Keep as you stumbled on your feet behind him.

What more could happen?

The worse has already been done.

The One-Eyed Prince dragged you to your shared chambers, the knight opening and closing the
door behind you. Once inside, Aemond all but threw you away from him in anger as you both
stood soaked in the room.

He stormed back to the door, flinging it open loudly before barking at the knight to have the maids
fetch hot water for a bath and fresh clothes for the both of you. You breathed heavily, rooted in the
same spot that he had flung you to, watching him.

When the door was shut again, he turned and looked at you angrily.

“Are you done?”

You looked at him incredulously, “Done with what?”

“Making a fool of yourself and me.”

“I have done nothing of the sort.” You snipped.

“Hm.”

Your husband turned to walk himself to the fire, water dripping onto the floor, leaving a wet trail
behind him, until he stopped, eye flitting to the table where your letter was still sitting.

“Are you writing to tell them what I have done.”

You swallowed thickly as you looked at him, his eye not having left the paper. Water dripped from
the sleeves of your gown and you felt a chill roll through your body. You could not help but hug
yourself, as you watched him. The cool from the rain and the rising fear of your husbands anger
caused ice to settle in your heart.

“No." You paused, "You wouldn’t send it, even if I did.”

“Hm.”

Aemond took determined steps towards the table as you stayed nearby.

“Your father seems quite concerned with whether or not we have star fruit at the Keep.”

Your heart began to race in your chest.

His eye rose to your own and held you in a stare. Aemond reached up to pull his eyepatch away,
which had become tangled in his hair from the torrential rain. As he pulled it free, he tossed it onto
the table beside the letter, small water droplets landing on the page.

“Do you think that I can’t provide for you?” He sneered, and you let a silent breath of relief out
from your lips. “Do not worry, wife. I will ensure your precious star fruit is readily available for
you.”

The tension in the air was thick as he continued to stare at you.

“Where were you?”

Curiosity got the better of you.

“That’s none of your concern.” He responded.

You furrowed your brow at him. You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to it, asking
you a question of his own.

“What were you doing down by the Dragon Pit.”

Fuck.

“I wanted to ride Vermithor.”

Aemond laughed at you, taking another step forward.

“Ser Cole said you were quite upset.”

Another step.

“I was not aware that I wasn’t allowed to fly.” You said calmly, watching as he stalked over
towards you.

“Mmm. So that you can burn the Keep the way you did Riverrun? Do you think we are stupid?”

You did not answer.

“What was it that you said? Remind me.”

You continued to stay silent, watching as he came to stand in front of you, looking down his sharp
nose at your face as his pupil was blown wide.

Aemond stood an arms length away from you, dripping wet and bristling with something.
“'Fuck the Prince’ I think it was. At least, that’s what Ser Criston told me.”

Anger.

You tilted your head to look up at him, keeping strong and not answering to his attempts of stirring.

Aemond stepped forward, chest against yours as he snatched your face in one hand, fingers cruelly
digging into the skin of your cheeks as he looked down at you. He roughly pressed his lips against
yours in a chaste kiss and you stiffened in his grip.

He pulled back to look at you again.

“Whether you like it or not, you are my sweet, Lady Wife. You will live here until your last breath,
and I will put my seed in you. You will birth my heirs," He smirked, "And you will be thankful for
it. That is your duty.” His fingers shook your face as you kept still, looking up at him, breathing
shallowly.

“Your family sold you to me. You were a bartering piece that they moved about the board. A way
to end the war. Your mother is Queen now that she gave you up.”

You ground your teeth and clenched your jaw as he continued to look down at you, his fingers
bruising your face.

“I am your husband. You swore yourself to me." His eye flickered down to your lips, "I could give
you everything if you let me.” He whispered.

Aemond crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you fiercely as you stood in shock. Tingles
spread across your body as he brought a hand to the back of your head, trying to deepen the kiss.

You parted your mouth, feeling Aemond’s tongue swipe at your lips gently, as he cradled the back
of your head, his other hand still gripping your jaw. He pulled you closer as you let yourself melt
slightly into the kiss, feeling him become gentler.

Aemond's bottom lip brushed against yours and you pulled it into your mouth softly, feeling him
hum. He pressed himself up against you, his grip on your chin coming to frame the side of your
face, fingers tangling in your hair.

This would be nice if it wasn't him.

You bit down on his lip.

Hard.

The Prince jerked back, a small grunt falling from his mouth. The taste of copper spread on your
tongue, and you watched as blood began to trickle from his lip where you had bitten him. You
swallowed and braced yourself for his reckoning, but it never came.

Instead Aemond brought a hand to his lips, fingers brushing over the blood to look at them, before
a large smile broke out on his face, teeth showing.

“There she is. My zaldristos.”

 Sea of Green
Chapter Notes

I am going to be posting the two part Aemond wedding night POVs up now hehe so go
read them if you want to see how fucking foul this man is <3

The bed moved with every roll of your husband beside you, stirring you from your sleep. How
were you to relax when every shift turned your skin alight in anticipation of him reaching over to
touch you? You could not settle into the plush pillows and soft sheets, no matter how much you
tried. As soon as you got close to the precipice of sleep, gently drifting off, Aemond would shift
beside you, and your eyes would snap open.

The bastard had slept peacefully beside you, whilst you desperately chased it to no avail.

When you had finally reached sleep, you were waken shortly after by his stirring again. Aemond
was an early riser, someone who rose with the sun to waste no time in the day, or perhaps he did
not sleep. He had stirred, and wriggled and disturbed you from what little respite you had managed
to get as he rolled from beside the bed, not having touched you.

You had turned to watch him, angrily staring at the back of his head as you wished to thrust a
dagger into it. His hair was slightly tangled in the back, likely from his restlessness in bed. Small
waves licked at the ends of his hair as he walked towards the large windows to stare out at the
slowly rising sun.

“Did you sleep?” His voice carried across the room, subtle mocking tone to it. His voice was deep
and scratchy from his own rest as he cleared it softly.

He knew you were awake.

He knew you hadn’t rested.

Bastard.

You rolled onto your side, digging your hands under your head as you tightly shut your eyes, trying
to calm your aggravation and disdain for your husband. When Aemond got no response, he let out a
short hum as he moved about the chambers, readying himself for the day.

The maids came in a short while later and helped to dress and brush his hair, the same simple braid
at the back of his head. You wondered why he wore it in such a way. Was it not Targaryen
tradition to braid your hair? To wear it in intricate styles?

Why was he, a man so hell bent on tradition, inclined to wear his hair so simply?

Aemond had left the chambers and uttered a gentle, Wife to you as he left for the day, likely off to
wake Aegon up and prepare him for his duties to the realm. The maids had helped you rise from
bed, body heavy and mind thick with fatigue, to dress you and braid your hair for the day.

The same simple braid as Aemond.

Had you not told them the day before to braid it properly? Had Aemond commanded them to fit
your hair to his style? You were too tired to correct them, and so you let the maids put your hair in
the boring, common braid.

You spent the morning eating in your chambers, before you left for the day, walking down to the
Godswood to sit and think. It gave you clarity, and above all a sense of protection. The Godswood
was sacred, and old. As you sat beneath its leaves, you felt the small ache between your thighs and
you sighed.

Would it always be like this? Would you always feel pain for days after?

You wondered how some women enjoyed it.

The sun had rose to its peak and then began to descend before you saw your uncle again.

He came to the Godswood, knowing you would be there. A creature of habit he called you. As he
stood in front of you, beneath the shade of the Godswood, he let his lone eye roam down your
body.

His patch was firmly on his face again.

“You look beautiful today, Princess.” He commented, no hint of mocking in his tone.

Your head tilted to the side.

The gown was a deep black, red lining within the long draping sleeves and slit of the skirt. On the
neckline and shoulders, beaded dragons were embroidered with golden and red thread. Another
dress you had not seen before, and it made you wonder if your mother and father had ordered for
new gowns before your leave.

You looked up at Aemond as he waited for your response.

Was he expecting you to thank him?

To compliment him back?

He looked the same as he always did. Black leather tunic and pants to match, with long leather
boots that came up to his mid calf. The buckles of the tunic were high on his neck, and the sleeves
and chest were fitted tightly to his body.

Aemond pursed his lips as he got no response from you and hummed. A large hand came out in
front of him towards you, palm up.

An offering for you to take it.

Your eyes looked to his upturned hand. In the middle of his palm was the cut from your wedding.
It had almost healed now, the skin looking less raw or deep, and the scarred flesh had turned a soft
pink, raised up from his palm.

His hand kept steady, waiting for you to take it.

There was no option to refuse it.

You let your own shaky hand clasp Aemond's, your scarred palm meeting his, a shiver erupting
from your body. His hands were rough and calloused, but his fingers held you gently. His digits
curled over yours as he slightly raised his hand and pulled it towards him, his strength lifting you
from the ground amongst the roots of the tree.

He did not rip you from your spot as he had the day before.

“Walk with me.”

A demand.

And so you did.

Though as soon as you were standing you brought your hand back towards you, brushing down
you skirts as an excuse to not touch him. Your hands felt clammy as anxiety rose steadily inside of
you.

Aemond watched as you continued to brush your skirts, anything to delay walking with him, but if
there was anything that wavered within Aemond, he did not show it. For today he was a patient
man, and waited until it was clear that you were stalling, and the tension around you became so
thick, that you had no choice but to meet his violet eye once more, stilling your hands.

The One-Eyed Princes lips twitched, and he hummed before turning on his feet. Though this time,
he did not storm ahead of you, expecting you to chase after him on unsteady feet, or dragging you
behind him. Today he waited for you to walk and stand next to him before the both of you began to
walk, side by side, through the Red Keep.

Neither of you said a word as you made your way down to the garden, the sky a soft pink as you
walked past blooming flowers of all kinds.

What was happening?

Was this a trick?

A trap?

Or was this a show for the court to see that your husband was not cruel, and that the treaty was
working, just as the Usurper King had said it would.

The aroma of the garden curled its way around you, saturating the scent of leather and sandalwood
from beside you.

“Are you well?” Aemond broke the silence again.

You let yourself look at him.

Were you well?

Was he mocking you?

His eye watched your face. No sign of anger or distaste on his own. His sharp features were calm
and blank as he waited for you to respond. Patient again. You wondered how long that would last.
Yet the longer you held his gaze, the longer you realised he would not be lashing out at you
amongst the bright red rose bushes. You could not help but scoff quietly.

You shook your head and kept walking, turning your gaze to the flowers.

Breath in.
Breath out.

“Hm.” Aemond hummed, his eye still on you as you walked together, “I’m happy to see that the
gowns are to your liking.”

You stopped in your tracks.

The gowns?

“Of course, Queen Rhaenyra and King Consort Daemon have good taste. They know my favourite
tailor is-“

“In Dorne.” He interrupted you, “Marba, correct?”

And he was.

Marba was the infamous tailor in Dorne where many of your gowns were specially made for you.

You furrowed your brow.

And Aemond looked smug.

“Not a hard man to find,” He continued to walk, and you had to force your legs to meet his, “I hope
they are to your liking.”

The gowns were from him.

How?

Why?

You kept your eyes on his face as you walked, almost stumbling over your feet. He looked down
from his nose at you, and gave you the softest of smirks.

But it was not a cruel one.

“Why?”

He stopped to turn and face you again, looking at your gown as a hand came to gently touch the
material of your sleeve, his thumb and forefinger rubbing the soft dress between his fingers.

“Why? Can’t have my wife in gowns that are not the finest in the realm.”

You held his gaze.

Why was he still dressing you in red and black?

Would he not dress you in green like his family?

“I’m surprised they’re not green.”

Aemond let out a hum of a laugh.

“Green is not your colour.” Aemond paused, “Though I have no doubt you would look just as
ravishing as you do now.” A shiver ran down your spine, “But I prefer you in the colours of our
House. If you were given green gowns, would you truly wear them?”
No.

You would have worn your chemise around the Keep rather than that.

Aemond took your silence as your answer.

“Hm.” He smiled, and continued to walk forward, “Can’t be having the people believe my wife is
weak.”

Aemond and you did not speak much after this, just the occasional comment here or there about the
Keep, or the sky. He even made comment about a shared memory from your youth.

You and Aemond had watched Helaena search in a rose bush for a centipede, her dress becoming
caught on the thorns, which you and Aemond had to quickly unhook, lest the Septa yell at the
young girl for ruining her gown.

You had walked around the full expanse of the garden, coming back into the Keep once the sun
had disappeared behind the horizon, and the sky had descended into darkness. Once inside your
chambers, Aemond did not turn to the side table to fill a goblet of wine, nor did he make his way
before the fire in habit as he usually did.

Aemond walked into the chambers, you alongside him, and once the chamber doors were shut he
had turned to face you and took two swift steps towards you. Your entire body stiffened at the
movement as he looked you up and down, a hand coming to brush a soft finger through your hair.

His eye kept on his hand.

“The King has requested we dine with him.”

Was this why he had taken you for a walk?

To butter you up?

To keep you in good spirits so that you would behave?

You sniffed as a steady fear settled in your chest.

“He is no King of mine.”

“Hm. Regardless, we have been summoned.” His eye moved to your face, and you could not bear
it.

You moved across the room, and Aemond followed you. You sat on the chaise and looked into the
flames as Aemond joined you in his armchair. You both watched in silence as the fire licked at the
logs inside.

It was as if you were both preparing yourself for the night.

As if you both needed a moment to collect yourself before you would, once again, be mocked by
your eldest uncle. You sat together for some time as you observed a log halved in size, and slowly
turned to ash. It's shape crumbling down to the bottom of the hearth, before a knight came to
collect you both.

Aemond stood slowly before walking over to you, offering you, again, a hand.

You stared at it in thought.

It would do you no good to continue to push him to anger. He would always turn it on you, and you
would face the wrath that came to him so easily, a wrath in which you would have brought upon
yourself. You thought of the Septa’s lessons.

You had to behave.

You took his hand and he helped you to stand, his fingers twitching around yours as he smiled
down at you. Such a soft smile, it made your heart clench and your side itch as you looked at it.

A genuine smile from the kinslayer.

It had been so long since you had witnessed him smile like that.

You blinked and looked down at the floor, Aemond moving to take you through the chambers, not
having let go of your hand. It wasn’t until you were both outside of the chambers did he release
you, to tuck his own behind his back as he always did. You followed the movement, holding one
wrist in your hand, squeezing tightly as you walked to the Kings chambers.

The walk was not long, and in no time at all, you found yourself at the doors of the chambers
where you had been frequently as a child, watching your Grandsire complete his model of Valyria
with loving care.

The doors were just as large as you remembered, and you felt a sense of dread to enter.

How much would it have changed since your Grandsires passing?

Would his model still be there?

Or would every last memory of him be discarded and replaced with green?

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you stared at the doors, the knights not having opened
them yet as Aemond looked down at you from your side. Your heart raced in your chest, and
anxiety spread icily through your body.

“Breathe.” Aemond whispered to you as the two knights began to open the doors.

You did as he commanded and walked forward into the chambers beside your husband.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Lady Wife, Y/n Velaryon.” Ser Criston Cole announced to the
chambers as you entered.

You let your eyes roam around the space. Not much had changed, and that was your first surprise.
Your second surprise, was that the large miniature of Valyria still sat tall in the middle of the
chambers before the fire.

It was still there.

You ignored the world around you as you stepped forward to look at it. There was a fine layer of
dust on the model, though nothing had been destroyed or added. It was left to be there as it had the
day he died. You lifted a hand to touch it, as if it was not real.

To feel for yourself that it was truly there.

“His lasting legacy.” Came the snicker of Aegon to the side of you.

You pulled your hand back behind you as you turned your head to face him.
Aegon sat at the large table before the balcony doors. He was dressed in green robes, the neck
loosened by two buttons undone at the top, and a hand rested on the table with his chin in his palm.
The bags under his eyes were dark, and his skin looked paler than usual. Perhaps he was ill? Or
perhaps it was the ale. As you continued to observe him, a soft glint caught your eye.

A large gold ring shone on his pinky finger and you immediately recognised it.

Helaenas ring.

You bristled.

Aemond's hand came to touch the small of your back gently, and you hated that it grounded you in
that moment.

Alicent Hightower stood behind her eldest son, looking out the balcony at the realm, as the soft
white curtains billowed around her from the evenings breeze. She almost looked like a ghost the
way she stood there motionless, not having turned to greet you as she normally would have.

Trained for court interactions.

“Princess,” Came the low drawl of the Hightower Patriarch, “It is good to see that you are fairing
well.”

Otto Hightower sat beside his grandson on the table as he looked at you. He wore dark grey robes
with fur trimming around the neck, and hints of green within the stitching and side panels of his
coat. His hair had greyed considerably since the last time you had been in Kings Landing and you
wondered if this was due to illness or stress.

Aemond’s thumb rubbed on your back as he put pressure on you, urging you to move forward
wordlessly and gently.

Why was he being so soft today?

It sent your mind reeling.

Was he regretful?

Had Alicent reprimanded him?

Was he reminded of the delicacy of the treaty?

Was he afraid that he would break you?

Or was he simply in a better mood?

You took slow steps towards the table, Aemond on your side, moving together to your seats. Your
uncle pulled out a chair for you, and you let yourself sit in it, pulling the chair forward to the table,
Aemond seating himself beside you.

“Thought you had grown mad like Helaena.” Aegon mocked, and you felt Aemond stiffen beside
you.

Alicent snapped her head to look at her son, finally breaking away from her spot beside the
window as she came over to the table quickly, standing behind his chair. Tension between the
mother and son was thick. Her stance behind him was menacing.
A silent threat.

You had remembered when you were young that Alicent was not the kindest of mothers, nor the
most understanding. You had remembered Aegon or Aemond complaining of being slapped by the
Queen on more than one occasion. Aegon mostly being hit rather than Aemond, though more than
once, Aemond had faced the brunt of her frustrations simply for being in the closest proximity to
her.

Aegon let out a huff of a laugh as he pulled his wine to his lips, sipping from his cup, eyes over the
rim looking at you. He ignored his mothers presence looming behind him, and it gave you the
impression that Aegon was used to her wrathful gaze, and bursts of violence.

It simply didn’t faze him.

He looked as though he expected and knew what was coming. That he had made his peace with it a
very long time ago.

Almost as sure as the sun would rise, so would Alicent’s temper. You supposed the both of you
had that one, simple thing in common. And it most certainly passed on to her second son.

Alicent finally seated herself beside the King, opposite to you and Aemond, and dipped her head
down as she brought her hands up onto the table. Aemond followed his mother immediately and
bowed his head down, hands crossed above his plate as she began a prayer. You looked amongst
the table to find Otto in prayer too, but beside him, Aegon stared at you, smirk pulling wider and
wider on his face as he sipped from his goblet.

You stared at each other as neither of you moved to pray with the Dowager Queen. He lifted his
eyebrows at you sharply as Alicent came to the end of her prayer, and Aemond’s violet eye lifted to
catch you and Aegon in a locked gaze.

The table was full of food, and goblets of wine sat in far more quantity than was needed. There was
a large roasted turkey on the table, and steaming legs of lamb with vegetables piled high around it.
Aemond reached forward and began to fill your plate for you. He placed your favourite foods on
the plate, and skilfully avoided the roasted eggplant. Your least favourite food.

He had remembered.

“Have you settled into your chambers?” Alicent asked stiffly, as a way to redirect the conversation.
As though the anger and resentment towards her son had drifted away with the breeze coming in
from the balcony and the small prayer given at the table.

You let your head turn to look at Aemond beside you, not answering. He didn’t take his eye away
from serving himself, but you knew he felt you watching him. You decided to not respond to her
question, and so she redirected her attention to Aemond, asking him of how he spent his day. He
told her with great gentleness that he had been to the library to read over some texts, and then went
for a walk through the gardens with you.

Aemond trailed off awkwardly as all of you began eating.

Stiff conversation floated about the table, and you wondered if the stiffness came from your
presence, or if the Greens had always been this dysfunctional with each other. You had never dined
with them alone, not even before the war, and it made you wonder if your presence actually
brought any tension to the table at all. It seemed that there was enough already there naturally
without you.
The food from your plate slowly disappeared as you ate in silence, desperately avoiding lifting your
gaze, lest they drag you into the hollow conversation of the room. You moved a large piece of
potato around your plate before stabbing it with your fork, bringing it to your lips to chew.

“Such a delight to have you join us.” Aegon directed his voice to you, most likely having sensed
your avoidance, and so you let your gaze meet his.

His violet eyes lit up in delight.

“I have missed sharing meals with my niece.” He smiled, food in his mouth.

You frowned.

“It’s a shame my other nephews aren’t here to join us.”

The air fell still.

“Quite a shock when Aemond came home from Storms End to tell us what had happened.”

Heat rose in your body and you loudly dropped your cutlery back onto the table, hands pulling into
fists as you gawked at him.

“Didn’t think my brother had it in him.”

You sprung from your chair, the seat falling backwards behind you with a heavy crash. Your chest
rose and fell as Aegon smiled up at you. Otto and Alicent watched you with careful eyes as you
stared the false King down.

It could be so easy.

To just launch yourself across the table, knife in hand.

Would any of them be quick enough to stop you? If you lodged the blade into his throat and
watched blood pour from his mouth as he drowned in it?

“Y/n,” Aemond’s voice broke you from your thoughts, “Sit.”

Aegon laughed loudly in his seat as he watched Aemond look up at you.

“Listen to your husband.” Aegon smiled, and your fingers twitched, looking down at the knife on
the table.

It could be so easy.

Ser Cole came across the chambers towards you, towering over you, hand on the hilt of his sword.
You bristled as you felt Aemond’s hand on your elbow, gently holding it, not tightly grabbing it, as
he whispered to you.

“Abrazȳrys.” Wife.

You jerked your arm from Aemond's grip, a loud laugh falling from Aegon’s lips at the gesture, as
you slowly sat back down in your seat, eyes not leaving your eldest uncle before you, nor Ser Coles
presence leaving your side.

The air was thick in the room as Ser Cristin stood on your flank, watching every movement you
made as your hand twitched to grab the knife. It made you even more angry. You felt caged
between him and the man beside you. Your uncle Aegon smiled at you smugly in enjoyment.

Alicent’s voice flitted across the table, trying to disarm the rising tension. Her low voice asked if
there was anything that you needed in your chambers, noting that she had sent your letter to your
family by raven, and that they would swiftly give you their response.

You ignored her attempts of conversation, keeping your eyes on the Usurper King who leant lazily
back in his chair, goblet of wine in his hand smiling at you.

He had won.

Aemond stood slowly, looking at the table, excusing you both with the gentle words of needing
rest for the morrow.

A small mercy.

Aegon bid you a delighted good night, and you felt the heated gaze of the room on the both of your
backs as you raced out of the chamber doors, leaving Aemond to chase behind you.
 Misfortune

The doors to the Kings chambers shut heavily behind you, and you did not slow your pace as you
stormed back to your shared chambers. You could feel Aemond following you slowly behind, not
racing to catch up with you as he watched you storm ahead, anger rolling from you in waves.

He called your name gently to you, almost in exacerbation, but your pace did not falter as you kept
on, your strides quick and long until you reached the chambers. Your own hands pushing the doors
open, not waiting for the knight as you stormed into the room.

The doors crashed loudly against the walls behind as you moved straight to the far wall, filling a
goblet with wine before drinking it, pacing in front of the fire angrily as you desperately tried to
school your anger.

‘Dracarys.’ Lucerys’ voice whispered in your head.

You let out a shaken breath, listening to the chamber doors shut behind you as you stopped to stare
into the fire, watching the flames. Your chest rose and fell and the anger that you felt boiled you
from within. It did not stop climbing the longer you stood there, the anger building, and building,
and building, until all that could be heard was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Dracarys.” Lucerys’ voice got louder, and you scrunched your eyes shut, hands tightly in fists as
you held your breath.

You listened to Aemond’s slow, steady steps as he came towards you. His presence coming up
from beside.

“Zaldristos.”

You opened your eyes and were met with Aemond’s face. He looked down his nose at you, not
cruelly, but expressionless as he watched you react to his brothers mocking. You supposed that he
took great pleasure in seeing you like this, and the room began to heat around you the longer you
thought of it. Your nails dug sharply into your palms as you all but sneered up at your husband.
You blinked, opening your mouth to snap, and that’s when you saw him.

Lucerys stood behind Aemond, watching you.

His eyes and mouth were bloody, and his robes hung heavily from his body, drenched head to toe
from rain. His dark brown brows were drawn into a frown as he looked at you. He looked so angry.
So rageful, and yet there was sorrow in his eyes. You gaped in horror as you looked at him.

A product of the man in front of you.

A small cry left your lips as you watched him sneer. It had been a while since you had seen him
like this. So small, so bloody, so haunted.

So horrifying.

“Dracarys.”

“Enough!” You yelled into the space, watching as Lucerys disappeared with a blink of an eye.

Aemond looked to the space behind him, to where Lucerys had once been, and then looked back at
you, head tilted. You did not take your eyes from where Luc had been standing, terrified that he
would appear there once again, bloodied from Vhagar’s crushing jaws.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as a sob fell from your lips.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

You couldn’t do this.

You couldn’t.

Aemond stepped forward towards you, hand reaching out to touch you softly. You jerked away,
wrapping your hands around yourself as you moved back towards the fire, tearing your eyes away
from where Luc had been and away from the form of your husband.

“The Gods must surely hate me.” You uttered to yourself, “Is it not enough that I am married to
you?”

You looked down at your hand, fingers trailing up and down the scar of your palm.

Scars that would never leave.

A brother that would never come back.

“You mustn’t-“

“Nothing that you say will make this better.” You interrupted, losing yourself to the storm building
inside, “Nothing that you will do, will make this more bearable.”

You turned to face him, looking in his eye as you watched his face. His hand dropped back to his
side.

“You took him from me. You took him, and he is never coming back.”

“And you took Daeron.” He said quietly, “He is never coming back.”

You sniffed and turned away looking back at the fire. Behind you, Aemond moved to the side of
the room, pouring himself a goblet of wine, and refilling yours. He took deliberate steps towards
you until he stood in front of you, handing you your wine.

You took it with no argument.

Aemond seated himself in his usual seat, and looked at the flames, sipping from his goblet in
thought. You stayed standing doing the same, desperately trying to calm your anger and sorrow,
lest it break free, and you bear the consequences of it at the hands of your husband.

Again.

When your cup was half drained, Aemond finally spoke.

“Don’t let him see that he is under your skin. It will only get worse if you do.” His voice was flat,
though something else lingered beneath it, “I learnt that giving Aegon joy from your misfortune
only feeds his cruelty.”

You let yourself look at your uncle.

He sat still, looking into the flames, cup to his lips.

If anyone knew of Aegon’s cruelty, it would be him.

You grew beside them both and watched how Aegon had picked on Aemond his whole childhood,
even serving to mock him now. Aegon and your brothers had never once held back in their teasing,
and you of all people, would know this.

Aemond knew how Aegon’s mind worked.

You would do well to heed his warning.

“And you expect me to sit there and take it? To take his mocking of Lucerys? The both of yours?”

“Yes. Like the dutiful little wife you are.” Aemond let his eye meet yours, “Just as I have had to,
all my life.”

“Easier said than done. I have nothing. I have lost everything.”

A pause.

“Mm. It gets easier with practise.”

You watched Aemond’s profile as he stared into the fire. Your eyes traced the sharp line of his
nose, to the soft curve of his plump lips, all the way down to his sharp chin and cheeks. His hair
looked so soft to the touch, you almost wanted to run your fingers through it.

Or yank it.

“Why did you stop him?” You asked.

Aemond’s brow furrowed.

“Why did you stop him in the Dungeons?”

Aemond stood and walked towards you, towering over your form as you clutched tightly onto the
goblet in your hand.

He looked down at you, face uncharacteristically gentle.

It set you on edge more than his anger did.

“Because you are mine. And so long as I have breath in my lungs, no-one will touch you but me.”

His smile was so soft that it did not match the meaning of his words. It made your skin prickle as
he held your gaze. A small hum erupted from his chest as he brushed a lock of hair behind your
ear. You stood still as his hand lingered, his fingers gently caressing the back of your ear before he
turned on his foot to make his way towards the bed.

Aemond began to strip himself of his outer robes. The dark heavy leather tunic fell loudly to the
floor in a pile, the buckles clinking against each other, similar to the sound of a sword, making you
anxious. Next was his undershirt, a thin white tunic which he pulled gracefully over his head.

You watched as the skin of his back was revealed to you.

You knew that Aemond was lean, but you did not expect to see the outline of his muscles
stretching across his back with each movement.

You had not witnessed him undress before.

The low candlelight caught on his hair which shone in the darkness, as he reached at the back of
his head with gentle and skilled fingers to undo his small, simple braids. His hair loosened, and the
locks that were held in braids all day were now wavy, and fell to the front of his face.

Aemond bent to pick up the leather tunic and placed it on a chair on the side of the room, putting
the thin white undershirt on top of it in a messy pile. He did not once turn to meet your gaze as you
watched him.

And you, much to your disgust, found that you could not help but admire the way that he was built.
No more was he the gangly little boy you remembered. Aemond was now a tall and muscular, who
if anybody else, would entice you into his waiting arms to warm his bed willingly.

But he was not anyone else.

You felt a familiar tingle in your core as you watched him from across the chambers. Heat speed
into your cheeks and settled into your stomach to which you pushed down in anger, finally tearing
your eyes from the man to look back at the fire.

Do not look at him.

The flames danced and swayed around each other, the red and yellow kissing one another as they
devoured the logs within. Fire was a beauty all in its own, but one that devoured all in its path.
You heard rustling behind you and the sound of a goblet being placed upon a table. A deep sigh
flitted across the space of the chambers and you fought the urge to turn around and gaze upon your
uncle.

“The hour is late.” Aemond called across the room to you.

You did not answer.

“Come to bed.”

A command.

You were stuck in your place, daring not to move. But even as you stood, you could not force
yourself to walk across the room willingly. You could not move as you felt fear trickle into your
pores at the thought of crawling into bed beside him.

Would he hurt you again?

“Zaldristos.” He called, his patience from the day finally running thin, and that was all it took for
you to turn and slowly move towards the bed.

Every inch of your body fought you as you walked towards the bed, tearing your eyes away from
the fire. Aemond lay beneath the sheets, propped up by one elbow as he looked at you. His chest
was bared, and you could not stop your eyes from flitting down the toned lines of his stomach. A
small trail of silver hair working its way down to his-

You looked away to the ground as you got closer, heat rising into your cheeks. Aemond continued
to watch you in amusement as you moved across the chambers until finally, you wear but a mere
three steps from the bed.
His hand pulled the sheet from your side back, slowly, an offering for you to crawl into the vipers
nest. To lay beside him. To not fight it.

To be a good wife and lay beside your husband and bend to his will.

You gawked at his hand before looking back at him. Your eyes flitted from his face to his
shoulder.

There, nestled between his neck and shoulder was a jagged scar. The flesh was puckered and pink,
skin pulled taut around the length of it. It looked thick and deep, and had a strange texture around
it, as though it had been cauterised.

Perhaps it had been.

It looked a lot larger than you had thought it would have been, and you felt the smallest hint of
pride swell inside of you.

There was the proof of your attack.

The proof of your fire.

The skin looked sore, as though it would have been a difficult place to heal for him, especially with
his love for the training yard. The scar was so close to where you had intended, that even the
slightest movement of your hands, or his reaction being too slow, would have been fatal. You
would have nicked the thick artery right at his neck, and Aemond would have bled out in a pool of
his own blood, watched on in horror by his mother and knight.

A shame you had missed.

But mixed with this sense of pride, and disappointment of not doing greater harm, there was a quiet
voice, lingering in the back of your head. A tiny, stinging pain that rose in your heart that you
would not have noticed if it wasn’t for the turmoil that had began to build.

There, deep within you, was regret.

And right beside it sorrow for the damage and pain you had caused.

Was it your inner child that still held onto hope for a better future with him?

Or were you simply reminded that this was your uncle, sins or not, and that you had shared a youth
together, and grown together, and had bonded together more fiercely than you had with your own
siblings.

Aemond felt you observing where you had stabbed him and he let out a grunt, letting his arm slide
beneath him as he laid down onto the pillow to look at you. You moved to crawl into the bed
beside him, still in your dress, but his face stopped you in your tracks.

“Undress.” Was all he said.

Your heart raced away in your chest as you turned away from him, reaching behind you to pull at
the laces to loosen the gown and let it slip from your form. But the laces were too high, and each
time you made to grasp the thread to unknot it, it would slip from your fingertips.

You arms ached as you struggled with it until finally you felt the cool press of fingers at your back,
goosebumps erupting around the skin as Aemond grasped the ties away from your feeble hands,
pulling them with skilled practise away from your body. The dress sagged in your hold as you
heard Aemond settle back into your shared bed.

Letting a held breath pass from your lips, you let go of the gown at your front and let it drop to the
floor, leaving you in your thin chemise beside the bed. As soon as the gown hit the floor you
crawled into the bed beside him, racing to pull the sheets up to your shoulders before rolling onto
your side, not sparing him a glance.

Aemond huffed a small laugh and rolled away from you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as you laid stiffly on your side.

Why had he not touched you?

Was he waiting for you to let down your guard?

“Sleep well.” Came his voice from behind you, and you locked your hands tighter around the
sheet.

But Aemond did not move once from his position, nor did he move closer to you, nor did a hand
snake around your front to caress you. You laid beside him, as he blew out the candle on his side of
the bed, and you uneasily did the same. A darkness eventually shrouded the room as the fire
dwindled, and you listened to the steady, even breaths of Aemond as he fell asleep.

Once you had realised that he was sleeping, you found that you could finally relax, drifting off into
a dreamless sleep, your body finally giving in to the fatigue that had plagued you since your
arrival.

You sunk into the clouded depths, your body so wound up that finally, it let go of everything
around you. You did not dream, instead you floated in a state of nothing for some time. Sleep was
the only place where you could escape the world around you, and not be present.

It was a peaceful and a reprieve from all.

A break from the horrors of your life.

But then you began to rise from those murky depths, a familiar tickle in your stomach growing
with every passing moment. Your mind did not want to rise from its sleep, and so you were sitting
in a limbo of half awareness.

Aware that there was movement behind you, but no desire to break forth from your sleep to the
present. But then the familiar tickle grew stronger, and you found yourself rising from your
slumber, pleasure being plucked from your core with soft care.

A sleepy moan escaped your lips as you wriggled, mind still not caught up to what was happening,
brain foggy from the depths of your sleep. Fingers swirled gently around your bud, aided by the
slick from your core, pulling pleasure from you steadily.

Another breathy moan escaped you.

Was this a dream?

You felt movement against your back, something hard rubbing against your cheeks in the bed,
whilst hot breath fanned across your neck. A soft hum came from behind and you were suddenly
snapped to the present.
Your eyes flicked open.

Aemond’s fingers softly rubbed your bud in circles, dipping down to your entrance to scoop up the
slick your body made, as he dragged it back up to your pleasure centre, your core clenching around
nothing. His touch was so soft and gentle, almost as though he was desperate to not wake you.

You body was hot and the coil inside of you was already wound tight from his ministrations. How
long had he been touching you? Fear and disgust trickled down into you as you thrusted your hips
backwards, desperate to escape his hand and their featherlike touch. Your ass ground against his
hard, heavy member, which slipped between your thighs at the movement.

You froze.

His length brushed against your folds, sending a shooting heat up into your core.

The One-Eyed Prince continued his fingers swirling, his hips staying still as his cock was nestled
between your thighs, pressed against your cunt, until they dipped back down to your entrance, a
long thick finger pushing inside of you. A squeak escaped your lips and a blush rose on your
cheeks.

It shouldn’t feel good.

Why did it feel so good?

Aemond rubbed his finger inside of you, up against the soft spongey spot of your core. It happened
so quickly that your release came from nowhere, blinding white hot pleasure coursed through you
as you let out a breathless gasp, writhing in his grip. Your movements caused the tip of his cock to
bump into his own hand between your folds.

His finger did not stop their movements, and instead you were met with a second, pushing into your
heat, a dull stinging as they stretched you, pushing you through your pleasure, prolonging your
release. Your hand came down to grasp his wrist squeezing it tightly, trying to pull it from within
you as he scissored his digits within.

It was too much.

You were too sensitive.

A sob flew from your lips as you dug your nails into his hand, trying to tear his fingers out from
within you. Aemond slowly pulled his fingers from within, leaving a wet trail along your inner
thighs from your release and you twitched in his hold.

Your breathing slowly began to come down as your core fluttered around nothing.

Yet those fingers that were inside of you, were soon replaced with the thick head of your uncles
cock, rubbing through your release-slick folds as he thrusted slowly from behind. You froze
completely once you felt it, hand still gripping onto his wrist for dear life as he rocked back and
forth, breathy moan falling from his lips into the side of your neck.

Your eyes welled with tears as you laid there, unable to do anything.

You could not stop him.

His hand parted your folds with great care as he rubbed himself against your centre, tip catching on
your entrance as he slowly worked his way inside with, gentle, shallow thrusts, stretching you out
as he gave you time to adjust to his length.

He was only half way inside of you when you felt the burning stretch of his intrusion, though lesser
than the first time. Your core clenched around him in pain as fear began to bloom. An uneasy
whimper flitted past your lips, making Aemond bring a slick finger back up to your bud, gently
drawing circles as he pushed himself fully inside of you.

"Shhh." He cooed.

You silently cried out, feeling the head of his cock push up against your cervix. Aemond groaned
behind you as he adjusted his hips, stilling inside of you as his finger continued to swirl around
your pearl. Your core clenched around him as he began to pluck painful pleasure from you, feeling
you slicken his length and slowly relax around him.

Aemond stayed inside of you, feeling your heat flutter around his cock until finally he pulled back
slowly, placing a small kiss against the side of your neck as he pushed his hips back into your heat,
relishing in the warm, wet pleasure that you brought him.

"Doing so good for me." He praised.

You clenched around him at the praise, a tiny moan escaping your lips. His finger on your pearl
brought you close to another release, your hips squirming in his hold to try and chase it. Which
horrified you all the more.

Why did it feel so good?

You laid on your side as Aemond began to thrust into you, dragging his length through your folds,
letting you feel each and every inch of him as he continued to draw pleasure from you with his
fingers. He felt so large, and it stretched you deep within. With every slow push, you would swear
that you could feel him in your stomach, the flesh bulging from his length.

Tears welled in your eyes as you laid there.

This was so wrong.

It was so wrong.

Why did it have to feel this way?

Why was he being so gentle?

Why was he bringing you pleasure?

Tears began to fall from your cheeks and onto the pillow below as he sped up his thrusts, the tip of
his cock pressing sharply into your cervix with every thrust. He moaned from behind you as you
felt his other hand wrap from underneath you, coming to rest on your lower stomach.

Aemond pressed down onto your belly as he thrusted, amplifying your pleasure. It tightened
everything and heightened your pleasure. You whimpered loudly in his hold. He felt so deep.

“Fuck, Zaldristos.” He moaned from behind, feeling your stomach bulge with every thrust of his
cock.

It made you feel ill, and so more tears fell from your eyes as you silently cried.

But then the coil began to tighten again, and your cunt gripped his shaft tighter with every thrust
and roll of his fingers. When Aemond felt you begin to reach your peach, core clenching tighter
against him, his hand pressed harder into your stomach, thrusting his hips into you harder.

Aemond's fingers swirled around your slick bud quickly, and the lewd sound of your wetness and
his hurried thrusts filled the chambers. He pushed into you harder, his tip digging painfully into the
end of your core as he beat against it with no care.

The hand on your stomach wound up your body as he continued, coming to palm your breast,
rolling a pert nipple in his fingers. Your hips reflexively jerked backwards, his cock rubbing
against the rough patch within you, causing the coil to snap once more, and your release flooding
through your body. A broken moan falling from your lips

You jerked in his hold as he sped up thrusts, feeling you clench down on him tightly.

“Thats it. Good girl.” He murmured into your neck, placing a wet kiss on the skin as he continued
to rub at your pearl, fucking you through your climax as your release coated his cock and your
thighs.

More tears fell from your cheeks as he continued, his pace becoming rougher, seeking out his own
peak. His hand left your breast, moving up to hold your neck, roughly squeezing it as his other
hand finally left your bud, and gripped your hip viciously as he fucked himself into you.

“So perfect. Always so perfect.” He moaned.

An airy squeak left your lips as he choked you, breathing restricted from his hand, each thrust
punching up into you painfully after two releases, the overstimulation making you tense in his
arms, but Aemond did not stop.

“So pretty." He grunted from behind, “Īlē vēttan syt nyke.” You were made for me.

His hand left your throat and moved higher, coming to grab your cheeks with his large palm,
faltering as they felt the tears that flowed down them. As Aemond felt you crying, a feral growl
came from his chest as he thrusted one final time, deep inside of you, pressing the tip of his cock
up against your cervix as he came undone.

Aemond moaned behind you as he held your face, feeling the tears roll over his fingers as hot ropes
of his spend painted your walls, tightly pressed against your womb. A broken sob left your lips as
you felt the warmth of his cum flooding you.

Your core clenched painful around him from the aftershocks of your release, and you heard him
grunt from behind you. Aemond sat pressed up inside your heat as he slowly softened in your
walls, listening to you silently cry in front of him. His fingers on your cheeks rubbed against you,
smearing the tears into your skin.

You tried to roll away from him, to remove him from inside of you, but as soon as you moved,
Aemond’s grip on your hip moved to your waist, pulling you closer to him in an iron grip to keep
you were you were.

Your stomach flipped as the glow of your release left, and shame and disgust crowded you.

How could you have enjoyed that?

Why did you let him touch you like that?

Aemond stayed snugly inside of you until he fully softened, pulling out of your cunt slowly, as you
felt his release leak from between your folds and down onto the sheets below. A hand came to
brush against your core, gentle fingers prodding at your entrance, feeling where his spend had
begun to leak from you. Another sob fell from your lips. His finger moved back up to your bud,
attempting to press down on it again, and you jerked away with a pained yelp.

Only then did Aemond release his grip from you.

Only then did the heat of his body move away from behind you, leaving your back cold and no
longer smothered from the heat of his body.

Only then, once you had jerked yourself from his grip, did he roll over back to his side of the bed
and fall easily to sleep, leaving you to bask in the horror of his assault once again. But this time
your body felt heavy, and your eyes slide shut.

Exhaustion consumed you as you cried until you could not cry no more, silently beside your
husband. The room was still dark, the fireplace was mere embers, and soon your body was dragged
back down into the dreamless depths you had let consume you before.
 An Understanding
Chapter Summary

Sorry for keeping you all hanging !!! <3 prepare yourself for a spam hehehe

Chapter Notes

Sorry for keeping you all hanging !!! <3 prepare yourself for a spam hehehe

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When you woke the next morning, Aemond was nowhere to be found. You had twisted slowly
amongst the sheets turning your head to see if the man still lay in bed beside you, but his side of
the bed was empty.

When you had sat up, there was a small ache in your core, but nothing like the first time. Your
thighs were still sticky with his spend and your release, having slowly leaked from you during the
night. As you sat and looked about the chambers in search of him, you found that his familiar head
of hair and two simple braids were absent. You let out a sigh of relief as you moved to crawl out of
bed.

Intrusive memories of the night before sprung into your mind as you sat on the edge of the
mattress. His touch between your thighs, the pleasure it brought, how gentle he was to begin. How
he brought you to your peak before he reached his.

Twice.

How he had whispered in your ear, causing your body to react to his deep voice. To his praise.

You blinked, shaking your head, desperate to forget.

It was wrong.

He was disgusting.

A kinslayer.

When the maids came to the chambers to help dress you, you had quickly turned your back and
used the chemise from the day before to gently wipe between your legs. To rid yourself of his
sticky seed that continued to seep from within you.

They dressed you in another black gown, a gown which you now knew Aemond had Marba in
Dorne make for you. A man he had sought out himself because he knew that was where you got
your dresses from. You wondered if Aemond personally went to meet the tailor, or if he had
ordered a messenger to do it for him.

It confused you all the same.

It was odd that he did not have the dresses made more conservatively like his mother or sister
would have worn. The style was the same as you would usually wear, not modest at all under the
eyes of the Seven or his mother the Dowager Queen, and they extravagantly decorated with
dragons or memories of your past and present, like the Godswood.

The colours of the gowns was what confused you the most.

Why did he still want you wearing black and red?

Maybe it was to serve as a reminder to both you and him of what this was. Of who you were.

You broke your fast with some bread and fruit, and moved to leave the chambers to sit as you
usually did beneath the Godswood. But as you walked towards the courtyard where the tree sat,
you questioned yourself.

You did not have to sit there every day.

Though you were restricted from the Dragon Pit, you were not restricted from the other endless
rooms the Keep held. And so you found your way to another quiet, familiar spot to spend your day.

The walk to the Library was a short while from the courtyard. And so you had to turn down
different corridors and hallways to get there, walking up a large staircase, to walk back down
another, passing Lords and Ladies until finally you arrived to the the large room filled with books.

Two guards opened the doors for you, softly and let you inside.

The ceilings were tall, with tomes piled high from floor to ceiling in large wooden shelves. The
room was silent except for the soft steps of your feet, and the distant crackling of the Libraries
fireplace.

You let yourself walk behind a towering shelf, your hand coming to brush against the old leather
spines of the large tomes that lay nestled beside each other. The room smelt as a Library should, of
old parchment and aged books, hints of worn leather and glue. The subtle tinge of dust as all things
old had, and the enticing pull of the combined familiarity of it all.

You kept walking languidly, coming up around the other side to walk towards the crackling
fireplace, where you longed to curl up in front of, on one of the chairs to read. The fireplace came
into view, and its large stone work containing a sizeable fire within stared back at you. Above it a
large green tapestry with one of the Seven.

Two large chairs sat in front of the fire with a chaise to its side. The closer you got to the high
backed chairs, the more it revealed to you, until you saw a head of familiar silver hair, with one
singular braid crossed over the top of it.

You paused in your step.

Helaena?

You inched closer towards her with unsteady feet, looking at the hair you were certain belonged to
your aunt. She did not move until finally you were beside her, looking down at a person you so
dearly missed. Her bright eyes were on the fire as you looked at her.

It had been so long since you had seen her. So long since she had been a mere short lived presence.
So long since you had held or spoken to her, down in the dungeons.
You looked at the gentle slope of her nose and cheeks, the way her lips were relaxed and posture
loose. Her eyes were always a lighter shade of violet in comparison to the rest of your family. So
bright, like fresh lavender that had bloomed after rain.

Helaena noticed your presence and slowly turned her head to look at you. You met her eyes and she
smiled at you softly. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t bring air into your lungs no matter how
hard you tried. Instead you stood staring at your aunt who smiled up at you, her lips parting before
she spoke.

“Kasta naejot Zōbrie.” Green to Black, She spoke with a happy lilt to her voice.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Helaena’s head tilted as she looked at you, smile falling from her lips.

“Where is Jaehaerys?”

Your heart broke all over again.

“Gone.” You replied shakily.

You watched as her hand came out to touch you, small fingers wrapping themselves around your
wrist.

She felt so real. Her hand was even warm.

Why could you feel her?

Was this real?

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt her grip tighten on your wrist as she looked at you, head
tilted and leaning forward.

Why could you feel her?

“Y/n.” She whispered, her grip tightening almost painfully as she grabbed you.

You blinked.

The sharp face of Aemond looked up at you, his hand gripping your wrist as he uttered your name
again. His violet eye looked at you in concern, whilst the familiar glowing orb stared back from the
other side of his face. He was not wearing his patch. You turned your head in search of your aunt.

Helaena was gone.

She was never there.

Aemond whispered your nickname softly, hand tightening again with a bruising grip on your arm
as he attempted to ground you, to bring you back to the present. He looked so concerned as he
gazed up at you. It was uncomfortable.

You blinked again looking down at him. A book lay open in his lap, having been placed down
when he grabbed you.

“What's gone?” He asked, voice soft and low.

It took you a moment to steady yourself, to prepare yourself for your answer, to tell him that they
were all gone. That Viserys, Lucerys, Daeron, Helaena and Jaehaerys were gone, and were never
coming back. That everything was gone. That soon, you felt you would be gone too. But as you
looked at him with his brows drawn down, you pulled your arm from his grip, rethinking your
answer, wrapping your hands around your middle to comfort yourself.

“Nothing.” You looked away, moving to leave the library all together.

It felt so real. She felt so real. She had touched you.

It had all felt so real, and it terrified you.

You were losing yourself in this godforsaken Keep.

As you turned to leave the library, to go anywhere but be there, Aemond reached out to grab you
again, his fingers wrapping around your arm as he stood, placing the book on the seat below him.

“Y/n.” He towered over you, holding onto you.

And you let him.

A small comfort in this Hell you were living.

Comfort from a man you should not seek comfort from.

Comfort from a man who had caused so much grief.

But in that moment, you needed grounding as the Library around you shrank, and the air began to
enter your lungs with more and more difficulty.

It was him.

Not Helaena.

See? Helaena is not here.

It was always Aemond.

She was never here.

His eye searched your face as he looked at you, and you fought the urge to burst into tears.

“Sit with me.” His voice was so quiet, and slow, as if approaching a terrified animal.

It was an offer, not a command this time.

Your heart rattled in your chest, and you thought about leaving, but the idea of being alone after
having such a real interaction with your deceased aunt frightened you more than you cared to
admit.

You were slipping away.

He waited patiently for your response, and so you gave him a small nod, and moved to sit in the
chair beside him, back stiff with your hands folded in your lap. You looked into the fireplace and
tried to breathe in for three counts, holding it, then exhaling shakily.
Aemond did not sit, instead he moved to the side wall, where large books were neatly placed in the
bookcase. You could hear him moving about behind you as you sat in the horrifying reality of your
situation.

You were going mad.

Oh Gods… Please don’t let me slip away like Helaena. Please spare me this cruelty. Please
Gods, please hear me…

Aemond’s soft steps walked back to you, a small, black, leather bound book in hand.

He stood in front of you, holding out the book, until you finally looked at his hand instead of the
fireplace. The books cover was worn and black with brown binding around its spine. The covers
edges were faded and worn, but the rest of the book was in good condition. You reached a hand to
shakily pluck the book from his, pulling it to your lap to look down at it.

Aemond resumed sitting back in his chair beside you, pulling the large tome back into his lap to
resume his reading, but his eye stayed on you for a moment, watching you as you stared at the
book in your lap.

You let your gaze flit to your husband, who’s eye was still on you, watching for your reaction.

'The Fourteen Flames.'

A book you had read together under the Godswood. In your chambers. In the gardens. Anywhere
you could have escaped together to read. A book of the Gods of Old Valyria. A book of their tales
and triumphs, their lore and desires.

A book which had captured the both of your attention at such a young age.

Aemond had always been fond of the tales of Arrax; Ruler of Gods, Law, Order, Governance,
Justice and Strength. A God in which he found comfort in. A God in which he would pray to for
justice and strength.

You had given him the book once, in the garden to read to you, opened on a page with your
favourite stories. The tales of Meleys; Goddess of Love and Fertility. He had blushed so often
reading the passages of her many lovers, and you had delighted in knowing when you had handed
it to him, that the young boy would turn a bright shade of pink as he read to you. Your own soft
teasing of him which he did not mind at all.

He had handed you a book which held so much between the both of you.

Not just for you.

But for him too.

He had remembered.

“Is Meleys still your favoured God?” He asked, head tilted.

You looked at him in surprise.

Don’t be fooled by him. He is a viper waiting to strike you again. Waiting to hurt you and bring
you pain.
You looked back down at the book in your lap, opening its cover to look down at the pages, the
words blurring as tears rose to your eyes.

How much more heartbreak could one person take?

How much more until you were truly broken?

“Is Arrax still yours?” You did not take your eyes from the page.

Arrax.

Luc.

You could not look at him.

“No.” He paused in thought, “Arrax never truly answered my prayers.”

It was almost poetic that he tore Arrax from the sky with Vhagar.

You flicked to another page, smelling the old parchment beneath your fingers as you felt the page
bend. Syrax; God of wine, fruitfulness, parties, madness, chaos, drunkenness, and ecstasy.

“I suppose you pray to Vhagar now.”

Goddess of War.

“I have no need to pray to her when I ride my own.”

Silence filled the library as you continued to flick through the pages, eyes moving across the words
as you felt your heart slowly calm in your chest and your breathing slowly even. The fireplace
crackled loudly and you could hear Aemond beside you, opening his own tome to resume reading.

But no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on the words on the page, you found yourself too
on edge to actually take in the words. So instead your eyes fruitlessly skimmed the pages,
frustration building inside.

All you can think about is how much you have lost, and how much he has hurt you.

It consumed you.

Aemond broke the silence.

“I had prayed to Balerion,” God of Death and the Underworld, “He listened.”

Lucerys.

Your eyes left the page you were not reading to look at your uncle beside you, his eye still on his
page, skimming as he read the text. Aemond did not take his gaze from the page as you abruptly
stood, slamming the book in your hands shut as you moved.

You tossed it onto the chair you had been sitting on.

Why did he keep doing this?

Why did he give you an inch of kindness, then a mile of cruelty?

It made your head spin.

It made you feel even more confused and alone than ever.

Aemond still did not look up as you glared down at him, feeling a wave of rage build inside you,
slowly rising up your neck as you felt the heat of it burn through you. You began to storm away,
your feet loudly beating against the stone floors, echoing in the space, a tear falling down your
cheek.

Aemond’s voice called out to you in the library.

“Balerion spared you,” He paused, and you spun on your heel to look at him, his eye still on his
page, long finger following his line of sight, “Just as I asked.”

You swallowed thickly as you stared at him.

He had prayed to Balerion?

For you?

To spare you?

To spare you from his own doing?

You opened your mouth again, to snip back at your husband, to tell him he wouldn’t have had to
pray if he had not attacked you. That he would not have had to pray if he had not killed Luc. That
there would be no reason to pray if he had been a better man.

You spun on your heel, mouth opening and closing in confusion.

In shock.

You left the Library, opening and closing the doors with little to no force and made your way back
to your chambers.

Why?

Why did you feel this way?

Why did it hurt you so much?

It felt like you were constantly losing him. The memories that you had together. The loss of the
potential of the man he could have been. The man he should have been. He could have grown to be
kind and good as he had been.

The tears fell as you walked swiftly, keeping your head down as you passed guards and Lords, as
you move faster, and faster to your chambers. Your legs and lungs burnt with the speed you went,
almost running to get back to the room.

You stumbled on a step as you raced back to solitude, your body jerking to right itself as you made
your way down the long corridor to the chambers. The knight stationed outside of the doors opened
it for you upon seeing your speedy arrival, to which you all but threw yourself into the room,
huffing out a rough sob as it finally escaped your lips.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to keep the swell from overflowing, the emotions that
rose like a tide up your throat, forcing a broken gasp out of your lips as you stared into the empty
space of the room.
Someone clicked their tongue in the chambers.

You were not alone.

You spun around to find Aegon standing beside your bed, hand on the sheets as he looked at you,
frown moving on his face in mock pity. You stiffened and took a step back, dropping your hands to
your sides as you watched Aegon look back down at the made bed.

"Poor thing.” He cooed at you cruelly, rubbing the sheets between his fingers as he watched you,
dropping them from his hand as he came to walk towards you.

“Get out.” You blurted, watching as a smile spread across his face as he got closer.

The nearer he got, the more angry you became. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in, except for
you, it was purely fight and no flight. There was nowhere you could go anyway.

Where would you run to?

Into the waiting arms of Aemond?

“Get out.” You growled.

Aegon stood in front of you as he smirked down at you. You could smell the wine on his breath as
he continued to grin, before he let himself look back at the bed, dragging his eyes over the sheets as
you took the opportunity to step back away from him.

He sensed your movement and looked back at you.

"Has he fucked you yet?”

You bristled in your spot, fists clenching.

Aegon’s head tilted lazily as he looked at you, smile widening, teeth and gums showing.

“He has.” He noted, “Has he brought you pleasure? Made you scream for him?”

“Get the fuck out.” You sneered.

Aegon laughed, “Ooh, it seems like he hasn’t.” He paused, waiting to see your response, "Or
maybe… he has. And you hate yourself for it.”

Tears began to well in your eyes again as shame curled in your gut.

“There it is. Theres no shame in the pleasures of flesh, niece.” He grinned down at you, hair
messed upon his head, “Your mother would know all about that.”

Your teeth ground together in your mouth as you bit down hard. Anything to control yourself from
lashing out at him.

“I would be happy to show you how many ways you can find pleasure. You'd be surprised at what
I can do.” His tongue came to wet his lips as he looked you dead in the eyes, holding your gaze.

“I would rather die than have your cock anywhere near me.”

“Are you sure? I know Aemond couldn’t make you feel the way I can.” He took another step
forward towards you, but you held your ground.
 “The only thing you make me feel, is sick. Now, get out.”

Aegon smirked down at you, a hand coming to touch a curl of hair that lay of your shoulder, but as
soon as his hand came up, you slapped it away from you. It only made the King smirk wider, his
eyes flitting to your lips then back to your eyes.

Wordlessly, your eldest uncle left your chambers, the knight opening the door for him and closing
it shut behind him. And you were left to stand in the chambers that grew smaller and smaller
around you until you stumbled to sit at the table, hand covering your mouth as you leant forward.

A tear fell from your eye and onto the dark wood of the table, as you were forced to sit with the
reality of your agreement.

Chapter End Notes

Poor reader needs a massage and a vibrator

 A Second Son and His Wife
Chapter Notes

I can't stop listening to that song 'everyday i wake up then i start to break up lonely is a
man out of loveeeee' I have it on record and it just spins on repeat all day. Scratching
my little brain

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Aemond returned later that evening, finding you sitting exactly where you had been, not moving
from your spot, hand still pressed tightly against your mouth to trap the scream which threatened to
fly from your lips as you stared at the grain of the wooden table.

The tears that had fallen down your face had dried, and the hiccupping sobs that had left your lips
had steadied. You breathed numbly, swallowed by the emptiness around you until Aemond moved
around the table, greeting you.

“Wife.”

You brought yourself back to the room, taking your hand away from your mouth finally as you
moved to look up at him, straightening yourself in your seat as he crossed the room. He placed the
book he had handed you in the library down onto a side table amongst the other pile that had
accumulated there.

When he came back to you, he reached into the side of his coat. You flinched at the movement,
fearing he may pull out his dagger like he had drawn on you before. Your uncle saw your reaction
and slowed his hand, pulling a scroll of parchment out from within the coat, wordlessly holding it
out towards you with a steady hand.

In his hand was a rolled piece of parchment. A black three headed dragon wax stamp looking at
you on top.

A letter from your family.

You reached out to grasp it from his grip, holding it down at the table as you looked at the waxy
seal. The seal was completely in tact, holding the scroll tightly together. It had not been broken this
time. It had not been read yet.

Why had they not read it yet?

You let your finger brush against the wax seal, feeling the smooth, hard edges of the wax, and the
raised ridges of where your House sigil had been pressed down into it.

“We shall dine here this evening.” Aemond told you, moving to the chamber doors to summon the
maids.

You did not take your eyes away from the parchment in your hand.
What have they said?

What if something bad had happened?

What if someone had passed?

You stood up from your chair, taking the letter with you as you walked towards the window next
to the fireplace to get more light. Your fingers shook as your nail pulled under the seal, cautious as
to not rip it like the last letter had.

You wished to keep the wax intact.

Soon the seal was pulled away from the paper, and you began to unroll it gently, looking at the
slopes of your mothers writing. Far more feminine and neater than your fathers, with more careful
attention spent to the precision of each letter. No brash writing, written in turmoil or haste.

A letter that had been written with great thought before hand.

A letter that was written entirely in High Valyrian.

'Y/n,

Dragonstone has grown quiet without your presence here.

It is strange here without you, to have someone absent, yet within reach.

I mourn your absence. I mourn you amongst my losses, and I fear some days that perhaps I have
lost you after all. Did you truly return to me that day?’

A tear fell from your eyes as you continued to read on.

‘Jacaerys and Baela are to be wed soon. It will be held here on Dragonstone, in the tradition of
our House. I hope that you may be able to attend. Perhaps Aemond may escort you?

Rhaena has gone back to Driftmark with Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, though she has
promised to visit soon.

You will be proud to know that Joffrey has been bonding with Tyraxes well. I feel that he has the
same gift that you and your father have.

Nothing that I do will ever atone for the mistakes I have made. The fate I have signed you to.
Nothing shall ever atone for sending you and your brother to Storms End. Nor do I ever expect to
be forgiven for such sins.

I can only pray to the Gods that one day, you will understand.

Daemon misses you terribly, more than you could ever imagine, just as I do.

You were right when you told me that you could never be a son.’

Your breath hitched in your throat, as tears began to drip down your cheeks steadily, just missing
the parchment in your shaking hands.

‘Because you are my daughter, and that is more special to me than all the realm.

Star Fruit has come in barrels to Dragonstone, and I fear that we shall never be able to finish them
all without you here.

Write to tell me if you need them sent to you.

We eagerly await your response.

-Queen Rhaenyra, First of her name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the
Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.’

A shake smile rose on your lips as you looked at the sign off.

Queen.

Your Queen.

Your mother.

Gods you missed her.

Behind you the maids had begun to set the table as you read, bringing in your supper for you and
Aemond, placing it on the table as your uncle sat on one end, waiting patiently for you to join him.
You brushed the tears that had fallen from your cheeks and moved to sit on the opposite end of the
table, placing the letter down gently beside you.

Aemond’s hands came up on the table, holding each other in front of him. He closed his eyes and
bowed his head and you looked on in confusion as the man began a whispered yet short lived
prayer.

You had thought that perhaps he only prayed in the presence of his mother.

You did not join him, and instead looked at the way his face calmed, eye closed, with the sapphire
orb on display.

His violet eye shot open as he looked at you from beneath his lashes and you felt your breath hitch
in your chest. Aemond relaxed his hands, and reached across the table to begin serving himself
from the large plates in front of the both of you. You followed his movement, slowly moving to
serve a plate your own.

It was the first time you had eaten together alone.

You ate together in silence, the sound of cutlery upon your silver plates clinking in the space, as
well as the familiar crackling of the fire in the foreground. Aemond ate daintily, watching you
chew your food and sipping his wine intermittently.

It irritated you.

“I had time to think of my answer.” He finally broke the silence, placing his goblet down on the
table with a soft clunk, eye on your face as you mirrored him.

“I ask for Meleys’ guidance now.”

Goddess of love and fertility.

You frowned looking at him.

Love and fertility.

Did he pray for your love?

For his seed to take within you?

For you to slowly swell with his child?

A shiver ran down your spine. You reached out again to grasp your goblet drinking the wine
heavily. Perhaps the wine would prevent his seed from growing within you. As you placed the
empty goblet back down, the ever dutiful man he was reached over to refill your cup. Your eye
flicked to the letter beside it.

Aemond followed your line of sight.

“May I?” He asked.

“No.”

Aemond hummed before his hand shot across the table, snatching the letter from beside you
quicker than you could have reacted.

“Don’t.” You growled as he held it in front of him, his eye roaming over the letter rapidly, face
blank.

“Se vējes ziry bardutan syt ao.” The fate she signed you to, He read aloud.

It felt so invasive for him to read such a letter. Such an invasion of your privacy. A letter written
just for you, only for his eye to defile.

It made you sick.

“Aemond, ȳdra daor.” Don’t.

His eye left the parchment and went back to you, passing the letter back over the table towards you.
You reached out to grab it but he snatched it back towards him, teasing you. Rage bubbled inside
of you.

This was all a game to him.

All of this.

Every single moment of your suffering was fun for him.

“Tepagon ziry arlī.” Give it back, You growled.

Aemond held out the parchment to you again and you snatched it from his hand, placing it in your
lap, out of his reach.

“Jacaerys is to be wed soon.” He mused.

You held his gaze.

“My nephew is growing into a fine man.” He hummed.

Your hands balled into fists in your lap, fingernails digging harshly into your palms as you fought
to not respond to his prodding. You waited with bated breath for him to call your brother a bastard.
“You may go to the union on Dragonstone, if you wish.”

Your hands loosened in your lap as you looked at him with furrowed brows.

He would let you go home?

“I would, of course, have to accompany you.”

There it was.

“Though I feel I may not be welcomed to such a fine union. My uncle could scarcely keep his hand
from the pommel of Dark Sister when we were wed.” He paused in thought, sipping from his
goblet, “Baela and Jacaerys are a fine match. A strong girl for a Strong boy.”

You had anticipated it, and when it had broke forth from his lips you found that the comment
irritated you more than it offended you. After all this time, the same taunt had grown familiar. Like
the sharpness of its blade had grown dull with each strike. It did not hold the same bite that it used
to.

But even still, it irked you.

If he wanted to be cruel, you could be cruel.

“Careful Aemond,” You began leaning back in your seat, “Jacaerys is Queen Rhaenyra’s
successor. He is to be King someday.”

“I know no King, but Aegon.” He said smoothly.

“The opinion of a second son does not weigh heavily on matters of the realm.” You smiled at him
meanly.

Aemond hummed, leaning back in his seat as he watched you.

“The opinion of a woman married to a second son, even less so.” He quipped back.

“No matter what you do, you will have no claim to the throne.” You began, “Aegon’s son will
have that before you do. You have nothing. No land to claim, no hold to move to. My brothers will
have Driftmark and spend their days at Dragonstone. All that you have to show for it,” You leant
forward, sneering at him, “Is a wife who resents you, a dead sister and brother, and the knowledge
that you will continue to live in your drunken brothers shadow, who has no interest in the throne,
but instead the interest of warming his cock in any hole he sees fit.”

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you.

“All those years you wasted, Aem.” The nickname made him scowl, “Years you spent studying the
sword and politics, war and history, preparing yourself for the throne, knowing that you would
never have it."

A smile widened on your face, "Skoverdi hūra gōntan ao force aōla naejot gūrēñagon Valyrio
Eglie mērī?”

How many moons did you force yourself to learn High Valyrian alone?

You watched as Aemond twitched, and delight shot through you.

“Your Hightower cunt mother has no knowledge of our native tongue. Did you spend hours alone
in the Keep in my absence talking to yourself? Desperate to prove yourself to Viserys, or your
mother, that you were a worthy Prince? Did you think that they would see you as a better fit than
your brother?” You laughed.

Aemond shot from his chair rising, and you felt a bloom of satisfaction knowing that you finally
had him.

Aegon sitting on the throne was a sore spot for his brother.

You leant back in your chair as he looked down at you, anger simmering beneath the surface, just
barely contained. Both of your fires bouncing off of each other, stoking the flames.

Smiling at him sadly you shook your head, rising to join him, standing on opposite ends of the
table.

A duel of fire.

The blood of the dragon flowing thickly between the two of you.

You needed to not forget why you were here.

But you remembered.

You had never forgot.

“How did it feel, kepus?”

His lip twitched.

You stepped away from the table, coming to stand at its side in the middle, looking up at him as
you watched his chest rise and fall, the pupil of his eye expanding until there was nothing but
black.

“When your mother seated Aegon on the Iron Throne, and not you?” You finished, looking at him
pitifully.

Aemond stormed you, snatching your throat tightly in his grip as he looked down at you. Air not
entering your lungs as you continued to look up at him, not backing down.

“And what of you? First born to the heir who rules half the realms. Traded as a means to end a
war? What does that make you, hm?” He spat, his breath fanning over your face.

It made you ache, but not in the way he had wanted.

You wheezed, opening your mouth to croakily speak, smiling up at him.

“Your wife.”

His hand faltered around your neck, loosening so that you could breathe, sucking in a sharp breath
as you stayed still in his hold, the scent of leather and sandalwood surrounding you. His face came
closer to yours and your heart thumped in your chest.

Aemond pulled you forward to him with the grip on your neck, fingers tightening again as he let
out a low growl. His eye searched yours, flicking back and forth as he sneered at you, until he
 shoved you back by your neck, causing you to stumble backwards.

Aemond turned and stalked around the table past you, his clothes brushing against you as he swept
out the door, the heavy wood slamming shut behind him.

A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you stood.

Your hand came to press at your neck where he had held you, heat from the grip radiating from the
skin as a bruise would no doubt settle there. The longer you stood touching your tender flesh,
looking at the doors where he had left, the more you felt triumph bubble up inside of you until a
small smile lifted onto your lips, and a huff of a laugh broke into the silence of the chambers.

You had won.

A small, pitiful battle of wit and spite, and for once you had come out on top.

You had waited at the table in anticipation for Aemond to turn back on his heel, to storm down the
corridor and swing open the door. To return to your shared chambers and hurt you. To force
himself into you dryly, and painfully.

For him to hit you, or throw you to the floor.

But he never returned.

And so you had slipped into your bedclothes, and under the sheets, exhausted from the day and fell
asleep with the knowledge that you could hurt him. And that you could win. That this was not all
for naught.

And you had a chance.

Aemond never returned to the chambers that night.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks so much for your patience ! I hope youre loving it so far <3
 Blood
Chapter Notes

Ever since I got the IUD 7 years ago I havent had a period since... Is it strange that I
miss it? Anywayyyy tmi lol. Enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The sun streamed through the windows of your chambers. Its gentle rays of light bringing warmth
to you as you lay nestled amongst the soft pillows and sheets of the bed. You turned your head
slowly as your eyes cracked open, looking at the empty space of the bed beside you.

It was empty.

Again.

You wondered where he went.

Had he even returned to your shared chambers?

Where did he go when he left you, and did not come back?

Did he escape to the Sept to pray? Or ride on Vhagar’s back to foreign lands?

Aemond could escape when he wanted.

But there was no escape for you from the routine you had begun to settle into, nor would there be
any way to make it kinder to you. You rose from your bed, and waited for the maids to come.

They would arrive and dress you, and braid your hair, and then you would be brought your
breakfast. You would sit at the table and eat, and then eventually wonder down to the Godswood,
where you would remain until the sun began to set.

Only then would you return to the chambers, to dine and then sleep.

And then, of course, repeat.

But a routine could help.

It could settle you and allow you to focus on those tasks, head down and mind steady. Perhaps
soon you would even forget about the world around you, and your mind would be allowed to heal,
and you could go about your daily tasks, pretending that you weren’t there as a last resort, and
slowly wasting away to a shell of the person you once were. And instead you could focus on the
true meaning of your arrival to the Red Keep.

When the maids had arrived that morning, and had helped to dress you in a blood red gown that
hugged your waist, and sleeves that were caped on your shoulders, and had begun to braid your
hair, you made a point to tell them again to braid your hair in a style that was fitting of a Targaryen
Princess, not a Hightower.

And so they had braided your hair behind your head, crossing the strands over each other to swoop
down your back gently. The youngest maid had moved to the vanity table, and pulled from a
golden box, jewellery for you to match your dress. The earrings were gold with long rubies that
looked like teardrops of blood dripping from the hoop. And a necklace of three red rubies, bound to
a golden chain were fit to match.

Lastly a ring was placed in your hand, not put on you by the maids, but instead given to you gently
as they tidied the space behind you. The ring was solid gold, that wrapped around your finger, the
image of a dragon chasing its tail, as its mouth was holding a round ruby within its jaws. It was
truly beautiful. And despite the knowledge that Aemond had acquired it for you making you feel
uneasy, you slipped it onto your right index finger.

A perfect fit.

You had to admit, despite your reluctance, that Aemond was making an effort with your robes and
jewellery. He could have dressed you in gowns of Green, or even humiliated you to the courts, in
out of date frumpy smocks, yet instead he put great time and effort into having these garments
made for you in a style that he knew you would love.

He was not forcing you to wear green, and instead allowed you to wear black and red.

It did not, of course, overshadow his cruelty towards you, or how he had raped you. Nor did it
change your feelings of hatred and disgust towards him. But it was still a mercy. Even if, only very
small. And you would take what you could get.

Was this a sign that the Aemond you once knew was still in there? Somewhere deep and hidden
away?

Could he still be kind?

You doubted it, and shook away the stray thought.

You sat back down at the table and looked at the parchment that was left for you on the table by
the maids, with the ink pot and quill beside it, ready for you to reply to your mothers letter.

Pulling the parchment closer towards you, you picked up the quill and began to write back your
response in High Valyrian.

You assured them of your safety, and thanked your mother for her letter. You had told her of how
much it meant to hear back from her so soon, and insisted that you missed her just as much as she
did you. You wrote to tell them that you had found ‘The Fourteen Flames’, leaving out the part
where Aemond had handed it to you during a break in your psyche, and listed your most
memorable tales that you would reread soon with vigour.

You promised that should Aemond be unable to acquire the star fruit for you, that you would send
a letter at the earliest moment, and they would send you a delivery of them. And then you told
them of how the Keep had changed so drastically, and how you longed to be home.

When you finished writing the letter, you rolled it up and left it on the table for Aemond, or
whoever would come to collect it and send it back by raven. You pulled yourself to stand,
stretching your hand and spine as you stood, before making your way out of the chambers to take
yourself on a walk, and not to the Godswood where you usually would have ventured.
The sky was a bright blue, with only few clouds overhead that passed beneath the sun, causing a
cold chill to run over your body at the absence of the warmth. You walked down to the gardens
and looked over the cliffside at the waves below. They crashed up against the rocky shore, their
salty spray hanging heavy in the air as it surrounded you.

The ocean looked beautiful today, and it was on days like this that you could understand the
Velaryon’s love for the sea. On a day like today, you could see the beauty of bobbing atop the
waves on a large ship.

You carried on to sit beneath the stone rotunda where you and Helaena had always sat, to spend
time with her memory there and relax. Perhaps you would see her again? Perhaps she would talk to
you again? She said far more than Lucerys ever did.

Sitting against a stone wall, perched on the bench of pillows beneath, sat the auburn haired
Hightower. Alicent’s pale skin was complimented by the many flowers of pink and blue around her
as she looked out at the waters, just as you had not a moment ago.

She did not stir as you approached her, nor did she take her eyes away from the glittering horizon.

This was your shared spot with Helaena.

Why was she here?

You wished she would leave, her presence tainting that sacred space of yours. But you could
understand why she would be there. Though her relationship with Helaena was strained, she was till
her mother. A mother that had lost her child.

Two of them.

That was a pain that you prayed you would never have to bear.

You moved quietly to sit on the other end of the bench, the side in which you had always sat,
whilst Alicent sat on the very pillows Helaena would perch herself atop. The pink and blue pillow
in which some days, when the sun had run away from the both of you, you would lay your heads
down beside one another and look out at the stars.

Alicent was not as stiff backed as she usually was, in fact she seemed more relaxed as she sat on
the bench, looking out at the water. Her eyes seemed hollow, haunted by her losses, or perhaps her
role in them. Her long thin fingers, skin around the nails raw and bleeding, came to play with the
Seven Pointed Star that hung around her neck.

“When you were younger, your mother had offered your hand to Aemond.” She spoke to the air,
not turning to face you, fingers still twirling the golden pendant.

“All could see the bond you two once had. Attached at the hip no matter where you went. You
were good to him…For him… And I had rejected it,” She paused, a finger pressing into the tip of
the star, dimpling the pad of her finger, “I now see what a fool I was for denying it.”

You could scarcely believe the words that came from her mouth. Your brows were drawn as she
continued to speak, as though she was voicing her thoughts aloud.

“You were both so young, right before Lucerys took his eye.” Her tone became sullen, and her
hand left the pendant hanging heavily around her neck, moving to join the other in her lap as she
stared out at the water, the sounds of waves crashing below surrounding you.
“Anyone could see that you and Aemond had love for each other. You would have been a good
match together, even Viserys saw it. But I refused.”

You would have been wed to Aemond if she accepted.

Was this always to be your fate? To marry him?

Was this a path the Gods had set out for you, that no matter which road you went, it would always
lead back to him?

Would you always be destined to be his wife?

You let yourself look out at the water like Alicent, watching the sun glint against the rolling waves,
and crests of the sea.

“Helaena would sit here often when you left, looking out at the water in the hope that she would
see you returning to visit. But you never did.”

You frowned.

How could you have visited when Alicent herself essentially banished you all?

“She would sit here and not speak to me, nor the King, and would mumble to herself for days on
end. Aemond was the only one who could move her from her spot. He was the only one she would
listen to." She paused, glancing at you quickly before flitting her eyes back to the sea, "And when I
wed her to Aegon, she would sit here at all hours, even well into the night. The guards would have
to collect her to bring her back to her chambers to rest, but she would only go if Aemond was
there.”

You felt your anger rise the more she talked. She spoke as though she was not the cause of all this.
As if she did not push Helaena to her precipice. As if it was your fault that Helaena sat here alone,
waiting for you to return. You were a child.

How were you responsible for the actions of a grown woman?

Your plans to come and sit by the water and relax were destroyed with every word that fell from
the Dowager Queens lips.

“Jaehaerys was a good boy. Quiet like Helaena.” She whispered.

The dwindling thread of patience for the woman beside you snapped.

“Helaena is dead because of you. There is no bringing her or her son back. They’re gone.”

It was almost as if you were speaking to yourself. Reminding yourself that they were in fact gone,
never to be seen again.

Alicent turned her head to look at you, and you found that you could not stand to be in her
presence. You stood and moved away from the bench, stealing one last glance at the ocean, feeling
angry that it had been spoilt as you looked back at the Dowager Queen.

“Make peace with the fact that your children are dead because of your actions.” You said cooly,
before removing yourself from the gardens, leaving a shocked Alicent Hightower behind you.

Why must you find no peace in this fucking Keep?

No matter where you went, you would be disturbed and pushed to react. The Godswood. The
Library. The Gardens. You could not even seek a reprieve on Dragonback, soaring high above the
ground on Vermithor, like you had previously sought peace with Syndor.

You had returned to your chambers and found them empty once more. You had dined alone, and
bathed alone, and were dressed and readied for bed. You had crawled beneath the sheets, and
blown out the candles beside you, and fallen into a shallow, dreamless sleep, waiting for Aemond's
return.

But he did not return.

Not the next day, nor the next, nor the next. You had slept alone and ate alone, and entertained
yourself alone without the looming presence of your husband.

When you woke from your dream on another morning, just the same as the last, disorientated and
tired, you felt a cramping pain pull you from your sleep. You were laid in bed, still cocooned
amongst the sheets. Your eyes opened, expecting to find Aemond as the reason for this sudden
pain, but he was nowhere in the chambers. Another twinge rolled through your lower stomach and
you grunted, tensing your face.

It was a familiar pain, one you had not felt for quite some time.

You rolled in bed and moved to sit up, feeling a small wetness between your thighs. Pulling the
tangled blankets back, you looked down into your lap, pulling the bottom of the chemise up. Below
you on the bed was your moons blood.

You were not pregnant.

You could cry you were so happy. The Gods must have spared you. They must have thought to
give you a break, and see that it was not your time, surely it was not your time. A breath of relief
left your lips as you moved to the edge of the bed, rewrapping the blanket around you. You looked
onto the mattress of the bed, there was only a small patch of blood from where you had been
laying, and when the maids arrived with your breakfast, you asked them softly to change the sheets
for you, and have a pot of peppermint tea brought to your chambers.

You sat and drank your tea and nibbled on the star fruit that was uncut, and piled high in the fruit
bowl as it was every morning. You remembered when you had gotten your first moons blood, you
had felt nauseated from the cramps. Your mother had come to the room and had maids bring
peppermint tea for you to drink. She had told you that her mother taught her that the tea would help
alleviate the cramps, and she was right. You had drunk the tea with no argument and felt that even
though the cramps were still there, they had lessened.

You were dressed in a black gown and the maids braided your hair in a style that you had no
grievances with. No longer the two braids, instead giving you multiple, until your entire hair was
up off of your shoulders, weaved around the back of your head.

You took yourself back down to the garden, hoping that Alicent would not be there this time so that
you could sit and look out at the ocean as you had wanted to the days before. As you walked
through the garden you watched as small beetles and butterflies flew around you.

Helaena would have loved a day like this.

You made it to your favourite spot, and to your relief, it was empty of any intruders. You let
yourself curl up where you usually did, amongst the piles of pillows and looked out at the water. It
shimmered a brilliant blue, and you watched as a group of fisher boats moved across the water.
You thought of Darras and his brother, and your short time on their boat. You wondered if the
people down in those ships had crossed their path before, or knew of them. Or if they had brought
back a bountiful days catch to sell in the markets.

The boat had rocked so excitedly as it made its way to the shore of Dragonstone. You scarcely
contained yourself. You remember running along the deck to the edge, peering over to watch the
island come closer and closer to view, until finally you were moored on Dragonstone, and your
bare feet took you speedily up the path and into your parents arms.

You wondered how they were faring.

Was Jacaerys throwing himself into his studies to be heir, and standing beside your mother in her
meetings with the small council? You imagined him speaking loudly and confidently to the men,
backing up your mother whilst Baela stood beside him. You imagined Daemon smiling softly from
the side as he watched on.

Would little Joffrey be sneaking off in the night to try ride his dragon? Would Aegon the Younger
and Viserys be talking now, rather than their tiny babbling?

How much would they all change in your absence?

How many memories would you miss out on? How many firsts would you not be privy to?

Would your mother swell with child again? Would she birth another daughter? Would you miss her
arrival to this world? Silver hair and purple eyes, looking around the room in search of a sister she
would not know.

You wished you could see them. You desperately needed to be in their presence. To be kissed
thrice on your cheek by your mother, or have the crown of your head kissed by your father. Oh
Gods, you missed him. You missed his cheeky smile, and his witty comments. You missed his
snarkiness and sassiness, and everything that made him, him.

Did they think of you as often as you did them? Did Daemon spend his evenings thinking of how
you fared? Did he fret over your safety and struggle to keep his mind in check as his thoughts raced
away from him? Would he feel sickened when he thought of you, and your marriage to his nephew?

Would he be sickened at knowing what you have had to endure?

You wished you could dine with them all again. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys included. You
wished to feast upon the finest meats, and rarest of delicacies, as you all drank the most expensive
of spiced wines from Dorne.

You wished you could sit together, pressed tightly into a small table, laughing joyously and
excitedly at the sharing of tales and stories. You wished to see Baela and Rhaena’s dazzling smiles,
and sweet faces, and hear their melodic voices calling across the table to you.

You wished to watch Jacaerys dote on his betrothed, cheeks dimpling as he smiled, and blush
steadily rising on his face as the night progressed.

You wished to be anywhere but here.

As you continued to look back out at the water, a buzzing interrupted your thoughts.

A bright green beetle landed on the stone before you near your hand, its small legs crawling
amongst the sun warmed rock as you stared at it. Its wings were an iridescent green, shining in the
light with purple flecks glistening as it moved. It was the same type of beetle that was at the
celebrations that evening, where Helaena had watched it with interest crawl about the table. The
small beetle spread its wings open, revealing clear, pearlescent wings beneath, and it vibrated
lightly, a soft buzzing carrying through the air.

Out of habit you turned your head to where Helaena sat, to see if the woman who would have sat
there was witnessing the beetle as you were. But Helaena was not there, nor would she ever be, and
so you turned your eyes back to the insect to watch as it moved across the stone.

Your finger came to hold down next to the beetle as it crawled, offering your digit as a perch for it
to crawl on. The little bug crawled towards your finger, before two unsure feet crawled up your
digit. It tapped its feet against your flesh, testing to see if it was an okay surface for it to climb on.
To see if it was safe. And soon the little beetle deemed you safe enough, and crawled onto your
hand.

Your heart soared as you slowly pulled it up closer to your face, getting a closer look at the bug.
Helaena would have loved this. She would have been so proud. You held your hand in front of your
face and watched as the green beetle danced along your finger to walk along the back of your hand.
Its tiny feet tickled your skin, and a smile broke out across your cheeks.

Its large green wings spread again, revealing the pearly ones beneath, before suddenly it took
flight, lifting away from your hand as it buzzed around you to go back to the garden.

The beetle leaving was your sign to move from your spot, and so you walked back through the
garden towards the Godswood as the sun began to lower from its peak, the warmth of the afternoon
sun blanketing over you.

As you walked towards the tree, you saw Ser Otto Hightower standing beneath it, looking up
through its branches in thought as if waiting for you. Upon hearing your approach he turned to look
at you, nose held high as it always was, and a pompous expression on his face.

“I thought I might find you here. Aemond said you come here to pray.” Otto spoke, hands behind
his back.

“I come here to find peace and quiet.” You looked at him pointedly.

Otto raised his brow at you as you came to stand beside him, both looking at the tree instead of
each other. If he wished to speak with you, now was a good time. You were in a better mood today,
despite your cramping.

“And how are you faring?” He asked, eyes on the branches.

“As best as I can be in this vipers nest.”

Otto turned to look down at you, but you kept your eyes forward, watching him in your periphery
as he observed you.

“You are so much like your mother.” His words held little bite, until he continued, “Though your
father shines through.”

It made you laugh.

Genuinely laugh.
 You knew of Otto and Daemons hatred for each other, and for him to tell you that you were like
the one man he despised most, the one man that he could never out do, and had been waging a war
of his own against for many years, was a triumph all in itself.

“A compliment.” You smiled, knowing he had not meant it.

“One unintended, I can assure you. It is important that we keep this treaty working so that we may
not shed any more blood that needn't be shed. King Aegon has-”

You sighed loudly interrupting him, and moved to return to your chambers, “As enlightening as I
find all of our talks, I must be going.” You stepped away from Otto and the tree as you made your
way down the courtyard.

Otto called after you, and you lazily turned on your heel to look at him.

“Be mindful of where you are, Princess. These vipers you speak of may tire of you in their nest.”

“Be mindful of who I am, for I am tired of you already.” You quipped back boredly.

His threats meant nothing to you.

“You are alone here Princess.”

“And yet I have nothing to lose. A most dangerous thing indeed. I ought to thank you, Otto.” You
smiled at him, “I have learnt a great deal from you these past years. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

You spun away from him, not bothering to look back at him or wait for him to respond, instead
taking yourself straight to your chambers, with neither anger nor irritation in your step.

Today was a good day, and not even Otto Hightower could ruin that.

Chapter End Notes

Aemond could fuck the teeth out of my skull and I would say thank you... Something
is wrong with me... Or somethign is very very right
 A Good Day
Chapter Notes

Did I buy a silver white lace front wig so I can parade around my house like a
Targaryen? Yes. Was it the best purchase I've ever made? Also yes.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Returning to your shared chambers, you found Aemond had returned at long last. And not a single
greeting or word was spent on you. He was leant over the table as he wrote quietly upon some
parchment. A large tome lay open in front of him, and he did not turn his head to greet you as you
entered, too enraptured by his quill.

You watched his long, slender fingers dragging the quill across the page, ink drawing neatly
beneath it. You shut the door behind you softly and moved slowly across the room, craning your
head to see what he was writing.

“Enjoying yourself?” Aemond drawled, not taking his eye away from the page.

You had no care to start an argument, nor the fire to snip back at him.

Today had been a good day.

You straightened your back as you moved away from your creeping and towards the window,
perching upon the ledge to look out at the setting sun, watching the sky turn a soft purple.

A purple that reminded you of Helaena’s eyes.

She seemed to be everywhere with you today.

“I saw a beetle today.” You thoughtlessly spoke, not bothering to see if Aemond was listening.

He was.

He had lifted his head from the parchment and brought his gaze to you.

“It was the brightest green you would ever see, and beneath its wings, it had these pearly ones that
shimmered.” You reminisced, smiling.

“Helaena had one, exactly the same, land on her during the union celebrations. And today, one
came to land with me.” Your voice got quieter the more you spoke.

This was the most you had said in some time.

The most you had said that wasn’t a quip or a snarl, a sneer or demand. Instead it was simply an
observation. The most simple of observations at that. A beetle, that was all it was, a small green
beetle, and yet that tiny little bug would have never known the change it had brought to you.
“Helaena would have liked it.” Aemond’s voice carried across the chambers to you gently.

You smiled as you looked out at the water.

“She would have.”

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond watched as you smiled out at the water and could not help but feel a
twinge in his chest as he thought of his sister. She was too pure for a world filled with such cruelty,
and so it had become too much for her to bear. He was gladdened, in some ways, that she would
not be there to witness the horrors of today. To have witnessed his cruelty fester inside of him. To
bear the brunt of Aegon’s rising drunkenness, and their mothers disregard.

At least Helaena could no longer feel pain and was now at peace.

“The sky looks like her eyes.” You whispered, and Aemond stood, pushing the chair back slowly
as he placed his quill in its holder.

You listened, without fear, as he walked towards you, standing at your side as he looked out at the
ocean. The sky was a light purple, the colour of fresh lavender or blooming wisteria in the spring.
The sun lowered behind the horizon, and the soft purple began to deepen.

“It does.” Aemond commented, as he looked out at the water beside you.

It was strange to have Aemond agree.

The fire between the both of you had calmed, and the embers had settled, and instead you were
able to find peace in the space. Neither of you bickered, nor argued, snipped, nor snapped as you
watched the sun set, and the sky darken into a deep blue.

Aemond moved himself away from the window as the last of the evenings light had left, and
nightfall had settled over the realm. You watched as he moved to tidy the table, collecting the
parchment and quill to place it on a side table amongst the decanter of wine.

You walked across the room as he moved back to collect the ink pot to place it with the others.
Your eyes looked down at the tome that lay open on the table, skimming over the first line of the
page that was open.

‘Weirwoods that had stood for two hundred generations were cut down to provide rafters and
beams in the construction of Harrenhal.’

Weirwoods were the tree that you sat beneath. The Godswood was what you had grown to call it,
though you knew the small courtyard where it sat was the true Godswood. A place for those who
followed the Old Gods to pray.

But why were all those trees cut down?

Would that not bring about bad luck?

You knew that Harrenhal was said to be haunted or cursed, and as you read the page and thought
of all those sacred trees being cut and placed inside of the old castle, it came as no surprise that
perhaps the castle of Harrenhal truly was cursed.

‘King Harren soon came to know that thick walls and high towers are small use against dragons,
for dragons fly. Aegon the First flew down on the mighty Balerion and-‘
Aemond pulled the tome towards him and away from you as he closed it to place it on the side
table with the others. He poured himself a goblet of wine, and then one for you, walking back over
to hand it to you. You took the wine and sipped, looking at him as you fell into a comfortable quiet
before the maids came to deliver your supper.

You both ate together, not speaking, yet not arguing, with no tension between the two of you. It
seemed that his days away had cooled his anger and spite, and your days alone had helped to cool
yours. It was a civil meal, and you felt little urge to destroy the peace of the day.

However, the peace between the both of you did little for the pain that ebbed within. A cramp
crawled through your lower stomach, causing you to tense in pain and wriggle in your chair. You
hid a grunt under the guise of clearing your throat, but it sounded more like a wince. Aemond’s eye
lifted away from his plate and landed on your face as you grimaced, your cramps building as you
continued to sit.

“Whats wrong?” He asked, the tiniest hint of concern in his voice.

You met his eye across the table and shook your head almost in embarrassment. You looked back
down at your plate as you answered him.

“I have my… blood.”

Aemond hummed, and you felt a blush crawl across your cheeks.

“Is there anything that you need for your…” He trailed off.

“No, I am quite alright. I was just... not expecting it, is all.”

I was not expecting to be spared from a child.

I was not expecting to be free for another day.

I was not expecting to feel elation at the sight of my own blood.

Aemond's eye continued to watch you in scrutiny.

“Sometimes... Peppermint tea can help.” You added.

Perhaps he could have some sent to the chambers.

“Do you need milk of the poppy?”

You wanted to laugh, but held it in to not offend him.

“No, I am fine... Thank you.”

Aemond nodded and resumed his eating, and you continued with yours, trying to hold still in your
chair as the pain intensified. How long had it been since you had last bled?

Aemond’s eye was caught by your movement, and suddenly stood from his chair, moving across
the room to speak to the knight at the door. When he returned to the table and sat back down, he
watched you closely.

“I have sent for some tea.”

You did not expect that.

Why had he sent for the tea?

Your lips parted in shock and you stumbled over your thoughts on what to say, instead settling on a
small thank you, before resuming back to your meal. By the time you had finished eating, the
maids had arrived to your chambers, tea in hand and helped to ready you for bed. They helped to
undress you, and brushed your hair from your braids as you sat, and sipped on your peppermint tea.

The tea sat warmly in your stomach, spreading comfort throughout your body, and soon you found
that your cramps had grown duller. It gave you a comforting feeling too, it reminded you of your
time with your mother back on Dragonstone.

A small, yet beautiful comfort.

By the time the maids had finished with the room, removing your plates and tidying the space, you
had finished your tea and they had taken the empty cup and pot with them. You thanked them
softly as they left, and they had bowed their heads to you.

You missed Saria and Aella.

Aemond already lay in bed, tucked beneath the sheets before you joined him. You crawled into the
space beside him, and curled up on your side facing the wall. It was strange to have him back, it
almost felt normal. But you still had this nagging anger and spite, nipping at the back of your head,
which you pushed back down into the murky depths within you.

You had a good day today, and you weren't going to taint it.

You even felt a little bit more like yourself.

Was this progress?

Aemond blew out the candles around you and a soft darkness fell across the room. You felt him
shift in the bed behind you as he moved. You let your eyes close and felt yourself slowly relax as
the both of you stilled in the bed.

Aemond shifted again, his body coming closer to yours as heat radiated off of his chest and onto
your back. He was always so warm. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt him touch a shy
hand to your shoulder before slowly trailing it down your arm, goosebumps rising in its wake, until
his hand settled on the flesh of your hip.

His long fingers rubbed the chemise over your skin as he softly caressed you, each passing moment
making his movements bolder.

Do not react.

He only becomes crueller when you react.

Soft lips pressed themselves to the skin of your shoulder, Aemond's fingers dancing along the
curve of your hip. A familiar warmth spread through your body as his hand slowly crawled across
your front, fingers pulling the length of the chemise up.

You grasped his wrist gently to stop him, your voice cracking as you spoke.

“I have my blood, Aemond.” You whispered, hoping it would prevent his ministrations.

His lips pressed against your shoulder again as he hummed into your skin, his hand breaking free
of your grip as they continued their task of revealing your core to him.

“Blood would not deter me.” He hummed.

And it didn’t.

“Please, stop.” You begged, hoping your voice would convince him, but it hadn’t.

He pushed against your grip on his wrist, and you wriggled in his hold trying to move away from
him.

"Tepagon isse.” Give in, Aemond growled.

Your heart jumped in your chest, and your grip on his wrist faltered.

Let him have his way.

Let him do as he wished.

Do not let him ruin your good day.

Endure it.

Endure it.

Aemond’s hand moved back towards the chemise, breaking free of your grip to grasp the thin
material and pull it up your thighs. He pulled it over the soft curve of your hip, as his fingers
moved down between your thighs. Aemond pressed another kiss to your shoulder, and you had to
force yourself to breathe.

Endure it.

This was your fate.

There was no running from this.

His long fingers came to skirt around the flesh of your thighs, running gently up and down them as
he brushed your skin reverently. You squirmed beneath him as he continued to tease you.

Why fight it?

It would only make it worse.

You had to endure.

Aemond’s fingers came to gently rub through the tuft of hair on your mound, tickling the skin
before he moved a single finger to glide between your folds. You were already wet from your
blood, and you cringed at the thought of the mess it would make. He rubbed between your folds up
and down, your blood making you far more sensitive than you usually would be. You breathed
jaggedly as he pressed against your bundle of nerves, swirling his finger as he mouthed against
your shoulder, shiver rolling up your spine.

It was so tender.

So full of love.
And it made your stomach do flips.

Was this what it could have been?

What should have been?

Aemond continued to swirl his finger around your bud, drawing soft pants from your lips as your
hips bucked backwards into his lap. With a large hand, Aemond grasped your shoulder and rolled
you so that your back was flat against the mattress. He leant over you, his hair falling around your
face as he watched you writhe beneath him, his finger not slowing. He leant forward and placed a
kiss to the corner of your lips, watching as you sighed when his finger pushed through your folds
and into your heat. It was so sensitive, the pleasure was overwhelming.

Endure it.

There was no painful intrusion, no stinging or tearing, only the pleasurable stretch that it gave as he
pushed into your welcoming folds, coming to brush against the soft spongey patch within. He
found it quickly, and easily, as though he had memorised where it was, and soon began to rub
against it. Your chest rose off of the bed as you whined, as Aemond moved to press his lips against
yours finally.

Endure.

You let him kiss you, and you kissed him back, chasing his lips. Today was a good day. You were
not going to let him ruin it. You pushed down your disgust and shame, and let your body guide you
through it.

Endure.

He sped up his finger within, moving to slide in a second finger, guided by both your slick and your
blood. He began to draw his hand in and out of you, palm brushing against your bud as you quietly
moaned into his mouth. The coppery smell of your blood lingered in the air, and any lingering pain
from your cramps disappeared to be replaced by the pleasure he brought you.

Aemond was being tender.

Kind.

Sweet, even.

It was about your pleasure and not his.

His attention was solely on you.

You could pretend this was normal. You could pretend that this was real love. You could pretend
that nothing had happened. And you would. You would pretend, and let him have his way with you,
and you would bask in the glow of pleasure he brought you, and the peace your submission gave.

Endure and enjoy.

Aemond's lips were so soft against yours, his tongue swiping to gain entrance into your mouth,
softly licking into you as your hands gripped the sheets below, desperate to ground yourself from
the steadily rising pleasure.

The coil within wound itself tighter, and tighter, as his fingers moved through your folds, his lips
parting from yours so he could turn his eye to watch his hand disappearing into your heat.

A long groan fell from his parted lips as he watched your slick folds pulling him in, mouth opening
as he sighed a heavy breath. You dared to let yourself look down, watching as his fingers plunged
into your heat, coated in your blood.

You had thought that the sight would have made you ill, that the image of your blood upon him in
your most intimate area again would bring back memories of your wedding, but it didn’t. Instead a
wave of arousal burnt though you, and you threw your head back, hips chasing after his hand as he
rapidly brought you to your peak.

“So good. You’re doing so good for me.” Aemond purred, watching your face scrunch up as you
tried to hold in your noises, “Let go for me, let me see you.” His fingers pulled out and moved up to
your bud, rubbing fast circles around it, drawing almost painful pleasure from you.

“Oh…fuck.” You gasped, back arching off of the bed as the coil within you snapped.

Blinding white hot pleasure coursed through your veins as he brought you to your peak.

Your core fluttered as you came, Aemond’s fingers swiftly dipping back into your heat as he
prolonged your release, thrusting his fingers in and out of you with speed, the chambers filled with
the lewd sounds of your wetness.

"Sȳz zaldrītsos.” Good, He murmured coming to press his lips against you, his fingers
overstimulating you as you writhed beneath him, desperate to get away.

“Arlī.” Again, Aemond purred, thrusting his fingers into you faster.

Your eyes shot open, finding Aemond looking down at you, pupil blown wide as he breathed
heavily, fingers fucking into your heat. Your hand came to grip his wrist, trying to slow him or
have him remove them as you felt your second release building quicker than the first, and painfully.

“Kostilus, Aemond. Kostan daor.” Please Aemond, I can’t, You whined softly, pleading him with
your eyes, hips trying to pull away from him.

“Kesā.”

You will.

His fingers pulled out to rub against your pearl, and the coil snapped again. Your release was pulled
out of you so quickly you cried out, eyes scrunching shut as he ripped each and every wave of
pleasure from you. Your hips jerked and twitched beneath him, until finally his hand slowed,
fingers moving to rub through your folds as you came down, a small tear leaking from the corner
of your eye and down to the pillow.

Your mind was hazy, and your body felt heavy, eyes staying shut as you slumped below him
against the bed. He had pulled the life from you, body twitching with after pulses.

Aemond let out a breathy chuckle beside you, pulling his hand free of the mess between your
thighs. His lips came to press the side of your face where the tear had escaped, capturing it with a
gentle kiss.

The bed moved and the weight of his arm and hand left your body. The Prince pulled his slickened
fingers up to his lips, licking your release and blood from the digits as he hummed. You could hear
the sound of his tongue lapping at the wetness from above, and you kept your eyes shut.
 Your core strummed from overstimulation. You felt like you were floating and sinking all at once.
It was the most powerful release you had ever had.

Would it always feel this good?

“Gevie.” Beautiful, He whispered, eye still on your tired form.

Aemond's hand came to brush the hair away from your face, fingers tickling the skin. You huffed
beneath him.

“Īlē vēttan syt nyke.” You were made for me.

Your eyes were too tired to open, and Aemond was content to stay looking down at you. He made
no move to lay atop of you, nor did he move to touch you again. Instead, your husband let his
fingers come to trail around your thighs softly, causing you to twitch from the tickling sensation.

You had done it.

You had endured it.

And you were okay.

You were safe.

But was it really enduring it if you enjoyed it?

Would he always be this gentle if you let him have you?

Sleep began to pull you down as you laid in the bed, your two releases having completely sucked
any, and all energy from you. You just wished to rest. And Aemond let you. Though his fingers still
trailed around your thighs, never quite returning to your centre, whilst he leant on an elbow looking
down at you.

You were sure you looked a mess, covered in your own slick and blood, hair messy and tussled
from writhing in the bed, and yet Aemond continued to coo praise at you, and slowly you drifted
away to sleep. His voice still whispering out into the chambers as he watched you.

“Iksi lanta hen keskydoso,” We are two of the same, "Vējes ondoso se Jaes.” Fated by the Gods,
His voice became further and further away as you drifted to sleep.

“Ziry ūndan ziry, zaldristos.” She saw it, little dragon.

“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.

Chapter End Notes

Do I also wear nightgowns at night pretending to be the reader? Yes again.
 The Witch of Harrenhal
Chapter Notes

Back for more? Hehe, same. I am posting and responding to cute little asks and
messages and even have a playlist dor this series on tumblr @asumofwords <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Two large dragons circled each other in the sky. One black, and one green. They flew high and
danced, breathing fire at one another as they flew through the large flames.

The great, green dragon breathed a flame too large for the black dragon, and it plummeted from the
sky. The green dragon was so scared, and flew down to catch its friend, before it fell into the waves
below.

Large talons cut the black dragon as it slept in the green dragons grip, flying them both to a forrest
of Weirwood trees. Their white and brown bark glowing in the sky, as crimson leaves fell softly to
the ground.

The green dragon was so scared that it had killed its friend, and sat by the black dragon, day and
night, not eating nor sleeping, waiting for it to wake. The green dragon begged the skies to let its
friend survive, weeping silently as it watched the rise and fall of the black dragons chest.

Soon the black dragon woke, and the green dragon watched in anticipation and relief. But when the
onyx dragon saw the green dragon beside it, it breathed fire at the green dragon, scared and angry,
and cried out into the sky.

“Why did you burn me so badly?" It cried, "I thought we were friends? Are we not friends
anymore?” The shadowy dragon roared as they stalked about the forest floor, circling one another.

“I did not mean to.” Said the green dragon, preparing itself for the black dragons fire, “I was trying
to make you see.”

The black dragon stopped its stalking, large, shining talons digging into the soft soil, “Make me
see?” Asked the black dragon, shaking its large horned head, smoke pouring from its nose.

The green dragon smiled, baring its large yellowed teeth to the forest, “Yes, make you see.” It
spoke, tail swishing behind it, “That you are stronger than you think.”

You woke in the room as the noises of the maids entering rose you from your dream. You rubbed
your eyes as you looked beside you. Aemond was not was not there. You pulled yourself to sit as
the dull ache of cramps began to ebb back with your consciousness.

The maids greeted you that morning with a smile and 'good morrow', as they moved about the
chambers. They informed you that they had brought peppermint tea for you, as requested by Prince
Aemond, and that they would be changing your sheets again.

You looked down at the bed. There were small bloody smudges and smears from where his wet
fingers and your blood and bumped against the pale sheets, and pooled below you.

You sat up in bed, and the eldest maid came towards you, bringing a robe for you to wrap around
yourself, as you made to move towards the table. When you had stood, you noticed bloody finger
marks in the front of your chemise, and you blushed in shame. You asked the two maids if they
knew were your Lord Husband had gone, and neither of them knew.

You ate quietly as they changed your sheets, and you greedily drank from the pot of peppermint
tea, enjoying the minty flavour it left in your mouth. The two maids dressed you for the day, and
left the chambers with a quiet farewell.

You spent another day reading in the gardens, looking out at the water, wondering where Aemond
would be.

Perhaps he rises early to assist Aegon with preparations for the day?

Or better yet, did he wake Aegon up from his drunken sleep?

Was he forced to dress and bathe his older brother who would surely not do it himself?

When the day grew long, and the air became crisp, you left to your chambers and had sat at the
table and waited for Aemond’s return as the sun fell behind the horizon, sky growing dark. You
had pondered on where he was, what he was doing. When the chamber doors had opened, you
expected to see your uncle entering, long hair pulled back, and dark leather robes tight on his body.

But it was not your uncle, instead the two maids that tended to you both, plates of food and wine in
their hands. They had entered the chambers quietly and placed your supper in front of to you, and
only yours. There was no plate, or cutlery, or goblet placed opposite you in anticipation for the
Prince’s return.

Looking up at the two girls as they made their way to exit your shared chambers, you called out to
them.

“Is Aemond joining me for supper?”

The younger maid looked down at her feet whilst the eldest answered your question, gently and
confidently.

“No, My Lady. We were told he is not in Kings Landing.”

Not in the Keep?

Had he gone again?

And so soon after arriving?

“Well,” You paused, waiting for the maids to fill in the gaps, but they didn’t.

“Where is my Lord Husband?”

The youngest shuffled on her feet, whilst the eldest looked down at her, before back at you.

“Lady Alicent did not tell us, Princess.”

You swallowed, mind racing.

“Very well. Thank you, you may go.” You excused the girls, watching them bow to you before
leaving the chambers with great speed. As if the conversation made them uncomfortable.

Where was he?

Did Aegon send him away?

Was this his duty to the realm?

Would you be finding yourself alone more often?

You sat at the table confused and ate, before readying yourself for bed alone. The maids had come
again later to collect your plates, and brought another steaming pot of peppermint tea for you. You
drank it and sat in bed, the candles being blown out, and a dark glow settled in the room as you
waited for Aemond to return.

But he didn’t.

The next day you had done the same.

You went down to the garden and brought ‘The Fourteen Flames’ with you to read. You had sat on
the bench, amongst the plush pillows and read until the sun lowered in the sky, and it was time to
eat. You went back to your chambers and ate your supper, and watched in anticipation for the
maids to bring the second setting for Aemond.

They didn’t.

And so you went to bed again alone.

On the third day of waiting, a creeping fear began to settle into your bones.

How long would Aemond be gone?

Did Aegon know where he was?

Had he sent him away knowing that he wouldn’t be here with you?

Did Aegon know that you were alone in your chambers?

When that evening rolled through and the maids brought in your supper, you had waited until they
left the chambers, quickly scooping up the knife, hiding it beneath the pillow of your bed. When
they had returned to take your empty plates and bring your pot of tea, they had searched high and
low for the missing knife. They had looked on the floor and table, and even under the bed in search
of the utensil you had told them had fallen and could not find.

The eldest maid watched you with distrust, and you had made promise to her that you were sure it
would turn up, and that when Aemond returned you would ask him to help you look for it. She did
not press it, and discontinued her search with the younger maid.

They seemed to have a method to their serving.

They had readied you for bed and left, as they always did, and you were left alone, as you always
were, in your darkened chambers, hand under your pillow, with your fist firmly grasped around the
knife you had hidden.

If this was your only source of protection, then so be it.

You had found yourself so restless in your sheets, tossing and turning, that you had opted to empty
the decanter of spiced wine, letting the alcohol drag you down into a heavy sleep. You woke the
next morning with a foggy mind and dry mouth, and moved through your routine without the
Prince returning.

Anxiety built with each day passing and the absence of Aemond’s presence, and so to soothe this
anxiety, you had turned to the cup for help. The spiced wine dulled your senses, and smothered
your rising fear, leaving you in a hazy numbness that allowed for you to rest through the night
undisturbed.

By the seventh rise and set of the sun, you had grown tired of not knowing where Aemond was as
the anxiety continued to mount, and beside it, anger. You had grown so desperate, that you had
even attempted to find Alicent, to ask her where her son had gone, and when he would be returning.
But it was as though she too had become elusive, and you found you could not find her.

Was she avoiding you?

Did she know of where Aemond was?

Or was there something bigger happening?

Something that you had not caught onto yet.

Above the rising fear of Aegon’s return to your chambers, and the anxiety of not knowing where
Aemond was, or what he was doing, there was an unsettling loneliness that sat in your chest.

There was no familiar presence around you.

How long had you been in the Keep?

How long had you spent alone?

You were so used to the constant chatter and company of your brothers or family back on
Dragonstone, that the silence of the Keep unnerved you.

There was no one to talk to, not even Lucerys or Helaena had come to visit you in his absence, and
so you were left to your racing thoughts, which quickly turned to paranoia and the quiet solitude
you had grown to despise. You were so desperate for a human connection that even Aemond’s
company would suffice.

It was pathetic.

You knew you shouldn’t miss him. You knew it was wrong. But you chalked it up to fear and
anxiety and the horrible isolation of the Keep. The maids would barely talk to you, and you had no
yearning to speak to Otto or Ser Cole. Even the Maester who served you and came to visit you at
your request, had barely spoken a word under the watchful eye of Ser Criston.

It was making you stir crazy.

It was making you antsy.

It was making you pace about the chambers and lose sleep at night, waiting for either of the
Targaryen Prince’s to enter your chambers. It was the not knowing that was so torturous. Not
knowing when Aemond would return. Not knowing if he would be cruel when he did. Not
knowing if Aegon was lurking about in the shadows, or the plotting of Otto and Alicent.
It was mind numbing and mind racing all at once.

You had finished your book thrice, and not even the library could offer mental stimulation like a
conversation would. And so you had begun to drink even more, emptying the decanter of spiced
Dornish wine that always sat on the side of the room. You began to ask the maids to bring up more
wine for you, to the point where they would bring a second decanter each day, just so you would
not summon them to your chambers again.

Today was like any other day that droned along unattended, unaccompanied, and abandoned. You
woke with a bitter taste in your mouth, eyes lazily flicking to the side of the bed to find it empty, as
it had been the day before. You had gotten out of bed and ate quietly as the maids prepared you,
opting to drink three cups of spiced wine rather than the fresh juice and water. You had left the
chambers, book in hand, and goblet of wine in the other, as you moved down to the garden to
spend another monotonous day of habit by the ocean.

Your blood had gone, and the spike in energy you had gotten from it made you all the more
impatient for your husbands return.

You did not even know why you were impatient.

Were you truly that lonely that you would seek out his comfort and presence, to satiate the aching
pit that had cracked open inside of you?

Yes.

But it was not something that you could help.

You sat looking out at the waves, pointlessly flicking the pages back and forth, not even reading
them as you sipped from your goblet. It was almost empty already, and you knew that you would
either have to hail down a servant walking amongst the garden, or trudge back up to your chambers
to refill it.

The waves and the sound of the pages being flicked back and forth filled the space around you,
until you polished off your goblet of wine. The sun had only just reached its peak, high in the sky,
seemingly crawling at slower than a snails pace.

The warmth of alcohol wrapped itself around you. You most certainly felt a buzz from the wine, or
at least, were already drunk. Either way, you pulled yourself to stand, feeling light and heavy all at
once, and made your way back into the Keep where you could finish your first decanter of the day.

But as you made your way through the Keep, you began to feel angry, heat rising in your cheeks.

Where was he?

Did he expect you to hang around waiting for him? Like a dog?

Why had he not told you of his leave?

Did he not care that he left you alone with Aegon?

Anger built and built inside of you, festering, and curdling until you made your decision. You
would find where he was. And you would be told now. You heavily slammed the book and empty
goblet on the ledge of the corridor, walking with purpose towards the Throne Room.

If you were to get anything done, you would have to do it yourself.

As you always had.

You pushed open the doors, moving past the slow moving guards, as one announced your arrival to
the room in confusion.

Aegon sat on the Iron Throne looking bored, chin leant in his hand, but as soon as he saw you
enter, wild fire dancing in your eyes and steps echoing through the chamber, he smiled brightly,
sitting up straight as he clapped his hands together, the noise echoing around you.

“The beautiful Princess Y/n.” His voice boomed into the space, “Have you come to witness me
rule?”

“Where is Aemond?” You demanded, standing at the bottom of the steps as you looked up at him.

Ser Cole stood at the bottom of the throne, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you,
whilst Otto stood beside Aegon at the top, watching you from beneath his nose. The Iron Throne
dwarfed all by its sheer size, and the sharp glinting edges of the swords shone against Aegon’s
green robes.

Leant against the front of the Iron Throne, beside Aegons thighs, was Aegon the Conquerors
sword, far too large and far too heavy for Aegon to ever properly use. You had remembered
watching him as a child in the training yard, swinging a wooden sword around lazily and in
disinterest. Once, Cole had handed him a real blade, and you had watched in amusement as he
struggled to swing it higher than his hips. You did not imagine that in his years of whoring and
drinking that he would have found time to go to the training yard with his brother or Ser Cole.

You let your eyes roam the rest of the chambers, in search of a familiar pair of violet and sapphire
eyes. There were guards and knights on the side of the room, and members of Aegon’s small
council stood around the throne nearby, watching the interaction between their King and his niece.

Alicent was beside Aegon, on the opposite side of Otto, wearing all green with her hair tied behind
her head in a tight braided bun. Her eyes did not look at you, instead looking straight past you as
though you weren’t there.

Aegon laughed loudly at your question, finding mirth in your anger.

“He did not tell you?” He asked, looking down at you.

You frowned, waiting for him to answer you.

Alicent sighed, shifting beside Aegon as she looked down at her hands.

“You do not know?” Aegon questioned you again, smile falling from his face as he searched yours
with his eyes, looking for any tell of your questioning.

You stayed quiet as Aegon leant back against the Iron Throne once more. Tilting his head he
fought a smirk that tried to worm its way on his cheeks. He fought it terribly. His hair was wavy
with the crown sitting heavily atop, pushing hairs out sideways from its weight.

The King scoffed, clicking his tongue at you.

“Aemond left for Harrenhal. It’s where he always goes when he feels lonely.”

You straightened your back as you craned your neck looking up at your eldest uncle.
“What is his business in Harrenhal?”

Aegon’s laughter echoed in the chambers again as he mocked you, Alicent and Otto shifting beside
him.

“He has no business in Harrenhal… Only pleasure.”

You could not hold back the sneer that broke onto your face.

“I am happy to warm your bed in his place.”

Your hands curled into fists as you stared at him.

“I will tell you this because I am feeling generous today,” Aegon began, “When my brother returns
from Harrenhal, ask him about Alys Rivers.”

You felt like a bucket of water had been thrown over your head.

Alys Rivers.

Alys Rivers.

It was her.

The witch of Harrenhal.

You felt a pang of jealousy in your gut as you thought of it, but then immediately questioned
yourself, stamping out the bitterness that rose in the back of your throat.

Why are you jealous? If she warms his bed, then perhaps he will leave you alone.

With this new knowledge you spun on your heel, flicking your eyes to Alicent Hightower, who’s
gaze was still on her hands. You left the chamber loudly, skirts flying behind you in
embarrassment and rage.

Your husband was having an affair.

Your husband was leaving Kings Landing, as he was free to do, and taking a woman into his bed,
whilst you were stuck alone, not free to leave and forced to warm his.

You slammed your chamber doors open, the wood loudly hitting the back of the wall as you
moved into the space, rage boiling up inside of you, its heat rising higher, and higher the more you
paced about the chambers.

How dare he.

How fucking dare he.

Openly fucking a Strong bastard. A House in which he had so many grievances with.

He was openly fucking a bastard and everyone had known, except you.

You moved to the side of the room, not bothering to fill the goblet with wine, instead drinking
straight from the second decanter, feeling the alcohol burn its way meanly down your throat. You
wiped your lips with the sleeve of your gown, as a low growl passed through your lips.
Fuck him.

How fucking dare he.

The highest of humiliations for a wife in court.

He was making a mockery of you and the treaty.

And you knew that you should not care, and that you should be relieved, and that his time spent
away from you gave you a reprieve that you so desperately needed, and his time with her saved you
from his cruelty. But there was an undeniable anger that still raged through you. And the most
tiniest whispers of fear.

If he grew bored of you, would he have you killed and have her put in your place?

Your eyes flicked to beside the decanter. There beside where it sat, was Aemond’s quill and ink,
with loose pieces of spare parchment rolled beside it. You grabbed the ink and quill moving it to
the table, small drops of ink spilling over and onto your hand. You raced back to collect some
parchment and slapped it down onto the table.

If he wished to humiliate you, you could hurt him.

You could.

You could ask for star fruit.

Fuck them all.

You could burn this entire Keep to the ground, if you asked.

You could.

You began to write on the page, script messy and scribbled, your ink covered fingers smudging the
parchment.

‘Rhaenyra and Daemon,

It seems that due to my husbands travelling throughout the realm, and his extended stay in
Harrenhal, he has been unable to deliver me Star Fruit. I have been craving its sweet flesh, and I
must ask you, almost desperately, to send a barrel promptly to m-‘

You paused as your hand wrote the script.

What would this mean if you sent this?

You knew what it meant.

War would break out again, and losses would come with it.

You felt burning shame inside of you as you looked at the letter.

How could you let him stir you to anger so quickly? How could you let him move you to such
violence? And for what? An affair? Would the losses of your family be worth this petty grievance?
Would you feel well inside of yourself to tell them that you asked for star fruit because Aemond was
sleeping with another?
How would you feel knowing that one of your own died because of you?

Because of this.

You needed to be smarter.

Your hand trembled and you stood, scrunching the letter as you marched towards the fireplace.
You tossed the crumpled parchment into the flames, watching the fire devour it the pale paper,
blackening its edges as the ink bubbled on its surface, until soon it was completely gone.

Your request for help was no more. Burnt to ashes.

Devoured by fire.

You went to sleep that evening with little appetite and a fire burning within.

Three days passed when Aemond finally returned to the Red Keep. You had been sitting in the
garden, sulking and sullen, when you heard the great roar of Vhagar. You had leant over the edge
of the stone ledge and looked up into the sky, watching as her large green form flew over the top of
you, making her way to the other side of the Keep to let Aemond back into the castle.

An odd stirring of excitement ran through you at his return, which was dampened by the sour
knowledge of where he had been, and why he had been gone so long.

You had to prevent yourself from racing back to the chambers, so instead, you forced yourself to
finish four pages of the book in your lap. You then took yourself around the entirety of the garden
alone, fighting the way your body tried to race towards your shared chambers to talk to him, or
growl at him.

When you had finally made your way into the Keep, Aemond was in your chambers, speaking with
his mother Alicent.

Both of their eyes flitted to you when you had arrived, and you felt that you had interrupted a
conversation about you. They both fell silent as they observed you, Aemond's hands clutching his
mothers arms softly as she held him. The Dowager Queen dropped her arms away from her son and
bid him a quiet goodbye, uttering your name as she passed you in greeting. Aemond turned away
from the door and moved towards the table, tidying a pile of scrolls, as you were left by the door.

Aemond did not turn to greet you, nor did he mumble your name, or call you wife as he always did.
He was quiet, and it made the days of anxiety and fear, anger and disgust, mount inside of you like
a tidal wave.

“Where were you?”

Aemond turned to look at you shortly before moving back to his task, long fingers shuffling the
scrolls. You stormed across the room and stood beside him, leaning half on the table, as you tried
to force your way into his line of sight.

To force him to look at you.

“Where were you?” You asked again, voice sharper. All patience gone at the sight of his cool
demeanour and dismissal of your arrival.

“It is of no concern to you.” He shrugged you off.

It made anger rise in your cheeks.

“Harrenhal.” You answered for him.

Aemond’s hands stilled for the slightest of moments, before moving back around the table,
collecting the scrolls into a pile to lift them. Your hand shot out and you swiped the scrolls from
his hand, the rolls of parchment flying in different directions to the floor.

Where had this anger come from?

“Do you lay with another?” You seethed, chest rising and falling, waiting for him to answer you.

To look at you. To acknowledge your accusations.

To acknowledge his wrongs.

“You will pick those up.” Aemond spoke calmly, looking at the scrolls laid out about the
chambers.

“Udligon nyke.” Answer me, You growled.

Aemond finally turned his body towards you, watching as rage and anger rolled through you with
every breath. At how you watched him with a furrowed brow, and sneer on your lips, small hands
curled into tight fists at your sides. Your hair wild from the speed of moving across the room, and
how your pupils expanded as you waited for him to answer.

You were seething.

“It seems you already know.”

Your mouth opened and shut, trying to think of how to respond.

How to make him hurt.

“I thought you would be gladdened for my absence.” Aemond mused, looking down at you.

“You make a fool of me at court. For all knew where my husband was except his own wife! You
left me to sit and wait for your return not knowing where you were, nor when you would be back.
You left me alone with him!”

Aemond did not respond, his lips in a relaxed line as he watched you.

Why was he watching you?

Why wouldn’t he say something?

Your hands moved to shove at his chest, hitting him with force as he barely budged from his spot.
You did it again, and yet he still did not react.

“Answer me.” You hit him again, watching as he let you take out your anger on him, “Fucking
craven!” You yelled, hand slapping the unscarred side of his face.

Aemond’s hands reached up and grabbed your wrists tightly in a bruising grip, yanking you against
him.

“That’s enough.” He said lowly, looking down at you, eye shining dangerously.
You felt so angry.

The rage just kept bubbling and bubbling, the tide rising higher, and higher within you as you
stared at him. You tried to rip your hands from his grip but he would not let you go. Instead
Aemond moved his face forward and kissed the crown of your head.

Just as Daemon would.

“Get off of me.” You wriggled in his grip, jerking yourself from his hold.

Aemond hummed, moving towards the chamber doors to leave.

“I expect you to clean up your mess.” He called over his shoulder, before leaving you to stand in
the room, anger overflowing.

You let out an angry scream as you looked at the door shut.

You turned your head to look at your ‘mess’.

You thought of picking up his scrolls and throwing them into the fire. Of watching them burn with
satisfaction, knowing that when he would return and ask where they were, you would say that you
had eliminated the mess he spoke off. You thought of stamping your feet on top of the perfectly
rolled scrolls, crushing them and tearing them beneath your shoes. But the longer you stood and
stared at the scrolls, the more you came to your senses and cooled down.

Do not lose yourself to anger.

You needed to be smart.

You begrudgingly picked up the scrolls and placed them on the side of the table, counting six in
total. All perfectly rolled with their green wax seal. He was to send these letters out. A new thought
popped into your mind.

What if he was sending a letter to Alys?

Were they plotting together?

Did he love her?

Would she coax him into killing you so that she may take your place?

For all you knew, she could be a very real threat. If she was with Aemond by choice, knowing what
he did to her House, having witnessed it, witnessed his rage, knowing that he was a kinslayer and
cruel; She was a dangerous person indeed.

You spent the rest of your day sulking in your chambers, and when the evening rolled though, you
and Aemond ate together, for the first time in almost ten days, in tense silence. There was more
you wanted to say. More you needed to say. But you also knew you needed to be smart.

If this was something he knew would hurt you, or could use to break you, he would do it.

And so you sat in the awkward silence, as politely as you could, answering the shallow questions
he asked about what you did with your days alone. You had told him truthfully what you had done,
minus the drinking, and of how you had read most days by the sea. You behaved as best as you
could, and pushed your anger deep down into your chest, to use when you needed.
For now you needed to be smart.

After spending your evening in an uncomfortable tension, both of you behaving to the best of your
shared ability, you went to bed and slept. Aemond did not reach over to touch you with his fingers,
nor thrust his length into your core. He had rolled to his side of the bed and slept soundly, as heat
rose in your cheeks from the anger that still simmered.

Aemond had not been cruel, nor had he reacted to your outburst. He had stayed level headed and let
you scream and shove him. He didn’t even try to goad you into an argument that evening.

What was his motive?

Did she make him kinder to you?

What was happening?

You slept uneasily that night, and woke when you felt Aemond stir to start his day. You sat up in
bed, a warmth settling in your stomach, as you watched him move about the chambers, looking at
the pile of scrolls for a moment, the pile you had made, just as he had commanded, before he
picked them all up, looking at you to bid you a good day, door shutting quietly behind him.

You ate as you always did, and were dressed as you always were, but there was something sitting
under your skin that made you stay in your chambers that day. When the maids had brushed your
hair or touched your skin to dress you, you had been set alight. There was a buzzing sensation that
ran through you, and you found that you ached to be touched.

You yearned to be touched.

You missed the simple pleasures of being held, or the warmth of a hand, or hug. The simple
presses of lips to your cheek, or the graze of a hand in your hair. But this yearning had grown, and
instead of the desire to simply be wrapped in the arms of someone you loved, it had smouldered
into a need.

Not once in your life had you ever felt a state of arousal like this. You had tried to ignore it,
rubbing your thighs together to satiate the ache that continued to build, and build within you,
flames of heat licking at your face and crux of your thighs. But no matter what you did, it did not
help. You drank some wine, thinking it would numb you, but instead, it amplified your want.

When was the last time you had brought yourself pleasure?

Back on Dragonstone?

How long had that been?

You were no stranger to your body or desire, and when the urge came to call, you had always
brought yourself to your peak with your hand without shame.

But Aemond had brought you pleasure like never before, even before he had left. He had brought
you to your peak twice on his skilled fingers.

Your core clenched at the memory.

All you could think about was his fingers sliding through your slick folds, rubbing on your
sensitive bud until you cried out into the chambers. You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand
through the front of your hair. You worried your lip with your teeth and nibbled on it in thought.
Aemond would be gone in the Throne Room with his brother all day, and the maids had already
been….

What else would you do beside read, and drink, and wait for the day to end.

You looked at your bed as you made your decision.

You walked over, climbing onto the sheets as you bent your legs. You breathed shakily as you let a
hand move to trail itself softly over the top of your breast, a small whimper escaping your lips.

You hiked your skirts up over your knees, bringing your fingers down to touch tentatively at your
core. Your folds were already slick with desire and as you rolled a confident finger from your slit to
your bud. You moaned, back arching as pleasure rolled through you.

You let your fingertips rolled over the top of your bud as you closed your eyes, imaging the skilled
hands of a lover that was not the silver hair of your uncle.

You thought of Darras and his striking green eyes, his soft tongue delving into your folds as you
arched into his face, thinking of him lapping through your folds at your nectar that dripped out of
you.

Your fingers quickened their pace, but the more you thought of Darras, the more you could not see
him above you. You tried to think of Ser Darke, your knight, but his image did not spark arousal,
and instead sparked shame.

Angrily, you rubbed harder at yourself, desperate to reach your peak, feeling the coil tighten
quickly but never quite snapping. A constant feeling of being stuck on the other side of the hill,
never quite getting to the top to tumble down on the other side. You huffed a breath through your
nose, wriggling into the sheets further as the image of Aemond on top of you flicked into your
mind.

Your core clenched and you shamefully continued. You thought of how he had fucked himself into
you gently, praising you. Of how he had called you beautiful, while his skilled fingers swirled over
your bud. Your release came quickly and suddenly, and you moaned loudly into the empty
chambers as you rode your peak.

The room was hot and your legs flopped open in exhaustion, hand wiping itself on your chemise
between your thighs as you closed your eyes, feeling the waves of pleasure slowly dim. Your core
throbbed, and you found that although the want had gone, there was still a lingering heat within
you.

Rolling on your side, you blinked at the wall.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Was it because you had never had a touch of another?

That his touch is the only one you had known and could refer to?

Then you thought of Alys.

He got to experience pleasure from her. He got to lay with her, and share a bed with her, yet you
were stuck only knowing him and his touch.

How many others had he been with? How many more had he touched, whilst you lay dry and
 alone?

But you remembered your fathers words.

A political marriage does not mean you have to suffer a dead marital bed.

You could find your pleasure elsewhere.

If Aemond was going to fuck Alys, then you should be able to fuck someone else.

You needed to remember why you were in this Keep.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for the ongoing love and support, it means a lot ! <3
 A Bee
Chapter Notes

I have been itching like a mosquito bite to post this one

You walked around the Keep aimlessly, looking at the different Lords and Ladies who shuffled
aimlessly through the castle, thinking of who you could pursue. You thought of how Aegon and
Aemond had both happily, and openly found pleasure with others. And how women like your
mother were punished for doing the same.

You had left your chambers with clarity in your mind. You would find someone else. If Aemond
was to travel and love another, then you would too, only minus the travel.

They could be your ally in the Keep. You could spend your time talking to them and enjoying your
days in each others company. You would not be so alone in the Keep. And above all of this, it
could be advantageous.

When you left your chambers, you walked with no destination round the Keep. More specifically,
the areas were Lords and Ladies would frequently pass. You had walked and observed, watched
and deliberated on who would be a good match for you.

You thought of the names you already knew.

Perhaps the Lannister? But even the idea of taking him into your bed made your skin crawl, for all
of Aemond’s cruelty, you knew that he would at least bring you pleasure, and doubted that the
Lannister even knew how.

You thought of Cregan Stark. Now he would be a good match. He was about your age, a few years
older, maybe the same as Aemond. He was, from what you had been told, a handsome and
respectful Lord. He was said to have the famed dark, curly hair of the Starks and eyes to match.
But he was in the North, and thankfully allied to your mother, and you doubted that he would be
able to sneak into the Keep unnoticed, nor you be able to send word to him by raven.

It would have to be someone who came to the Red Keep frequently.

Or resided in Kings Landing at least.

You let yourself lean against a wall in a hallway, watching potential suitors walk past you. To your
dismay, most of the Lords were old and balding, whilst the women refused to meet your gaze. You
thought of Ser Criston Cole, but shrugged the thought away quickly with a shiver. He would not
come to your bed willing and at the slightest hint of your plotting he would tuck tail and run to his
precious Hightower Queen. You would do well to avoid him at all costs.

Lest you end up like you mother.

You shuddered at the thought and continued to watch the people walk about the Keep.

And then you saw someone promising.

He was tall, though not as tall as Aemond, and with a regular build. His skin was pale and dark
curled hair was cut close to his head. He was not the most handsome man you had seen, but in a
Keep with limited options you thought he would be a good enough.

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, member of Aegon’s small council, walked through the halls
slowly, large tome and parchment in hand. His eyes were a light brown, and he had a trimmed dark
beard around his face. His face was stern and his eyes were hard, a most serious looking man.

You smiled at him gently as he walked closer towards you, moving to pass you in the halls.

“Lord Wylde.” You greeted, straightening your posture as you smiled sweetly at him.

You had not spoken once to the man, merely been in his presence a few times, including once
when you has dined with Aegon on your wedding night. The Lord slowed his step and looked
down at you, hint of interest in his eyes.

Perfect.

“Princess.” He greeted back, and moved to continue his walk. You pushed away from the wall to
come beside him, his eyes watching your move.

“Might I accompany you on your walk?” You asked sweetly, hands behind your back as you
pushed your chest forward subtly. You felt a prickle run along your skin.

You had heard from Saria that the Lord was known as Ironrod to the small folk, for he was
unbending and immovable with his beliefs. A small voice wondered that if he was called Ironrod
for another reason. Lord Jasper had sired over twenty-nine children, and had wed four wives, three
of whom you knew had died in child birth.

“Of course, My Lady.” Wylde responded, uncertainty in his voice as you slowly began to walk
together through the halls of the Red Keep.

“I must apologise for my behaviour in the Throne room the other day,” You began, knowing that
he had witnessed your outburst. You needed to be sweet, saccharine, a docile woman he may take
advantage of, “I was finding myself emotional after so long apart from my husband.” You looked
down shyly at your feet as you walked.

The Master of Laws stayed quiet beside you as you continued. Perhaps he would not be as easy as
you had thought. You turned another corner, looking at the man as something moved in the corner
of your eye.

“Does your wife reside here in Kings Landing with you, My Lord?”

“My late Lady Wife passed away in childbirth two moons ago.”

Four wives then.

You slowed your step, frown pulling your lips downwards. A shiver rolled down your back and
your hairs stood on end.

“My condolences. Are you being looked after?”

Jasper smiled down at you softly, “Of course, Princess. King Aegon provides all that I need here.”

Ugh.
“I am gladdened to hear this.” You paused looking back down at your feet as he slowed his step,
curious eyes looking over you.

“Do you not get... lonely?” You asked, looking up at him as you came to a complete stop.

The Lord of the Rain House stilled and looked down at you, hands adjusting the tomes and
parchment in his hands. A silence stretched between the both of you as you looked at each other.

Why was he not saying anything?

More importantly, who was watching you?

It set you on edge.

“I only ask as my Lord Husband is away for so long, and I find myself anxious for his return.” You
made a show of the sadness you supposedly felt, lifting a hand to come touch the man, before
rethinking it and tucking back behind you to move forward.

“It does get lonely, at times.” Lord Wylde spoke quietly, “Though I have promising news of a
potential betrothal to Lady Ellyn Baratheon.”

Here comes wife number five.

Shit.

“Oh, that is wonderful news then, My Lord. I must congratulate you. I would hate to know the you
suffer the same affliction as I do.” You continued.

The prickling of your skin started again and you turned your head. You and Lord Wylde had
walked beside the Godswood in the open courtyard coridoors, where not too far from you stood a
man with his cane.

You were definitely being watched.

“This is where I must leave you,” You told him, “Until we meet again.” You smiled, turning and
leaving Lord Wylde without hearing his farewell.

You crossed the courtyard not too far away, to where Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whispers,
stood watching you with a knowing smile, leaning on his cane.

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted you, as you came to stand in front of him.

“Lord Larys. Do you ever grow tired of watching me from afar?”

The man hummed, “A fine day in King’s Landing.”

“No finer than the last. I would ask you to join me on my walk, but… I fear it may not be of
interest to you.” You pointedly look down at his club foot.

Larys smiled, “It would be a pleasure to join you, Princess. My club foot would not restrict me
from such an honour.”

You hummed.

Turning on your foot, you waited until he came to your side and began to slowly move out of the
courtyard. You moved around the Keep, leading out to the garden.
Caution arose inside of you as you walked beside Lord Larys. You did not trust the man, nor did
you like him. He was one of the many vipers in this nest, and had whispered in Alicent’s ears for
years. For the most part, he had made himself scarce, barely acknowledging you, nor your presence
for many years growing up, but now his sudden interest in you was a warning for you to keep a
level head.

You would do well to not let your guard down around the man and not show him any weaknesses.

“Lord Larys, forgive me for my brazenness, but I must ask you.” You stopped walking and looked
at him.

He did not look much like Ser Harwin. He was smaller, and weaker and ill-made. He stood
crooked and thin, skin pale, and resembled a weasel more than a man. But his dark eyes and hair
were the resemblance of his House.

“I am sure what you are about to ask is neither brazen, nor offensive, My Lady.”

You gave him a small smile.

“How does it feel...” You began looking down at the floor in mock innocence, as you begin to
walk again through the garden, dirt path beneath your feet, and blooming flowers of all colours and
shapes surrounding you.

You left him in limbo of the question a little while longer, before continuing, “...To the be the last
of Strong blood? I was shocked when I had heard the news of what my Lord Husband had done in
Harrenhal to your House, and I feel as though I must apologise to you for his actions.”

“My Lady, you know more than I, that I am not alone.” He looked at you pointedly.

Your brothers.

You clenched your jaw.

“Ah, yes. Alys Rivers.” You looked him up and down, “I suppose with her still surviving, you are
not the last Strong after all.”

Larys lets out a small, knowing laugh, quiet for no-one else in the garden to hear, but loud enough
for you.

You steered the both of you towards where you always sat. Where you and Helaena had watched
sunsets and sunrises, looked at bugs and talked of your futures together.

Not at all what it was for now.

You sat at a small steel table, and held out a hand for him to take the one opposite you. He bowed
his head and sat, leaning his long cane against the table. It was well crafted, with a gold top, a small
bee in its centre. It reminded you of the cane that had been left in your chambers.

A servant boy came to join you once he saw the two of you seated.

“Please bring me and Lord Larys some tea and fruit. " You smiled at the boy, "Thank you.”

The young boy, no older than ten-and-five, bowed his head, and scuttled out of the garden towards
the Keep. You held your hands together on the table.

“I will withdraw any pleasantries from this conversation henceforth. You know better than I,” You
mocked his previous words, “That you are no ally to me, and I simply cannot stand the sight of
you.” You smiled gracefully.

To any passing in the garden, it would look as though you were having a pleasant interaction.

“For years I had thought of how Ser Harwin and your late father had died so quickly on their return
back to Harrenhal. I had slept on it as a child, you see. Ser Harwin was good to us,” You smiled
and nodded your head to behind him, "He trained me in the yards just on the other side of this
Keep. He was like a father to me.”

Larys watched as you spoke to him, relaxed in your chair. All falseness had left his face, and what
was left in its wake was a viper. He certainly played the defenceless and meek man well.

“At first, I had my suspicions that Alicent had to be behind it, but it did not make sense for the man
who could be put on trial for treason, to be put to death first. And so quietly too. "

You leant forward on the table as you looked at him, "Alicent loves a public spectacle, we saw that
the day she tried to take my brothers eye. So I ruled her out. And then I thought some more.”

The servant boy came back with a large silver tray, pot of tea and teacups sitting atop, with a small
plate of cut up fruit. You paused from your thoughts as the young boy placed the cups down in
front of you, pouring them high and placing the fruit in its centre.

“Thank you. That will be all.” You thanked the boy, dismissing him, watching as he left.

Reaching across the table you picked up a small sugar container, mother of pearl spoon inside. You
scooped a small spoonful of sugar out of the bowl and held it towards Larys.

“Sugar?” You asked.

The man nodded, and you let the small soft grains fall into his cup of tea, before placing the sugar
back in front of you. Picking up your unsweetened tea, you brought it to your lips, the steam
brushing against your mouth warmly.

You took a small and polite sip. It was steeped perfectly.

A soft bitter aftertaste, just as you preferred in times of stress like this. Larys picked up his spoon,
stirring the sugar into his tea gently, before bringing it up to his lips to drink.

“It was not hard to figure out. Who would have something to gain from the death of the Lord
Lyonel Strong, and his first born son, Ser Harwin?”

You placed your teacup back on the table, letting the china clink softly against one another. Larys
mirrored your movements. He did not seem nervous at all by your accusation, nor comments.

“Of course, it always comes down to the second son. You had a title to gain, lands and wealth, and
not only that, but I suspect something to hold over the Queen’s conscience. Am I wrong?” You
asked, and Larys stayed silent, "I’m sure you made it seem as though you did it for her, yes?”

“Quite the accusation, Princess. What you accuse me of would be treason, and kinslaying.” Larys
mused, picking up his cup to sip at again.

“Of course. Forgive me, ’tis merely just speculation and a child’s mind left to run through endless
possibilities.” You shrugged, and reached forward to pull a grape from its bunch, popping the
round fruit into your mouth, feeling your teeth slice through the juicy flesh.
“It was an unfortunate accident. They say that Harrenhal is cursed.” The Strong man began, “Not
at all like what had happened to the poor Prince Daeron.”

You let your head lazily look down as you sighed, “An unfortunate accident,” You parroted, “A
casualty of war. Thank the Seven that we now have a treaty, to prevent further losses such as that.”

You sipped your tea in tandem, a tense silence filling your area of the garden.

“And how are you faring? Have you settled back into the Keep?” He asked.

“With my Lord Husband so frequently gone, I find myself more settled than ever.” You smiled, “It
is relaxing to know that I do not have two monsters, watching me at all hours. Though I do worry
for his absence. What whispers will the courts concoct once they hear of his whoring?”

“Trouble in paradise in such a fresh marriage is concerning to hear. But I would not worry on any
opinions of the Lords and Ladies at court. They would not care for a bastard born from another.”

“And what of this bastard, Lord Larys, Master of Whispers? I have heard whispers of my own.
They say that she is a witch, and has put a spell on my husband. That is why she still lives. Is it
true?”

“I seemingly recall you reminding me that I am neither your ally, nor you mine.”

“Mm. That’s true. You can’t blame me for trying. It is terribly dull, locked in this Keep. I am just
desperate enough to sit and have tea with you, let alone look at you.” You smiled, and he smiled
back.

“Is this why you peruse the Keep in search of somebody? Is your Lord Husband not satisfying your
needs, warming your bed chambers?”

“Unfortunately for me, my bed chambers are warmed enough. Though they lack a certain, want. I
am sure you would know all about this, having known about Aegon and his wondering cock. You
know, it truly is a mystery at how it has not fallen off yet.”

“A mystery indeed, Princess.” He paused, drinking from his tea, watching you, thinking, and when
he comes to a conclusion, he places the cup back down, reaching to refill it.

“But Alys Rivers is less of a mystery.” He began, “I have heard tales of her beauty. An older
woman with hair as black as the night sky, and eyes of green that pierce any mans soul. Rumours
are about that she is a witch, and she claims to be one. Though who knows if it is real or not. I have
been told she wears a chain of Valyrian steel around her neck, with three emeralds dripping from it.
A gift from a Targaryen Prince.” The man shrugged, “Depends on what you believe.”

He brings the cup to sip again, eyes watching you over the rim.

“Are you a man of Faith, Lord Strong?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I believe what I am told.”

“And what a good little dog you make for it.” You smiled viciously, pulling another grape from
the table to pop into your waiting mouth. “For a Master of Whispers, you sure do miss a lot of
things.”

“Like what, Princess?”

You laughed.

“If you truly are a Master of Whispers, I am sure you will find out in due time. Need I remind you
that I am neither your friend, nor ally?”

“You need not. Though may I give a word advice?”

You sighed, cocking your head, “No. But I have a feeling that you are going to anyway.”

“If you are to look for a man to warm your chambers in the absence of your husband, it is best that
you don’t do so, so brazenly.” He smiled brightly, “Though he has lost an eye, he is not blind and
has his ears.”

“Of no doubt you will be whispering your poison into.”

Larys smiled a sickly smile, “Of no doubt. Who knows what the courts may begin to whisper. Of
course, only if my hand is forced.”

“May I offer you a word of advice, Lord Larys?”

The mans hand touched the top of his cane, its engraved bee sitting pretty in the expanse of the tip.
A smirk wound its way on his lips in confirmation, head tilting to tell you to speak.

“Don't fuck with me." You smiled, and enjoyed the way the man blinked in shock at your harsh
words, “I have found that throughout my life, men with ambition are a great threat to the realm and
to the people living within it. I doubt that any man,” You looked him up and down in disgust, “Or
woman, would lay with you. And without the lust of flesh, you are free to lust after power. A
dangerous man indeed.” You smiled falsely, leaning back in your chair, listening to the waves
behind you before you continued.

“Dragon or no dragon, I have not forgotten your place in this war, nor what you had done to Ser
Harwin. I will rip your throat out with my teeth if I must. But of course,” You stood from the table
looking down at the man who’s brow had hardened, “Only if my hand is forced.”

You walked around the table to stand beside Lord Larys.

“Thank you for an… inspiring conversation, Lord Larys.” You smiled down at him, “I had almost
forgotten of your presence in the Keep.”

You grinned at the man, letting your hand come to touch his shoulder in a friendly manner.

Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whispers, stared at his empty tea cup as you walked away, leaving
him to his thoughts and your unprovoked threat.
 Lanta hen keskydoso, Two of the same
Chapter Notes

This is a much longer chapter than usual because I kept writing and couldn't stop and
didn't want to split it into two parts lol

Returning to your chambers after your interaction with Larys caused you to have spring in your
step. It had given you a rush to speak so plainly with him, smiling at him so that all in the gardens
who passed by suspected nothing.

For once you felt you knew something that the so called Master of Whispers did not.

The Maester had helped you.

The Maester had given you that broach. A symbol of allyship that you needed in the Keep. And yet
they still did not know it. They did not know that there was a traitor in their midst.

And it excited you.

When you opened the door to the chambers, you found Aemond already inside, sitting in front of
the fire, tome in his lap. His hair was pulled back behind his head in a half ponytail, the long silver
tresses lifted and flowing down his back. Messy strands fell around his ears and framed his face.

This new style came as a shock to you. The man had worn his hair in the same way, every day, as
he always had since he was a child. It revealed more of his sharp face and neck, the hair pulled
away to reveal the pale skin beneath.

Without greeting him, you moved about the chambers to seat yourself at the window, picking up a
book from the pile on the side of the room to read. When you sat you felt his gaze lift to you, but
you did not meet it, opting to ignore him and read instead. But the harder you tried to ignore his
heated gaze, the less you could resist, letting your eyes flick up to his.

Aemond watched you beneath his lashes silently, finger tapping on the page in his lap.

“Can I help you?” You asked.

“I’m sure you are enthralled with the prospect of reading ‘Crispian Celtigar, Master of Coins;
Wealth of the Realm’.” Aemond hummed.

You let your eyes fall back down to the book in your lap.

You had picked up one of the most boring books of all.

Why did Aemond even have this?

“I am sure far more enticing than this conversation.” You drawled.

Aemond hummed, before letting the chambers dissolve into silence. You opened the page and
began to read the history book, eyes skimming the words and immediately regretting your quick
choice.

‘The Lord of Claw Isle came from the blood of old Valyria. His allyship lay with the Velaryon and
Targaryen Houses naturally. Lord Celtigar was a clever and young Lord of his House. He had
grown in the Isles and-‘

“How was your walk with Lord Larys?” Aemond’s smooth tone pulled you from the words of the
book.

How did he know?

Did he see you?

“Enlightening and refreshing. The air was crisp, and the sun shone beautifully. I regretfully had not
taken the time to be acquainted with the last Lord of House Strong.”

You watched him as he took his eye from his book to look at you.

“Hm. And what did you talk about?”

“That’s neither here nor there, husband.” You spoke bluntly.

Aemond blinked, staring at you, trying to push you to respond to his question with his silence. You
thought of not answering him, letting him stew in the possibilities of finding comfort in a man like
Larys.

But you sated him instead, “He doesn’t speak plainly, as I am sure you would know. Pulling teeth
would be easier than talking to him.”

"Larys will only tell you what you want to hear.”

“Of that I have realised.” You replied.

You looked back down at the tome in your hand, trying to force yourself to read the words on the
page.

Why was it so dull?

How could he read this and not fall asleep?

“We are to dine with the King this evening.”

“Delightful.” You droned, flicking another page over to look at the endless boring script.

Aemond stood, and you let your eyes peek at him from below your lashes as he walked towards the
door, requesting the knight to summon the maids.

A short while later, the two girls entered the chambers and Aemond asked them to ready you for
the evening.

They braided your hair, half behind your head and dressed you in a deep black gown, the cleavage
dipping to show ample breast. You wore your gold chain with the rubies, with the earrings and ring
to match, twirling the dragon around your finger as you waited in anticipation of yet another
tiresome, and most likely, eventful dinner.
As the maids left the chambers, Aemond waited for you by the door to walk side by side with him
to the small dining hall. He watched you as you observed him from across the room.

“You were gone quite some time.” You interrupted the silence, looking down at your hands in
false boredom.

“I had duties to attend to.” He responded bluntly.

“And how is she?” You looking up at Aemond with curious eyes.

You watched his jaw tick.

“Who?”

He wanted to know what you knew.

“Alys Rivers, of course.” You smiled at him, stepping forward across the room to stand at his side
as you moved to leave the chambers. You walked out the door and waited in the corridor, looking
back to see Aemond still where he was, eye narrowed.

Oh yes, I know all about her.

Silence filled the air as Aemond stared at you, and you awaited his response. He walked out to join
you, the tow of you beginning to make your way to dine with the Greens. Aemond kept his gaze
straight ahead as you walked, and you felt a sense of satisfaction at his silence.

And so you asked again.

“Is she well?” You smiled looking to your side, all sickly sweet, like a soft honey bee with its
stinger hidden away.

Aemond hummed, looking down at you as you continued, still not having answered.

The knight escorted the both of you down the halls and corridors. The doors to the dining hall were
just up ahead as you rapidly approached them, your hands held together in front of you, and his
behind his back.

As you stood in front of the entrance, watching the two guards lean forward to pull open the large
wooden doors, Aemond shifted, leaning closer to you as he looked down into your eyes.

Your husband opened his mouth to speak, but paused before closing his mouth shut. The Prince
straightened and looked ahead as the room was revealed to you.

No response then.

The knight announced you to the room as you walked up the small steps to the landing where the
table lay. Aegon sat in the centre with his mother and Otto flanking each side. All dressed in green
looking like an odd bunch of peas.

The Master of Whispers sat beside Alicent in robes of burgundy, watching you with hawk like eyes
after your interaction. Lord Jasper Wylde sat opposite him, in pale green robes, whilst other small
council members littered the table like cockroaches.

“Welcome back, brother.” Aegon smiled from the across the room, watching as the both of you
came to the table.
Aemond pulled your chair out for you, as he always did, and you seated yourself in it softly, giving
Aegon a small, yet polite smile. Alicent pursed her lips at you in a stiff greeting and Otto simply
watched you. Your eyes flicked to Lord Jasper Wylde and you gave him a gentle smile.

Aegon’s brow creased, if not for only a moment, before a large smirk wound its way on his face.

When the servants laid out the supper for the evening, you had sat and waited patiently for Alicent
to say her prayer to the room, thanking the Seven for the spread and the health of the King. You
piled your plate high with steaming vegetables and meat, and sipped generously at a honeyed wine
from Essos, and not the spiced wine from Dorne that you loved. It was sweet, but also tart on your
tongue, a distinctly different wine to what you had grown accustomed to.

As you ate, conversation filled the room between the small council members and the Hightower's.
You could sense however, that Aemond’s gaze was stiffly on his brother, who had not taken his
eyes off of you.

“It was a beautiful day today, was it not, niece?” Aegon asked, one side of his mouth twitching as
he spoke.

“It was, uncle. I took myself for a walk around the gardens and was fortunate enough to be
accompanied by Lord Larys.” You answered honestly and politely, smiling at Lord Strong at the
mention of his name.

“It must be a relief to have your Lord Husband back in the Keep. I cannot imagine how lonely it
must get for a wife without their husband.”

Lonely.

Your eyes flicked to Jasper Wylde who would not meet your gaze, eyes down on his plate as he
ate.

He had told Aegon.

“It does, uncle. There is only so many times I can read the same book, or walk the same path in the
gardens, before the task becomes tedious. But thankfully, he has returned to me after so long
away.”

Aegon sipped his wine as Alicent’s voice flitted across the table to you.

“Perhaps you would like a loom, so that you may embroider?” She inquired, hands clasped
together on the table, head tilted.

“That would be welcomed, thank you. Although, I may not be very good at it. It was always more
of a talent Princess Helaena had. I find my talents elsewhere.”

Aegon scoffed loudly into his cup and Aemond shifted beside you.

Conversation slowly moved around the table with the other guests and you let yourself settle back
into your chair, listening for anything important. Any tones that grew quiet or hushed or stressed.
Anything that could be of use.

But most of it, was not.

“I’m curious to know about these talents you spoke of. I am sure my brother has experienced such
things. Does this mean we will have an heir soon?” Aegon questioned, grinning at Aemond.
You unreservedly pathetic, loathsome, waste of breath.

You grit your teeth, the sharp incisors sliding over each other in your mouth roughly, and forced a
small smile on your face, fighting away a grimace that tried to replace it.

“Those talents, I unfortunately have no knowledge of, uncle. But, no,” You paused, “I had my
blood, so there is no babe.”

Speak plainly and openly.

Appear to be complacent.

Aegon pouted and sighed, “The Realm needs a babe for the treaty." He announced loudly, drawing
all into the conversation again, "Have you even been trying? Do you need me to instruct you?”

You smiled at him, and thought of all the ways you could tear his head from his shoulders.

“The Prince had taken to Harrenhal for many days. Aemond often warms the bed of the Strong
bastard, Alys Rivers.” You took a pause and smiled at your uncle beside you, “But now, thank the
Gods, he has finally returned.”

Aemond stiffened at your side, hands gripping his cutlery tightly. You reached a hand over to grasp
one of his in your own, soothing his white knuckles with your thumb, smiling at him brightly.

“I go where my King commands me.” Aemond purred, hand dropping the utensil beneath his hand
and grasping yours tightly, digging his fingers into your soft skin painfully.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Alicent stared daggers at her son, and Ser Otto sat quietly watching you. Aegon laughed loudly
into the room, looking at how his brothers eye twitched and avoided meeting your gaze.

“I envy you, brother. You seem to have been wed to Visenya reborn.”

“Then that would make Aemond, Aegon the First reborn.” You replied, and watched as Aegon’s
smirk dropped from his face with triumph.

You could never measure up to Aegon the Conqueror, you half-witted swine.

Aemond’s harsh grip on your hand loosened at the comment.

Otto steered the conversation away from you and your uncle, and you sat with you hand in his until
the dinner was over. Aemond stood, assisting you to stand, and excused you both from the table
with a curt parting glance and a stiff bow of his head.

You had thanked Aegon for the meal, and smiled at him and the other Green council members
before leaving the dining hall with your husband.

The walk was quiet, and once you had entered your chambers, Aemond began to pace the room.
Each step he took, his boots clacked against the stone floors loudly, hands behind his back as his
lips were pulled into a sneer.

“Your childishness knows no bounds.” Aemond growled, back faced away from you and towards
the window.

“My childishness?”
Aemond spun on his heel looking at you, “You dare to bring her up whilst we dine? Before all the
Lords?”

You tilted your head and looked at him, “The Lords already knew. I was the only one it seemed, in
the entirety of Kings Landing, who was not privy to my husbands whoring.”

“Whoring?” Aemond sneered, taking a step closer, “And what of your little walk with Lord
Wylde?”

Fuck.

Thinking on your toes, you scoffed loudly, “You must think me stupid to approach a man who is
known as 'Ironrod' to the small folk for his refusal to bend to any man. A Lord dedicated to law,
who will not budge, and has openly ridiculed my mother? Do you think that man such as him,” You
narrowed your gaze, “Would even look at me for one moment? Do you think a man like Lord
Jasper Wylde would even fall for such an attempt?”

You had hoped he would.

All men are the same.

They think with their cock.

Aemond crowded your space, his chest brushing against yours as he looked down at you.

“You know nothing of men.” He growled.

“I know plenty.” You countered, looking up at him, staring into his violet eye.

“You know nothing.” The One-Eyed Prince snapped, breath fanning over your face.

You sighed, stepping back and away from him, “I know that you fly to Harrenhal and bed a bastard
named Alys Rivers. I know she is of House Strong. I know that she is called a witch, and I know
that you love her.” You turn away from Aemond, his lips twitching as you spin on your heel, “I
know that your words are hollow, for you have cursed my brothers as Strong bastards and waged a
war on them, and yet, you bed one of your own.”

You stood in front of the fire, looking at the flames as they licked at the wood within, the bark
peeling away from the heat only to be devoured by the orange and yellow teeth of the fire. The
flames flickered for a moment, swaying as though disturbed by a breeze.

When you turned, Aemond was behind you, his large hand coming to snatch your throat tightly,
ripping the air from your lungs.

Your hands flew up to grasp his wrist as he sneered down at you.

“You know nothing of her. Do not presume to speak freely.” He growled, face shadowed by the
light of the fire, accentuating the sharpness of his features.

You wheezed, hands still gripping him, and yet you did not feel frightened.

“Even if she has your child, it will never be an heir. It will always be a bastard.” You gasped,
staring him in the eye.

Aemond’s mouth pulled taunt and his hand squeezed your throat harder, body looming over yours
as the fire crackled loudly beside you.

“And yet Aegon could legitimise them both, if I asked.” His sneer pulled upwards into a smirk,
fingers twitching around your throat.

“And yet you and I would both know the truth.”

Aemond’d grip yanked you towards him, his nose brushing yours as he grunted, eye searching your
face before he shoved you backwards, your hand coming to your chest as you breathed in deeply,
coughs clawing their way up your throat.

“If you are free to bed her," You wheezed, watching at how he reacted to your words, "Then I shall
find someone to warm my bed elsewhere.” You smiled widely, voice hoarse from his grip.

His single eye flickered, and you saw his hand twitch, “Or perhaps I will fuck Aegon. He seems to
show interest in warming our bed.”

There was a shift.

The air in the room seemed to chill, and a shiver rolled down your back.

Aemond’s face morphed into something you had never witnessed before.

You had grown accustomed to seeing his rage and fury often, his bitter anger and spite, but this?
This was something new. Like any lingering presence of the man you had known, or even the man
you had witnessed just a moments pass, was gone, and in his place something dangerous and
unforgiving.

“Tread carefully.” He whispered, barely restraining the pure rage within him.

The mere mention of Aegon stirred this response.

You pressed on, testing the waters.

“What do you expect me to do whilst you are gone and the King lingers around these chambers? If
he commands it, he is King. I cannot refuse him. And he has made it clear to me that he wishes to
teach me things that you could not.”

“Aegon is a little boy, dressed as a man who we are all forced to call King. His word holds no
power over me.” Aemond sneered, animosity pouring out of him as he looked at you.

“And yet you do his bidding, and go where he commands you, like a dog.”

The slap sounded into the room before you felt it. Your cheek stung and your eyes began to water,
head turned towards the fire. Your hair curtained over your face as the pain began to bloom across
your cheek.

A little boy he's forced to call King.

'His word holds no power over me.'

You let a shaky hand move to touch the heat that rippled along your face before you looked back
at Aemond, whose chest rose and fell, fist at his side curling and unfurling.

Stepping towards him, you took a deep breath, “Do it again if it will make you feel better.”
You watched as Aemond’s brow furrowed, confusion and anger dancing around each other as he
watched you.

“It makes no difference to me. I expect your cruelty. This is what I know. I know you." You
breathed and watched him as you dropped your hand, revealing your red cheek to the room.

"You have raped, and defiled me.” You took another step closer, watching as his breaths evened
out, “Beat, and choked me. You have scarred me and haunted my dreams far longer than any
folklore or tale. I anticipate every blow, every curse, every drop of blood taken from my body,
because that is the man that you are.”

Aemond stiffened with every word, looking down at you as you came closer.

“You have called Aegon a monster, and yet he has shown me more mercy than you.” You smiled
sadly up at the man.

“I do not fault you for taking Alys as your lover. Anyone in a loveless marriage such as this would
do the same. And that is the only mercy you have given me. Each day that you are gone from the
Keep, and leave to warm her bed, I am given a reprieve from your cruelty and having to look upon
your face.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he let you continue, “Don’t mistaken me, uncle. You are a handsome
man, an image of a true Targaryen.”

You let yourself look over his body. He was tall and lean, with a sharp face. His hair was soft and
shining, silver locks pulled back away from his neck. Aemond's plump lips were pulled into a stiff
line, and his purple eye was locked on yours.

His robes fit him perfectly, tailored to perfection, and the way he held himself tall and strong,
added to the allure of the man known as Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond was handsome, there was no denying that.

You would not lie to yourself about a trivial thing such as appearance. For anyone with half decent
taste could see that he was a very attractive Prince. Even if he was the most limaceous, despicable,
and horrifying man you had ever come across.

“The loss of your eye has weighed very little on your looks, and if you were anyone else, I would
have thought myself lucky. But you are not anyone else, and it is not the scar that makes you so
hideous.”

You let your hand move to cup the side of his face, watching as he flinched at the movement,
brows furrowing deeper on his face. His cheek was warm against your hand, heat radiating into
your palm as you felt the subtle stubble of his jaw.

Your thumb rubbed against his jaw. In thought. In questioning of your next words. In a form of
comfort to both yourself and him. Aemond’s gaze dropped to your lips, eye half lidded as he leant
into your touch.

“It is not your eye, kepus. It’s the person you are within.” You whispered, all soft and cooing, but
words sharper than a blade.

Aemond’s eye flicked back to you, blinking, lip twitching as he watched you. You moved to take
your hand away from his face, his gaze piercing through you.
Aemond's large hand shot up, and grasped your wrist, holding your hand against him.

Holding your palm against his cheek.

His grip was unyielding, and his fingers twitched around your wrist in thought, tightening to a
bruising and crushing vice, to simply holding your arm in his hand.

“You will come to love me. Just as I love you.” Aemond whispered, grip tightening around your
wrist painfully.

“When the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east. When the rivers and oceans run dry. When the
tree hold no leaves, and the sky holds no colour. That is when I will love you.” You breathed.

“And yet you did once. And you do still. You just refuse to see it.”

“You refuse to see reason.” You pulled your hand from his grip, feeling the warmth of the fire
beside you, “You are disillusioned by time and war.”

“You are disillusioned by your own fears. You refuse to see it. To see that we are meant to burn
together. That a great fall would tie two threads. Fated by the Gods.”

You took a step back away from him.

What?

“Lanta hen keskydoso,” Two of the same, "Vējes ondoso se Jaes.” Fated by the Gods.

You shook your head as Aemond spoke, stepping forward to grasp both of your hands, pulling
them towards him to press against his chest.

“You must see. She must have told you. Surely she spoke of it to you.” He whispered.

“Who?”

“Helaena.”

Helaena?

“Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre.” Two great dragon flames, together as one.

One hand left yours as you looked up at him, blood running cold. His hand moved to the back of
your head, long fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulled you
closer, looking down at you hungrily as his pupil expanded, swallowing the violet of his eye.

Air caught in your throat as his nose brushed against yours, his breath fanning over your lips as he
watched you.

“Spool hen Kasta, spool hen Zōbrie.” Spool of Green, spool of Black.

Spool of Green, Spool of Black.

Spool of Green, Spool of Black.

“Syt iksan aōha spool hen Kasta, Se ao ñuha spool hen Zōbrie.” For I am your spool of Green,
and you my spool of Black, Aemond murmured, lips brushing gently against yours as he spoke.
Hand turns loom.

Green to Black.

Green to Black.

Green to-

“Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon. Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.”

A great fall to tie two threads.

Fated to burn together.

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours, teeth clashing roughly into your own as he wrenched you close
to him, one hand tangled in your hair, the other wrapping itself around your waist, pulling you flush
against him.

It was all teeth and tongue, suffocating and rough. Where you would try to come up for air, or
wriggle from his grip, Aemond would double his strength and hold you against him with no
likelihood of escape.

A great fall.

A great fall.

All you could think about was falling, whilst Aemond’s hand pulled you under.

His fingers pulled at the laces of your dress, roughly ripping them open from behind as you were
forced to bend to his will. Aemond ripped the front of your gown and chemise down, breasts
spilling out of their confines.

You yelped into his mouth as his hands pinched your breasts meanly, fingers twisting the stiffened
peak between his thumb and forefinger.

Aemond moved you backwards until your legs hit the back of the chemise, your body almost
toppling over the back of it. You pushed back into the kiss, nipping at his lip harshly as he
continued to undress you, gown pooled at your feet.

He pulled back to look at you, his eye wild and hair messed. His lips were swollen and red, and the
tiniest hint of blood rose from his bottom lip where you had nipped it.

“Gevie.” Beautiful, He cooed, looking you up and down as you shivered under his gaze.

Aemond stepped close, hand gripping your chin, pulling your face up to look at him. He brought
his head down towards you and whispered.

“Mine.”

Your front was pushed up against the back of the chaise as Aemond spun you around roughly, your
hands coming to grip the dark wood beneath you tightly for balance. You breathed in shakily,
trying to steady your breaths as Aemond loomed behind you.

“Alys has seen it too.” He whispered, hand trailing down your back, causing goosebumps to rise in
its wake.
“Blood will be spilt to seed the garden, and set the future sway.” His fingers curled beneath the
crease of your ass, tickling the skin as he pushed you forward with the other hand, bending you
deeper over the back of the chaise.

“Ravens will whisper the words of a burning star, a crown forged of blood.” He continued, fingers
trailing up the back of your thigh, fingers scratching short nails against the skin as they made their
way towards your centre.

“And from her blood, the Prince that was promised. Five years to come, his song of ice and fire.”

Two long fingers swiped through your folds, caressing your bud as they moved back down toward
your hole, forcing their way in. You gasped at the intrusion of his hand as he pushed down on the
front of your walls with two skilled fingers.

Your fingers gripped the wood tightly as you breathed heavily through your nose, desperate to
calm yourself as he began to slowly drag his fingers in and out of your heat, rubbing against the
soft spongey spot within you.

“Our heir will be the prince that was promised. Our son will be what Aegon the First prophesied.”
He purred, speeding up his movements with his hand.

“I will fuck heirs into you, and you will give me the Prince that was promised.”

You whimpered as he became rougher, the sounds of his leather breeches being untied behind you.
Aemond’s thumb rubbed against your clit as he continued to fuck his fingers inside of you, wetness
begin to drip down his hand. You moaned at the sudden combined pleasure.

“Each time you deny me, you deny his word.” His hand became rougher, “Each time you bite at
me, you desecrate his vision.”

Your head spun as the coil within you tightened faster and faster, his knuckles beating bruisingly
against the soft flesh of your thighs.

“And each time you refuse to see it, you delay the prophecy from coming to fruition.” He growled,
thumb pressing against your pearl sharply, and suddenly your peak was ripped from you painfully
and viciously, back curled as you tried to pull your hips away from his fingers that never slowed
their motions.

Aemond continued to fuck his hand into you through your release, sobs and gasps spilling from
your lips until he finally pulled his digits from your core, your walls clenching and spasming
around nothing.

He wiped the wetness along your inner thighs, trails of your slick coating them. Your body
hummed from the abrupt orgasm, and your mind was hazed as you tried to wade through the thick
sludge to think clearly.

From her blood the Prince that was promised?

The heat of Aemond’s body behind you disappeared, and you slowly pushed yourself up to stop
leaning over the back of the lounge, turning your head to see where he had gone to.

Where was he?

Two large hands grasped at your cheeks and parted them, a tongue swiping from your pearl, all the
way to your puckered hole.
You cried out and fell forward, hands losing their grip of the wood as Aemond began to seek out
the release that leaked from within you with his tongue. His nose buried into your flesh as he
lapped at your hole, tongue pushing inside to drink your essence.

Pleasure rippled through your body as you whimpered, a hand flying back to try and push him
away from you, body jerking from overstimulation. Your hand dug into his hair pulling the soft
locks. You felt Aemond groan into your cunt, vibrations shooting up through your body.

“I have missed this cunny.” He moaned.

"Your legs buckled slightly, fingers gripping his hair tighter, pulling him closer to your heat.

Aemond groaned happily into your folds, licking and suckling at your slick, tongue teasing your
bud as his hands dug into your ass with a bruising grip. You felt pleasure mounting within you
quickly and rapidly. The front of your hips digging painfully into the front of the chaise as you
tried to pull away from his mouth, his lips latching around your bud as he sucked on it.

“Going to fill you with my seed.” He growled, pulling away from your core as your legs shook,
eyes unfocused as you stared at the fire.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you let him continued to lick, and nibble at your folds, the tide
mounting higher and higher within, until he latched his teeth upon your bud and sucked it sharply
into his mouth.

You came undone with a wail. Blinding white behind your eyes as hot pleasure flooded through
you, the force of the second peak causing you to slump against the back of the chaise.

Aemond rose behind you, placing wet kisses on the backs of your thighs, the curve of your ass, and
a single kiss for each and every vertebrae he passed, until he pressed himself up against your back.

The thick head of Aemond’s cock brushed through your folds and you shuddered, overstimulation
and exhausting pouring out of you. He rubbed the tip of his cock through your slick folds,
humming as he moved down to your entrance, slowly sliding inside.

Aemond pushed himself to the hilt, your walls stratching to accomodate him, the head of his cock
pushing up against your cervix. Your fingers curled into your palms as you held back a cry of pain
and pleasure.

A large hand gripped the back of your neck, whilst the other slid itself around to grip your hip. He
groaned as he seated himself inside of you, feeling your warm, wet walls gripping him tightly as he
stilled within. You could feel his hot breath, fanning onto your neck at your ear as he bent over
you.

Slowly, he pulled himself out, inch by inch, letting his shaft drag through your tender walls, veins
rubbing against you deliciously as you fought to keep your moan in.

The tip stretched your entrance as it began to pull out, before Aemond slowly plunged back inside
of you. Feeling your core clench around him as he hummed.

"Sīr ȳrda.” So tight, He moaned, hands gripping your neck and hip tightly, fingers digging into
your tender flesh.

He began a steady pace, slowly pushing into your heat and pulling back out, almost as if he was
teasing himself, working himself up to a frenzy as he relished in the feeling of your velvety walls.
Each thrust pushed your hips fighter into the chaise as his pelvis came flush against your backside,
pushing himself as deep as he could go. It caused a pleasurable stretch as he opened you up for
himself slowly.

“Bisa orvorta iksis ñuhon.” This cunt is mine.

Aemond’s pace began to quicken, the force building, your body being pushed into the hard oak of
the chaise, its legs jolting against the stone floor as he rutted against you.

Pleasure began to bubble up within you again, it’s tendrils spreading through your body as it
wrapped itself around each and every nerve ending within your body.

“The gods made you for me. They made you so perfect for my cock. So perfect. I'm going to fuck
an heir into you.” He grunted thrusting into you with earnest, rapidly becoming more savage as he
sought out his own pleasure.

“Going to fuck my seed into you and watch you swell with it.”

You moaned into the chambers, pleasure rising inside of you, mind lost to the world around you as
you steadily moved towards your third release.

You wanted to let go. You needed it.

You were owed it.

And if it came from Aemond, so be it.

The echoes of his thrusts filled the room, the wet slapping of skin meeting skin, his breaths and
grunts, and your tiny whimpers and mewls, surrounded you as he fucked you harder. The hand on
your neck pulled you up flush against him, his arm moving to wrap itself under your chest, holding
you to his chest.

“No one will have you. No one will touch you.” Aemond growled, “You’re mine. Mine. Always
been mine, my zaldristos.” He purred, his thrusts pushing air out of your lungs as you limply leant
into his chest.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill anyone who has you. Anyone who touches you. Iksā ñuhon.” You’re mine.

“Please.” You whimpered in his arms, peak rapidly rising as he continued to fuck into your wet
heat, slick coating your thighs.

Aemond’s lips came to the juncture where your neck and throat met, a place where you had once
stabbed him, and pressed his lips against you, sucking the skin harshly. His hand left your hip to
come to your front, and skilled fingers dived between your folds to rub needy circles on your pearl
in tandem with his thrusts.

Bursting hot pleasure rippled through you as he brought you closer, your mouth parting and an airy
moan flitting through.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling you tighten around him, his fingers speeding up their movements as
he continued to fuck you harder, almost pulling you from the floor with each thrust.

The knight outside your door could no doubt hear the sounds of your rutting. His grunts and your
moans filled the space, and with every slap of his hips into your wet and wanting core, a high
pitched whine would peal fourth from your lips.
Not even the thick oak doors could hide the sounds of such carnal pleasure.

“Iksā… sīr gevie.” You’re so beautiful, He grunted, pace becoming sloppy as his fingers raced to
bring you to your peak.

His lips pressed to your ear as he nipped the lobe before whispering, all breathy and wanting.

All commanding and giving.

All at once.

“Come for me.”

The coil within you snapped.

You felt like you were floating.

Your body had no weight to it as you soared high into your third release, long moan falling from
your mouth as you leant back into Aemond behind you, feeling his pace begin to falter as he felt
your cunt gripping him tightly.

“Fuck.” You whimpered as he continued his pace, his thick cock jabbing sharply into your
sensitive spot within, the head brushing it over and over, as you felt yourself soar higher into the
pleasure.

It kept mounting and mounting, and you felt yourself hold your breath as a new, unfamiliar
pleasure erupted within.

“Thats it, good girl.” Aemond purred, feeling your wetness burst forth from within, coating your
thighs and dripping to the floor.

You cried out, feeling almost dizzy as your walls continued to squeeze around his length. Your
release leaking from your body, pooling onto the stones below.

“Fuck.”

Aemond pressed his lips into the junction of your neck again, grunting as he pushed himself to the
hilt within you, teeth scraping over your skin as he bit down roughly, drawing a loud pained gasp
from you as he came undone.

Thick hot ropes of his spend coated your walls, filling you deeply as your head slumped back
against his shoulder, his arms being the only thing holding you up from sliding down to the floor.
You breathed heavily, fatigue hitting you as you felt Aemond’s cock throb inside you.

Your mind was gone as you stayed in his grip, the ebbs of your own pleasure still lingering. You
were hot, and sticky, wet and tired, and Aemond kept you upright on his cock as he came down
from his own peak.

Lips pressed against where teeth had been, a comforting gesture meant to soothe the aching flesh.
Aemond shifted back, and you felt his cock begin to slide free from your core. You whimpered at
the overwhelming sensation until you felt him pull out completely, his arms still holding you up.
He breathed heavily behind you, catching his breath as he held you.

His sticky seed began to drip from your folds, sliding down your inner thighs as you stood in his
grip. Your eyes became heavy, and your knees shook.
A kiss was pressed to the side of your head, and the world suddenly tilted.

Aemond lifted you from the floor, hand under your knees, and arm wrapped around your shoulders
to hold you close to him as he steadily began to walk towards the bed. His chest radiated heat onto
your body as he held you close.

You were so tired, you could barely keep your eyes open, letting the man gently place you down
onto your side of the bed. Your eyes shut, the vision of Aemond moving away from you to the side
of the room, replaced with the comfort of darkness.

The bed dipped and warmth settled beside you as you let your breath even and the dregs of sleep
begin to pull you under. A gentle hand brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, before
trailing down the rest of your body. You felt Aemond’s heated gaze and cracked open an eye to
look at him.

He was watching you intently, brow covered in sweat, shirt and pants finally removed.

Bare to the world, just as you were.

His silver locks were tousled and messed, completely down and pushed back behind his shoulders.
You let your eye gaze to where the scar was on his shoulder, your own flesh aching in its spot.

“Even Hell Cats would fear you.” He murmured, hand trailing down your body as his gaze moved
to between your thighs.

You shifted, feeling exposed.

Two fingers trailed down over your mound and you moved to wriggle out of his reach.

“Keligon.” Stop.

You stopped.

His fingers dipped between your folds and you jerked, you were far too sensitive and
overstimulated for anymore, but his fingers kept travelling down to your soaked entrance.

With two fingers, Aemond scooped up his seed which had begun to leak from within you, pushing
it back inside of you with great care. Your back arched off of the bed as he kept his fingers inside
of you.

“Don’t want to waste it.” He purred, keeping his fingers inside you, plugging you full of his seed.

You whimpered and shifted as they sat inside of you, until he pulled them up, fingers coming
straight to his lips as he licked your combined releases from his fingers. Aemond hummed as he
watched you, wrapping his tongue around each digit as a blush rose on your cheeks.

Your core clenched around nothing and you felt a breathy whimper escape you.

It was all involuntary, you told yourself.

It was all a reaction to what he gave you.

Once licked clean, Aemond’s tongue wet his lips before he leant forward towards you, pressing a
chaste kiss to one of your eyes. You closed them out of instinct and felt your uncle pull the blankets
up and around you, tugging you against his body. You could feel his softened member between
your thighs begin to harden again, but he made no move to act on it.
Instead, Aemond pressed another kiss to your shoulder and mumbled beneath his breath. You were
so tired, and his body was so warm, a strange comfort you learnt, that your lids stayed shut, and
eventually the comforts of sleep pulled you into its depths.

And from her blood, the Prince that was promised.

 Tides
Chapter Notes

It was my birthday, another year around the sun yay!

Tides are something that are never sure.

You could never truly anticipate their movements, whether they would rise quickly or slowly,
dragging the oceans swell up the rocks of the shore. Some men could argue that they could foretell
the next drag of the sea, determined by the moons waxing or waning. But those men were fools,
for the ocean has more than just the skies that guide it. Storms and winds, creatures, and Gods all
have a say in what the frigid waters will do.

With each push and pull of the waves came your salvation. With every waxing and waning moon,
came your deliverance. People were often like tides themselves, changing each and everyday, with
no discernible pattern.

As is knowledge and power.

Power was something that morphed and contorted, bending to whoever’s will was strongest, but
even they could not hold that raw force for long. For power would never truly bend, just as the
tides would never stay the same.

Always changing.

Always moving.

Always fluid.

Like you.

In the past year, you had changed and just like the tides, morphed and been bent, contorted and
swelled, rose and fallen. A metamorphosis like the insects Helaena had always loved. And yet with
each passing day, you feel your own tides within, pulling and pushing you. It weighed heavily on
your mind, dragging you down beneath the waves, ripping the breath from your lungs as you felt
yourself drowning in the torrent.

The task you had been given was no ordinary feat, and if it were anybody else, they would have
surely broken by now. Given up, and played their hand too early. Raised a white flag and uttered ‘I
surrender’. But you could not give up. You could only give in. And that was a distinction that you
continually reminded yourself of.

You were not giving up.

You were giving in.

Giving in to the pressures of a man you were cursed to lay with. Giving in to the role you had said
you would play. Giving in to the actions you so desperately wished to avoid, in order to protect
yourself.
To give yourself more time.

To not be a steadfast fool and show your hand to the vipers you nested with. If you acted too
quickly, they would smell a plot, and any little freedom you had been given would be swiped up,
and the reality of death would be far sweeter.

Though every fibre of your being screamed at you to hurt them, to maim them, to act quickly, and
keenly with the blade of your mind that you had been sharpening each night since the usurpation,
but you knew that it would be foolish. A plot played out too quickly and stupidly. Any fool could
have seen that. A patient mind would get you to better results, and you had to a game to play.

Wait and see.

Wait and listen.

Wait and deliver justice with a swift hand and a sharp mind.

If you were to follow your desires, to follow the screaming voice which called at you in your
dreams, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena echoing behind it, you would fail, and all of this
would be for naught. Your mother would lose everything, and you would lose your life.

The Greens needed to think you were broken, complacent, tired, and troubled, but not too much so.
If you were to bend the knee and submit entirely, Alicent and her enablers would know something
was afoot. And so you had to play the dangerous game of waxing and waning, pushing and pulling,
listening and waiting, until the time was right.

Until the time you could call upon the Gods to give you your strength and deliver a raven
requesting star fruit.

But for now, you had to wait.

It was not giving up, it was giving in.

A distinction in which meant life or death.

If you were the tides, then Aemond was your moon. Your temperament depended on the weather
that he would bring. Would it be rain? A torrential downpour that seeped into your pores? The
water rising until you drowned in it?

Or would he leave you high and dry. A sudden drought that had you thirsting for more, itching for
more. Scratching at the earth in search of something, anything, to sustain your frail body, withering
in the burning heat and loss of your own essence. Your own being. The very core of who you were.

Or perhaps he would be a lovely summers day.

One where you may bask in the warmth of his light, and feel the soft rays kiss upon your skin, his
breath on your face lingering far longer than the storms he would bring. You would forget, for a
moment, to give yourself peace, that he had brought any storms at all. That he was not a man who
changed with each day, that he was not a man who had brought such destruction.

If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of your sanity.

Or would he freeze you out and let his bitter frost nip at your fingers and toes?

Would his passion burn you like dragon fire? Melting your body into his with every touch.
It was inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable.

Like how the sun slips behind the mountain tops, darkness blanketing the valley below, but you
know that it will rise on the morrow. Just how the creatures in the trees and on the ground know,
that as the darkness passes, the sun will shine again.

But it is more of a question of not if, but when.

When would it pass?

When will it pass?

The tides come and go with the moon, pushing you away from your desires and pulling you back
roughly, dragging you over the jagged rocks and reefs, their sharp edges cutting through you. The
tides rage with the storms but they will always rescind back to calm.

Aemond was the moon, and you were the tides, and he predicted and controlled your rise and fall,
just how you have grown to predict the uncertainty ahead.

There is only one guarantee in your life, and that is not knowing what is next.

And so you must build yourself a ship, to sit atop the tides, to sail over them with their swell and
recession, rather than succumbing to it and sinking into the waves. You needed to be smart, you
needed to be patient.

You needed to wait.

What knowledge could you surely give your family to help them? That Aemond resents his brother
still, and that the Maester was an ally? But is that all?

That was knowledge that you knew before you were wed to him.

You could not offer that as a sign to strike. For your family to come forth, dragons and fire, for the
same standing as you had before. A standstill. Feet stuck in the dirt on even playing grounds,
except you had no access to Vermithor. And so the hill sloped upwards towards the Greens.

And so you had to wait.

A letter arrived some few days later from your family, asking for your wellbeing and updating you
on theirs. It was comforting to know that you still had some form of contact, and when you had
asked Aemond if you were to fly to witness Jacaerys’ union to Baela, he had hummed and given
you a non-answer.

You had written back to them and gave them the answer that you had recieved, a shaky maybe to
your presence. A subtle, no. No absolute yes. It was all that you could give for the time being, and
you would bite your tongue, lest he gouge it out with his talons.

One morning when the maids were readying you for another day by the sea, you had gazed at
yourself in the mirror, far more than you had previously, and noticed a change in your appearance.
Though the weight you had lost due to your arrival and the subsequent events had come back, there
was a hollowness to your eyes.

Your smiles never quite reached them, and the once vibrant violet looked almost dull and murky,
as if beneath waters or behind storm clouds. A darker shade sat on the skin beneath them, making
them appear almost hollow, but even still, your cheeks held colour, and your lips were less bitten
and raw than they had been.

Even your fingers had been given a lull in the usual assault your teeth or nails would give them.

But your eyes were something you could not look away from.

As the girls brushed your hair, you stared at yourself.

Who was she?

She looked like you, but was she really you?

But it was you. And you had changed.

And you would remind yourself of this.

Aemond had spent most of his days with Aegon and the small council, working with them with
tasks for the realm, and then bringing his scrolls and tomes back to the chambers, his sharp nose in
a book almost each and every night.

After you had last spoken, after he had last told you of this so-called prophecy, there was a shift
between the both of you. A stand still of your own. You were in the eye of the storm. The eye of
his storm. The winds and rains had stopped, and the sky had opened up to show light. A path out. A
way up.

Just as Lucerys had thought he had found.

You anticipated the moment when Aemond would surge up through the clouds and swallow you
whole.

You would not tempt him.

That afternoon, you had spent much of your time walking through the garden, looking at the
various plants and flowers. You stopped your steps as you looked at a bright purple patch of
flowers. It stood on a long stalk with fingerlike leaves, five points to each one, as it stood straight
and tall. The flower itself looked almost bell shaped, or perhaps like a hood that a monk from the
Sept may wear.

Its appearance alone screamed danger. Natures own warning.

It looked familiar, and you made a note to yourself to look in the library for a tome on florilegium.

When you had returned to your chambers that evening, Aemond was sitting at the table, bent over a
particularly large black tome, sharp nose pointed down to the page. He had hummed a greeting to
you, not lifting his eye from the script as you entered.

He had not touched you since that night, spending most evenings hunched over the table with piles
of parchment and tomes, writing and reading beneath candlelight well into the darkness. You
would retire to bed, expecting him to follow you, but he would not, continuing to write and read,
shuffle papers and hum to himself softly.

It was an oddly calming sound, a background noise of assurance that his attention would not be on
you.

When you had asked him what he was doing, he had told you that Aegon had given him much
work to do, and would be spending most evenings like that.
But what had surprised you most was that he had apologised to you about it.

“I’m sorry that I am not more present. Aegon has given me things that he should be doing, but if I
don’t, no-one will, and the realm will dissolve into chaos.” He had grumbled beneath his breath, as
you stood beside him, looking at his messy script.

You had told him you understood, and went to bed quietly and fell quickly into sleep. But this
evening was different, and when he had greeted you with a short hum, you had expected yet
another evening dining together on a table which had scrolls and tomes hurriedly shoved to the side
to make room for the plates. An evening of his writing lulling you to sleep.

Instead, you sat yourself by the fire, thinking of the flower you had saw in the gardens. It was so
familiar to you. You could have sworn you had read about it somewhere, or had been told about it.
But nothing could spring to mind.

Was it Hooded-Trumpet? Angels Locks?

What was it called?

“What are you thinking of?” Aemond’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Some flowers I saw in the garden, I have forgotten their names.”

“Hm, one of the Septa’s could tell you.”

If you were to ask them, and it turned out to be poison, they would know of your plotting and
report you to the King.

“It will come to me, I am sure.” You replied, tongue in cheek as you thought hard.

“We are to dine with the King again.”

You sighed loudly into the chambers, turning to look at Aemond who was placing his quill in its
holder, gathering the loose pieces of parchment in hand to stack them into a pile atop the open page
of the tome.

“Must we?”

“We must.” Aemond replied, popping the ’t’ at the end as if he too was dreading the evening.

“Can we not dine here?”

“The King has requested our presence.”

There was the tide again.

“You are more and more a Prince Regent by the day with Aegon too busy in his cups and whores.”

You were testing the waters.

“It is my duty.”

“Is it not his duty to rule the realm, and listen to the people? Is it not his duty to read tomes, and
write letters?” You pushed.

Aemond was silent, his eye rising to your face as he looked at you beneath his brow.
A silent warning.

You bowed your head and stood, looking out at the water. The sun had lowered behind the horizon
and the chambers began to darken. The tides would shift, you just did not know when.

Aemond came to stand beside you, looking out at the water. The smell of sandalwood and leather
curled around you.

It was a familiar smell, and something that you had grown to like. Something you had grown to
anticipate wherever you were. The occasional waft of his scent curling up from your dresses, when
you would enter the chambers, or when he was nearby. Sometimes you would smell it in the
gardens, and you would turn your head to look for him, but he was never there.

“When is my nephew to be wed?” Aemond asked, eye still on the ocean.

You turned your head to look up at him, almost in shock.

Was this his answer?

“Soon I believe. They had written to ask again if we would be attending.”

Aemond hummed.

“Should I write to tell them to expect us?”

“No.”

Aemond turned on his foot to pour himself, and you, some wine, coming back over to hand you
your goblet. You did not grasp it as you looked at him.

Aemond pursed his lips as he sipped from his own cup, still holding yours out to you, which you
eventually took from him, bringing to your own lips as you looked back out at the water.

“The King will not allow it. I have already asked.”

Fuck the King.

You nodded your head and stayed side by side until you had both finished your wine, and the had
knight come to the door to escort you to the dining hall. You were still taken back that Aemond
had asked for you to go. Even if it was escorted by he himself, but still, he had tried. And Aegon
had said no.

You sat in the seats that you always did, with Aegon opposite you, and Alicent and Otto on either
side of him, whilst the rest of the council filled the empty chairs. The food was placed upon the
table and Alicent spoke a small prayer to the Seven.

You often wondered what she prayed for when alone, did she pray for vengeance? Penance?

The council had seemed to grow more relaxed around your presence, as though they were finally
accustomed to you being there, or they were assured that you would not be a threat. Larys spoke of
whispers with no meaning and even offered to go on a walk with you again. You had responded
politely and said that you would surely take him up on his offer.

The night continued with conversations that held no interest to you, and so you listened in to words
here and there, hoping to hear something, anything of use.
Your patience was rewarded.

“There is some troubles down in Flea Bottom, but nothing our guards and knights cannot handle.”

Your ears pricked up.

Trouble in Flea Bottom?

You reached to grasp your goblet of wine, feigning that you had not heard Lord Wylde speaking to
Grand Maester Orwyle.

Orwyle was a Maester who had served your Grandsire, and turned cloak against your mother. He
was an old man, with dark skin, and eyes blacker than coal. In his youth he could have been a
handsome man, but now his hair had receded, and his years on earth had wrinkled him.

Otto and Alicent spoke across the table to Aemond with Aegon, and you strained to listen to the
other two whispering.

“…Rhaenyra…if she…supporters…laws…”

Your name pulled you from your eavesdropping.

“I asked how it is to have your husband back.” Aegon smirked, cheeks flushed from wine and
crown crooked on his head.

His hair looked unkempt, unbrushed and oily, tucked behind his ears and out of his face, with
smaller strands that had escaped crossed over his forehead. For once, his coat was buttoned up to
the top, coming just under his chin, high on his neck.

It looked as though the coat was holding his head upright.

“A relief, though he spends most of his time reading and writing the nights away. I fear I have lost
him to the book.”

“Aemond you must find time to rest.” Alicent softly cooed, head tilted as her hands came together
in front of her, elbows on the table. Maternal instincts alight.

Here was your in.

“I have told him to no avail.” You began, looking at Aemond before back at Alicent, “He rarely
comes to bed, and spends much of his time hunched over the table by candlelight for all hours of
the night.”

Aemond hummed beside you, “Merely performing my duties.”

“Are they your duties, or the Kings?” You questioned.

“My duties?” Aegon cocked his head to the side, looking at you, “Do you question my rule?”

Otto shifted, and you saw Larys lean into the conversation.

“I merely question if my Lord Husband should be burdened with playing the role of Prince Regent
without the title.”

Aegon laughed angrily, pushing his tongue into his cheek as he looked at the both of you.
“Is this because he is now too busy to warm your bed? Do you sit and wait for him wanting as he
neglects your needs?”

Heat rose in your cheeks.

“Aegon.” Aemond said lowly.

“Merely a question.” Aegon leant back in his chair, the one larger than the rest, “Is your cunny
missing my brothers cock?”

“You are a spineless little worm.” You sneered, leaning forward towards the table.

“Tell your whore to watch her tongue.”

The sound of a chair scraping the floor cut across the room as Aemond jumped from his seat,
watching Aegon like a hawk. His brow was drawn and eye narrowed, jaw set tightly into a line as
he clenched his teeth.

Aegon however, looked up at his younger brother in vicious delight.

“Aemond.” Alicent uttered, desperate to cool the mans temper and ease the tension.

The King laughed.

Aemond breathed heavily, and you craned your neck to look up at your husband as he towered over
the table, hands bawled into tight fists at his side. His knuckles turned white and you watched as he
shifted on his feet, one inching to move behind him.

A fighting stance.

“All in good jest, brother. No need to get your breeches in a knot.” Aegon smiled cruelly.

You whispered to your husband, looking up at him as he did not take his heated gaze away from
Aegon.

“Besides,” Aegon continued, tone teasing, “We all know that her mother is the Whore Queen…
Perhaps her blood runs thick in your wife.”

You dug your nails into your palm and stared at Aegon.

Would he be able to scream if you dug out his throat with your hands?

“Say it again.” Aemond growled quietly, looking at his brother.

“Enough.” Alicent commanded, looking between her two sons.

Aegon lifted his hands in mock surrender, but Aemond still did not seat himself, standing
impossibly stiff as he kept his gaze on the King.

“Sit.” Aegon smirked.

Aemond did not.

“Your King commands you.” Aegon grinned, watching as Aemond’s face twitched, and moved
slowly to sit back down in his seat, hands on his lap as his fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs.
“Aemond.” You whispered again, and yet the Prince would not take his brother from his sight,
staring at him like a predator waiting to pounce.

You pulled one of his hands from his lap, holding it in both of yours as you began to lift it.
Aemond’s head turned, taking his eye from Aegon for one moment to look at you. You brought his
hand up to your lips, calloused and scarred, fingers warm but stiff, and placed a soft kiss to his
knuckles. Trying to soothe him.

Trying to soothe the storm that brewed.

A puff of air left Aemond’s nose as he looked at you, and his fingers squeezed your own. You let a
tiny smile grace your lips, an assurance that it was okay, an assurance that you were fine, that he
was fine, and released his hand.

For the remainder of the night, you and Aemond both ate in silence before excusing yourself to
your chambers. Alicent and Larys watched you both closely as you looked up at Aemond to see if
he was to turn back around and slide a knife between Aegon’s eyes.

He didn’t.

The walk back was tense but not in a way that you were used to. This time, Aemond’s animosity
was not pointed towards you, and instead his brother. For once, you did not fear this anger.

You realised that Aemond could help you.

You needed to get him to help you.

You needed to convince him that you loved him.

When you entered the chambers, Aemond barely said a word, looking at the pile of parchment on
the table waiting for him, but moved to pour himself some wine at the side of the room. He had sat
at the fire and drank, and you had joined him, allowing him to his thoughts and you to yours.

Aemond could be swayed to you.

He could.

You needed to use his hatred towards his brother carefully.

Like a cleverly spun web, it needed to have no faults, and needed to be made with precision.

What was the name of that flower you had seen?

Wolfshood? Snakebean? Bells of Triumph?

The maids came to ready you for the evening, and once you were in your chemise, and your hair
had been released from its braids and brushed loosely down your back, you had made your way to
bed, watching as your husband moved to sit back at the table to continue his writing and reading.

A man truly dedicated to his duty.

“Aemond.” You called out to him softly, sitting up in your shared bed.

The light of the chambers was low, and only few candles were lit, most of the light coming from
the dwindling fireplace. Aemond looked up to see you, a vision of beauty, all soft and Valyrian,
silver hair warmed by the light of the fire, and eyes sparkling in the dark.
“The hour is late.”

Aemond continued to stare at you, stood beside the table which demanded his attention, but as did
his wife.

“Come to bed.” You cooed, reaching over to pull the sheets back on his side.

Aemond looked at you and then down the the table beside him. Eye roaming over the tomes and
parchment, piles of scrolls with ink pots and quills. A large candle sat in the middle of the table, its
flame flickering and dancing, wax slowly melting down its sides.

In a split decision, Aemond leant forward and blew out the candle on the table, making his way
across the room to crawl into bed beside you.

He came when you had asked him.

The heat of his body radiated beside you as he moved to blow out the candles surrounding the bed,
his long hair laying down his back, brushed and silky, tickled your shoulder as he leant over you.

Darkness covered the chambers and you settled into the pillows beside him, laying on your back as
you blinked in the dark up at the ceiling. Aemond did the same, the both of you lost to your own
thoughts and worries.

As sleep slowly began to pull you under, a name popped into your mind.

Monkshood. Wolfsbane.

You had to hold back your grin.

You knew you had recognised the tall plant.

You hummed a tune inside your head, a song the Septa had sung once, long, long ago, in the
gardens when you were young, and Lucerys was only three, and she had warned you of plants to
not touch and just see.

Monkshood, Wolfsbane, Devils Helmut, three,

Five fingered leaves with sharp teeth on me.

Beware my root, my stem, my leaves,

My pretty head of flowers tease.

A seed or petal, a touch or sip, will leave a man without his wit.

Within the hour, a day or so, my poison reaps what has been sowed.
 Pretend
Chapter Notes

Again, thank you for the patience and continued support <3 Much love !

You were stirred from your sleep, a weight across your chest as warmth wrapped around you
tightly. You felt cozy, and refused to wriggle free. Cracking open your eyes, you saw that the
chambers were still dark, the hour of the owl upon you.

Aemond’s arms were wrapped tightly around you as you lay curled into his side, arms thrown over
his abdomen as his head was leant against the top of yours.

It was calm.

The waters were still.

And you could think.

There was Monkshood in the garden.

You recalled the poem the Septa had sung, replaying it over and over in your head as your eyes
adjusted to the dark of the room. Monkshood or Wolfsbane was incredibly poisonous, that even
touching the stem could cause sickness. The root was the most deadly, but any part would suffice
if you were to use it.

But it needed to be a last option.

Suspicions would immediately be upon you if Aemond turned up dead or poisoned, and the same
went for Aegon. It needed to be something you kept as a final and desperate option. Because even
if you were going to use it, how could you?

How could you sneak it into either of their food unnoticed?

You would not be let into the kitchens, and if you dared to try, suspicions would be immediately
raised. If you were to put it into their wine, you would need to figure out how. Neither the Prince,
nor the always drunken King would drink wine with floating seeds, petals or root within. It would
need to be crushed, down to a liquid form, or into a dried powder, but even then, your options were
slim. You had not a clue of alchemy and could possibly poison yourself by mistake.

Plus, where would you hold it?

You had no tiny bottles or cups, no place where it could be hidden. The maids search and clean the
chambers and Aemond no doubt knows of all the hiding spots in the room. Perhaps he was even
regularly checking when you were out, or ordering the guards too. It was too much of a risk.

The Monkshood would have to be reserved as a last option, one that you would use in times of
desperation. Whether for them, or even yourself.

Aemond’s chest rose and fell beneath your head, the warmth of his body enveloping you. He
always ran so warm, and if it wasn’t so cold in the stone walls of the Keep, you would have
wriggled away.

Aemond.

He had stood for your honour last night, he had stilled, deathly silent, in simmering rage as he
looked upon his brother. He had made comments of resentment towards the King, even if only
slightly, in the privacy of your shared chambers. He had even come to the bed when you had called
out to him.

Aemond was not as much of an enigma as you thought.

If you could sway him, then the tide would shift in your favour.

You needed to sway him.

“Is it true?” You whispered into the air, unsure if he was awake, uncaring if he wasn’t.

You had his previous confession in your mind.

But he was.

“Is what true?” Aemond whispered back, chest rumbling beneath your ear, voice crackling with
sleep.

“What she said?”

What Alys had said.

What Helaena had said.

What they both had said.

Was any of it true? Was this truly fated? Was this something you could not escape?

“I would not lie to you.” He murmured.

And for some reason, you believed him.

Aemond could be as cruel and unjust as he wished, yet he was always forthcoming with you.
Brutally at times.

The arm around you tightened, and you felt his finger rubbing back and forth across your skin.

A great fall to tie two threads.

Your fall.

If you had not fallen, would you be in this position?

Would you be forced to do what you were about to?

You shifted in his hold, feeling his gaze look down at you as you sat yourself up, dragging a leg
across his hips, seating yourself on his lap. You looked down at him from above. In the dark you
could still see the shine of his sapphire eye, and the soft glint of the other.

Sway him to your every beck and need.

You let your hands touch his stomach, skin exposed where his thin tunic had risen in the night.
Fingers crawled under the shirt, dancing across his stomach as you felt his hands come to rest upon
your hips, watching you move.

“Spool hen Kasta, spool hen Zōbrie.” Spool of green, spool of black, You muttered looking at his
face.

“Kessa.” Yes.

“Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.” Fated to burn together.

You felt Aemond begin to harden beneath the heat of your core. His fingers rubbing up and down
your hips gently as you continued to watch him. You let your hands glide further up his stomach,
feeling his muscles clench as you revealed more of his flesh to the room.

Sway him.

Make him need you.

Make him think that he has you where he wants you.

Leaning forward you pressed a soft kiss to his sternum, feeling his hips push up into you as you
did. With timid hands, you grasped the edge of his shirt, slowly pulling it up and over his head.
Aemond sat up to help you pull the last of it off, the thin material forgotten on the chamber floors.

The One-Eyed Prince laid beneath you, hair on his pillow fanned out like a halo. He looked so
pretty. So dangerous. Like the flowers of Monkshood.

“Lanta hen keskydoso.” Two of the same, He murmured, hands grabbing the bottom of your
chemise as you allowed him to pull it over your head.

You were entirely exposed, seated upon a dragon whose fire had burnt many, including you.

Slowly, you rolled your hips experimentally as you looked at him, feeling your core rub against the
material of his breeches, his member hard beneath.

“Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon.” A great fall to tie two threads, The Prince
whispered, and you stilled above.

“Iā rōvēgrie ropagon.” A great fall, You echoed, “Iā ropagon ao inditan nyke naejot.” A fall you
pushed me to.

Aemond’s hands tightened on your hips.

“Nyke dōrī jeldan naejot ōdrikagon ao.” I never wanted to hurt you.

“Yn ao gōntan.” But you did.

His fingers flexed on your flesh as you leant forward again, lips barely brushing his, “And you
have. More deeply than I can say.” You pulled away from his lips, teasing him, and felt a sense of
pride as you saw Aemond lift his head in an attempt to chase you.

Your hands moved down to his breeches, untying the laces, “Let me pretend that you haven’t.”
You whispered, looking him in his eye, his own hands coming to assist him as he pulled the pants
down his strong thighs and off of his legs.
Aemond’s cock sat heavily on his stomach, hard and thick as you seated yourself astride it, slowly
sliding up and down his length, the head of his cock bumping against your bud as it moved through
your now slick folds.

You breathed heavily as you rolled your hips again, hands splayed on his chest for balance, finding
a rhythm. Aemond’s hands rested on your hips again, gently pulling and pushing you up his shaft
as he sighed softly into the room, eye not having left your face.

“Please,” You whispered down at him, rising on your knees to line the head of his cock up with
your entrance, “Let me pretend that you aren’t who you have become.”

Slowly you slid down his length, feeling the slow stretch of his girth moving through your core.
You sunk down to the hilt, feeling the most full you had ever felt, his fingers twitching around your
hips as he allowed you to adjust to him.

“Please.” Aemond whimpered below you.

Dragging your hips forward you felt Aemond’s length rub inside of you, stretching you out as you
moved up each inch. As you slid back down you felt the head of his cock nudge the soft spongey
spot within.

This angle was so different to laying down and him on top. You felt fuller and more sensitive, and
could control the thrusts as you pleased.

You rolled your hips atop, feeling sparks of pleasure begin to grow in your stomach, heat rising
into your cheeks as Aemond let you take control of the pace. Each roll caused you to sigh into the
air, your hair falling over your face as you looked down at him.

Aemond’s long fingers came to brush some loose strands behind your ear, fingers trailing down
your neck as you rode him, goosebumps rising in their wake. He held the side of your neck softly,
tenderly, and let you take your own pleasure into your hands. You sped up, thighs burning as you
moved, your slickness coating his shaft and your inner thighs.

Sway him.

Leaning forward you brushed your lips back against his, watching as his eye slid shut to kiss you,
delicately, passionately. Pouring each and every inch and ounce of adoration and love into you that
the man possessed. And you took it greedily, swiping your tongue along the bottom of his lip,
begging for entrance, asking for entrance, until his lips parted and he let you in, licking into your
mouth as one hand held the back of your neck and the other continued to hold your hip.

Pulling apart from him you whispered again, lips brushing his as you spoke whilst riding him.

“Let me pretend that we have love.”

A tear slid down your cheek.

You had not even felt it appear.

“Please.”

His hand brushed the tear away as he cupped your cheek, before it slid down your neck, down the
valley between your breasts until it founds its home, nestled between your folds as you rode him,
rubbing skilled, wet circles around your bud. You moaned quietly, sliding your hips back and forth
on him faster, chasing your own peak as the sparks bloomed within.
"Kepus." You whimpered, writhing in pleasure atop him.

Pleasure rose like the words of a sweet song, smoothly, poetically, and completely by your choice.
It rose and grew within you as you bounced atop his cock and his fingers brought you closer to
your peak.

Aemond pulled you down to him kissing you, both hands holding your face as you rode him until
he shifted, his feet planting down on the bed as he began to thrust up into you.

But it was not cruelly or quickly.

He kept the pace you had set and let your body slump against him, one arm coming to cross over
your waist as he held you, the sounds of your wetness filling the chambers with the slapping of
flesh below.

“Aemond.” You moaned into is mouth, feeling the pleasure mount as the shift in angle wound the
coil within you tighter, and tighter.

He held your cheek and looked into your eyes, watching as you were lost to the throes of pleasure,
whimpers and moans tumbling out of your mouth as he pressed kisses to the sides of your face,
cooing as he thrusted up into your heat.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, watching as you rolled your hips back into his thrusts, feeling the
coil begin to snap.

“Aem.” You whimpered, feeling the heat in your body rise.

Your pearl rubbed against the base of his shaft with every thrust, and you felt the coil snap. You
cried out into the night, back arching in his hold as Aemond continued to fuck you through your
release, your own hips dragging down onto his length as a shudder rolled through you.

“Fuck.” Aemond moaned, and thrusted into you deeply, holding himself snuggly inside as he
reached his peak. Your cunt convulsed around him, dragging out each and every drop of his seed,
milking him.

The both of you came down from your highs together, skin sticky and bodies hot. Aemond tucked
your head beneath his chin as he pulled the sheets back over the top of you, still laying on top, cock
softening inside of your core.

Aemond wrapped his arms around your body, holding you to him as you basked in the aftermass of
what that was.

A test.

Lips came to press a gentle kiss against the side of your head, breath lingering as he held his lips
against your skin, holding you tightly against him.

If it was anyone else, it would be loving.

If it was anyone else, it would be comforting.

If it was anyone else.

Aemond sighed, shifting beneath you, cock almost slipping out of your folds until he lifted his hips
and pushed himself back in, basking in your warm heat and preventing his seed from being wasted.
He kissed your face again and you let your eyes slide shut, thinking of the pretty purple flowers
and the man beneath you.

Thinking of if you played your cards right, Aemond could bend to your will.

If you were patient.

You lay atop him for some time, eyes shut and breathing slowed, fatigue working its way through
your body as he held you, and one hand soothingly rubbed up and down your skin. A continuance
of comfort which lulled you closer to unconsciousness.

“You do have love.” Aemond whispered, thinking you were asleep.

You did your best to not react, staying still in his hold as you felt him breathe in again to continue,
sleep beginning to drag you under.

“You just do not see it.”

 Changes
Chapter Notes

I had furiously written this on my notes app, so please excuse if there are any
grammatical errors

When you woke the next morning, it was not to a cold and empty bed. The chambers were not
missing an extra head of silver as they always were. Instead, you were woken to a kiss pressed to
the side of your face, and large arms pulling you tighter against a very warm body.

You stirred in his grip, the heat making you uncomfortably stuffy. Aemond’s chest rumbled softly
beneath your head as he hummed, the sound crackling as he cleared the sleep from his voice.

“Zaldristos.”

Your eyes opened, blinking softly as you came to the surface from your rest. The room was light
from the sun having risen, though the maids were nowhere to be seen.

You had woken as early as Aemond always did.

Images of the night before flashed in your mind, and instinctually your legs clenched together.

Aemond felt you stir beside him, watching as your hips moved back and your thighs rubbed
together. He hummed an amused, yet kind laugh.

“Not enough time for that I’m afraid.”

You grimaced, thankful your face was hidden in his neck. You sat up, pulling the sheets up to your
chest in an attempt of modesty, and looked about the room. It was odd to wake up at this hour, to
see the table left as it was the evening before and the chambers empty of Aemond’s two
handmaids.

You turned your head to look back at your husband.

He lay on his pillow relaxed, hair tangled beneath his head, with soft waves curling the ends. You
had not seen his hair wavy like that since you were young. If the air was moist on a hot day, his
hair would become frizzy, small curls and waves like his mother appearing at the back of his head.

His eye was half lidded, and you were taken back to find the space where his sapphire orb sat to be
empty. The gaping hole was shadowed by the light light of the morning, making it appear deeper
than it was. Or perhaps it really was that deep.

You surmised that Aemond must take it out before he slept.

Sensing your gaze on the empty space where a violet eye once sat, Aemond turned his head to look
at the table beside his side of the bed. In a small golden bowl, sat the sapphire eye.

His hand moved to grab it, reaching across the bed.

“Does it hurt?”

Aemond’s hand stilled, leaving the sapphire in the bowl as his hand came to rest on his stomach,
long fingers rubbing the sheets between forefinger and thumb. The room was silent as you waited
for his response.

Should you not have asked?

Would he be angered to be reminded of what was taken from him?

Aemond continued to watch you with his violet eye, more alert than he had been mere moments
before.

“At times.” He finally answered.

You observed him as he kept his gaze on you, fingers continuing to play with the sheet. Not in
anxiety, not in stress, just merely in thought.

“Does it hurt to wear it?”

He hummed.

“Do you sleep with it ever?”

The questions just kept tumbling out of your mouth.

And Aemond continued to answer honestly.

“No. It isn’t good to sleep with it in.”

“Oh.” Was all you could respond.

You continued to look down at him, sheets held to your chest. And Aemond continued to watch
you in return.

His chest was pale, the lightest dusting of hair on his chest, crawling down beneath the sheets to
where you knew it congregated around his pelvis. There were small pale slivers on his arms, and
even some around his torso.

Tiny little scars that had healed a long time ago.

But then there was your addition. And that skin was pink, not milky.

Aemond’s hand lifted from the sheets and moved toward your face. You held still to not flinch. His
thumb brushed against your bottom lip, pulling it from between your lips. You hadn't even noticed
that you had been nibbling at it. He stared into your eyes as his finger rested on your mouth.

A knock at the door broke you both away from each other. His thumb sliding down your neck and
onto his stomach. You kept the sheets against your chest as Aemond beckoned the maids to enter.

The girls entered the chambers, heads down as they brought food in.

They moved the scrolls and tomes across to another table, cleaning yours to place down two sets of
plates, bowls with fruit, and other steaming food. When at last the two maids had set down the
drinks; water, wine, juice and tea, they finally left the chambers with a bow at the waist, eyes still
cast down.
Aemond finally sat up behind you, letting his hand run down your spine. Your skin prickled under
his touch, hairs rising on ends, before he moved himself slowly to the side of the bed. You watched
him bend forward, still seated to grab his breeches and tunic. As his spine bent forward, you gazed
at the way his muscles pulled taut against his sides and shoulders. Aemond's body was built tightly
from training.

When he stood, you got a generous view of his backside. His ass was toned, waist slightly coming
in where he had gained strength in his core. He pulled his pants on, and as if feeling your blatant
stare, turned to meet your gaze.

Sheepishly you turned away, still clutching the sheet to you as you bent to find the forgotten
chemise on the floor. You pushed each arm through the holes and stood, the sheets falling back
onto the bed as the soft material rolled down your body.

Upon a chair beside your side of the bed, was a deep red robe. You walked over slowly, feeling the
soft silky material in your fingers, before threading your arms through the long sleeves, feeling all
the more covered and cosier in the chambers. When you turned, Aemond had already pulled on his
tunic and was making his way to the table. His head pulled to the side, hair falling down his
shoulder as he cracked his neck.

“I am surprised you are awake so early.” He mused, pulling his own seat out to sit in as you
watched from beside the bed.

You came to join him, pulling your chair out and sitting opposite him. The table was piled with the
usual, except in the middle of the table was a steaming leg of ham. Your eyes locked onto
Aemond.

For all your times with him, he seemed to have an aversion to pig, yet this morning, he served
himself a large serving, pulling some warm soft bread on the plate beside it.

Another contradiction.

You moved to serve yourself after him, taking some ham and two eggs onto your plate. A bowl of
fruit sat beside it, grapes and mango, melons of all kinds, and on the very top, as there always was,
sat a bright yellow star fruit, ripe and perfectly shaped.

“I slept well.” You replied, plate full of food.

You began eating in a comfortable quiet, ever so often watching your husband across the table,
finding his gaze already on you. His seeing eye was relaxed, and the sapphire orb already in its
place. He would have put it in as you had robed yourself.

You took some bread for yourself, eating it with your hands.

“Are you to be with the King all day?” You asked.

Aemond put down the goblet he was sipping from and swallowed.

“I am. Though I shall break my day with you to eat again.”

He was to have lunch with you.

You nodded and gave him a lopsided smile.

“Will you be in the Gardens all day?” Aemond asked, cutting some ham delicately as he kept his
eye on you.

“I will. But I don’t think I will be reading anything about Celtigar.” You grimaced at the thought,
“I don’t know how you read that.”

“With great difficulty. Quite a stale Lord.”

Was that a joke?

Did Aemond just make a joke?

You let out a small huff of a laugh, though it sounded more like a grunt. Aemond’s lip twitched
into a short lived smile.

He was making a joke.

His eye drifted to the star fruit in front of you.

Every day since you had arrived back in Kings Landing, there had been a star fruit waiting for you.
And every time you have tried to avoid it.

But today, you didn’t.

You reached forward to grab the fruit and placed it on your plate, opting to cut it apart with your
knife and fork rather than using your hands. You looked at the fruit, not daring to meet Aemond’s
hopeful gaze, who watched in anticipation.

Sway him.

Make him believe.

Juice leaked from the fruit below on the plate as you cut it apart, and you slowly brought a chunk
up to your mouth with your fork. As soon as the flesh touched your tongue you felt a whirlwind of
emotions, predominately grief.

You thought of your father, and felt your eyes sting. You kept your head down as you chewed,
blinking away the tears.

Do not cry.

Do not cry.

Do not cry.

You swallowed the bittersweet fruit, enjoying its taste, but dreading its reminder before you looked
up at Aemond and gave him a small smile. A small thanks. A small acknowledgement that you
could see he was trying. That you could see that he had done this for you.

Aemond’s lips spread widely and you could see just the barest hints of teeth at the front.

He continued on to eat his breakfast as you ate the star fruit, begging the storm to rescind within.
You reached for the tea on the table in front of you to wash it down. After you poured yourself a
cup, you reached for some honey to stir into it.

“Would you like some tea?” You looked at your uncle.

He shook his head softly, “No, thank you.”

You brought the tea to your lips and sipped.

Despite the generous helping of honey you had stirred into it, there was still this bitterness that
lingered. You scrunched your nose slightly as you drank it, before adding more honey.

The only redeeming quality of the tea was the minty-ness which you loved.

“Whats wrong?” Asked Aemond, watching as you put two more thick globs of honey into the tea,
stirring.

“Just bitter is all. Probably boiled the leaves too long.” You mused, sipping the tea again, relieved
to find the bitterness masked by the sweetness of the honey.

“I will have a word to the maids.” Aemond responded, brow suddenly drawn.

You gave him a weak smile, “It’s okay. Nothing that honey cannot fix.”

You did not wish for the maids to deal with Aemond any more than they already had to.

Aemond stared at you longer, obviously deliberating whether or not to berate them for burning
your tea.

“Aemond,” You began, “It's fine. I promise you, no harm done.” You gave him a wider smile, and
in show, drank the rest of the tea in your cup.

The Prince nodded his head and resumed back to his eating.

It was odd to see him like this.

To see him not put together, the image of propriety. Instead you saw a new side of Aemond, which
made him seem more human, if he could be that way at all.

His hair was still unbrushed, little wisps sticking out here and there, the waves more apparent the
more you looked. The tunic was crumpled, and his posture was relaxed. For him anyway.

It was as if last night a layer was pulled back, revealing a part of the man you sat opposite of, that
you had not seen before. And then this morning, yet another part revealed to you.

A glimpse of a man who you thought would never tire or be seen unkempt. A man who seemed
more man. More natural. More the boy you knew.

It was jarring.

Aemond noticed your starring, and dabbed at his lips with his napkin.

“Would you like to eat in the Gardens at noon?”

Eat.

In the Gardens.

Your special place.

At noon.
With him?

It was as if he was courting you.

Swallowing you mirrored his movements, bringing the green napkin up to your lips to dab at the
corners before responding.

“I would like that.”

Aemond gave you another soft smile, and you had to remind yourself that it was not sweet. It was
not a show of kindness. He was not a changed man. He was still a kinslayer. He was still a rapist.
He was still your handler.

He was still him.

A soft knock at the door came and the maids entered without being beckoned. They bowed and bid
you both a good morrow, before moving to collect your plates and cutlery. Aemond stood as they
moved about the chambers and came to stand beside you.

He towered over you as you looked up at him.

Your heart raced in your chest.

The man stooped down and placed a kiss atop your head, before moving to have himself dressed.
You watched on as one of the maids brushed his hair and pulled it behind his head in the same
simple style as he always did.

Test him.

“Aemond,” You called out across the room, watching as he lifted a hand, commanding the girl to
stop as he turned to face you, “Why do you always wear your hair like that?”

Ask.

Test.

Sway.

“I have always worn it this way.”

There was an edge to his tone.

You stood, pulling the red robe around your waist for comfort as you walked over to him.

“I know. I just…” You paused, thinking of how to speak your mind without truly doing it, “Are we
not as Targaryens seen to have braids? Are we not closer to Gods than all others?” You tilted your
head as he watched you silently, the girl beside him shifting on her feet, “You’re a Prince, and yet
you style your hair like a commoner.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened.

Fuck.

“I only wish to see my husband looking his best. Being his best.” You scrambled, anxiety shooting
through you, “I sometimes think of what you would look like.”
Aemond watched you carefully as you clutched the robe against you.

Had you gone too far?

Had you ruined an otherwise perfect morning?

Had you broken the bridge you had begun to carefully build?

Aemond hummed, and to your surprise nodded, before looking at the maid, who scrambled to undo
the simple style and begin to pull the sides back into an intricate and yet still simple braid down his
back.

The rest of his hair laid flat beneath it, the waves brushed out, and the silky straight strands sitting
as they always did.

You watched the maids hands as they worked, and once completed, Aemond turned to look at you.
He stared at you for some time, still seated until finally you understood.

He was asking for your approval.

“You look handsome.” You said quietly, watching as his gaze lightened, “A Targaryen Prince.”

Aemond hummed again, nodding at the girl in approval.

She moved away, going to prepare his attire. Aemond stood, looking down at you as a small smirk
wound its way on his face. His hand reached to touch your face, cupping your cheek. His head
tilted to the side.

“You’ve changed.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart raced in your chest.

“As have you.” You breathed.

Aemond hummed, before moving away to dress himself. The younger maid came to join you and
sat you down for her to brush your hair and braid it. You struggled to keep the panic within you at
bay, breathing shallowly as the girl pulled the tangles from your locks, and began to braid it behind
your head.

You could feel Aemond’s eye on you, and soon enough he came to stand beside you as the girl
finished.

“A Targaryen Princess.”

You let yourself smile up at him. Aemond’s hand came to touch your hair, fingers brushing the
braids as he moved to place a soft kiss on your lips. You shut your eyes and exhaled through your
nose. It was chaste and polite, and as Aemond stood straight, he let his hand drop back to his side.

He moved across the side table to collect two tomes and some scrolls in his arms, piling them atop
each other as he spoke.

“I will meet you in the gardens when the sun has reached its peak.”

“I will be there.”
And with that he left the chambers, leaving you to sigh a breath of relief and have the girls dress
you for the day.

It was another red gown with gold detailing, and the same gold jewellery around your neck and in
your ears. However, the ring you held in your fist until the maids left the chambers, content with
their cleaning.

You turned the gold dragon in your hand as you thought.

Was it obvious? Were you being too quick in your tests?

Was Aemond suspecting something?

You swallowed the fear and stood, moving to pick up ‘The Fourteen Flames’ from beside your bed
before leaving the chambers and making your way down to the Gardens.

The Keep was bursting with life.

Lords and Ladies, servants and Knights, all walked about the Keep quickly to attend to their duties.
You wondered what each and every one of them thought of the war. What they thought of the
King. What they thought of your mother.

Were they loyal to the Aegon?

Did they see him for that he was?

Were they shocked by the usurpation? Or did they support it?

Did any see you as an ally? Or an enemy?

Were they happy?

You looked at the wives.

Were they free?

What were their lives like? Were they too, married to someone they hadn’t wanted? Did they find
cruelty from their spouse? Or did they find love and kindness?

Did they find neither?

You knew that many of the Ladies often had tea together and gossiped, sometimes in the garden,
sometimes in their own waiting rooms. Not once had you been invited, not once had you been
offered a place to sit, a place to mingle, or socialise.

Not once had you been spoken to.

And not once had you wanted to.

Meaningless gossip was not something you had the patience for, and most likely the women would
skirt around anything of interest, and instead set their sights on prying into your own life. Or
perhaps they would be too scared. Either way, it was not something you ever wished to be a part
of.

The day moved quickly, and soon enough the soft footfalls of Aemond took your eyes away from
the book in your lap. When you looked up, you found him observing you. Aemond came to stand
beside you and looked out at the water. You had not even noticed his change in attire today.

He wore a deep green blazer with black detailing.

Tiny black dragons were embroidered on the cuffs of his sleeves and collar. His white undershirt
was crisp and barely peeked through from his neckline. His breeches were black and his usual
leather boots were on his feet. The style was far more relaxed than what it usually would have
been, and you got the impression that Marba had made it for him.

In his arm, resting over the top, was his usual black leather coat.

Aemond felt your gaze and looked down at you.

“You’re in green, not leathers.” You commented.

“Hm.”

Aemond placed the coat on the bench beside you. Behind him, servants came to place a plethora of
cheeses, tarts and pies upon the round table, where you had once sat with Larys, to eat and before
that, Helaena.

The Prince held his hand open, gesturing to the table and you stood, placing the book down beside
his coat. He pulled one of the chairs back, motioning for you to sit. Walking over to him, you sat
and felt his hand trail up your arm to your neck, fingers touching the chain he had gifted you.

Seating himself opposite you, he began to place a small pie and some tarts upon his plate, pouring
the both of you a generous goblet of wine. You followed suit, and began to serve yourself a small
shepherds pie and a lemon tart.

On the side of the table, as per usual, a pile of fruit with a star fruit atop.

You broke the ice and started with small talk, a lesson you had learnt from the Septa.

“It is a fine day today in Kings Landing.” Mimicking Larys conversation starter, “How has your
morning been?”

Aemond leant back in his chair and watched you, eye flicking across your face before he
responded.

“Slow. Much to do for the realm to be kept in order.”

You sipped on the honeyed Essos wine.

“What does Aegon have you doing?” You inquired curiously.

Aemond mirrored your movements and drank from his own goblet, “I fear it will bore you more
than Celtigar.”

Another joke?

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

You were curious.

Aemond hummed.
“I am to treat with the different Lords we rule over. Ask what they desire from the King and assure
them that their needs will be met. A lot of politics, a lot of negotiations, and as I am sure you
already know, a lot of reading.”

“Is that why you are always writing letters?”

Aemond cocked his head and took a bite of the cut up pie on his plate. You watched him chew in
silence and worried for a moment you had asked too much, inquired too deeply. That you were
mayhaps, pushing your luck.

“Mostly.”

Mostly?

The conversation fizzled out, and you felt that you could not ask much more, and instead began
eating together in silence, sharing quiet stares and shy smiles.

“Ao jurnegon gevie tubī.” You look beautiful today, Aemond complimented.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

Why were you blushing?

“Kirimvose, valzȳrys.” Thank you, husband.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to continue the conversation.

“I am to leave Kings Landing again.”

Ice spread through your chest.

“What?” You put your cutlery down onto the table as you looked at him, “You have only just come
back. For how long?”

Aemond’s lips twitched downwards and sighed.

“Six days, maybe more. Depending on if all goes to plan.”

“Where are you going?”

Aemond did not respond right away. The silence around you was suffocating, and you shifted in
your seat suddenly feeling the weight of his gaze upon you.

Finally, he responded.

“The Golden Tooth, Storm’s End,” You shivered at the mention, “Oldtown…” He inhaled deeply
before continuing, as if steeling himself to respond. As if he knew that the mere mention of the
word would crumble the world around the both of you that had been crafted the night before.

“Harrenhal.”

You blinked.

He was right.

Harrenhal.
Harrenhal.

Alys Rivers.

Back to Alys.

You swallowed thickly looking down, anger and fear swirling circles around you like two sharks in
the water, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and tear into your flesh.

“I see.”

“I go where my King commands me to.” His voice seemed strained.

“I said I see.” You replied, tongue sharp.

Aemond sighed loudly, uttering your name.

You straightened your back and forced yourself to smile at him. It stretched your cheeks painfully
and felt foreign. But the smile did not reach your eyes, and although it sat prettily on your face, it
was false.

You took a deep breath.

Sway.

“The King has faith in your skills to treat with these Lords,” You began, the words bitter on your
tongue, “And I should be proud.”

Should be.

If you were anyone else.

“But…”

You looked at the man who was hung on your every word, slightly leant forward towards the
table.

You shook your head, as if to clear the cloud of doubt, or fear, and forced yourself to smile at him
again. This time only smaller. Your fingers fiddled with the ring he had given you atop the table,
his eye coming to look at it briefly before back up at you.

Sew the seeds of doubt, so that the roots may take their place.

“Speak what you wish to say.” Aemond urged you, tone flat.

“Will you be seeing her?”

And for the first time that day, Aemond did not answer your questions verbally. Instead, he
answered your question with his silence.

Yes.

You searched his face as you felt anger and resentment rise to the surface, and fear simmering
silently in the foreground. Giving Aemond a curt nod, you dabbed at your lips, not nearly finished
with your lunch, but your hunger leaving all together.
“When do you leave?”

Another non answer.

More silence.

Now.

“Right, well...”

You did not know what to say.

Aemond continued to stare at you, not offering any words of comfort.

He was leaving you for her.

And he was leaving you alone again with him.

“I bid you a safe journey and success in completing the King’s duties. I will see you upon your
return.”

You stood, pushing the chair behind you, Aemond’s eye narrowing on your form as you moved to
push your chair back under the table. Aemond’s mouth pursed into a pout as he looked at you,
something he did when irritated.

“Thank you for the company.” You spoke, voice wavering in its tone from angry to calm.

You could barely contain yourself.

And Aemond could see it.

He leant back in his chair as he watched you walk away from him swiftly, hands holding each other
in front of you so tightly, your knuckles turned white.

He made you feel like a whore.

Thats all you were to him.

You came along after Alys.

You may be wed, but he had given himself to her before you.

Did she think of you that way? Did she see you as an intruder? As a whore?

As someone who was coming between them?

You moved through the garden, leaving your book behind, promising yourself that you would
return to pick it up after the had left the Keep.

Alys and Aemond spun in your mind, and you realised, much to your horror, that she may be more
of a threat than you had thought. You moved through the corridors, walking past Lord’s and
Ladies with your mouth set in a tight line.

Ahead of you stood Lord Larys, conversing with another Lord of the court, someone you did not
recognise.

The Lord bowed as you moved to walk passed the both of them. Larys watched with his keen eyes
and opened his mouth to greet you, perhaps even invite you on a walk, but you had no patience for
the man.

Instead you growled at him.

“Fuck off, Larys.”

 Alone
Chapter Notes

I could make some joke about the number of this chapter but......

You had stewed in your chambers, staring out the window at the water, willing the oceans swell to
calm your rising waters, but it did nothing but let you sit in your bitter anger and resentment.
Thinking of all the ways he had hurt you. Of all the ways he had wronged you. Of all the ways the
Greens had taken everything from you.

From your mother.

From your brother.

It spiralled out of control and you found the anger mount within you at a frightening pace. Your
blood rushed in your ears as you stared into the fire, pacing in front of it. Thinking more and more
of what they had done.

What they would do.

What they could do.

What you were forced to do.

Forced to lay beneath a man you did not love. Forced to have his seed inside of you as he thrusted
above, or below. Forced to kiss him back. Forced to smile at him, and dress prettily for him like a
doll.

You were voiceless.

Powerless.

Defenceless.

You thought of how you had crawled on top of him and ridden him, seeking your own pleasure and
basking in his. How you had moaned and whined, uttering his name to the Gods as you peaked.
How you had let him touch you, hold you, whisper praise to you.

The doors to the chambers had opened, and Aemond entered quietly, whispering your name as you
stilled. Without turning to face him, you kept your eyes on the flames, watching them devour a log
inside. Wishing the flames were devouring the Keep. Devouring the King.

Devouring him.

Aemond came to stand beside you, and you saw in your periphery that he placed your book down
on the coffee table beside you. He uttered your name again, but you refused to meet his gaze.
Refused to meet his eye knowing that you would lash out at him.

Strike him.
Curse at him.

You wanted to hurt him.

You wanted to so badly that your fingers twitched at your side, forcing you to bite the inside of
your cheek, tasting the bitter copper of your blood flood over your tongue. Your hands shook in
anger, bawled in tight fists as he continued to stand there.

What did he want?

My blessing?

To fuck her?

To leave me with them?

Fuck you.

Aemond whispered your nickname, trying once more to gain your attention, standing still as he
watched you, but all it did was make you bristle.

“Dracarys.” Came the whisper of Lucerys.

You blinked, and let your eyes drift to the window away from the raging flamed.

There, seated on the seat beneath, was a mop of brunette hair you wished to bury your face into.
The boy you missed dearly. Someone you would do anything to have back, including giving up
your own life for his.

Lucerys sat, wet, watching you, stiff backed, but eyes dangerously angry. His hair stuck to his
forehead, robes dripping below him creating a puddle on the chambers stone floors.

He reflected the anger within you.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to turn to look at Aemond. Instead, keeping your eyes on Lucerys
who continued to whisper over, and over.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

You heard Aemond sigh beside you. His footsteps moving away from you, halting by the door.
Pausing as though he wished to say more. As though he wished to do more. Thinking, waiting,
wanting.

The chambers doors opened and then closed.

Lucerys leant back against the window, watching you as you watched him. He looked comfortable
now that Aemond was gone, relaxed, at ease. Like all the anger had drained out of him with his
uncle’s leave.

His head tilted, dark curls flopping over his forehead. His robes had stop dripping, the sound of
water ceasing in the room, only to be filled with the crackling wood.
You moved to step forward, to reach out, to touch him.

Would you feel him as you felt Helaena?

The young boys lips split into a smile, teeth showing and cheeks rosy. And with a blink, he was
gone.

You exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding and looked at the empty space he was
was in. The space looked cold, sparse.

Haunted.

Why did he have to leave?

Why could he not stay?

The book on the coffee table caught your attention, and all the rage and anger came back.

Grasping the book, you hurled it across the room, pouring all your anger and resentment, fear and
disgust, into the movement as you screamed. The book flew across the room and hit the wall
beside the window where Lucerys had been. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud, cover half ripped
off in the impact, and pages bent beneath its weight on the stone floors.

You stood, chest heaving as you stared at it without moving.

When the sun had sunk below the horizon, the maids came to your chambers bringing your supper,
and only yours, placing it on the table. The smell filled the room and your stomach rumbled. Only
then did you move away from the book, only then did you make your way to the table to eat alone.

One of the girls moved to pick the book up from its discarded spot on the floor, seeing how your
eyes never left its sight.

“Leave it.” You all but barked as the girl neared it, hand outstretched to pick it up.

The maid rescinded her hand beside her, uttering an apology and moved to leave the chambers with
the other girl quietly.

You ate alone, stewing your anger. Replaying the events that had led up to this very moment over
and over in your head. Every single waking moment where Aemond had imposed himself onto you.
Where he had come to haunt you. Where he had come to hurt you.

His visits to your chambers when Viserys was still King.

The glass in your feet.

His fingers in your core.

His hand around your neck.

Lucerys.

The fall.

The wedding.

All of it.
The longer you thought, the more resentful you became, drinking the entirety of the decanter of
wine, not caring for the headache that would no doubt greet you when you rose in the morning.

The maids came later when you had finished to tidy the chambers and ready you for bed.

They did not greet you, nor did they bid you a good night. The two girls seemed to have sensed
your anger, and most likely had learnt that keeping their head down and staying silent was the best
way to deal with a Targaryens fury.

They would have learnt this the hard way from serving Aemond.

When your hair had been brushed, and you were dressed for bed, you moved to lay in the sheets of
the bed and stared at the ceiling thinking. Waiting. Turning possibilities over in your head.
Thinking of the promises you made to your family, thinking of your duties to them.

You fell asleep that evening, the flames within being doused with wildfire.

And you let it consume you.

When you woke the next morning, your head throbbed, but your thoughts were clear. The maids
came, and you greeted them softly. If you were to do this right, you needed their sympathy, their
loyalty, their love. You needed to be kind to them, not bark orders at them like your husband.

You ate alone, were dressed with their help, and once you were readied for the day, you stood and
walked to the side of the room where the book had spent the night.

You stood over the black leather cover, looking down at how it had half of its spine separated from
the glue. It was broken. Ripped apart. Yet it was still the same. Still held the same words of ‘The
Fourteen Flames’. Still held the tales of the Gods. It was still, despite its outer appearance, a
holder of memories, truth, secrets.

Crouching down, you picked the book up, careful to not rip the spine any further, feeling its weight
in your hand. The pages were a little bent from where it had fallen atop itself. The crisp paper
creased and marked.

The Septa would be enraged if she saw this.

With a gentle hand, you smoothed out the bends and looked at the pages.

Still the same words, still the same tales, just marked.

Never to be unmarked again.

Scarred.

You were the same.

Scarred. Bent.

Broken.

No.

Not broken.

Different.
Changed.

You took the book down to the Gardens by the water to read.

The sun peaked behind clouds, occasionally casting warmth upon you. The soft formations moved
across the skies, growing heavier with each passing, and you wondered if it would rain.

You hoped that it wouldn’t.

You spent your first day alone, as you always did, seated where you and Helaena always had,
looking out at the water and reading. And when the day had ended, and the evening had creeped in,
you went back to your chambers and ate alone, as always, and went to bed alone, as you would
with the absence of Aemond.

You had passed Aegon in the halls on the way back to your chambers, skin prickling and anger
simmering as he smiled at you and continued on walking with Otto and Jasper Wylde.

That smile followed you into your dreams.

When you woke the next morning, you followed the familiar routine, though not having seen
Lucerys again, and sat yourself at the water with the torn book. You wondered if you could ask for
some glue, or perhaps should take it to the Septa or Maester or maids, and have them fix it for you.

“I thought I would find you here.”

You lifted your head at the voice to see Aegon approaching you, smirk on his face and hands
behind his back. Ser Cole stood behind him as he approached you, armour tight on his body and
crisp, white cloak clasped to his pauldrons. Your eyes flitted between the knight and the false
King.

Aegon’s green robes had a large, golden, three headed dragon on the front.

You looked at your eldest uncle expectantly, waiting for him to continue speaking.

He walked around the space, looking at the table and chairs, the bench, and the flowers
surrounding you in false interest. When he got close to where you sat, you shut the book in your lap
with a thud, finger in-between the pages to keep your place.

Cole stayed where he was, at the entrance of the sitting space, hand on the pummel of his sword.

“Thought I would give my niece some company, now that her husband has gone from Kings
Landing again.” Aegon sat himself on the pillow that Helaena favoured, and you had to force
yourself not to scream.

“Aemond is performing his duties to the realm.” You replied, watching the man closely as a smirk
wound its way on his face.

Aegon cocked his head as the smirk rose higher, “I wasn’t aware that his duty was between a
woman’s legs.”

Cunt.

You breathed deeply, pushing down the fire that burned you hotly.

“The Prince assured me that his duties lay elsewhere,” Lie, “By your command.”
Aegon frowned at you in a mocking manner, a falsely sad smile as though he pitied you, or found
you to be simple.

“I am sure that he did. My brother has other interests in Harrenhal that I don’t require.”

Was Aemond lying?

Aegon smirked as he saw your composure falter. Standing, the King looked out at the water.

“Helaena loved this spot.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared up at him.

How did he know that?

“She spoke of you often.” He added, but his voice was quieter.

Softer.

Nostalgic.

You watched as Aegon turned his head, his silver waves moving to look down at you. And for the
first time, you saw some form of mourning for his sister-wife.

His eyes were soft, and if you weren’t mistaken, held sorrow. But as soon as you had witnessed the
storm cloud pass over his eyes, it went, and instead, the King grinned slimily down at you before
bidding you a good day.

You watched in confusion as Aegon left you behind to sit with your thoughts.

Did he love her?

Did he regret what he did to her?

Was there a small piece of Aegon that mourned her death and descent to madness?

Did he mourn his son?

You shook the thought away.

No.

No one who loves someone would do what he did to her.

You went to bed that evening with a crawling feeling of being watched. You had to remind
yourself that Aemond was not there.

You were alone in your chambers.

And you woke alone the next day too.

The same routine, just as bland as the last.

Wake. Eat. Dress. Walk to the gardens to read.

Yet now there was a new part of your routine which set you on edge, something that you couldn’t
seem to escape, like flies on a hot day, or the smell of soldiers after training. It came as a great
annoyance, an irritant. Something that stirred fear and fury alike within.

Something that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

Someone.

Aegon.

The King came to visit again that day, Ser Cole behind him as he came to observe the water with
you for a moment, if only, just for a moment.

He made a comment about the weather, which had earned him a look of confusion, which had then
earnt you a laugh in return. Aegon asked if you were in want of anything in the Keep whilst
Aemond was away, and you had answered, uncertainty in your tone, that there was nothing you
were in need of.

Aegon had left you to your reading, yet you found that you could not concentrate for the rest of the
day. When you returned to your chambers that evening, you had a crawling sensation upon your
skin and felt dread begin to settle in.

Aegon’s sudden interest in you whilst Aemond was away was not a good sign. His sudden interest
in your wellbeing, the weather and your peace was not a change in heart, nor was it a King doing
his duties.

It was a man who was plotting.

A man who was fertilising the seed that he had sown, checking if it was time to reap.

A man who clearly had interests in Aemond being away for long periods of time.

The next morning you refused to go down to the Gardens, instead keeping to your chambers,
having your meals brought to you by the maids. You told yourself you were not hiding, and that
you were tired. That you wished to see if Aegon would notice your absence and storm the
chambers. That you were testing him in the same way he was testing you.

You wrote a letter to your family, telling them that you would regrettably not be able to join them
for Jacaerys and Baela’s union, and each stroke of the quill made your heart break. You had cried
as you wrote the letter, and tears landed upon the ink, causing it to smudge the ink, and the
parchment to dry funny.

You promised that upon Aemond’s return, that you would find when was best for you both to visit
them. Perhaps on Driftmark, instead of Dragonstone. You had told them about the beautiful
flowers in the Garden, and even made reference to one of the songs the Septa had sung.

You described the purple flowers, and hoped that they would understand, and that should anyone
from the Greens read the letter, they would suspect naught. They would simply read the letter and
see a lonely girl, writing to her family about the days that drag on, and the nights that get cold.

That evening you could scarcely eat your meal as you mourned the union you would miss. A union
in which you desperately wished to see. A union of love. A union of promise. A union of happiness
and goodwill.

Something you wished you had.

You felt a calmness in knowing that Baela would not meet the same fate as you. For to wish your
own sister that fate would be a cruel thing indeed. You knew that their marriage would last, and
bring laughter and happiness for them both. And you knew that Jacaerys would be loved and
would love fiercely in return.

When you finally retreated to bed that evening, letter drying of your tears upon the table, you found
that you tossed and turned until the hour of the owl, and the sun began to rise. When at last you did
fall to sleep, you were haunted by dreams of a woman with black hair and glowing green eyes.

When you rose the next morning, you decided to go for a walk around the Keep, opting to not
return to the Gardens until later that day, when the sun had begun its descent in the sky, and Aegon
would no doubt have lost his interest, if indeed he had any at all, and went back into his chambers
to drink himself into a stupor.

Your feet ached from how much you had walked, and your stomach growled in protest. You had
not stopped to eat, aimlessly walking around the Keep, checking each room, each chamber, and
each corridor for how many guards were stationed there. If there were any guards at all. You
would turn corners quickly and pause, pressed against walls as if in thought, but waiting to see if
any familiar face followed behind.

Watching you.

You watched the people go about their day, noting their appearance, their colours, and any house
sigils they have have adorned. You used the day well, finding that every single passage to the
Dragon Pit was heavily guarded, and a small servant boy with bright blue eyes seemed to round the
castles corners at break neck speed when you would hide amongst the shadows.

A day of observing had helped in more ways than one.

One one hand, you were beginning to recognise members of the court, their houses, their spouses,
and their duties in the Keep. You were learning the movements of guards and knights. And were
not at all surprised about the small servant boy following you. You wondered if he was a spy for
Larys, or for somebody else.

Perhaps Aemond?

But then on the other hand, your walking and observing, counting and hiding, gave you an
opportunity to desperately avoid the company of the King.

The more you moved, the less likely he would find you, and the more you would learn.

The birds chirped in the trees as they readied themselves for their sleep, and the waves below
rolled softly up the cliffs. A calm spread through you as you looked out at the water, leaning over
the edge of the wall. The sky was a soft pink, like dragonfruit flesh in the spring, or the peonies
that sat at the bottom of the Gardens.

“I’d say that you have been avoiding me.”

He was like mould that you thought you could clean away. Hands scrubbing the dark spores until
the surface was clean, and you would stand back in triumph and look at your success. A false sense
of conquest. Only for it to return some days, months, or even years later, Aegon would come back
to haunt you.

You didn’t bother to turn to face him as he came beside you, the sound of Cole’s armour clinking
behind you noisily. He could not sneak about the Keep even if he tried. He should put bells on
instead to announce his arrival. Aegon leant against the ledge beside you, looking out at the water
and the sunset.

“Perhaps you should take it as a subtle hint.” You purred, hoping the tone would keep him at bay.

Aegon laughed in earnest, a guttural laugh that was not spiteful or mocking in its tone. It was a true
laugh to your comment.

You sighed.

“Does it anger you?” Aegon asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

“What?”

“That I am King.”

Yes.

Dracarys.

“I didn’t think you were that stupid.” You mused, keeping your eye on the water as a way to keep
the rising anger locked down.

Fucking stupid cunt.

Aegon laughed again, leaning further forward on the edge as he looked over it and down to the
cliffs and ocean below. Images of you pushing him over and watching him fall to his death flashed
across your mind.

It could be easy.

A hard push would send him tumbling over and down on to the jagged rocks below. With any luck,
he wouldn’t die straight away, and would spend his last living moments in agony upon the cliffs,
body twisted and broken.

But a quick death would be too merciful for him. As much as you wished to see his head dashed
against the rocks, skull and blood around his head like a halo, you knew it would be too swift, too
unjust, too painless.

“I’ve missed our little talks.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had them.” You quipped back, voice light.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“It was a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

Aegon waited for you to ask ‘what’ but you didn’t. You had no desire to play into his little games,
and so silence spread between the both of you uncomfortably, and fell flat like a bad joke. Aegon
huffed at your silence, before turning to look at you. You could see his face in your periphery as he
observed you.

“Mother had told me when we were young, that I was the challenge to Rhaenyra’s succession. I
didn’t believe her at the time, but it is my birthright to be King.”

You finally turned your head to face Aegon, a triumphant smile on his lips as he saw that you had
finally turned to look at you.

“Viserys never named you his heir. Not once.” You looked him up and down, pausing at the crown
atop his head, “Not once in his life, did he see potential in you. Not once, did he see you as being
worthy. But he saw it in my mother.”

“And yet I sit on the Iron Throne.”

“A punishment from the Gods, I’m sure.”

Aegon smirked, hand coming touch you. You stiffened and grit your teeth as one hand came to
touch the hair that had fallen over your shoulder. He held it in his fingers before gently pulling on
it.

You stared at him blankly, but within you were fuming. Screaming at him in your head.

You are no King. You could never be worthy of being a King. You are nothing but scum.

A waste of space. A waste of flesh, and air.

A pile of dragon shit would have more right to the throne than you.

You are filth.

I cannot wait to see you burn.

I cannot wait to hear your scre-

“I have missed your fire, niece. It gets boring in the Keep with all these Lords.”

“I’m sure you can find the comfort of someone’s cunt to dive into.”

“Only yours.”

You sneered at Aegon and slapped his hand away from your hair. The sound of Ser Cole moving
towards you came from the side. Aegon lifted a hand to halt the knight and quiet fell around you.

“Aemond should return soon. I am sure your mood shall improve once he has warmed your bed.
After he has warmed Alys'.”

“And you will return to your empty bed.”

“Did you bleed when he took your maidenhead?”

You blinked.

You were so taken back by the comment that you could not even respond.

Aegon smiled as he looked at you.

“Does he fuck you often? He is such a serious man, always brooding. I wonder if he takes it out on
you.”

“Your repulsiveness never ceases to amaze me.” You snipped, turning your body to face him,
hands pressed at your side to prevent you from hitting your uncle.
A lazy smile stretched up his face.

“Does he make you scream on his cock? Does he kiss your cunny til you weep?”

You breathed a heavy breath out your nose.

It could be so easy.

You could simply grasp his shoulders and hurl him over the edge. If he grasped your robes and
took you with him, you would not be upset. At least he would be dead and you would be free.

Aegon’s hand came to touch your hair again and you had to force yourself to hold still, touching
the strand as it fell down the front of your gown, but his hand did not stop there. It trailed a path
down the strands and grazed itself over your breast.

Bile rose in your throat as he openly touched you. A thick finger trailed over your nipple and you
felt it stiffen beneath your robes. His hand finally fell back to his side, eye locked on your breast,
clearly able to see the way your body had reacted.

Shame and disgust curled around your gut and you fought to not gag. You thought of the night in
the dungeons and swallowed thickly, rushing away from him without a word. You fled back to
your chambers, heart racing and tears rising to your eyes.

You moved through the Keep so quickly, so angrily, so fearfully, that your breath was caught in
your throat and your eyes stung with tears.

There was no escape from him.

There was no escape from this.

You wished to act now. To push forward and cast the first blow, but it was too early. It was too
rushed. And you knew that you had to endure for this to work. For the pieces to fall into place. For
the Gods to give you a sign.

And until then, you would wait, and endure, and suffer.

You passed the knight at the door of your chambers, swinging the door open and all but racing into
the chambers. The door shut quietly behind you.

Your eyes were blurred with tears as you made your way to the fire, staring at its flames, trying to
steady your breath and fury. Trying to force the bile that sat in the back of your throat back down
into your stomach.

It was too much.

It was overwhelming.

It was-

“Y/n?”
 Return To Me
Chapter Notes

I will say I had plans for this chapter to go a different way, but it just didn't make sense
for the plot line at all or the characters, so here we are.

It felt like time moved slowly.

So surreal.

Like wading through murky waters.

You blinked, spinning to face the voice which called your name.

There, standing in your chambers, was Aemond.

He was back.

Early.

He stared at you in confusion watching your body heaving. The Prince stood beside the table,
scrolls pilled atop a tome in his hands.

It looked as if he had only just arrived back. As though his first thought was to return to you.

He was back.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

He was back.

He was back.

“Are you alright?” The One-Eyed Prince asked, placing the scrolls and tome on the bare table in
front of him.

You blinked at him.

Were you ok?

Were you ever going to be okay?

You thought of Aegon’s hands.

Before you could even stop yourself you were across the room, throwing yourself into his body,
wrapping your arms around his waist. Aemond stumbled back a step from the force, arms open at
his side as he looked down at you in confusion and concern. You tucked your head into his chest
and breathed deeply.

He smelt of him.
He smelt familiar.

Sandalwood, sweat, musk, and a hint of dragon.

He smelt safe.

Why did he smell safe?

Slowly, Aemond’s arms wrapped around you, holding him to you tightly as you struggled to keep
your composure, to keep the tears that threatened to overflow at bay. He held you to him until you
calmed, and all sense flooded back into you.

This was Aemond.

Aemond.

And where had he returned from?

Sheepishly, you pulled back, not daring to look up at his inquisitive eye. He released his hold on
you reluctantly, yet kept his hands upon your shoulders as you stepped back.

“Y/n?”

Two large hands came to cup your cheeks, tilting your face to look at him. Aemond’s brow was
drawn, his eye searching your face with worry. It made your heart clench, and the tide of emotion
rose again.

“Zaldristos.” Aemond whispered, and that was all it took.

Your face crumpled and the tears you had desperately tried to keep at bay overflowed, rolling
down your cheeks as you looked at his face.

It was too sweet.

It was too kind.

It was not him, you told yourself.

Sway him, echoed Lucerys’ voice.

Don’t let him see.

Lie.

“I’m sorry.” You cried, “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

Thumbs came to brush the tears that fell from your eyes, Aemond’s lips pursing together tightly.

“Mirre iksis shijetra.” All is forgiven, He uttered.

A small sob lifted from your lips as he held your face.

Aemond pulled you back against his chest and let you cling to him crying. You let the anger and
frustration, the fear and sadness rush out of you and flood the room. The leather of his tunic wet
beneath your cheek.
Aemond held you against him until the tide rescinded, and your crying turned to sniffles. He had
shushed you, and brushed a gentle hand against your back as he let you open up the doors to the
tide that had swallowed you whole.

Only then, once you had calmed in his grip did he let you go. Aemond wiped the remaining tears
from your face gently, and whispered assurance that he was not angry at you.

He thought you were worried about him.

“Please don’t leave me again.” You sniffed, watching as he sighed sadly, lips coming to press
against your brow that was furrowed.

He made no move to promise you that he wouldn’t, or assure you that he would try to stay. He
simply looked at you sadly and held your face in his hands.

“What’s happened?”

What’s happened?

You leave the Kingdom to go fuck your whore, and leave me with your monster King.

I am alone. Alone as I can be.

Alone with you.

What has happened?

“I am frightened.” You whispered.

Aemond stooped his head, face lowering to your height.

“Iksā iā zaldrīzes, skoros issi ao sȳngagon hen?” You are a dragon, what are you frightened of?

You.

Aegon.

The war.

My mind.

You closed your eyes shut tightly and nibbled at your lips.

Could you trust him?

What would you tell him?

Could you tell him that Aegon has been making himself present when he was absent? Could you
tell him that his brother gets closer and closer each day that he is gone?

Could you tell him that the anger and fear brings the visions?

The voices?

“Tell me.” Aemond cooed, concern laced in his voice.

You shook your head again, turning your face down as you kept your eyes screwed shut. The
image of Aemond bent over Aegon as he lay his fists into the King’s face flashed in your mind.

The rage on Aemond’s face as he stood at the table, staring his brother down.

The words of an angry, second son. Resentful of the eldest who had no care for the throne, or duty.

Tell him.

Tell him.

Tell him.

“Tell me.”

“Aegon.” You whispered.

Your entire body tensed as soon as the name left your lips.

How was he to react?

Would he take it out on you? Would he blame you? Could you tell him what happened? Could you
trust him with this? Would he not believe you?

Or would he believe you and take it out on you anyway, raping or beating you as he saw fit to
soothe his own rage.

“Aegon?” Aemond parroted, voice sharper. His hands slid to hold your shoulders again.

You slowly nodded your head, letting your arms curl around your middle.

Be small.

Look weak.

Look timid.

Look frightened.

But you did not have to pretend you were frightened.

You were.

“Has he touched you?” Aemond growled, his fingers curled into your shoulders sharply, the sheer
rage in his voice causing you to flinch.

Aemond stiffened as he saw you react, and as if caring for you, he released his tight grip on your
shoulders, fingers smoothing where they had dug into your flesh meanly. An attempt to calm you.
To soothe you.

An attempt of kindness.

Had he touched you?

Just my hair.

Just my breast.
“No.”

Dracarys, Lucerys uttered in your head.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

It was like the beat of a drum.

Dracarys!

Dracarys!

You dug the palms of your hands into your eyes as Lucerys continued to chant inside of your head.
His voice getting louder and louder with every second. The voice twisting and crackling, grating
against your mind.

Then, the screaming started.

The wailing and mournful cries of Helaena. The screams of her torment. The screams of her terror.
The cries she had let loose when Jaehaerys was slain. The anguish you had been forced to listen to
for days on end until it quietened.

Until her cries were extinguished by her own hand.

“Y/n?” Aemond noticed your sudden discomfort.

You rubbed at your eyes sharply as you shook your head.

You wished it would stop.

Dracarys!

You wished he would stop.

You wished she would stop screaming.

Dracarys!

You wished they would-

“Shut up!” You screamed into the room, and suddenly your head fell quiet.

No more Lucerys. No more Helaena.

No more Dracarys.

No more screaming.

Just a ringing in your head and a sickness that turned your stomach.

“Look at me.”

You shook your head again, keeping the heels of your hands pressed so tightly into your eyes you
saw stars.
“Zaldristos, jurnegon rȳ nyke.” Little dragon, look at me, Aemond spoke gently, hands coming to
pull your own from your eyes.

You opened them slowly, the world around you blurred as your vision adjusted. Aemond was
searching your face, fear present in his lone eye.

He knew something was wrong.

“Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳla renigon ao.” I will not let him touch you, He promised.

But he has.

And you can’t stop him.

“Please don’t leave me with him.”

Aemond pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

His mouth was warm, and you let yourself melt into the tenderness. You let yourself sink into the
second of kindness and care. Something that once you were surrounded by, and now was rare to
find.

When Aemond pulled back, he brushed your hair away from your face, watching his fingers move
through your silver locks.

“Kessa daor renigon ao. Issa sepār sylugon naejot sȳngagon ao. Gaomagon daor ivestragī zirȳla
ūndegon bona issa.” He will not touch you. He is just try to scare you. Do not let him see that it is.

How you wished he was wrong.

Aemond breathed out of his nose sharply and pulled you over to the chaise to sit you down. You
sat and stared into the fire. The ringing in your head making your mind feel fuzzy.

Was this how it felt for Helaena when she had her dreams?

Aemond left for sometime and you waited anxiously for his return, picking at the skin around your
fingers, pulling it away from your nails with painful tugs as blood rose to the reface.

It stung. But it grounded you.

You needed something to ground yourself with, lest you float away. The more you stared, the more
you thought of it. The more you thought, the more you thought of him. The dungeons. All of it.
Until the thoughts tumbled and spiralled and your breath held in your chest.

You could feel the cold, biting stone beneath your back. You could smell the dampness of the cell.
Could remember the green mould growing in the corner, the bitter cold that settled into your
bones. The small window. The dripping of water. The pacing.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.
Five.

“The King asked us to dine with him this evening.” Aemond pulled you from the memories, the
maids following behind him with trays of food and decanters of wine.

You felt your stomach roil at the thought.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Aemond moved across the chambers to stand in front of you, taking your hands in the both of his as
he rubbed a soft thumb over the top of your knuckles. Pulling your hands toward him, he helped
you to stand before moving you to sit at the table with him.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

“I told him we would dine alone this evening.”

Aemond watched your reaction carefully as you looked up at him.

And just like that he began to eat with you, as if he had not just told you, that for the first time ever,
he had denied the King’s request. You stared at him in shock.

Aemond had said no to Aegon.

Aemond had said no.

“Thank you.” You didn’t know what else to say, your mind still feeling fuzzy and jumbled, as
though your head was the yolk of an egg that had been stirred by a whisk, or a careless hand.

Aemond simply hummed, as though it was not an incredibly big deal, and continued to eat his
meal.

It was silent on your end, you found you could not find words to say, or things to relay to him, or
ways to offer your gratitude. You knew you had to give him gratitude. And yet, nothing came to
mind.

But Aemond had sensed this, and instead filled the space. Telling you of his trip, avoiding the topic
of Harrenhal, and all the things he had achieved and done.

He told you of his ride to the South, to the Hightower lands and holdings, of his reunion with his
uncle Gwayne Hightower, who he had not seen since his youth, a man who you had never met
before. He told you of how he and Vhagar had flown through a storm to get to the Golden Tooth,
but after noticing you shift in your seat, he had changed the conversation, swiftly and well. The
way you had been taught to with the Septa.

And you were grateful for it.

For this little effort he was making. Tiptoeing around topics that could further trigger you, likely
beginning to fear the madness that had caught up to Helaena, was coming for you.

When you had both finished your meal, and your heart had slowed in your chest, the maids came to
ready you both for bed and cleared the room. Aemond had crawled in first, leading you with his
hand as he sunk beneath the sheets, before pulling you in beside him. Not aggressively, nor
forcefully, but with kindness and patience and open, waiting arms. You had curled up against his
side, and he had held you against him.

You both fell to sleep with an uneasiness surrounding you and the knowledge that you would have
to offer him thanks, and show him in a way he would understand.

When you rose from the depths of your dreams, you found Aemond wrapped tightly around you.
His warm chest pressed against your back as he held you to him with his large arms. His legs were
curled beneath you, almost wrapping you in a tight ball. You shifted, trying to create some space,
Aemond waking up from the movement.

His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder as your moved, his legs stretching to give you space to
straighten your own. You shifted in the sheets, turning to look at him.

His eye was already on you.

“Hm.” He grumbled, sleep in his voice, and body seemingly not wanting to get out of bed.

You gave him a small, and short smile.

“I am going to spend my day with my wife.” He purred, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You blushed,
closing your eyes.

You felt his length twitch against your side.

Heat curled its way around your gut.

You needed to show him you were grateful.

Aemond shifted, grinding softly against your leg, rubbing his hardness against you as he groaned.
The noise only making you burn hotter. His hand came to cup your cheek, dragging your lips to
meet his as he pulled you in, pressing his mouth against you sensually.

He was hard.

The Prince groaned again, hand moving to tighten itself in your hair as he ground up against your
hip. It made your core clench and your heart thump loudly in your chest. Your hands grabbed his
wrists as you let yourself kiss him back.

Aemond pulled you closer, wedging a knee between your thighs as he ground the muscle up into
the crux of your legs. A breathy moan flitted past your lips as he ground you against the muscle,
pushing and pulling you with his hand. You felt yourself begin to wet against his thigh.

“Good girl.” He cooed, pulling you back and forth as he continued to kiss you.

You melted into the touch, letting a hand trail itself along his chest, slowly dipping to feel the
muscles of his stomach. Your hand played with the tight cords on his hips, fingers delicately
brushing under the hem of his breeches.
Aemond sighed into your mouth happily, thrusting his hips up into your hand, a wordless consent
to continue. And so you did. You let your hand disappear beneath the material of his pants,
brushing against his throbbing member.

Sway him.

As your fingers grazed his length, Aemond let out a soft hiss into your mouth before kissing you
bruisingly, drawing your bottom lip into his. You heart raced as you let your fingers wrap around
him timidly, your grip loose and unsure. He was heavy in your hand, and twitched as you wrapped
around him.

With an experimental tug, you pulled your hand up and then back down his length, feeling his
veins beneath your hand. Aemond was velvety soft, and your hand brushed the course hairs at his
base with every movement.

Aemond moaned loudly into your mouth as you began to glide your hand up and down him with
more confidence, fuelled entirely by his reactions. His hips would stutter and buck up into your
hand, and breathy moans tumbled from his lips and into yours.

When your hand reached his tip, you moved over it, feeling the wetness that had begun to leak out
of it, slicking your palm with his arousal. It helped you guide your hand easier as you began to
pump him in a rhythm. You ground yourself down on his thigh in return, enjoying the feeling that
sparked up your spine.

As you felt his pre-cum coat your palm, you thought of what it would taste like.

You had heard that women often took their husbands, or men into their mouths, Aegon having
loudly boasting about it. You remembered how he had looked when you had stumbled upon him in
the gardens, how he had groaned and his face had been red.

And then you had thought about Aemond.

About how he had been between your thighs and brought you to your peak. How it had felt good,
and wet, and warm, and unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You wondered if it was the same for men.

Would they feel just as good? Could they be brought to their peak with just a mouth?

“Aemond.” You whispered into his mouth as he began to fuck himself into your palm, his thigh
grazing your pearl with every movement, aided by the slick that leaked from you.

“Aemond.” You whispered again, pulling away from him and releasing his cock from your hand.

His eye opened and he looked at you. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were pink and swollen
from kissing you.

You looked down shyly.

Sway him.

“Do you want to…” You began, not sure how to ask, “I want to…”

What did you want?

To taste him? To feel his weight on your tongue and his musky seed?
What did you want?

How had he said it?

“I wish to taste you.” You whispered, not sure if Aemond would be opposed, or excited by the
offer.

You opened your eyes and looked at your uncle.

His eye was hooded and he gazed at you hungrily. Lustfully. Tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Aemond shifted beneath you, knee coming away from your core, brushing against your pearl as it
moved causing you to mewl.

He lay back against the pillow before he slid the sheets down his body revealing half of his length
that peeked through the top of his pants. The tip was hard and red, and weeped against his stomach.
Aemond brought his hands to either side of his breeches before slowly sliding them down his
body, revealing his whole length to you.

He grasped his cock and slowly ran his hand up and down it, watching you as you could not take
your eyes away from the act.

A thousand thoughts tumbled through your mind.

How do you do it?

What do you do?

What if it was bad?

What if he didn’t like it?

“I’ll guide you.” Aemond whispered, sensing your anxiety.

You nodded gently before crawling between his legs, unsure of where to sit, or lay. He kept his
hand on his cock, slowly travelling up to the tip where he would squeeze, running a thumb over the
slit where his arousal leaked free.

“Come here.” He cooed to you, grasping your cheek with his free hand as he lowered you down
towards his length.

He smelt musky, salty, with the undertones of him. You looked at his length as he stroked it and
wet your lips.

“You can kiss the tip,” He began, running his hand up the length as he held it for you, “Be gentle.”

You leant forward and brushed your lips against his tip, feeling him shift beneath you and a sigh
falling from his lips. You opened your mouth and kissed him softly again, the tip of your tongue
darting out curiously to touch the velvety skin.

Salty wetness spread across your mouth, and you licked at the slit again, hoping to capture more.

Aemond moaned below you, which emboldened you to lick at him more.

“Thats it.” He purred, watching as you licked and kissed at his tip, spit beginning to dribble down
his length into his hand as he held it for you, “Take me in your mouth.”
You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, an uneasy anxiety settling in your body. His chest
rose and fell sharply, as though he was restraining himself, and his pupil had swallowed the violet
of his eye whole, leaving a dark black orb.

Opening your mouth, you took him on your tongue, slowly sliding down, tasting his saltiness as
you went. Aemond groaned, moving his hand down to allow you for room.

You swallowed around him and heard him curse beneath you, “Just like that.” He stroked himself
in your mouth as you held him on your tongue, saliva rolling down into his waiting hand.

His free hand came to tangle itself inside of your hair and you flinched at the contact, sucking in.
Aemond’s hips thrusted upwards into the heat of your mouth and you felt him prod at the back of
your throat, a small gag falling from your lips. Aemond shushed you as he tightened his grip,
before pulling your head upwards, his length almost falling from your lips before he pushed you
back down it.

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, He moaned as you let him guide you up and down his cock, wetting it with
your mouth.

The praise went straight to your core and you felt yourself moan around him, thighs rubbing
together beneath you to ease the heat between your thighs.

“Hollow your cheeks.” Aemond commanded, and you did, hollowing your mouth around him and
sucking. His hips bucked into your mouth, hand holding you down on his length as you tried not to
gag, feeling him at the back of your throat.

Sway him.

He was heavy and hard and musky, but the taste was not unpleasant, and you oddly enjoyed the
feeling of him in your mouth. Aemond’s grip in your hair loosened, but still held onto you, and you
let yourself follow what he had told you to do, bobbing your head up and down his length as he
moaned and writhed beneath you, his hand still at the bottom of his shaft.

“Keep going.” He groaned, hips rising from the bed to thrust into your mouth.

You moaned around his length, feeling his cock throb on your tongue, his voice spurring you on.

Pleasure him.

“Sīr gevie lēda ñuha orvorta isse aōha relgos.” So beautiful with my cock in your mouth, He
moaned, and you clenched around nothing, bobbing your head faster with vigour.

The praise making you want to bring him to his peak.

“Ao hae bona?” You like that? He asked.

“Ao hae ñuha orvorta isse aōha irosh?” You like my cock in your throat?

You hummed around him, pulling up to suckle at his tip, tongue lapping at the underside of his
cock.

“Fuck. You do.” He groaned, hand tightening in your hair, "Vaogenka riña.” Dirty girl.

Aemond’s hand tightened back in your hair, holding you still as the other came to pulled the rest of
your hair into his hands, holding you in his mercy as you lapped at his tip. He began to guide your
head down his length, forcing you to swallow the whole of it now that his hand was removed.

You gagged around his length and felt tears begin to prickle at your eyes, the wet sound of your
throat around his length as he held you there, pushing up into your heat. You couldn’t breathe and
began to panic, pushing back up against his hands. Aemond let you come up for air, gasping as his
length fell from your lips and slapped heavily against his stomach.

Aemond huffed a laugh as he looked at you, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek.

“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry?” Are you going to take it? He asked you.

You nodded catching your breath and swallowing tightly.

You wanted to please him.

“I'm going to fuck your throat, and you’re going to take it.” He told you, eye darkened and lips
pulled into a smirk.

You could feel the wetness between your thighs as your core throbbed in want.

Fuck.

Why did this make you so aroused?

Why was his voice so enticing?

“You ready?” He asked, gathering your hair back into one hand as he grasped his length in the
other.

You nodded and he guided his cock back into your lips sliding in against your tongue, his hand
gripping your hair as you bobbed your head with his guidance. His pace quickened, fucking up into
your waiting mouth, and you could taste more of his arousal on your tongue as you went.

Aemond's hips thrusted up from the bed and into your throat, though not quite as deep as he had
gone before, only just avoiding the back, allowing you to breathe through your nose. You sucked
your cheeks in and revelled in the feeling of him sliding across your tongue hotly. Heavily.

You moaned again, shifting on the bed.

“I bet your cunny is wet.” He purred, and you whined in embarrassment.

You were wet.

So wet in fact, it had begun to trickle down your thighs.

“Such a good wife for me. Such a perfect mouth.” He praised, beginning to fuck into you farther
and deeper, his tip beginning to bully the back of your throat.

Small gags fell from your mouth which only seemed to stir him more. With every gag he heard, the
harder he became, groaning and rutting into your mouth without any cares as he chased his peak.

“Going to give you my seed, and you’re going to take it.” He moaned, your throat tightening
around him as he fucked roughly into your mouth.

“Fuck.”
You could feel his thrusts begin to grow sloppy, tears rolling down your cheeks from gagging as
he neared his release. His hands tightened in your hair painfully and you felt his member throb on
your tongue.

“Fuck, fuck-“ His hips began to stutter, and Aemond thrusted deeply into your mouth, causing you
to splutter on his length. He pulled back and groaned loudly, softly thrusting into your mouth as his
salty spend flooded your tongue.

Aemond continued to thrust into your mouth softly, prolonging his release as you felt rope after
rope of his hot seed coat your tongue, pooling in your mouth. The room was hot and the air around
you was stifling, your legs rubbed together beneath you as you tried to relieve your own need.

Aemond breathed heavily on the bed below you as he slumped into the pillows, “Fuck.” He
whispered, hands loosening their grip in your hair as he began to run his fingers softly through it.
You held him in your mouth with his seed, unsure of what to do.

Do you swallow it?

Were you to spit it out?

You could still feel Aemond’s cock twitching in your mouth, your tongue trailing the underside of
his cock softly in thought, unaware that you were doing it.

Slowly, he pulled his cock from your mouth, the softening length laying against his stomach with a
wet slap. His hands held your face as he looked at you, his spend still on your tongue.

“Open your mouth.”

You opened it, showing him the seed that pooled on your tongue.

It was certainly not what you had expected, salty and musky, not repulsive as you had thought it
would be. In fact, you felt that you did not mind the taste at all. It was proof of your triumph.

Aemond groaned, and you saw his cock twitch below you.

“Such a good girl for me waiting.”

You keened at the praise, mouth still open showing off your success.

“Now swallow it.” His eye locked onto yours.

You closed your mouth, looking him in the eye as you swallowed. You fought to not gag, the
sensation foreign and not entirely appealing. Aemond’s mouth parted as he looked at you before he
sat up, face hovering in front of yours.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth to show him that you had swallowed his seed, tongue poking out between
your lips.

You felt an odd sense of pride.

“Sȳz riña." Good girl, He praised you, before pressing his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue pressed against your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You let him in, and felt him seek
out the remnants of his seed, tasting himself on your tongue as he held you against him.
It was vulgar.

Deprived.

Filthy.

And you loved it.

 A House of Gods
Chapter Notes

Good lord.... I think I could have powered my own slip and slide from the last chapter
lmao
Aemond having the reader say she wanted to taste him definitely made this man more
feral than he already is.

Aemond had brought you to your peak swiftly and passionately on his fingers after.

You had laid atop his chest, basking in the afterglow of the morning and enjoyed the warmth that
his body had brought to you.

The pleasure that he had given you.

When the maids arrived to the chambers, Aemond had pulled the sheets over the both of you and
let the maids leave the food on the table for you to eat. You dressed together, and ate together, and
Aemond reiterated that he would be spending the day with you, not the King.

You were strangely grateful that he was putting in the effort to create some form of understanding
between the both of you, as well as giving you an option of a buffer between you and the King.

Treading carefully, you insisted that you wanted to spend time with him in the chambers instead,
worrying that Aegon would be lurking about the Gardens in wait of you.

Aemond had been all too happy to oblige, agreeing without a moment of thought, likely thinking
that you wished to repeat the activities of the morning again.

The day was spent in his company, reading together by the fire, conversing in small talk and
memories of the past, though avoiding certain topics or people, as well as taking him once more in
your mouth as a thanks, and not at all because you enjoyed the way he sighed and moaned beneath
you.

Or so you told yourself.

When Aemond had tried to reciprocate the act, you had felt shy and told him no, that you both
would have plenty of time for that now that he was back, and promised him that you would let him
indulge himself between your thighs later. Aemond, sulkily, complied and went back to reading his
book, though not without dragging a teasing finger along your thighs or arms as he did mindlessly.

It was odd.

The entire day felt entirely too normal.

Too domestic.

And the more moments that you shared with Aemond like this, the more you thought of whether
this was what it was supposed to be like. That this is what you could have had together. What you
had dreamt of having when you were younger. What you had even discussed together childishly in
secret hallways or beneath the Godswood.

And even the mere thought of it made your heart clench.

Regardless, it was nice to bask in the glow of a day that did not set you on edge, nor tear your
sanity to pieces.

The bubble of the day however, was burst when Ser Criston Cole had come to your chambers,
knocking at the door before being let in by your own knight.

He had stood at the entrance, eyes passing between the both of you and how you sat; Pressed up
against Aemond’s side on the chaise, book in lap, and his large hand on your thigh, fingers
unconsciously soothing the skin.

“The King wishes for you to dine with him this evening.” Cole spoke to the both of you, yet only
looking at Aemond.

“Cole.” Aemond greeted the man, “I am tired from my travels. Please tell the King I wish to
recuperate with my Lady Wife in our-“

“The King commands it.” Cole spoke again, tone final and having interrupted Aemond.

Cole had interrupted Aemond.

You felt his hand on your thigh twitch, fingers digging into your flesh. You put your hand over the
top of his and attempted to soothe it, so that the stinging pain that began to bloom in your thigh
would stop.

Aemond’s lips pursed, and he turned looking away back to the fire.

There was his answer.

His acquiescence.

Aemond did not turn to face you, nor did he take his gaze away from the flames. Ser Criston Cole
had left without a word, and the doors shut softly behind him.

The two of you sat in silence until the knight outside had knocked on the door and entered when
given a grunt of approval from Aemond. He had come into the chambers, head down in
submission, and quietly told you that you had both been summoned to dine with the King, and that
your presence had been requested now.

Aemond stood reluctantly and held a hand out to you, helping you to stand beside him.

He looked on edge, not anxious, but rather concealing his irritation terribly. The both of you
walked together, hand in hand, to the small Dining Hall.

His grip grounded you, and you felt that it was for the benefit of the both of you. Not just for you,
but for him too.

When the doors opened, Aemond refused to let go of your hand, and you had looked up at him in
confusion. It was not often where a man and his wife would hold hands when entering chambers
with guests, especially in the presence of a more conservative audience such as the Hightowers.

It was not proper, and yet Aemond did not let go of you.
It was as though he was laying claim to you.

Mine.

The Small Council sat where they always did about the table, with Aegon in the middle,
Conquerors crown sitting heavily atop his wavy silver hair. His eyes dropped to your hands as you
ascended the small steps, coming to the table where Aemond only let go of it to pull out your seat
for you.

Aegon’s brow was drawn as he looked at it, and you could have sworn you saw his jaw tick.
Alicent had also noticed the shift between you and her son, except her reaction was different.

Instead of a frown, her eyes gazed upon the both of you softly.

In approval.

She likely was thinking of how her match was a good choice.

When you were seated and the food was brought to the table, Alicent spoke a quiet prayer as she
always did, which you had now grown accustomed to hearing.

“May the Father protect us from those who wish to see us burn.” She began, head down and hands
upon the table, “May the Mother watch over us and keep us safe, may she bless us with a healthy
heir and love.”

You stomach turned as you looked at her.

“May the Smith continue to mend the rifts that have divided us, and ensure the Treaty keeps us
safe.”

You eyes flitted to Aegon as she continued.

He was watching you and Aemond, whose head was bowed beside you in prayer, ever diligent and
loyal to his mother and the Seven Faith. The Kings eyes danced back and forth before stopping on
you, a malicious smirk winding its way onto his face.

It made you shudder.

As the prayer ended you all ate together, sounds of the cutlery on plates and murmurs filling the
room. Small talk was scattered about here and there, but by and large, there was an unspoken
tension which continued to build.

Something was amiss, and everyone seemed to know it.

The entire time you ate, you felt the heated gaze of Aegon on you. Dark violet eyes never once
leaving your face or body, as they trailed down to your cleavage. It made the hairs on the back of
your neck stand on end, and your skin prickle.

Something was wrong.

“You look to be in better spirits this evening.” Aegon’s voice cut through the tension like a blade,
parting the uncomfortable atmosphere from the others present to create a clear path to its intended
victim.

You.
Swallowing the food in your mouth, you dabbed the corners of your lips with your napkin, taking
your time to think. Taking your time to breathe. Taking your time to think of how to respond
without it coming back to get you.

“It is good to have my Lord Husband back in the Keep. Our time together seems few and far
between as of late.” You eyed Aegon, taking caution with how you worded your response.

Cocking his head to the side, Aegon’s wavy hair touched his shoulder as he pouted at you.

“Few and far between indeed. My brother is a man of duty, and when his duty calls, he tends to it.”

Aemond placed his cutlery down on the table, sensing your unease.

“Whatever my King needs of me, I shall do, brother.” Aemond spoke, voice soft and low.

Unthreatening. Meek. Submissive.

Very unlike Aemond.

He sensed something was afoot.

Aegon smiled widely, drinking from his cup before placing it down with a loud swallow.

“And that is why you are my most trusted member of the council.”

“Aemond has proven himself in many ways. It will be good for him to find rest here in Kings
Landing again.” Alicent began, smiling at her younger son.

Aegon hummed loudly, and his lips pulled down into a frown.

A heavy stone settled in the pit of your stomach.

“An unfortunately short rest I am afraid.” Aegon began, looking at you and then to Aemond.

Aemond stiffened.

“It seems there is much to do in the realm, and who better to do it than the famed Prince One-Eye
and his dragon to install fear into those who defy us.”

“My King…” Aemond began, but was swiftly cut off by Aegon again.

“Duty calls in Harrenhal, brother. It seems they require your presence on the morrow. Unfortunate
for your wife, as she will be left to miss you once again. I will ensure that she is not deprived of
company.”

Bile rose in your throat.

“And what is this duty that is needed of me?”

“I will have a scroll sent to your chambers this eve-“

“Tell me now.” Aemond snapped, patience evaporating.

“What did you say brother? I thought I heard you try to command me?” Aegon sneered.

Alicent, quick on her toes with her sons, and used to the pair and their incessant bickering, jumped
to defend Aemond, trying to deflect her his sharp tone.
“I am sure Aemond is tired from his travels and is disappointed to know that he is to leave so soon
aft-“

“You have all of tonight to get between her legs if that what makes you so angry.” Aegon smiled.

Aemond’s hand twitched on the table, whilst the other sat in his lap tightened into a fist.

“Is it possible for Aemond to stay just a few nights more?” You began, tone soft, “Then he can
perform his duty to the crown as he always does. I am sure he needs not-“

“I’m sorry, are you trying to advise me, the King, on how to rule?”

You wouldn’t know how to rule if it hit you in the face.

“No, uncle. I am merely saying, that I know I would like to spend more time with-“

“Aemond is to leave on the morrow, and if he does not, I would argue that it is an act of treason
going against your King’s command. Is it not, brother?” Aegon grinned widely, and Aemond’s lips
pressed into a tight line.

Sensing his anger beginning to peak, you grasped Aemond’s hand in your lap, bringing it up to
your lips to kiss. You swallowed thickly, looking at his side profile until he turned his gaze to you.

“You will be back home in no time.” You tried to reassure him, watching as his jaw clenched.

The air in the room was thick, and Aegon kept his gaze on Aemond, who turned to stare down his
brother once more. Alicent opened her mouth to speak again, but you intercepted before she could.

“The hour is late, and I would like to spend the remainder of the evening with my Lord Husband
before he is to travel again tomorrow for you.” Standing, you kept Aemond’s hand in yours,
pulling him to your side, “I ask that you excuse us so that we may retire. It has been a tiring day for
us both.” You kept your eye on Alicent before flicking it to Aegon who sat back and smiled.

“I'm sure you will need all the time you can get to say your farewells.” Aegon intoned, and you
wished to hit him in the teeth. To watch them fold backwards into his mouth, pulling away from
his gums.

Aemond took the lead and bowed his head to Aegon, muttering Your Grace, before you left the
chambers behind quickly and quietly, with a lingering tension and sense of dread between the both
of you.

The walk back to the chambers was tense, and you could feel the anger rolling from Aemond in
waves beside you.

Soothe him.

Or you will bare the brunt of his anger.

“Aem, slow down.” You asked Aemond, who pulled you along the corridors by your hand.

He slowed his step, hand tightening around yours as he muttered beneath his breath.

“He does this with purpose.” Aemond grumbled, eye locked on the path ahead of him.

You squeezed his hand gently, pulling it to your side to slow his pace even further.
“I am sure the King-“

“The King is a petulant child.” He growled, head turning to face you, "He does this to spite me. He
sees the dust begin to settle, and decides to stir it once more for his own entertainment.”

“I do not wish for you to go.” You said after a beat.

“I have no choice but to. He threatened treason. Twat.”

“Surely there is someone else who can go in your place. He wishes to seperate us.” You tested the
waters.

"He has found his new toy to play with. And rediscovered his old one.” You neared the chambers,
turning a corner as the knight held open the doors for you to enter.

You were Aegon’s new toy.

And Aemond was his old one.

You entered and watched as the knight shut the door behind him, feeling safer about poking the
wound without the eyes or ears of others.

Aemond moved to pour himself a wine, and another for you before handing it over. He did not sit
in his armchair as he always did, instead standing beside the fireplace to look at its flames as his
hands gripped the goblet tightly.

“Aegon wishes to make a fool of you.” You began, stepping towards him, placing your goblet on
the fireplace, “Commanding you like a dog to do his bidding, whilst he drinks and whores.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and his face snapped to you.

Fuck.

Thinking quickly on your feet you continued, “Is it not enough that you do his duties for him? That
you act as the Prince Regent without the title? He mocks you at every turn. I do not wish to see you
become the joke at court like I have.”

You came to stand in front of him, his dark gaze locked on you as he sipped his wine.

“Is it not bad enough that the courts whisper about Alys? Now they too shall whisper about your
constant leave? Of how you serve as the Kings lap dog?”

You grabbed his free hand, holding it in the both of yours as you looked at him passionately, "You
are a Prince. The blood of the dragon and Old Valyria. Perzys dakogon rȳ aōha ānogar.” Fire runs
through your blood.

“You ride the mighty Vhagar, and yet he has you carrying out the tasks that a lower Lord would
do.” You shook your head, falsely portraying anger and disgust, “Aegon openly mocks you at
court when you are gone. He comes to me, and questions your manhood. Questions your ability to
please me as a husband, and as a man. He has mocked you vagrantly in front of Ser Cole. In front
of Lord Jasper Wylde.”

Aemond’s grip tightened around one of your hands, and it took all that you had within you to not
wince as his bruising grip squeezed your bones together painfully.
“I defend your honour at every turn, but he seems to always find a new way to question it. It is as
though we are children again. I am at a loss of how I am supposed to continually support my
husband when he is not here to defend himself!”

“Aegon has no honour, and yet questions mine. He is a pathetic waste of space, unfit to be King.”

“You should be King.”

The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them.

The room fell quiet, and the air around you stilled.

Aemond’s gaze turned darker as he looked at you, hand gripping yours viciously. There was
silence, and you struggled to find a way to come back from what you said. To come back from the
treasonous comment you had made to none other than the King’s own brother.

Ice cold dread ran through your veins as you held his stare, breath caught in your throat.

He was going to tell Aegon.

They would kill you.

Or worse.

The treaty would end.

It would all be for naught.

The pain, the sorrow, the lo-

“Get on your knees.”

You blinked, looking at your uncle as he continued to stare at you, determination gleaming in his
eye.

He wanted you to kneel and beg for forgiveness. To pray to the Seven for his mercy. To beg him to
not tell-

“Get. On. Your. Knees.” He spat out, eye narrowed.

You swallowed thickly, legs beginning to shake as you looked at the anger that radiated from
Aemond’s pores. Slowly, you bent your knees, pulling your skirts up so that you would not fall
forward on them. The cold stones bit into your skin as you knelt, knowing that bruises would
appear on the morrow.

Kneel and save your life.

Beg and ask for forgiveness.

To live with shame, is better than to die.

You looked up at Aemond from your position, his eye cast down on you as he held his head
straight. Looking at you as if you were nothing but a worm, a bug. A commoner. He released your
hand and you brought it to your front with the other, softly twisting your fingers together in
anxiety.
Why was he so quiet?

Did he want for you to apologise?

Was he waiting for you to begin?

“I-I'm sorry, Your Grace. I must learn to hold my tongue. That was a vile act of treason-“

“Quiet.” He commanded.

You lowered your head and eyes, shaking in the spot, though the way he loomed over you spread
warmth into your core for unknown reasons. The false apology bitter on your tongue.

“Look at me.”

You took a shuddering breath, preparing yourself for him to be swift with his beating, or for him to
call to the knight at the door to summon the guards.

“I said, look at me.” He repeated, your eyes finally looking up at him. A large hand came to press
against your cheek and you fought the urge to flinch away from his touch.

“Say it again.” He whispered, looking at you.

Say it again?

He wished for you the apologise again?

“I’m sorry, Your-“

“No.”

You looked at him in confusion. If he didn’t want you to apologise, then wh-

Oh.

Licking your lips you took a grounding breath, hoping this was not to be your last words.

“You should be King.” You whispered, bracing yourself for his blow.

“Louder.”

You cleared your throat and looked at him, seeing movement at his front. Your eyes dropped down
to his breeches, where the outline of his stiffened cock protruded at the front.

Oh.

He was aroused?

He liked it.

With the relief that you may not be punished, you took a breath of confidence, looking back up at
him. Your hands moved upwards slowly, resting against the front of his breeches where the tie
was. Aemond did not move to stop you or correct you, and so you continued.

When your hands rested against the top of his pants, you spoke confidently and lowly.

“You should be King.” You all but purred.

You felt a shudder roll through Aemond’s body at the words, his cock jumping in his breeches. His
chest rumbled, and the hand against your face moved to swipe his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Hm.”

Taking your queue, you began to unlace his pants, slowly, as you kept your eyes on his face, not
daring to look away from the man. From your position, he exuded power, dominance, and strength.

And it made your core ache.

Sway him.

You pulled the last of the ties and his pants loosened, slightly dropping to reveal the hair that
dusted against his pubic bone. The beginning of his hardened shaft peeking through the open gap.
With sturdy hands you helped to pull him from the confines, holding his warm and heavy weight in
your hand. The pants lowered slightly more, revealing his stones to the room.

You gripped him in your palm and began to run your hand up and down his length, ensuring that
your eyes were still on his face as he watched you, lips wet from his tongue. Aemond sighed above
you as you continued the movement, feeling him harden further in your grip.

“You would be a better King than Aegon. You are worthy of the Conquerors Crown.” You
praised, watching as his lips parted and a small breath fell forth.

Leaning forward you kissed his tip, tongue darting out to catch a bead of his arousal that began to
leak from his slit. Aemond groaned as he looked at you, your lips parting to take the tip into your
mouth, swirling your tongue around it wetly.

Aemond moaned and thrusted forward, his length sinking into your mouth.

“Anyone would be better than that cunt. Useless.” He groaned as he began to thrust into your
waiting lips, your eyes cast upwards watching him. You hummed in agreement around him,
spurring him to continue.

“He knows nothing of duty. When has Aegon ever known duty?” Aemond began to fuck your
throat faster, a line of spit beginning to fall from your lips as you held still for him, “When has he
ever deserved the throne?”

Aemond’s large hands grabbed the sides of your face, thrusting deeply into your throat as you
gagged.

“He is a child,” He spat, thrusting roughly into the back of your throat, a tear falling down your
cheek, “Spoilt and growing fat on his own desires. A rat.”

“How many years have I had to look after him, to dote on him. To clean him up. Teach him his
duties.” Aemond continued his rant, spit dripping down your throat thickly, wetting the front of
your gown, “For mother. For Grandfather. He is pathetic. He makes me sick.” He empathised his
disgust with a particularly hard thrust.

You gagged around his length, hands fisting against the front of his breeches for stability, feeling
his stones brush against your chin.

“He dares to question me? My manhood?” Thrust, “My ability to please my wife? He doesn’t even
know how wet you get.” Thrust, “How slick your cunt gets for me.”
You pulled back eyes wet with tears, holding his shaft as you let him fall from your lips inhaling
deeply, his hand tightened on your cheeks as he looked down at you waiting. You moaned, licking
the tip as he continued.

“Such a good girl for me. Such a good wife. So loyal. So full of duty. Always eager to please me.”

“Yes.” You whined, taking him back in your mouth, letting him fuck into it again.

It was filthy, letting him use your mouth for his pleasure like this. But listening to him rage about
his brother only served to excite you, feeling yourself grow wet beneath your gown. And it only
served to motivate your actions.

It was working.

“It should be me.” Aemond growled and you hummed around his length, “I should be King. Not
him. Not that useless wastrel. If only mother had given me the throne.”

His pace began to become sloppy, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking against his hard length,
trying to coax him to his peak. You felt him twitch on your tongue, the taste of his arousal
consuming you.

“You would be my Queen.” He moaned loudly, and you heart stopped in your chest, “My
Merciless Queen.”

Queen.

My Queen.

"Just as you deserve. Just as I deserve. Aegon and Visenya reborn.” He continued, unaware of how
his words truly affected you.

Your core clenched, and a new wave of arousal spread through you.

Queen.

You moaned loudly on his length, pushing your tongue upwards to lick at his shaft as he paused,
cock heavy in your mouth. You blinked up at him panting, no doubt looking disheveled, knelt on
the floor, spit and drool handing from your lips and pooling on your breasts.

Your chest heaved and a blush settled around your cheeks as you wrapped your lips around him
tighter.

“Fuck. You like that? You treasonous little cunt.” Aemond began thrusting again, pushing the hair
that had fallen around your face backwards, pulling it at the roots and using it as a way to pull your
head down onto his cock, “Mmm. Fuck.” He moaned.

Your knees ached beneath you, and you squirmed in your position, rubbing your thighs together in
an attempt to ease the throbbing and desire that was left unattended to.

“So filthy, down on your knees like a whore. Qogralbar." Fuck, Aemond began to roughly fuck
your mouth, using your hair to pull you down his length, gags falling from your lips as tears wet
your cheeks.

Every invigorated thrust caused his tip to hit the back of your throat, your stomach turning as he
chased his peak, his heavy stones brushing against your chin. The smell of him surrounding you,
heady, musky, and full of desire. It was arousing. It was maddening, and you needed more.

“Going to fuck my seed into your cunt. My perfect Queen.”

Aemond pulled out of your mouth with a grunt, a loud gasp pulling into your chest as you sucked in
a breath. A string of saliva connected your lips to his tip and Aemond smirked down at you
crudely. A hand left your hair and stroked your cheek, coming to brush the spit from your lip, your
mouth opening for him as he pushed it inside.

Aemond hummed, watching as you sucked at the digit.

“Open your mouth.” He commanded, looking down at you, thumb still pressed against your
tongue.

You opened wide, tongue pushing against his finger, confusion rising within.

Aemond leant forward lips pursed, and spat into your mouth. You flinched, feeling it land wetly on
your tongue where he had been stroking it with his thumb.

You should be disgusted.

You should be offended.

But you weren’t.

You were full of desire.

You whimpered, and Aemond’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip as he looked at you, mouth
still open with his spit inside.

“Swallow for your King.” He groaned, and you shuddered as you swallowed his spit, thighs
rubbing together.

Aemond bent down and slammed his lips against yours, pulling your face close to his with the
back of your head, tongue swiping into your mouth as you kissed him back breathlessly. A
whimper flitted past your lips and into his mouth.

Aemond pulled away, his lone eye watching you carefully before he reached out and grabbed you,
hoisting you up into his arms. Your stomach swooped from the swiftness of it, and then settled as
he moved across the room to throw you onto the bed. Your body bounced atop the sheets as you
looked at him slowly reach for his cock, dragging his hand up and down his length.

You panted and watched him, desire coursing through you.

Slowly, you parted your legs from him, skirt of your gown gathering into your lap as your centre
was revealed to him and the room. Aemond groaned as he caught sight of your glistening cunt,
slick leaking from your core. With both hands he grabbed your ankles and yanked you down the
bed towards him, a small squeak flying from your mouth.

Aemond rubbed his tip against your slit, pressing against your bud before lining himself up with
your core. He pushed in roughy, not preparing you, but your slick was more than enough to ease
the stretch and help him glide inside smoothly.

You moaned loudly into the chambers as he pushed himself to the hilt, feeling you clench around
him, pleasure blooming in your stomach. It felt good, it felt hot, it felt right. Aemond kept his
hands on you, one on your thigh, and the other bending your leg up by the ankle to reach deeper
within you.

“Fuck, so perfect for me.” He moaned, looking down at you.

You keened at his praise, core clenching around his length as he began to thrust into you.

“Ao hae bona?” You like that?

“Ao hae skori aōha dārys qogralbar ao?” You like when your King fucks you?

“Kess.” Yes, You moaned, hands griping the sheets, feeling your peak begin to rapidly build inside
of you.

“Please, kepus.” You moaned, one hand turning to grip his own on your thigh as he fucked you
roughly on the bed, your breasts bouncing in the confines of your dress.

"Sīr sȳz.” So good, He praised, his pace becoming rougher, the tip of his cock bullying your cervix.

Aemond’s hands moved under the back of your thighs, pushing them up and folding them against
your chest, opening you up further to him, causing a spark of delight to race through you.

“Qogralbar, kessa.” Fuck, yes, You whined, the front of his pelvis rubbing roughly against your
pearl with each thrust, warmth spreading through your body quickly.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, feeling your release begin to mount.

Aemond’s pace quickened as he kept your legs pinned to your chest, eye watching your face,
before sliding down your body to watch where you were connected, your slick coating his cock.

“So fucking wet, and all for me.” He moaned, and thrusted deeply inside, pushing up against the
end of your cunt, a twinge of discomfort causing you to wince.

Aemond leant down and kissed you, feeling you begin to tighten around him, the change in angle
causing the tip of his cock to brush over the soft spongey spot within you. You moaned loudly,
your back arching off of the bed as your eyes scrunched closed.

“Jurnegon rȳ nyke.” Look at me, Aemond growled as he continued to fuck you, face close to yours,
“Want you to look at me when you peak. Want you to know it’s me who makes you feel this. No
one else. Aegon could never make you feel the way I do.” He rambled, his thrusts getting sloppier.

The coil within wound tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

“You. No one but you, only you, Aem.” You whined, looking him in the eye as you panted.

One hand left your thigh and slid down to your core, his fingers moving to swirl around your wet
bud in dizzying circles.

“Need to feel you clench around my cock. Give it to me.” He urged you.

His skilled fingers pressed into your pearl, slick causing them to move sloppily. You whimpered
and whined, feeling your release approach you rapidly. Aemond bent down and placed a wet kiss
to your neck and the coil snapped.

Your mind went blank as pleasure coursed through you, Aemond’s pace not once faltering or
slowing, fingers and cock prolonging your release as you whined beneath him. Heat spread through
your body as he continued, the wet sound of your release around his cock in the chambers.

“Konīr jā, sȳz riña. Sīr gevie. Vēttan syt nyke.” There you go, good girl. So beautiful. Made for
me.

Your core spasmed around his length as his cock continued to brush against your pleasure spot
inside. Each thrust prolonging your release, pitiful whines pealing from your lips.

Aemond’s thrusts began to falter and become sloppy as he chased his own peak.

“Jāre naejot tepagon ao ñuha nūmo.” Going to give you my seed, He groaned.

“Please.” You whimpered, feeling his cock throb inside of you.

Aemond thrusted into you deeply, holding himself deep within as he came with a grunt. Ropes of
his seed coated your womb as you lay folded beneath him. Your core clenching around him as the
warmth of his cum pooled inside.

Aemond moaned as he felt you grip him, cock twitching from overstimulation. Aemond shifted,
pressing his fingers back against your pearl and began to swirl them, keeping his cock firmly
planted inside of you.

“Need to feel you again. One more, zaldristos. You can do it.” He cooed, forcing you to another
peak.

“Ah,” You jerked beneath him sensitive, “Aemond, fuck.” You whined, feeling the coil already
begin to tighten, your cunt gripping him tightly.

“Thats it. Give it to me. Give it to your King.” He commanded, and the coil snapped again.

Your back arched off of the bed as you moaned, eyes shut tightly as you were brought to another
peak, a twinge of pain from the sheer force of it. Your core clenched around him, still inside of
you, and you heard Aemond hiss and push into your heat deeper.

“Fuck.” You whimpered, slowly coming down from your high. You could feel his seed beginning
to drip from within you, leaking down onto the sheets below.

“Vok.” Perfect, He praised, and you felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

The Prince stayed hunched over you at the edge of the bed, a hand moving to brush your hair away
from your face. Aemond leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, cock throbbing within
you.

He moved to pull out, his cock sliding through your folds slowly as you whined, but instead of
pulling out completely, he kept his tip inside, before pushing back into you. You whimpered,
feeling overstimulated but sparks of pleasure crackling in your core.

Aemond pulled out again, not quite all the way before pushing back inside. He had not softened,
and was still hard.

And clearly aroused.

He began to fuck himself slowly into you, watching as your face contorted beneath him, feeling
heat in your limbs rising, and rising. Your bodies covered in a light sheen of sweat, the smell of sex
in the air.
Aemond continued to fuck you slowly, watching your face until he brought you to your peak once
more, silencing you with a kiss before filling you with his seed again. It was only then did he pull
out, and helped you to curl beneath the sheets, undressing you with tender hands, and then himself.

As you laid in his arms, fatigue beginning to drag you under, he made promises to you that he
would return back the King’s Landing swiftly as he did this time. He promised that nothing would
happen to you, and that you would be safe. He promised that he would always come back to you.

And whilst a small part of you wished to believe him, you couldn’t.
 Another Promise
Chapter Notes

I have brain rot

Warmth spread through your body as you woke the next morning to a familiar heat between your
thighs, a gentle wetness lapping at your core. Heat bloomed within as pleasure rippled through you.
You whined, pulling the sheets back to see Aemond between your thighs, suckling on your pearl,
lips wet and eye half shut, lost in the high that it gave him.

Aemond sucked gently on your bud, swirling his tongue around it.

The coil snapped.

Your peak ripped through you and Aemond moaned, licking the release that oozed from within
with his tongue, his sharp nose pressing into your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your body slackened as you laid in the bed, Aemond’s hungry mouth still on you. Pleasure buzzed
through you gently in waves, Aemond humming into your core.

But with your peak, came the fall.

The heights with which your body tumbled down from as realisation washed over you.

It was Aemond bringing you pleasure.

And he was leaving you again.

With him.

With Aegon.

You felt tears prickle at your eyes as you tilted your head to look up at the ceiling, Aemond’s
tongue still gathering the slick from your core greedily. A shallow breath passed through your lips
as you wriggled from overstimulation, body tired and on edge.

Aemond’s mouth stopped its ministrations and you felt him shift from between your thighs. He
moved up the bed and hovered over you, long hair tickling the sides of your face as you shut your
eyes, feeling a lone tear traitorously escape and trail down your cheek.

Aemond bent forward and kissed the tear away, his lips wet from your cunt.

“Dōna, zaldristos.” Sweet, little dragon, He whispered, hand coming to soothe the side of your
neck, “I will return soon.”

You shook your head, feeling a bitterness replace the fear inside of you.

You will be back when you are done with her, and you have left me to Aegon’s cruelty.

“Y/n,” Aemond murmured, “Look at me, please.”

The 'please' was so quiet it shocked you, and your eyes immediately met his.

When had Aemond ever said please?

“Everything will be fine. You are safe here.”

“How are you so sure?” You argued, shuffling back to pull yourself to sit against the back of the
bed, Aemond allowing you the space as you curled your knees into your chest.

“He knows you are mine.”

“And yet he pursues me still.” You looked down at the bed, an ominous blanket of dread settling
over you.

A blanket of knowing.

Something was to come.

Aemond sighed, and moved to pull himself from the bed. Standing completely bare in the
chambers. He bent to pick up his tunic and breeches, pulling them on and rounding to your side of
the bed.

Aemond collected your chemise, and told you to stand.

You dragged yourself to the edge of the bed before standing as he asked, feet pressing into the cold
stones below. Aemond’s eye lingered on the scar on your side, observing it. It made the skin
prickle under his gaze.

Yes, you did this.

You marked me.

You have scarred me.

I have not forgotten what you have done.

Your uncle pulled the chemise over your head and helped dress you, before slipping your arms
through the robe beside the bed, knotting it tightly at your front. He held out a hand for you, and
led you to the table where he sat you down. You waited for the maids to arrive, his eye never
leaving you, fingers drumming on the table in thought.

When the maids entered they placed food on the table, and in front of you, your tea. You brought it
towards you and scooped two spoons of honey into it, anticipating the bitterness before even trying
it.

As you stirred the tea, the spoon clinked against the teacup loudly, Aemond watching your hand
move. His eye seemed to narrow on the cup as you stirred it, bringing it up to your lips as you blew
steam away.

You took a steady sip.

The tea was not as bitter as it was the last time, the honey having evened out the flavour. You let
yourself look at Aemond above the rim of the cup, his eye focused on you as you sipped at the
honeyed mint brew.

His hair was pushed away from his face behind his shoulders, though unbrushed, his locks were
relatively smooth and unknotted. He looked collected, put together, even though he had only just
woken and had spent most time of his morning between your thighs already.

Your core clenched at the thought.

He had changed so much already.

A knock came at the door and the both of you turned your heads, Aemond’s concentration on the
tea being taken away.

“Enter.” He beckoned, and you watched as the knight at the door opened it quietly, bowing his
head and greeting the both of you. The knight moved across the room, armour clinking softly.

In his hand was a scroll.

The scroll Aegon had promised.

The knight handed it to Aemond, who took it wordlessly, jaw clenched. The man then bowed and
left the room quickly, shutting the doors behind him.

Aemond stared down at the parchment in his hand, turning it over with his long fingers in thought.

The anticipation was killing you.

Why was he being sent to Harrenhal?

How long would he be gone?

Aemond’s hands picked the wax seal from the scroll without care, the sigil breaking in half as he
slowly unfurled the parchment. His lone eye scanned the words written in silence.

The more that he read, the more his eye narrowed, plump lips tightening into a scowl, humming
shortly in irritation as his eye scanned the page.

“What is it?” You asked softly, head craning to see if you could peak at any words on the
parchment.

“The King sends me to do petty business in Harrenhal. False fears of rising rebellion, a parameter
check of the keep… Child’s play.” Aemond growled, tossing the parchment down onto his plate.

Petty business?

You rose from your seat slightly, leaning over the table as you stretched out a hand. Your fingers
extended towards the letter, yet you kept your eye on the sour man in front of you.

“May I?” You asked, seeking permission to read it.

Aemond grunted, picking the parchment up with two fingers and lazily flicking it to you.

You took the letter in your hand and read over it, eyes darting over the handwriting that would
likely have been Otto’s, too neat to be the drunken King’s.

“Several days?” You read aloud, looking back up at Aemond who breathed heavily.

He looked away, sucking his teeth angrily.

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, “He plays a fools game with me. A punishment.”

“But you have done nothing wrong.” You argued, placing the parchment back on the table.

“Aegon has never needed a reason to make others suffer.” Aemond growled standing up, food long
forgotten at the table.

He stalked the chambers, pacing the room before coming back to you.

“I will return to you sooner than he expects.” Aemond promised again.

Another promise.

Another promise that would no doubt be broken.

You nodded your head.

“I must take my leave.” Aemond said, his eye flicking down to your lips and then back to your
eyes.

“Be swift.” You smiled, trying to bring yourself comfort.

Aemond leant forward and kissed you, pressing his soft lips against yours, the sweet taste of
honeyed wine on his tongue, before quickly pulling away, all but storming out of the chambers.

As though he had to rip himself away from you.

You were left to sit at the table, food untouched, and tea half drunk with the parchment on the table
beside you. The smell of the food overwhelmed you, and you found that your hunger had
dissipated with the Prince’s exit. But something else kept you from eating.

He had let you read a letter from the King.

He had let you read about the plans to go to Harrenhal.

It was working.

You sat at the table for some time, picking at the food, yet not quite filling yourself full. You held
the parchment in one hand, turning it over in thought.

The fruits of your labour were beginning to show.

Aemond felt safe enough to show his resentment towards the King to you.

You knew now that he wished to be King. Ardently.

This was something you could use to your advantage, and something you would.

The doors opened without a knock and you snapped your head to the entrance.

Ser Cole stood stiffly, looking down at you from his nose, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the
other hidden behind the white cloak that was pinned to his shoulders.

His dark hair was curled around his ears, lips pulled downwards into a look of disapproval.

You tilted your head at him as he began to speak.

“King Aegon has requested your presence.”

His words sparked fear.

Did he know that Aemond was gone already?

Was he waiting for him to leave?

“Aemond is not h-“

“He asked for you.”

A beat.

“You’re beginning to grow a habit of interrupting those who are above you, Ser Cole.” You
emphasised his title slowly, not having moved from your seat at the table.

Ser Criston’s jaw ticked as he looked at you.

“By order of the-“

“Do shut up.” You sighed, standing from your seat as you pushed it backwards, abandoning the
parchment on top of your plate, “Where is he?” You pretended to be more irritated by his
summoning rather than fearful, slowly walking to stand in front of Ser Criston as he waited at the
door for you.

“Might you dress to-“

“If Aegon wishes to see me at the suns rise, without notice, then he shall be content in my state of
dress.”

You let Cole linger in the tension for a moment more before speaking again.

“Fetch my maids and have them ready me for him.” You commanded Cole, and saw his hand
tighten around the pummel of his sword, “The King can surely wait without any of his pressing
duties to be attended to.”

You turned away from Cole, small smile on your lips as you moved to sit at the vanity, running a
hand through your hair as you looked at yourself, and allowed the reflection to give you the view
of a very flustered, and very red faced Criston Cole.

He turned on his heel, returning shortly after with your maids who looked on edge.

They dressed you quickly and helped to braid your hair, fear in their movements.

“Did Ser Cole say something to you?” You questioned them, looking at them look down in the
reflection.

Their non answer was your answer.

“I will have a word to Cole when I leave.”

“Please, Your Grace. Don’t.” The youngest of maids whispered as she pushed a pin into your hair
smoothly to keep the braided style up.

“Alright, I won’t. But do tell me if he causes you trouble again. I will not stand for it.”
They finished dressing you and you stood, thanking them before leaving, finding Ser Cole standing
outside waiting, arms at his side awkwardly. He looked as though he barely had a single though t of
his own behind his eyes.

“Do not presume to speak to our maids in such a manner again, Ser Crispin.”

A name your father had given him.

You watched Cole’s lips twitch, “You are a knight, not a lord. Born of a steward of Lord
Donddarrion at Blackhaven, were you not?” You stared into his dark eyes and waited.

Ser Cole’s jaw clenched, “Yes, Princess.”

“You would do well to remember that.” You began to walk down the corridor away from Ser Cole,
who caught up to you and walked ahead, leading you to the King’s chambers.

Your gut turned and your palms were sweaty, anxiety coursing through you the closer you got,
heart racing in your chest.

Was he to mock you?

Tease you?

Touch you?

The large doors appeared and you had to force yourself to continue following Cole, who’s strides
doubled yours, causing your pace to be faster than what you would have liked. Two guards
stationed at the doors opened the heavy oak for you, and Ser Criston stepped through first,
announcing your arrival to the King.

When you moved into the chambers, you noted that it smelt musky, incense burning in the corners
to perhaps drown out the stench. It smelt of stale ale, dirty linen, and a faint yet lingering scent of
semen.

There, seated at the Valyria miniature, was Aegon.

His violet eyes lifted to look at you as a smile broke out on his face. He was not wearing his crown,
and was in his sleeping attire. A white tunic and a deep green robe pulled against him, similar to
how you had looked not moments before.

“There she is, my favourite niece.” He greeted you, hands fiddling with a figurine in his hand.

Seeing him touch and play with something your Grandsire had poured so much love into made you
want to bite him.

You clenched your jaw to soothe the desire.

“He never let us touch it.” He told you, noting the way your eye was kept on the object he moved
in his hand.

You stepped closer, coming a few paces away from him.

In Aegon’s hand was a small carving. It was round and fat, with four short little legs. On its back
were two large wings, up and open as though ready to take flight. And at its front was a snout.

The Pink Dread.

The pig Aegon and your brothers had gifted Aemond as a child.

“Father had it made. Pretty cruel if you ask me, but funny nonetheless. My favourite piece here.”
He twirled the pig in his hands as he looked at you.

“I heard that Aemond has left already. A Prince dedicated and devoted to his King.”

I should be King. Not him. Not that useless wastrel.

Aemond’s voice echoed in your head.

“The Prince goes where his King commands him.” You replied cooly, watching as a lazy smile
spread on your eldest uncles lips.

“He does.”

Silence filled the room and you shifted on your feet, head turning back to see the chamber doors
closed, and Ser Cole standing in front of them.

You were trapped.

Swallowing thickly you turned to look back at Aegon, who had leant back in the chair, still playing
with the figurine.

“What did you need of me, kepus?” You asked politely, yet not smiling.

“I needed to ask you something.”

You waited for him to continue.

“Wanted to see if you had changed your mind at all. Now that Aemond will be gone from the Keep
so frequently, perhaps you may take your other uncle to warm your bed.”

You bristled as he spoke.

“I am wed to Aemond.”

“Ah,” Aegon laughed as he looked at you, “But I am a King. It would be a high honour to have my
seed and birth my heir. Sure it would be a bastard, but a King’s bastard is surely better than a
second sons.”

“I have no desire to bed you.” You struggled to contain your anger, watching as Aegon’s grin split
wider.

“Even when Aemond bed’s another? Even as he goes to fuck Alys, and then shoves his still wet
cock back into you?”

“Even then, I would prefer his touch to yours.”

Aegon stood, placing the Pink Dread down on the table with care as he walked forward towards
you. You held your ground and looked at him.

“How do you know you would prefer it, if you have not tried it?” He purred, and you heard Ser
Cole shift behind you.

“I know that I look at your face,” You leant forward, “And any desire I had for any man or woman,
withers away. I think of your cock inside of me, and go dry. Something so small such as yours
could scarcely do the job, and would turn a woman to weep from the disappointment of it all.”

“I will make you weep, but it won’t be from your eyes.” He grinned.

“You are more repugnant than the stables smell. I would sooner fuck a peasant who had not
bathed for a thousand years than ever fuck you.”

“Sharp tongue.” Aegon teased, biting his lip as though the rush of stirring you aroused him.

Fuck.

He released his lip from his teeth and smiled politely at you, all teasing gone from his face, and an
eerie mask of civility replacing it.

“Thank you for answering my burning questions. Aemond will be gone from King’s Landing for
some time, so if you find that you are in want of some company, my chambers are always open for
you.” He moved to sit back down in his chair, picking up the pig with wings again as he observed
you, eyes roaming your body as he hummed.

“It must be difficult to be alone in this Keep.” He purred, smile rising higher on his cheeks at
alone.

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at him. Unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to ask.

“Sleep well this evening.”

It felt like a threat.

It was a threat.

“Ser Cole, please escort the Princess back to her chambers. I must ready for my duties.” Aegon
commanded the man behind you.

Ser Cole came to your side in an instant, leading you outside of the chambers as your heart was
caught in your throat.

Sleep well this evening.

 Surrounded
Chapter Notes

Aegon needs to STAY BACK

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When you had reached your chambers, the world around you blurred, and your skin felt cold.

It felt like you weren’t in your body anymore.

It was an odd feeling of watching yourself that washed over you, body on autopilot as it moved
about the chambers. You (though it did not feel it) sat on the chaise and stared into space, not
moving, even as the maids came to check on you and offer you lunch.

You had shrugged them off, body feeling as though it was moving through a thick sludge, limbs
heavy and finding resistance in the air. Every limb felt simultaneously weighed down by stones and
light as a feather.

When the sun fell from the sky and the moon had risen to its peak, the girls had urged you to sit at
the table, guiding you with caring, gentle hands, until you sat in your seat. You ate what you could
as encouraged to by the girls, who seemed to worry for your wellbeing.

Bread and bits of meat was all you found you could stomach as you sat at the table, mind reeling
from the interaction as you felt yourself slowly come to your body again.

As though you sunk down from the corner of the room where you had been floating in the corner,
and slid back into your casing, threading yourself into your arms and legs like a coat or gown.

Slowly, but surely, you became present in the chambers.

And that was when the dread settled in.

Sleep well this evening.

The girls had readied you for bed, and you had paced the room when they left, desperate to keep
yourself awake as anxiety loomed over you at his words, eyes darting over to the chamber doors
constantly in wait of a head of wavy silver hair to enter.

You paced the chambers until you slumped in the chaise by the fire, feet aching and legs warm,
stoking the flames with a fire poker to keep it alive and distract yourself.

Where was Aemond now?

Would he be in Harrenhal already?

Was he awake with the anxiety of what his brother could do in his absence?

Was he awake in the arms of Alys?

Or was he asleep? Uncaring and unbothered?

The thoughts kept coming as you spiralled in the chambers, their only purpose was that they served
to keep you awake. The never ending streams of anxiety and ‘what if’s’ prolonging your evening.

You moved to sit at the windowsill and watched as the sun slowly began to rise.

The sky turned a soft purple and then pink, the room glowing warmly from the light. It was only
then that you felt safe enough to retreat to your bed, climbing beneath the sheets and pulling them
up to your shoulders tightly.

You kept your eyes on the doors, waiting for any sight or sound of entry until your eyelids grew
too heavy to hold open, and they drifted shut from fatigue.

You did not dream, and your sleep was shallow and broken.

Noise in the chambers jerked you awake, and your eyes immediately darted over to the chamber
doors.

They were closed.

You sighed a breath of relief, resting your head back against the soft down of the pillows, steading
your racing heart. Your mind felt foggy and your body ached from your lack of sleep.

“A fine morning.” Came a purr from beside you.

Your heart jumped in your chest, body shooting up from the pillow as you scrambled against the
back of the bed.

Two violet eyes watched you as you clutched the sheets to your chest.

He was here.

Aegon sat lazily in the chair beside Aemond’s side of the bed.

Watching you.

He smiled widely as you dragged the sheets up to your neck, brain reeling at seeing him in your
chambers.

How long had he been here?

How long had he been watching you?

It was like Aemond all over again. How he had been in your chair in your chambers. How he had
watched you sleep.

You notice the similarities between the two men.

The two brothers.

Your two uncles.

Cut from the same cloth.

Your breath held in your chest as you felt panic rise in your throat, freezing as he smiled widely at
you. Aegon was dressed for the day; green robes and the Conquerors Crown already sat atop his
head.
One leg sat lazily over the other as though he was comfortable watching you. Lounging as you
slept.

As though he had been for some time.

As though he had no cares or troubles for being in your shared chambers at all.

“You whimper in your sleep.” The King mused, smirking at you.

Words were trapped in your throat, not able to break free as you stared at him.

Aegon waited for you to respond and sighed when you didn’t. He suddenly stood, hands pushing
on his thighs to help himself up lazily as he straightened his back with a hum. Violet eyes drifted
over where your body was hidden behind the sheets before he spoke again.

“Enjoy your day.” He grinned, leaving your chambers through the doors he came in.

A breath broke free from your lungs, followed by a sob of fear.

He had watched you sleep.

How long had he been there?

Did the knight let him in?

Your mind raced as you thought of it.

You were never safe.

But now with Aemond gone, you were unprotected.

Exposed.

He could come whenever he wished.

Aegon was King.

And there was nothing you could do, lest you endanger the treaty and yourself.

You did not leave your bed that day, moving between panic and shock, crying and spiralling. Your
stomach turned and you felt your mind reel from lack of sleep and anticipation of what was to
come.

You felt yourself slowly begin to crumble beneath the new pressure of Aemond’s absence, the only
thing that was keeping Aegon away from you.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the cold stones of the cell beneath your back. You felt
the skin that had pulled away as he dragged you towards him. You felt the way he had looked at
you, feasting on you with his eyes. The way he had leant over you. The smell of his breath.

It unnerved you.

It terrified you.

It crushed you.

And all you could do was wish that Aemond was with you.
The soft echoes of Lucerys and Helaena rose and whispered in the back of your mind as shadows
began to hide in your periphery, causing you to snap your head to see who was there, only to find
the space empty.

It was as though your thread was unravelling and at a pace faster than you could grasp or slow it
down.

The maids had come to the chambers and brought you food, though you refused it. They had
placed your tea beside your bed with the honey and had insisted for you to just drink that, and that
having something in your stomach was better than nothing.

The eldest of maids had even stayed behind and ensured that you had drunk the last of the tea from
the cup before she left the chambers, leaving you alone with your immeasurable fear.

The day moved slowly, and nightfall came quicker than the last. You struggled to stay awake,
sitting yourself upright in bed as you stared at the chamber doors, willing yourself to not sleep
again. To not be bested by a man who drinks himself to piss the bed.

Sleep came in small bursts, yet as soon as you found yourself sinking beneath the surface of it,
your body would jerk itself awake, eyes frantically scanning the room.

It was empty.

Another day flew by, and you refused to leave your chambers, instead sitting and thinking of what
you could do, mind jumbled from lack of sleep, and the maids insisting that you ate at least some
fruit and drank your tea.

You listened to the girls and drank the brew, adding two spoonfuls of honey as always, and nibbled
on some freshly baked bread that steamed on the plate, and the juicy flesh of a star fruit. It weighed
heavily in your stomach, and the meal only served to make you sleepy.

When the girls had left the chambers and begged that you call for them should you need anything
at all, you had paced the room, feeling like sand that had been scattered amongst a shore. Thoughts
moving forward, yet never quite moving in the right direction.

Do you send for the star fruit now? Whilst Aemond was gone?

You had no access to Vermithor which would come as a disadvantage.

You had no weapon or way out, and if your family did come to your call, the Greens would no
doubt use you as a bartering tool.

A hostage.

And then you thought of Aemond.

How much longer would he be gone?

Do you send word to Harrenhal? Do you send a letter urging him to return? Would he receive it?
Would he respond?

Would he even care?

There was no way of knowing.

And so as you paced the chambers sluggishly, you thought of the purple flowers again.
“My pretty head of flowers.” Helaena whispered in your ear, and you fought to not flinch.

Your aunt and brothers presence becoming more constant than before. Whether they be mere
shadows in the corner of your eyes, silently standing amongst the chambers, or whispering words
and secrets to you.

"Dracarys, mandia." Sister.

Dracarys.

Star fruit.

Vermithor.

If you sent word to your family came now, you could go to the garden before their arrival and take
some of the Monkshood, hiding it up your sleeve, or in a napkin to hide in your chambers.

If they came now, armoured on the backs of their dragons, and the Greens came looking to use
you, you could eat the flower, root and stem, just to be sure, and die a cowardly death for your
family.

But you did not want to die at the hands of poison.

You wished to fight.

You wished to succeed in what you had come here to do.

Secure the throne.

“Pretty head of flowers. Pretty head of flowers.” She continued to whisper in your head, her voice
unnerving you.

You shook your head violently, trying to dispel Helaena's repetition, yet she did not stop, voice
only quietening in the back of your mind, repeating the same thing, over and over.

Merely sounding like the gentle whispers of a breeze.

The sun was at its peak when you decided to sit upon the soft cushion of the chaise, to give
yourself a moment as you struggled to stop your body from swaying, exhaustion beginning to take
over.

You felt dizzy and rattled, weakened from the days gone by and the constant chatter of your mind.

The moment you sat on the chaise your body sagged, head leaning back against the hard wood of
the lounge as the rest sunk into the soft cushions.

You turned your head upwards and looked at the ceiling.

“Please Gods, give me the strength to do what I have to do.” You quietly prayed, hoping they
would hear you. Hoping they would give you a sign, any sign, that what you were doing was right.

But the room stayed still, and you feared your absence to the Godswood had turned their favour.

Your eyes slid shut, and you told yourself that you could rest them, if only for a moment, and then
go back to pacing. You just needed to rest them for a moment, and then you would get up once
more.
But what if you couldn't get back up again?

How long could one survive their own mind without rest or food?

You supposed you would likely find out very soon, as you made a promise to not sleep until
Aemond had returned.

You drifted into a chaotic dream, mind so exhausted and jumbled that it followed you to your
sleep.

You were sat atop a dragon, soaring high amongst the clouds, the world around you tiny and dark,
shrouded by large storm clouds. The robes on your body weighed you down, wet from the rain as
you soared higher, dragon growling out into the rain.

You felt your hands be tugged and you looked down.

In your hands were reins.

Large thick rope pulling at your palms, burning them as it was tugged away from you. You gripped
the rope to pull them back, using your entire body weight to slow the beast. A crack of lightning lit
across the sky and the scales beneath you became illuminated.

Green.

A smaller dragon flew higher up into the sky as your dragon chased after it, your heart racing in
your chest. The tiny dragon disappeared into a break of light and you yanked the reins back, trying
to stop the dragon from its course.

“Keligon!” Stop, You screamed yanking the rope, feeling it rip through skin of your palms.

But the dragon did not listen and instead, you emerged from the clouds and watched in horror as
Vhagar opened her jaws and bit the smaller dragon and the small boy atop it in two.

You began to scream, looking at Arrax fall to the earth below yours, horrified by what you had
done.

You killed him.

You killed Lucerys.

You killed your-

“Y/n.” A voice called from behind you, your head snapping behind you in the sky.

The sky fell away and was replaced with the darkness of a cave, scarce lighting around you.

You were in the Dragon Pit, torches crackling against the walls, the air damp and cold. The sudden
change in space making your heart jump in your chest.

You looked around, spinning in a circle, feeling familiarity from the dream.

You turned once more and there he was.

Lucerys.

The boy was wet with rain, hair slicked to his head, and covered in blood. His mouth opened, and
from his lips poured a small rivulet pf blood that trailed down his chin to drip on the floor below.
Brown eyes blinked tears of blood, staining his cherubic cheeks red.

His little hand lifted and you watched in horror as he pointed beside you.

A sob came from where his finger stopped.

Slowly you turned your head, eyes not blinking.

A woman stood beside you, her back turned to you, with silver hair matted and braided behind her
head. Her body heaved as she cried loudly in the pit, dressed in a chemise and robe.

Lucerys stepped closer to move on the other side of you as you were rooted to the spot, not
moving, and stared. But then your body had a mind of its own and leant forward, lifting a foot up
to place it towards the woman.

You stepped forward as she continued to cry, body rocking back and forth, little hushed breaths of
air falling from her lips as she swayed.

Lucerys followed beside you, the soft dripping of blood and water on his robes echoing in the
space beside her sobs and the crackling torches.

A scream tore from your lips as you looked at her.

Helaena, pale and eyes red, rocked back and forth not looking at you as she cooed into her arms,
where she clutched a small bundle to her chest.

A bundle which had small arms and legs, that were covered with pale yellow pants and a matching
yellow jacket. But crimson stained the front of the clothes, spreading outwards like a flower in
bloom.

Blood soaked Helaena's front where the stump of its neck sat raw against her as she continued to
coo the body in an attempt of comfort. Tissue and muscle sat exposed to her chest, which continued
to pump slow and steady streams of blood down onto its stained jacket.

The headless body of a child.

Jaehaerys.

You scrambled backwards horrified by the scene, trying to get away from them both.

Helaena’s head finally looked up to you, eyes rimmed with tears that flowed down her cheeks.

“He is coming.” She whispered.

Lucerys moved to stand beside her as they both watched you stumble over your feet, tears pouring
down your face as you fled backwards on unsteady feet.

“Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.” Fated to burn together, Heleana spoke.

“A crown forged of blood.” Lucerys replied, blood falling from his lips as he looked at the child in
Helaena’s arms blankly.

“He is coming.”

You woke with a jerk, a scream escaping from you.

Your eyes were wet with tears and your heart rattled in your chest. You stiffened in the chaise as
you looked about the room in search of Aegon.

The room had darkened and it was nightfall again.

Then, you saw them.

A head of silver and a head of brown.

Staring at you as they had a moment before, except this time, dry and unbloodied, body of
Jaehaerys missing from Helaena’s arms. A sob flew from your lips as you brought a hand to your
throat.

The chamber doors swung open and the knight stormed inside, the sound causing you to jump,
gasp flying from your lips as you whipped around to see him.

“What is wrong?” He asked, hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked around the chambers in
search of an intruder or whatever had spooked you.

The pair began to whisper in the corner of the room as they looked at you, their voices causing you
to wince as you stared at the knight.

“A crown of blood.”

“Dracarys.”

“Pretty petals-“

The knight took in your appearance; The tear stained cheeks, disheveled hair and crinkled clothing,
but most importantly the fearful eyes which widened at every hushed word uttered by two people
he was not aware were in the space with them.

“I shall fetch the Maester.” He said slowly, looking at you.

“No... need.” Your voice broke, “All is fine.” You took a steeling breath, “I thought I saw a
spider.” You used the back of your hand to mop the tears from your cheeks and neck.

The knight looked at you for a moment more before bowing hesitantly, as though he thought better
of himself and would perhaps stay or send for the Maester despite your reassurance, but the look
was short lived, and the man left the chambers with a turn of his heel.

The whispers of Lucerys and Helaena became louder as the doors shut, the knight unknowingly
leaving you with them.

A silent sob filled the room as you stared at the two in your chambers, their whispers never
stopping. Looking as though they were speaking to each other, the words hard to discern beside the
odd familiar whisper here or there.

You sucked in a sharp breath and whimpered, forcing yourself to rise and move to the side of the
chambers where the pair followed you like a shadow, standing at your side as they continued to
whisper prophesies and commands at you.

Prophesies of what has happened, prophesies of what was to come. Commands to act.

To do.
 Dracarys.

You poured yourself a large goblet of wine, throwing it back, basking in the sharp burning it
brought to you as it slid down your throat. Another tear fell down your cheeks as you stood there,
eyes trained on the goblet so that you did not have to turn and face your brother and aunt.

“Sister.” Lucerys called, and you whimpered at the sound.

Why? Why? Why? Why?

“Sister.” He whispered again.

Slowly you raised your head to look at him and Helaena, both watching you with impassive faces.

“Dracarys. A crown forged from blood.”

“Spool hen Kasta, spool hen Zōbrie.” Spool of Green, spool of Black, Helaena muttered.

“Another eye will close.”

Chapter End Notes

OOOOOO I'm such a slut for prophesies.

I'm a prophet.
PROPHET. PROPHET. I PROPHESY. I HAVE SIGHT. I SEE.
 Crown of Thorns
Chapter Notes

TW: Rape, assault, choking, slapping, thoughts of suicide.

Please read with caution.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 74: A Crown of Thorns

Another day went by in your chambers, time moving at an odd pace.

Sometimes it moved speedily, at others seemingly dragging on. You did not sleep that evening,
sitting on the chaise as Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fireplace, continuing to whisper together
until you had grown so used to their sound, that you did not find discomfort any longer.

It grew to be a noise that was like a breeze outside the Keep, brushing against the windows or
through the corridors, or the soft crackling of the fire.

A sound that blended into the background, like the waves that would crash against the cliff-face of
Dragonstone, or the soft discernible buzzing of Flea Bottom.

There.

Inevitable.

Inescapable.

Despite being in the Keep for only a few of moons, you felt as though you had been there for a
lifetime. It was a strangeness that you couldn’t shake off. And an uncomfortable reminder of how
much time you had lost with your family.

Another loss to never be gained again.

Your body had begun to feel weak, lack of sleep and proper meals scraping roughly against the
sinews on your bones. You forced yourself to eat a meal, watched on by the maids that morning,
concern evident in their eyes.

You finished the bread on your plate, and the entirety of the sweet star fruit one of the girls had
neatly cut up for you with your own knife and fork. You had even indulged in three slices of beef,
and attempted to swallow a roasted tomato. But the tomato did not go down smoothly, its wet and
slimy texture causing you to gag as soon as it hit the back of your throat.

You had drank your tea under the eyes of the maids, who had whispered words of praise as you
drank it, promising that it would make you feel better and that you should be yourself in no time.
That Aemond would return soon, and perhaps they could escort you on a walk through the Gardens
to lift your spirits.

They were kind. They were patient, and the walls that they had guarded themselves with when you
first arrived had been lowered significantly. You even felt that they had come to care for you
sincerely, and not just as a part of their duties.

You missed Saria and Aella.

The meal had definitely helped your spirits, and your body felt slightly better being given some
sustenance. Yet your mind was still raw, Helaena and Lucerys had been by your bed when you had
woken, their whispers peeling back layers of dwindling resolve.

Though as you had eaten, they had left from your sight, their whispering voices still ringing in your
ears.

In truth, you were exhausted.

Mentally and physically.

It felt like an uphill battle.

You would take two steps forward, and five steps back. Your mind waxing and waning through
strong and brittle. Memories of the past striking fear seemingly out of nowhere at times, and
storms of uncertainty racing you towards the edge of a cliff you knew there was no coming back
from.

But surely this was progress.

The road to recovery was a long one, and although your side had healed, it still came to irritate you.

Where there was once an open wound, now sat puckered and scarred skin, still sensitive to the
touch if you pressed it. Some days it would twinge, and small sparks of discomfort would rise up
your ribs if you sat at an odd angle, bumped it against something, or even if one of your gowns was
too tight across the new skin.

At moments like those, when your elbow would push pressure against it, or the side of the chaise
would dig into it meanly, or Aemond’s hands would grasp or tease, you could feel the phantom
pains of when it had once been opened. You could feel the way in which the new skin was now
pulled taut by scars and ached at random.

Sometimes it even itched, and you had to gently let yourself rub the pads of your fingers, no nails,
across it to soothe the irritation.

The scar, you supposed, was similar to your mind.

Though it had healed, there was still the presence of what had happened. There was still the pain
and uncomfortability, the voices and visions, and reminders of the past whenever those corners of
the mind were pressed or disturbed.

Like your scar, if the wound was touched, even though healed, it would still offer a reaction. It
would ache, or itch, or send panic rearing through you. And this was something that you hoped
would heal with time.

You just needed time.

And time was what you had, though the looming threat of Aegon did little to the scars on your
psyche which were poked, and prodded, or scratched by the sharp nails of paranoia and justified
rage.
You doubted the lacerations to your mind had even begun to heal, and if they had, any little
progress they had made, any scabbing over, or the prospect of change had been picked away by the
circumstances surrounding you. Relentless fingers pulling at the platelets that had formed over the
injury, blood and memories spilling forth, setting you back to where you started from.

The same open wound.

That evening, when the maids had come to your chambers, you had ate with little fuss, though your
stomach cramped at suddenly being so full. You had nibbled at the warm bread and feasted on
cooked potatoes and legumes. Even indulging in a goblet of wine, which somehow settled your
nerves.

A quick fix to a longer issue.

When you had finished your meal, the maids, who had not left the chambers as you ate, hovering
about, pretending to tend to their duties, when in reality they were casting quick and short glance
over their shoulders at you, readied you for bed.

The vanity sat in front of you as one of the maids had begun to brush out your hair, combing it
gently as she looked at your face in the reflection. A soft humming came from her chest as she
worked, untangling your knots.

It was a tune that plucked a string of familiarity within you. A musical lilt that felt ancestral to its
core, and you found that it calmed you almost immediately.

There was something about it, something that made your brain tick.

You shifted in the green cushioned seat and looked the girl in the eyes.

“What are you humming?” You had asked, voice soft.

The girl cleared her throat and stopped, “A daughters song, Princess.” She responded meekly.

“Would you sing it for me?”

You wished to hear it.

To feel it.

For it to drown out any whispers in the back of your head, or the corner of the room. You wished to
hear it for what it was, to see if it did hold familiarity or if it was, like many things in that present
moment, just in your head.

The girls hands stopped in your hair as she looked at you, before a blush spread over her cheeks.
She looked down and then over her shoulder at the other maid, who had discontinued fluffing the
same pillow she had been arranging for quite some time.

Clearing her throat again, she nodded, “Yes, Princess.” And began unsteadily, as if nervous for
your reaction, uncertain if she would be punished or berated.

“Come now my daughter, come sit beside me, rolling green hills, and a mountain of flames,” She
began, and you let yourself lean into her hands as she kept them threading through your hair.

“We sit one last time, two parts of the same, a curse to be born, a woman’s last name. A woman of
duty, a wicked hearts game, a wife’s job is set, the children are tamed.” As she continued, you
realised that you had not heard the song at all, though the melody reminded you of a memory you
could not discern.

“The girls life is done, the woman’s life breathes, rise with the sun, and rest with its leave. Clipped
of your wings, never to fly, a woman’s one job, is to let her man die.” The maid looked down, not
meeting your eyes as her hands stilled in your locks.

As you made no move to punish her, or reprimand her, or even correct her, she continued, voice a
fair bit more confident, though still soft and gentle, “We all face the fate, no woman can hide. The
sins of the flesh, till the woman has died.”

You blinked sheepishly at the girl as she distracted herself with brushing your hair, not daring to
look up at you.

“Why is that so familiar? Is it a Westerosi song?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. My mother used to sing it to me.”

“It is quite dark.” You mused softly, reflecting on the song.

‘Clipped of your wings, never to fly.’

“It is a song about becoming a woman, Princess. It is not an easy road, especially for common folk.
It is a song sung to us to prepare us, should we ever be married.”

You hummed in agreement, “Thank you for sharing it with me. Is your mother-“

“Gone.” She uttered, voice hoarse with emotion, “A fever when I was a child, Your Grace.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. She sounded like a wise woman to sing it to you.”

“She was.” She smiled softly at you in the reflection.

The smaller maid came to the both of your sides as the other took her hands from your hair, “Will
you be needing anything else from us, Princess?” She asked.

“No, thank you both.” You smiled at them, though it twitched from strain, “You may rest for the
evening.”

As the girls turned to leave the chamber, a crawling sense of shame and realisation washed over
you.

“What are your names?” You called across the chambers, looking at how the two girls stopped to
turn and face you, not looking down at their feet, but instead directly at you.

The eldest of girls who had mousy brown hair, and deep brown eyes, bowed her head as she spoke,
“Amala, Your Grace.”

The youngest whose hair was a deep blonde, skin littered in freckles followed the other, bowing
her head and looked down as she introduced herself, “Joanna, Princess.”

You smiled at the both of them, a genuine smile, and repeated their names on your tongue to the
chambers.

“Apologies for not asking sooner," You apologised sheepishly, "Thank you. You may leave.”
The girls gave another short bow and smiled at you before leaving the chambers, the orange of
their robes disappearing out the chamber doors.

You sighed, back bending on the vanity chair as you relaxed without their presence.

Exhaustion seeped into your bones, and your eyelids grew heavy with every breath you took.
Looking across the room, Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fire watching you, mouths moving,
and only snake-like hissing coming out as they whispered.

Wearily you moved, and got into bed, promising yourself that you would only rest your eyes, if
only for a moment, and then you could rise again and stay vigilant. Yet resolve flew out the
window as soon as your leadened limbs laid on the plush down of the bed, and the soft doona was
pulled over you.

Laying your head on the pillow, you kept your eyes on the chamber doors and waited. But the wait
was longer than your body could stand, and so your lids grew too heavy to hold open and slid shut,
the depths of sleep dragging you under.

Dreams of serpents surrounded you, their glistening yellow bellies and scales of emerald green
shining against the stone floors.

Jet black eyes stared at you as the largest of snakes rose its head.

A forked tongue flicked out. The thin, pink muscle rattling in the air around you as it watched you
with beady eyes, tasting the air.

Tasting you.

It hissed, large fangs showing as it begun to curl around your feet, winding its way higher and
higher up your body, its muscles constricting you.

And yet there was nothing you could do, and nothing that you did do but watch as it wrapped
around you higher and higher, pressing your arms to your side as it hissed in your ear. Your mind
screamed at you to move, but your body refused, knowing that it could not escape its fate.

Knowing what was to come.

Making peace with its own demise.

The serpent pulled back to look you in the eyes as it curled its body around you tighter. Its scaled
gums pulled back, revealing rows of needled teeth as it grinned at you.

“He is coming.” It hissed, before striking forward towards your neck.

You woke with a start, a sharp biting pain on your flesh as you felt weight atop you.

The chambers were dark, and all you could feel was your heavy limbs that were held down by a
weight atop you. You jerked, breath coming out of you in a gasp as the feeling of teeth on your
neck pushed you to the surface of consciousness.

Your heart galloped in your chest, beating against your ribs.

In the dim of the chambers, the teeth relinquished your neck, head rearing up to look down at you.

There, above you, hands holding your arms down and thighs pinning your own beneath him, sat
Aegon. His teeth shone in the night as he looked at you, canines glistening predatorily as he
realised you had woken.

Fear coursed through you as you began to thrash beneath him, desperate to get out of his grip as he
held you down, his short wavy hair halo’d around his face.

“Thought you’d never wake up.” He grinned excitedly.

“Get off me.” You growled, trying to shift your legs to knee him between his.

He tutted you with his tongue, cocking his head as his hands tightened around your arms, bruising
the tender flesh, “That’s not very nice.”

“Fuck you. Let me go!” You yelled into the chambers, hips bucking up as cold dread settled over
you.

Please, Gods. Not this.

“Why do you fight this?” He mocked, “Why do you try to honour my brother when he fucks Alys?
He has left you here,” A sick grin crawled wider across his face, “All alone.”

“Fuck you. Get off me! Kn-“ You began to call out to the knight for help, to see if he would
respond, but Aegon’s hands lifted from your arms and pushed down on your throat roughly,
pushing all air from your lungs and preventing the scream which had begun.

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing at
him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to come in
here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled, fingers
tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin.

Please Gods, have I not given enough?

Your hands flew up to grab his, nails digging into the skin as you desperately tried to pry them
from your neck. The muscles in your back cramped painfully as you tried to push up and away, to
throw him off of you, but the Kings hands did not relent, and the world around you began to fade
into black, the chambers softly floating away.

You relaxed beneath him, mind going numb as his laughter faded, hands releasing slightly. Air
rushed into your lungs as you coughed and spluttered beneath him. One of his hands slid down
your body to yank your chemise up from your thighs.

Grunting you tried to wriggle away from him, one hand lifting to try and claw at his face which he
batted away with ease. His hand continued to pull up the chemise as you jerked in his hold, one
hand still on your throat squeezing.

No.

Gods, please, no.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

“You know, I think I like it when you pretend that you don’t want me. The chase makes it far more
enjoyable.” He purred, wine on his breath as it fanned over you.
Your voice was trapped in your chest.

You wished to scream at him.

To tell him to get off you.

To cry for help.

But nothing came out.

Aegon slapped your cheek playfully with one hand as he cooed at you.

“Should have taken you as my second wife, just as Aegon the First had. You and Helaena could
have been sister-wives, and I could have watched you both swell with my seed.” He smiled, as you
tried to push him back.

Aegon grabbed your throat roughly, pushing down, jolting your head and holding you, grin staring
down at you in the dark of the chambers. The room dimmed as you struggled to breathe, legs
kicking pitifully beneath you.

And then you were floating.

Not there in the room.

Not beneath him.

Not feeling anything but the pain against your throat and an odd numbness that began to surround
your body. You could hear the mumbled voice of Aegon, but it felt so far away.

So far away.

You felt like you were fading. Drifting, and drifting, like a ship sails the sea, bobbing atop the
waves as it moved through crystal waters on its way to a destination, weightless and carried by the
tide.

But you didn’t know where your destination was, and instead you were being carried, drifting in
gentle waves that told you not where you were going, moving you as you faded further and further
into the darkness.

Until you lifted away.

Gone.

A weight moved across your body and the world came back around you, ears ringing as your body
was jolted. A coldness spread down you as you slowly moved through the abyss and back to the
room.

There was a voice, mumbling to you.

But you didn’t want to leave the numbness and dark you had sunk into. You wanted to stay were
you were. You wanted to keep your eyes shut and bask in it.

There was no pain there.

There was no fear there.

There was nothing.

Not even you.

You were so tired.

Why wouldn’t they let you rest?

Someone was speaking to you.

Why wouldn’t they just let you sleep?

The pull on your throat steadily brought you to the present, and feeling shot back through your
body.

There are hands on you.

Hands all over you.

Hands touching you and pinching you.

A hand slapping your face roughly, snapping you back into the room.

Your eyes opened as Aegon sat atop of you, lips moving but you couldn’t hear a word he said, your
ears ringing loudly in your skull. The world tilted and confusion rolled through you.

Your throat hurt.

Why did you throat hurt?

You groaned trying to shift him off of you.

Why was he on top of you?

Aegon kept talking down at you, and as your body slowly came to be, and feeling moved back
through your mind, you felt a rough pressure against one of your breasts as he squeezed it meanly
in his hand.

You tried to squirm away from his grip, mumbling as he smiled at you.

“Get… off me.” You uttered softly, still dizzy and unsure of what was happening.

Aegon knelt half on you, half off, his knee pressed down on your stomach, as one large hand
pinched painfully at your nipple, and the other moved between your thighs. You jerked in his hold,
trying to get out from beneath him as a large finger forced its way inside of you.

You cried out as he thrusted his hand into you painfully, not caring for your pain or confusion. Pain
rippled up from between your thighs, his fingers scratching against you dryly.

“Fuck you’re tight.” The King growled from above.

The world tilted, and you felt as though you were to be sick as he continued to fuck his hand into
you, the other rolled a stiff nipple between his fingers. Tears began to gather in your eyes as the
world caught up around you and realisation sat in.

This was it.

You could scarcely move from your spot beneath him. Every jolt of his hand stirred your head and
made you nauseous, and all you could do was whimper beneath him, desperate to not throw up.
You thrashed on the bed, feeling his fingers slip out of you.

The hand on your breast moved back to your throat and squeezed. The chambers grew dark, and
your vision blurred as you looked at Aegon. His figure slowly disappearing as you faded away
again.

You were so tired.

If you closed your eyes maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

If you closed your eyes, perhaps he would not be there anymore.

Your eyelids grew heavy and slid shut, and you felt yourself fade away from the world again,
drifting away on the waves that pulled you in with its tide.

Please let me stay here.

Everything around you was black until it wasn’t, and you were blinking your eyes awake, a sharp
pain blooming across your cheek.

“Stay with me, I want you to watch.” Aegon growled, as a tear slide down your cheek and onto the
pillow below.

“Aemond.” You whimpered, head fuzzy, fear mounting within you.

Your heart was in your throat.

Fight back.

Fight back.

Where was Aemond?

“Aemond isn’t here to stop me this time.” He purred, “I’m going to fuck an heir into you like he
should have.”

“He’ll kill you.” You slurred, tongue heavy.

Aegon laughed earnestly, “He won’t. I’m his brother, and you’re nothing but his whore.”

A sob fell from your lips as he laughed in your face. Despair settled in the pit of your stomach.

The King adjusted himself atop you, slapping away your hands as you tried to push him off of you
again, kicking your legs out underneath him weakly, sheets tangling at the end of the bed, raising
your head to chase his hand as you tried to bite him.

One knee slid between your thighs and then the other, parting you open for him as you tried to pull
yourself up the bed and away. Aegon wrapped his hands around your throat again and squeezed,
rutting his clothed cock against you roughly, enjoying the way you cried beneath him.

Please, let it be over.

You felt yourself begin to drift away again before he let go of your throat, your head lulling to the
side as your body jerked from lack of oxygen. Your uncle jerked his pants below his ass, pulling
his cock free before leaning over you. He rubbed his tip along your entrance and you felt the urge
to be sick.

It was like the dungeons.

The feel of the stone beneath you. The dampness of the room. The darkness of the cell.

It all came rushing back as you sobbed beneath him.

“I’m going to fuck you, the way I should’ve in that cell.” He pushed forward, rubbing himself
along you as you cried and clawed at his hands, “The way I should have when you first came back
to Kings Landing.”

Aegon squeezed your throat, causing dots to form in your eyes as he forced you to stare at him,
jerking your head.

“I’m going to fuck an heir into your cunt, and watch you swell with my child.”

Across the room, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena had quietened, and all you could hear was
the heavy breathing of your uncle who began to force his way inside of you.

Please, Gods, spare me.

You cried out in agony, sharp burning pain rippling through you as he forced himself through your
folds dryly, huffing a laugh of pleasure as he pushed to his limit, seating himself inside.

You felt yourself tear as he jolted you up the bed with his thrust, crying out in pain, splitting you
open on his cock as your eyes scrunched shut. Your hands raised to claw at him again, trying to
reach his face or chest, but Aegon’s hand around your neck tightened further.

This was it.

You wished you would die.

You wished he would kill you as you sobbed beneath him.

You were so weak, too weak to fight back as he pulled back slowly, moaning as he went, looking
down to where his cock speared you. There was a wetness between your thighs that you knew was
blood, and you whimpered again as he slowly pushed back inside of you.

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight for me. Are you sure you’re not a maiden? You’re bleeding on my
cock like one.” He huffed, continuing to slowly push himself back inside of you, each and every
inch of his cock sending agony racing up and down your spine as your legs were forced open
beneath him.

“Aemond’s probably fucking a bastard into Alys right now as I fuck one into you.” He laughed,
your heart clenching in your chest as you sobbed loudly into the chambers.

“Don’t cry,” The King cooed, thrusting harder into you, “It is an honour to have my seed inside of
you.”

You coughed beneath him as he picked up his pace, pistoning his hips into yours, your body
jolting beneath him. The pain never leaving you, and a sickness settling into your stomach.

Please let me die.

Please let me fade away.

Please Gods, take me away from here.

“Please.” You uttered.

Please, Mercy?

Please, Gods, help me.

Please, Aemond, return to me.

Please.

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing through
your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and his flesh
slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs.

And there was nothing you could do but endure.

As you always had.

It was only a matter of time.

This was inevitable, you told yourself.

It was always to happen.

You could never stop it.

Aemond could never stop it.

The Gods had made it so.

It was to always happen.

Your head lulled to the side as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your walls painfully,
your breasts jerking beneath him as he fucked you up the bed.

You silently cried as Aegon raped you mercilessly in Aemond’s and yours bed.

Eyes looked anywhere but him, searching to be anywhere but beneath him. To feel anything but
him tearing through your walls, or the way his cock bruised your cervix.

The fireplace was blurred, and beside it, two figures watching you.

Aegon’s pace began to increase, the bed creaking as you sobbed quietly and gagged, begging in
your mind. You kept your eyes on your aunt and brother.

Please, help me brother.

Please, aunt.

Please.

But they did not come to help.

Nor did they whisper.

Instead the pair watched on from the fireplace.

Helaena’s face full of sorrow, and Lucerys’ of rage.

A numbness began to creep through your mind, the same numbness you had felt before. The
numbness that had crawled through your veins at the night of the wedding, and instead of fighting
it, you welcomed it with open arms.

Take me.

Aegon became more vocal the closer he got to his release, his moans and groans cascading into the
air as his thrusts became sloppier and more painful. You blinked into the dark, slumping in the bed
as you prayed he would finish soon.

That it would be over soon.

“Kepa.” You whimpered, calling out to your father that you knew could not hear you.

That you knew could not help you.

That you knew could not save you.

Aegon groaned loudly, and suddenly it was over.

He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt the heat of his seed begin to pool against
your womb. Nausea rolled inside of you, and you retched loudly, feeling the food you had pitifully
eaten begin to rise from your stomach.

The weight of the King settled atop you as he laid his body down from exhaustion, cock still
twitching inside of you.

Searing pain spread through your core as you blinked the tears away, still crying beneath him.

It was over.

It was over.

It was over.

Aegon shifted, pulling his now soft cock from inside of you, a moan tumbling from his lips as a
whimper escaped yours.

You laid still, mind reeling, body frozen as he looked down at you.

“Let us pray you birth a King’s bastard.” He snickered, your head still turned as you looked at the
fireplace, Lucerys and Helaena watching on.

The tears continued to flow down your cheeks, and the familiar comfort of the murky tide rose to
swallow you whole. It tugged you beneath its surface and dragged you under more rapidly than it
had the first time, and you swam with it, diving down into the abyss.

And then it was quiet.

And then it was still.

 And then it was over.

You do not know when Aegon had left, nor if he had left without a word. But your mind sought
solace in the cold numbness that spread through you, and you let yourself drown in it, turning on
your side to stare at the wall unblinking.

The sticky wetness of his seed and your blood on your thighs had begun to dry as your tears
subsided.

The pain still strummed inside of you, but it did not feel like you, it was as though you were
experiencing someone else’s pain. It was unfamiliar. Alien.

Uncertain.

Soon, the room faded away, and the world around you fell silent, and all you could feel was the
feeling of not being.

Chapter End Notes

That was a heavy chapter. If you are feeling triggered at all, please know that you are
not alone, you are a survivor and there are people and places out there that can help
support you <3
 Blood Spilt
Chapter Notes

There is a union of therapists on their way to beat the living shit out of me right now

The sun rose and fell twice, the moon chasing after them. A never ending cycle of the lover who
longed for its other half, never truly being able to reach them.

Destined to seek out the unattainable forever more. Until that time when all things stop, and the
stars collide.

And all things that were, were now gone.

Then, and only then, could the moon go to the sun and become one.

You did not move from your position on your side on the bed, nor did you sleep, nor eat, nor bathe.

You simply were not there.

Your body perhaps, but your mind? It had gone with the wind, gentle ashes floating away, and a
quiet hopefulness that it would return.

It was an interesting thing, to not feel.

The only constant was your head on the pillow, and your body on its side.

The cold numbness continued to curl its tight hands around you, holding you down beneath the
depths that continued to drag you deeper, and deeper, down under its smothering darkness, until
you came to rest along its oceans bed.

And so you laid there, not feeling, not moving, not being.

Just there.

The maids had been frantic when they discovered you that morning, desperately trying to pull you
from the bed, yet each time their hands had touched you, you would shake amongst the sheets and
whimper.

They were at a loss of what to do, and so in their desperation, sought out assistance where they
could.

Alicent Hightower had entered the chambers with an annoyed air around her, expecting to see the
room in a disarray, wine and food thrown to the ground in a heated tantrum. The maids only words
to her was that the Princess was unwell.

She had expected to see you screaming, eyes ablaze looking every inch your mothers fury, cursing
and threatening each and every one of them as she or the Rogue Prince would have done, their fire
coursing through your veins. But when the older woman entered through the large doors,
Aemond’s two maids were nervously wringing their hands as they looked to the bed, where a
mound sat atop the sheets.

Alicent had not expected to see you, curled in a ball, unmoving, unblinking, and covered in blood.
She had moved swiftly across the chambers, fear rising in her throat at the thought of you being
dead.

What had happened?

Who had done this?

What would happen when Rhaenyra got word?

But Alicent knew what would happen. The treaty would end, and the Seven Hells would rain upon
them all. Daemon would leave not one person or being alive in King’s Landing, or any lands that
sided with the Hightower's.

With swift steps, Alicent came to your side dread racing through her body, images of dragons and
fire fleeting through her mind. She saw the blood, she saw the bruises, and then she saw your face.
The Dowager Queen sighed a breath of relief, seeing your chest rise and fall and eyes twitch.

You were alive.

She thanked the Seven.

Alicent's gaze swept over your body, taking in the bruises upon your throat and arms, large imprints
of fingers purpling across the flesh, and then back down to the blood upon your chemise and the
bed below you.

Bile rose in the Dowager Queen’s throat.

What had he done?

What had he done?

She knew it had been her son. She knew the way a mother knows her children intimately,
instinctually, almost like a second sight. Anger rose to replace her fear.

Did he wish to have them all killed?

“What has happened?” She hissed at the maids, who shifted on their feet as they looked at you.

Alicent reared back away from you and stormed out of the chambers, fingers finding each other in
her hands as she moved through the corridors to fetch the Maester. Her nails picked and pulled at
the skin on her fingertips, ripping it away from the nail, blood rising to the surface.

When the Dowager Queen found the old man, he had been bent over a tome in his chambers,
reading and writing upon parchment with his quill. He turned to look at the Queen, and she had
commanded him to bring Moon Tea to the Princesses chambers immediately.

Without another word she left.

You were where she had last seen you, still on your side, staring at the wall in front of you. The
maids had laid a thick blanket over you, tucking it up to your shoulders, and watched from beside
the bed anxiously. They whispered to each other lowly on what they should do.

When the Dowager Queen had entered, the girls had snapped their heads, quietened, and not
relaxed upon seeing her.

The Maester brought the tea, and Alicent commanded the two maids to sit you up so that you may
drink it. Amala and Joanna had moved to your side slowly, whispering to you that it was them, that
they were going to touch you. That they needed to sit you up, but all that you did was blink, and let
them move you.

As the girls pulled you up, dull pain rocked through your body, and a lone tear fell down your
cheek.

Why Gods, Why?

You continued to stare into nothing as they held you upright by your shoulders, and the world
came back around you. You crashed down to earth, plummeting into the circumstances you so
desperately wished to escape.

A tide of grief washed over you with the pain that returned to your body. Tears fell down your
cheeks and neck in fat drops as you blinked, breathing becoming jagged.

The grunts of Aegon echoed in your mind.

A blur of green caught your eye and you flinched, shoulders rising as you turned your head. Alicent
had moved to come closer, her auburn brows drawn tightly on her face.

She looked horrified.

She looked sad.

She looked remorseful.

Rhaenyra's childhood companion came closer, arm stretched out as she moved to comfort you,
hand hovering just out of reach of your shoulder.

You looked so much like your mother.

She wished to try and soothe you.

Because despite her reservations about you, despite the hatred of your family, despite her loyalty to
her son, despite the war, and your hand in her youngest sons death, she still felt the pull of her
heart, that this was not right. That no one deserved such a thing to happen to them. That even you
had not deserved such a thing. That women and girls should never experience such a horror.

For all of her faults, Alicent could see that this was wrong. That it was a crime. An act of
depravity.

A sin.

She prayed in her head to the Mother and Crone for guidance. She prayed for strength, for healing,
for wellbeing. She prayed that the force of the Blacks would not come to call.

But as her hand came to touch your shoulder, fear and nausea rippled through you, you had jerked
away from her, and screamed.

“Get away from me!”

“Please Princess, you must drink the tea.” She had said quietly, the Maester beside you looking
with clinical eyes, the colour from them seemingly gone, and nothing but a blank mask upon his
face.

You sobbed and wrapped your arms around yourself, fingers pressing into the bruised flesh to
ground yourself as he stepped forward, tea in hand.

The maids came to stand on the other side of you for support, and your shoulders relaxed, their
presence soothing you, even if only slightly.

The tea had been pressed to your lips, and you drank roughly as you continued to cry. Your throat
felt raw as you swallowed, as though it was cut apart from the inside.

The familiar tart, minty tea coated your mouth as it moved down into your empty stomach. You
could not stop the tide that overflowed as you finished the brew, your sobs filling the air as the
pressure on your core caused pain to ebb up your abdomen.

Please Gods, bring him back to me.

Please, do not let me suffer this pain any longer.

The maids had stayed at your side as the Maester left, empty cup in his hands. Alicent had stopped
him on his way out and commanded him, “Not a word to anyone of this.” The old man had bowed
his head, and uttered a quiet, “Your Grace” in acquiescence.

The Lady Hightower stood at the doors of the chambers, unsure of what to do, watching as you
cried and let the two maids put their small hands on your shoulders as you sobbed forward on the
edge of the bed.

She was at a loss.

Alicent’s own daughter had shied away from her touch, and now you, a young woman with
nothing, had too. Alicent left the chambers with a bitter taste on her tongue, and an anger that
burned towards her eldest son.

As the door had shut closed behind her, you gasped, your chest feeling tight and raw, body aching
and throat throbbing. The maids had stood on the side of the bed, cooing you, stroking your
shoulders which brought you tiny comfort.

Have I not given enough?

What did I do, Gods?

You let the maids see you as you were.

Broken.

As the night slowly crept upon you, and you had barely moved from your place on the bed. Amala
and Joanna had laid you down in the sheets after your refusal to bathe, and promised to stay in the
chambers with you, one sitting on the chaise, the other on Aemond’s arm chair as they tried to get
you to sleep.

They stayed awake the entire evening.

But sleep evaded you, no matter how exhausted you were, you would fall beneath a shallow
surface of sleep and rise back to the top as if drowning, the feeling of Aegon upon you and his
voice in your head preventing you from rest.

Helaena and Lucerys stood beside the fire, in the foreground with the two maids as you looked at
them, the chambers darkening.

And in the space where you could scarcely sleep and only think, you came to a horrifying
realisation that you did not feel safe in your chambers without him.

You did not feel safe without Aemond.

“Aemond.”

What little sleep you managed to get was disturbed by the whispers of the maids in the early
morning. Amala left the chambers first, leaving you with Joanna, who promised not to leave you
alone, your heart beating painfully in your chest.

When Amala returned, she told you that she had called for a bath to be brought to the chambers,
and that they would need to bathe you. Anxiety at the thought of being touched again moved
through you, and tears welled in your eyes.

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight for me. Are you sure you’re not a maiden? You’re bleeding on
my cock like one.” He huffed, continuing to slowly push himself back inside of you, each and
every inch of his cock sending agony racing up and down your spine as your legs were forced
open beneath him.

You blinked rapidly, and a broken sob past through your dry and crackled lips. Joanna came to
your side and helped you sit up, she wrapped the large blanket around your shoulders, covering
every inch of your body except of your head and told you to take deep breaths as she held you.

You breathed with her, hiccuping as other maids entered the chambers, head down, carrying the
large bath and buckets of steaming hot water. You felt yourself slipping back into that comfortable
numbness as you stared at the buckets be poured into the tub.

How much more were you expected to take?

You knew that you could not.

You would not.

You could not do it.

Not for yourself.

Not for your mother.

Not for your father.

Not for your brothers, or sisters.

The ask was too much, the stakes were too high.

The pain was too much to bear.

When the last of the maids had left the room, and you were left with your own, Joanna helped you
to stand, brittleness from exhaustion whittling in your bones as you took shaky steps across the
cold stone floors towards the bath.

You shivered as you stood in front of it, knuckles white as you gripped the blanket, before you
took a steeling breath and dropped it to the floor. You lifted your arms, ignoring the pain that
sparked through them and your core as you pulled your soiled chemise off of your body.

The maids had stood, ready to catch you, ready for anything, by the side of the tub as you stepped
one foot in, and then the other. The water steamed thickly into the air, and its heat stung your skin.
But you relished in the pain within your control and concentrated on it.

Sinking into its heat, you sat, knees against your chest as you kept your eyes on the fireplace,
watching the flames flicker and dance atop the logs that they consumed. Lucerys and Helaena
stood beside it, watching you quietly. Their presence mere shadows in your periphery.

“Don’t cry,” The King cooed, thrusting harder into you, “It is an honour to have my seed inside
of you.”

A warm trail of tears dripped from your cheeks and down into the milky water of your bath.

Endure.

Endure.

Endure.

The rattling of the doors caused your heart to leap into your throat as your head snapped behind
you, arms flying out to grasp the edge of the tub.

Leather riding gear, a mess of long silver hair, and a singular violet eye that widened at your
appearance stood by the doors. His chest rose as fell, and sweat dotted his brow as he stood rooted
to the ground beside the door.

He had been running.

Aemond was back.

“Kepus.” The sob fell from your lips, and he sped to your side, dropping to his knees as he looked
over you, hands coming out to hold your cheeks.

You flinched at his hands as they came to touch you, and another sob broke free, yet you let him
hold you. You let him touch your cheeks as he looked you over, eyes pausing on the dark bruises
around your neck.

His gaze darkened and the grip on your cheeks tightened.

Tears continued to fall into the water.

“You left me with him.” You cried, watching as Aemond’s face morphed into knowing, horror,
disgust and then rage. All flickering through his eye.

“You knew what he would do. You know what he does.” You continued, hands wrapping around
yourself as the maids left the chambers, closing the door behind you.

Aemond’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he held your cheeks, nose flaring, and lips twitching as
you cried brokenly in his hold.

Broken.

“You let him. He was inside me.” You hissed, anger bubbling up through you.

“Where were you? Where were you? Where were you?” You voice crackled and broke, pain
overtaking your senses.

You had no-one else to confide in.

No-one else in the Gods forsaken Keep, but your Kinslaying uncle.

Aemond's thumbs brushed against your cheeks, wiping the tears that fell away. But the movement
was stiff, and his presses too rough, as though he was barely keeping his composure. As though he
was ready to launch himself from beside the tub. As if he was fighting flames that licked at him
hotly.

“You left me, Aem.” You hiccuped, one hand coming to hold onto his wrist, using every ounce of
strength that you had, “Why did you leave me?”

“Zaldristos.”

Nausea curled inside of you as he whispered, hands still rubbing unsoothing swipes into your
cheeks. Stiff swipes of a repetitive nature, an autopilot as his brow continued to furrow as he
looked at you.

“He was inside me, and you were gone with your whore.” You spat, fire crackling higher within
you, “You left me with him whilst you went back to your Alys.”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he looked at you, hands stilling on your cheeks. Your chest heaved
as you cried, angry and horrified tears that fell from your cheeks.

"Dracarys.”

“Pretty petals.”

“A crown for-“

“Shut. Up.” You growled at the fireplace, your shoulders shaking.

“Y/n…I came back for you.” Aemond uttered.

“You’re too late. What's done is done. Aegon has had me.”

Silence curled around the both of you, and you turned your head, shaking Aemond’s hands from
your face as you looked into the flames.

He did this.

He left you.

He left you with him, for her.

He let Aegon have you.

He d-

“Ābrazȳrys, ivestragī nyke dohaeragon ao.” Wife, let me help you, Aemond cooed.

Another tear slid down your cheek as you dug your fingers into the bruises of your arms. In your
periphery you saw Aemond pick up the wash cloth from the edge of the tub and dip it into the
water.

With gentle fingers, he grasped your chin and turned your head back to him, your eyes glossy with
tears and his eye hooded in an emotion you couldn’t pin point. He squeezed the cloth of its
steaming water and brought it up to your face, pausing before he touched you, watching as your
eyes flinched.

“Iksan jāre naejot rāenābagon ao.” I'm going to wash you.

You let out a shuddering breath.

The One-Eyed Prince moved with a gentleness you did not know he possessed. He wiped the
tracks of tears away with the damp cloth first, before washing the rest of your face with a patience
he had not shown. As he moved downwards to your neck, you had whimpered, hands flying to
grasp his wrists, your nails digging into him as pain bloomed where he had irritated the skin.

Your uncle had hushed you, and dipped the cloth back into the water before coming back up, not
squeezing the water from it, and instead resting the cloth against your chin and squeezing there,
letting the water run down your neck in a way of contactless cleansing.

It was thoughtful.

It was caring.

It was-

You continued to cry as he hushed and cooed you, cleaning every inch of your body slowly and
gently, taking his time, his singular eye looking to yours for consent before he moved to the next
part of your body.

It had broken you further.

It had crumbled your heart.

The kindness.

The gentleness.

It was all too much, and so you sobbed loudly in the chambers as he continued, focused on getting
you clean and washing his brother from your body.

You had noticed, that with every dip of the cloth back into the bath, and back up to your arms, that
his hands shook, and the skin of his knuckles were white as he gripped the cloth with all his might.

He was grounding himself too.

Collecting a small bowl from beside the tub, he dipped it into the water and began to wet your hair,
washing it gently, and scrubbing cautious hands through the strands, untangling them with his
fingers as he went.
It was so quiet in the chambers.

Aemond was silent as he washed you, and did not comment about how you flinched at times, or
sobbed louder. He only stayed patient and slow as you allowed him to bathe you. As you allowed
him to care for you.

As you allowed him to offer this small piece of comfort to you.

When Aemond had reached to clean between your thighs, he had stopped himself, and his palm
had opened, turning upwards, revealing the soaked cloth to your eyes.

He was offering you the cloth to do it yourself.

And yet in that moment, you couldn’t bare to bring yourself to touch yourself with your own hands.
You had sucked in a sharp breath, and Aemond had waited for you to take the cloth, hand still
open.

When moments had passed, and you had not reached out for it, you listened to Aemond blow a
shaky breath through his lips as he moved the cloth to your inner thighs. You had flinched when he
came into contact with the tender flesh, and you had whimpered, eyes shutting tightly. Aemond
paused and gave you time to adjust or tell him to stop before he began to clean the blood and seed
from your thighs that had dried there.

It stung.

It ached.

It hurt to be touched, it struck fear to be touched.

And yet when Aemond had finished, you cried in relief that it was over.

It was over.

It was over.

“It’s over.” He had murmured, placing the cloth back on the edge of the tub.

The water had begun to grow cold, and the goosebumps that spread across your skin was not just
due to the cold, but from the unfurling conditions your brain was yet to wrap itself around.

Aemond stood, the leather of his riding gear creasing as he moved to collect your robe and brought
it over to you. He laid it over his arm and reached to help you to stand on shaky legs, your tears
having subsided and your body softly shaking.

He would see what Aegon had done.

He would see what he did to you.

He would see.

One leg after the other, you stepped out of the tub, holding your breath as Aemond slowly helped
to thread your arms through the robe, careful to not touch you.

Unbeknownst to you, the maids had returned and stripped the bed of the bloodied sheets, and
replaced them with fresh ones.
Aemond stood beside you, watching your face as you stared into the flames, clutching yourself for
dear life. Trying to make yourself smaller, trying to hide yourself. Trying to protect yourself.

“Y/n.” Aemond whispered, and you turned to look at him.

The Prince towered over you and a shadow settled across his face, but you held no fear as you
looked at him. The anger that he held, the pain that he too experienced, was not aimed at you. As
you looked at the man who had become foreign to you, you did not feel fear.

Only anguish.

His hand reached forward and touched your shoulder, and the dam inside of you broke. You
stepped forward and collapsed into his chest, sobbing as his arms wrapped around you softly,
pulling you against his chest as he let you cry.

The sandalwood, leather, and the faint smell of dragon curled around you, and you breathed deeply,
burying your head further into his chest. He hummed softly, and rubbed a gentle unsure hand
through your hair, stilling when you stiffened.

Leaning his head down, Aemond pressed his lips to the top of your head and breathed, inhaling
your essence before he pulled backwards.

“Come.” He offered quietly, and turned to lead you towards the bed.

But fear shot through you as you looked at the bed, memories of Aegon, the sounds of his grunts,
the feel of his-

You pulled away from him, eyes widened in fright and breath caught in your throat, “No. No.
Please.” You cried, and Aemond stepped forward again, hushing you.

“Shh, shh, shh. Okay. Okay. No bed. Let’s sit you down, hm?”

The One-Eyed Prince led you to the chaise, sitting you down with care and pulled a blanket to
drape over you, wrapping it tightly against you.

The tide within did not settle, nor did it rise again, instead the waves crashed against you in the
same familiar way they had not too long ago. When you had first returned to the Keep, with lip cut
and palm bleeding. When he had made you bleed just the same.

When he-

“Why did you leave me?” You muttered.

Your question went unanswered as Aemond moved to go towards the chamber doors. Fear rose
inside of you at the thought of beign left alone in the chambers again. he would come again. he
could always come again. He would-

You hand struck out and you snatched his, gripping him and pulling him back.

“Stay.” You whispered.

Aemond looked to the door and back to you, jaw tightening and his lips twitching in thought. But
the Prince had made up his mind, and nodded, sitting down beside you.

There was no one else you could turn to.

No one else you could confide in.

No one.

You curled your legs beneath you and shifted, resting your head in his lap. He smelt familiar. He
smelt safe. He smelt like him. He didn't smell like wine, or sweat or-

Immediately, Aemond began to swipe a gentle hand through your hair as you tried to blink away
your tears, and steady your breathing.

Stay.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me to him.

Please.

The hands combed through your hair, the movement tugging the strands at the root in a steady
rhythm that you could count out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The longer your uncle did it, the more you sunk into the rhythm of counting and not thinking.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

The day passed, and the chambers had darkened, and all the while you kept your eyes on Aemond's
face above you, who sat stiffly with your head in his lap, one hand in your hair, and the other
clenched on the arm of the chaise.

His lone eye, his singular violet eye that clouded with storms, a soft lavender in spring, eyes you
had loved as a child, and grew to fear as an adult, stared straight at the chamber doors.

Waiting.
 Unlikely Ally
Chapter Notes

Behold, another chapter, I know these ones are quite heavy, and so I am doing my best
to post as often as I can so that we aren't all left in the pit of despair.

The soft brushing of hands through your hair drew you up to the surface of consciousness, a gentle
stirring that did not jerk you to the front, but caressed you. Sandalwood and musk, smoke and
leather, hints of dragon, all curled around you, creating a feeling of safety.

It was him.

It was okay.

It was over.

Your eyes cracked open, your limbs heavy and tires as you looked up.

Long silver hair, deep black leather robes, a scar through cheek and forehead, a shining sapphire
eye and a stormy violet one. Aemond sat as he had the day before, back stiff and seeing eye still on
the chamber doors.

He had not slept.

And he had not taken his eye from the doors, not even for one moment.

His other hand however, was not clutching the side of the chaise as it was when you drifted to
sleep, but instead cupped your face, thumb smoothing the soft skin along your jawline.

You blinked at him and shifted, dull pain sparking in your neck, and throbbing through your core.
At your stirring, the Prince turned his sight away from the door, to cast his eye down to look at
you, jaw clenched as his gaze slipped to the bruises upon your neck.

Slowly you moved to sit up, ignoring the way your body begged to stay still, to keep laying on the
chaise, to go back to rest and exist in a world of non-existence. To sleep in the emptiness void and
bask in the silence of your dreams.

Your uncle made room for you to sit beside him, feet moving down to brush against the cold stone
floors.

“Easy.” Aemond breathed as you winced from the movement, your eyes finding the fireplace, with
no sight of Lucerys or Helaena.

They were gone.

He lifted his hand to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear, evidently pleased that you did not
flinch at his touch. But how were you to flinch when you had no one else to go to.

There was an emptiness that settled in your chest, a hollowness that lingered around you and had
not left, despite his presence.

Aemond's violet eye searched your face, looking at your profile before he whispered your
childhood name to you. A soft coo. A gentle command. A come hither of the kindest notion.

You turned your head to face him, and watched as he softly gripped your chin, tilting your head up,
pain in the movement of it, allowing him to see the bruises that marred your neck.

Cause by his brother.

The King.

He breathed a sharp breath through his nose as he looked at the purple blotches. Long angry lines
marked the shape of fingers around your neck, pink and purple blooming around the skin, with
tinges of yellow creeping along the edges.

“Skoros ēza ziry gaomagon naejot ao.” What has he done to you, He murmured, and you shut your
eyes.

You didn’t want to think of what he had done to you.

You didn’t want to think about the feeling of his hands on you.

The feeling of him inside of you.

A knock rattled the wood of the doors, echoing in the solemn space. You jumped beside him, heart
lurching in your throat as you spun to look at the entrance.

It was him.

He was back.

He was back.

It was not o-

“It’s alright.” Aemond whispered before turning his head, but his posture said anything but it. His
spine had stiffened more than it already was, and he looked as though he was ready to jump from
his spot beside you. It set you on edge.

“Come.” His voice boomed across the room.

The two large doors opened, and the knight who guarded your chambers entered meekly, eyes on
the floor, not daring to look at you or Aemond.

Where was he?

Had he heard?

Did he know?

“My Lord, My Lady.” He greeted you both, finally raising his eyes to look across the room. “The
King has requested your presence this morning to dine with the Small Council.”

The King.
The King.

To Dine.

To Dine.

The King.

The words caused nausea to roll through you, tears springing to your eyes. Please Gods, not again.
Please. Please. Your breath quickened as you stared, heart racing against your ribcage.

Aemond inhaled deeply, with anger.

“Has he commanded it?” He growled.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Leave.” Aemond grunted.

The world around you got smaller.

The King.

The King.

You were to see him again.

Two large hands grasped your face and turned you to gaze upon Aemond’s.

“Paghagon, zaldrītsos.” Breathe.

A sob broke through you as you tried to steady your breathing.

The King.

The memories of him on top of you.

His grunts.

His hands.

His-

Aemond murmured your nickname and you looked into his eye.

“Do not show that him that he has broken you.”

One hand released your face and came down into your lap, pulling your hand into his own, finger
sliding up and down on the scar of your palm.

It was intimate, it was soft, and it grounded you.

“I promise, he will not touch you again. I give you my word.”

You said you wouldn’t leave.

You promised I would be safe.

Your breathing quickened again.

You said I would be okay.

I told you.

I told you.

I to-

“Where is your fire?” His eye searched your face.

You blinked at him, tear rolling down your cheek.

“Skoriot iksis ñuha zaldrītsos?” Where is my little dragon?

Where is she?

Where is she?

Snuffed out.

Tired.

Broken.

“Gone.”

“You and I both know that is not the case.” He whispered, thumb still smoothing the scar on your
palm, “Iksā se ānogar hen Uēpa Valyria. Perzys dakogon rȳ ao. Iksā se tala hen Rhaenyra
Targārien, se se Rogue Dārilaros."

You are the blood of Old valyria. Fire runs through you. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra
Targaryen, and the Rogue Prince.

Aemond leant forward, eye determined and shadowed as he spoke, with conviction, slowly,
sternly, and reverantly.

"Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys.” You are my wife.

My wife.

You blinked again, heart still thumping a racing rhythm in your chest.

“My wife is not weak. My wife is not broken.” He squeezed your hand and you squeezed it back,
trying to calm the awful anxiety that caused your stomach to tie up in knots.

“We will dine with the King, and we will show him… Who you are.”

Who you are.

Who are you?

Zaldristos.

Dracarys.
You sniffed and nodded, swallowing thickly as you began to push down the tide of overwhelming
terror.

Where was your fire?

Where is your fire?

Where?

The Amala and Joanna came to dress you, and had sat you gently at the vanity to brush and braid
your hair together, both there to support you. There to offer you support with their mere presence
alone, and although it did not relieve the trepidation that you had, their non verbal show of care
was a stepping stone you had not known you needed.

When you looked at yourself in the vanity, your eyes scanned the bruises along your neck and the
visual state of your wellbeing. Your eyes were dark, heavy shadows beneath them, and your cheeks
had lost a fullness to them, as though the life had seeped out of you.

The bruises told a story of its own.

Dark purple blotches of fingers along your neck stood out as a reminder to you, mauves and blues
pressed harder in some places than others, like splatters of paint, and yellow bleeding at the edges.
You had to suck in a shaken breath and turn your head away, not wishing to look at the evidence of
his touch on your flesh.

It is over.

It is over.

The gown they dressed you in was high necked to cover the bruises, to hide his crimes. To hide the
horrors that you had to endure. To hide your sorrow

The dress was long and heavy, sleeves tight against you with silk threads of black flames that were
embroidered along the sleeves, skirt, and bodice. The high neck buckled at the front with silver
clasps, and a large chain of Valyrian steel was secured around your waist, the head of a dragon
biting down on its own tail.

When you were dressed, you sat once more in front of the vanity and looked at yourself.

Though the dress hid the bruises that marred your body, your face betrayed you with your hollow
eyes and gaunt cheeks. But the gown helped in a false sense of power and pride, and the hair made
you feel closer to your family in a moment when you needed them most.

Do this for them.

Do this for them.

What more could be done?

The worst has already happened.

Endure.

Endure.

Endure.
“Are you ready?” Aemond stood behind you, one hand on the side of your shoulder where his
thumb rubbed against the junction of your neck.

You swallowed.

Were you ready?

You would never be ready.

But you had to be.

For them.

For yourself.

You nodded and stood, turning to face Aemond.

Shock crawled through you.

Today, he was not in his leather robes that he always wore.

Today Aemond wore something similar to you.

All black.

Your eyes roamed over his body.

The tunic and pants were similar to yours with a black vest tightened at his front. Large silver
clasps held the tunic and vest together, and from one point of his shoulder down to his waist was
another steel chain.

One dragon head on each end, their jaws biting down on the black to hold to the material.

Aemond was wearing black.

Not his black leathers.

But black robes.

Matching black robes.

He was wearing your colours.

Aemond’s eye was half hooded, and his sapphire eye twinkled lightly as he shifted his head to look
at you. His hair had been braided back, away from his face and fastened at the back of his head
half up and half down.

It reminded you of your father.

The Prince held out his hand to you, palm up. The scar ran across the expanse of his large hand,
the pink skin raised and delicate. His hands were so much larger than yours, and he had calluses
from years of sword training, and the wear of Vhagar's reins upon his skin.

Placing your own in his, you felt the two of your ceremonial scars press together.

As one.
And so you walked together, as one, in unlikely circumstances fated by the Gods or others, to the
small Dining Hall.

His grip grounded you as you counted the steps.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

You breathed in with every second step and out with every fourth, trying to set an easy rhythm to
concentrate on and follow.

The walk passed quickly, and by the time you stood in front of the two doors, Aemond’s eye was
set on the entrance in front of him, his hand tightening around yours painfully. You watched as his
jaw clenched, and the lips you had come to chase, pursed.

“Dracarys.” Came the familiar whisper of Lucerys.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

The doors opened, and you struggled to keep your fear in check, but you pushed it down, as you
had many times before. As you have always had to do. And the cold steel mask that you had grown
accustomed to wearing in your time, since even before the war, slipped on.

There was something about entering a chamber full of the Greens Small Council, and having all
eyes on you. All eyes on the treaty bargaining piece, and her husband, the One-Eyed Prince,
dressed head to toe in matching robes of black.

A symbol of unity.

A symbol of rebellion.

A symbol of hope.

When your eyes landed on Aegon, your stomach lurched into your throat, hand jerking in
Aemond’s grip, who thankfully kept it tightly in his as you ascended the small stairs.

Aegon continued to stare at the both of you, a wide smirk on his pale face as he looked at the state
of your dress, focusing on the neck of the gown, which split his face into an even wider smile.

“Brother! Welcome home.” The King boomed.

Alicent sat nervously at the seat beside him, hand tucking a thumb into her palm on the table. A
nervous habit.

Aemond did not reply, and pulled out the seat for you to sit in. You sat down and held your breath,
heart rising in your throat as your eyes could not tear themselves away from your eldest uncle.
“How do you fare, niece? You look unwell.” Aegon falsely asked, and the shift in the chambers
was palpable.

You swallowed thickly, teeth grinding down against one another in your jaw as you dug your nails
into Aemond’s hand.

Dracarys.

“Tired, Your Grace." Your voice crackled, "Aemond’s return was swift and unexpected. We had
much to catch up on.” You felt your teeth slide across each other roughly.

Aegon grinned, “I am sure you did.”

Otto inhaled deeply, and Aegon leant back to snap his fingers at the servers, having them bring the
food to the table.

The food was brought over and piled high, the smells of the meats and fruit turning your stomach.
There was even a bowl of starfruit on the table, which you dared to not touch. But most notably,
there was a large roasted pig sat in the middle in front of you and Aemond. You felt his own hand
clench in your grip, whilst Aegon watched with bright eyes, waiting for the reaction he desperately
sought out.

“Mother, a prayer?” Aegon looked to Alicent, who’s eyes nervously danced between all of you.

You wondered who else in the Small Council had known of what had happened.

Anger began to stir inside of you, and Lucerys’ whispers got louder.

Dracarys.

“May we pray to the Crone for wisdom in these times, may she carry her lantern to us to guide the
path in which we move forward. May-“

“We pray to the Mother,” Aegon began, interrupting the Dowager Queen, and all eyes flicked up to
him, “For a healthy babe and fertile womb for the Princess.”

It was a blur of black and green.

Black and Green.

Green and Black.

“Hen Kasta, Hen Zōbrie.” Of Green, Of Black, Helaena whispered.

The world around you spun.

Breath caught in your throat, the sound of guards being summoned and the yells of Alicent and
Otto Hightower brought you back to the present.

Aemond had launched himself across the table, fist catching the Kings jaw, sending the
Conquerors Crown flying across the floor with a clang. The chair he had been seated on swung
backwards, and the two brothers landed on a heap of fists on the floor.

You could scarcely move, standing as you watched punch, after punch was thrown by both men on
the stone floors of the Small Dining Hall. The other Council members stood watching, others
sitting, unsure of what to do as Ser Cole rushed over to the blur of silver hair, trying to yank the
youngest brother from the King.

“Aemond! Stop this!” Alicent screamed, watching as the One-Eyed Prince wrapped his hands
around the King’s throat.

“Aemond!” Otto bellowed, hand raised to stop the King’s guard from reaching the two.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

“Aemond.” Your voice felt foreign as it left your lips.

The two men struggled still, the king beneath Aemond who's hands only continued to tighten on
around the King's neck.

Hands around your neck.

Aegon's hands around your neck.

His grunts.

His breath.

His-

"Aemond!" The yell escaped you without a second thought.

You watched as the Prince stiffened and jerked his brothers head down onto the stones, rolling off
of him to stand. His chest heaved as he looked down at Aegon who was pulled up by Ser Cole,
blood dribbling from his lips and nose.

Dracarys.

Hen Kasta, Hen Zōbrie.

Aemond was yanked backwards by Alicent, his shoulder jerking her hold from him as he breathed
staring at his brother who sneered.

“You dare put a hand on the King?” He growled, “I could have your head.”

"Touch her again and I'll-"

"You'll what?"

A tear slid down your cheek.

Dracarys.

“Enough! Is it not bad enough that we are at war with your half-sister, that now you seek to war
with your own brother? Have you gone to madness?” Alicent snapped at her son, staring Aegon
down, who spat a glob of bloody spit onto the stones at Aemond's feet.

“I will not have this family fallen over the petty grievances of two men grown behaving as little
boys.” Alicent snapped her head to the Council members who watched on awkwardly, “Leave, and
do not speak of what you have witnessed.”

“Not a word to anyone of this.” The old man had bowed his head, and uttered a quiet, “Your
Grace” in acquiescence.

“Return to your chambers,” Alicent spun around looking at you and then to Aemond, “All of you.”

You blinked, once, twice, three times.

Aemond was at your side, lip split and hair tousled, though the braids holding firmly. His knuckles
were bloodied and bruised, his attire was messed, but his face checked over yours to see if you
were okay.

To see if you were safe.

You had an ally.

 Confessions
Chapter Notes

TW: PTSD, mentions of assault, flashbacks of assault, anxiety, anger, trauma,

hypersexuality as a trauma response, possessive behaviour.

Aemond sat in the arm chair in front of the fire in your shared chambers in silence, staring into the
flames. You had both been in a daze as you were sent back to your chambers, escorted by three
King’s guards.

Helaena and Lucerys had been waiting for you inside when you arrived.

Always there.

Aemond did not speak as he walked, nor did he reach out to touch you as you were walked speedily
through the corridors, his hands still curled in fists, and lone eye ablaze. His anger set you on edge,
and the fear you had forcefully pushed down and away, slowly rose to the surface again in the
prospects of not just one of your uncles wrath, but two.

The young Prince's violet eye never left the flames of the fireplace, even as you stood in front of it
meekly.

“Aemond.”

He did not reply.

“Aemond.” You said again, his gaze still not lifting from the fire, lips pulled down into a hard
sneer.

Your eyes flicked down to his hands, which were fisted atop the arms of the chair, blood beginning
to dry on his tightly clenched knuckles.

He needed a Maester.

Stepping away from the fireplace, you moved towards him, Helaena and Lucerys’ bodies
becoming shadows behind you. Your shaky hand reached out as you whispered again, and touched
his shoulder cautiously, “Kepus.”

Slowly, Aemond’s head turned to look at your hand upon his body, not reacting to your voice or
touch, simply looking at it. It sparked a moment of apprehension through you, and so just as slowly
as you had placed your palm there, you took it off.

Aemond’s gaze finally moved up your wrist, following the path of your arm, your neck, and then
finally to your face, jaw still tightly clenched.

“Aem…”

“You are so broken that you seek comfort from me, the man who killed your brother. His own
nephew.”
You reared back as though you had been slapped.

Broken.

Broken.

He watched as your face crumpled, lip shaking as tears welled in your eyes again.

Aemond was hurt.

And so he was lashing out to hurt you.

He had not changed.

He was the same as he always had been.

He was just the same.

They were all the same.

A lone tear slid down your cheek as your breath stuttered in your chest, hands curling into fists
beside you.

Aemond, realising what he had said, had a moment of clarity and reached a hand outwards towards
you in regret, trying to grasp the hand that was closest between you.

“I’m s-“

Dracarys.

You shook your head roughly, “Don’t.”

“Y/n, I-“

The thread of resolve that had been frayed inside of you, snapped.

“I am surrounded by vipers! I am alone in this Keep.” You hissed, the heat of anger rising with no
sign of stopping. You stepped away from your uncle angrily, catching the enraged face of Lucerys
as you moved, who continued to utter beneath his breath.

“Your brother raped me, and where was my husband? Off fucking his whore in Harrenhal like the
dutiful Prince he so claims to be. Your mother knew and did nothing.”

Aemond looked away at the words, which lit the sparks ablaze, more anger flowing through you
that you did not know you possessed, resolve feeling more frayed and distraught than ever, your
body bursting with wrath.

“Aegon was inside of me, whilst you left me here. He fucked his seed into me with he hopes of a
bastard.”

Aemond breathed an angry breath through his nose, face snapping to yours.

“You call me broken?" You sneered, "You took Lucerys. At night I dream of him, of his small
face.” A tear slid down your cheek, “I cannot escape the visions in which you took him from me,
of where I watched in horror as Vhagar tore him from the sky. I see him everywhere.” You took a
step towards him, hand moving to violently jab a pointed finger at your own chest, nail pressing
into the skin.

Dracarys.

Pretty petals.

“You call me broken? My mother had her throne taken from her, and my sister born still. I am
trapped in a Keep surrounded by enemies. My only solace is a man who has raped me just as his
brother did.”

The more you spoke, the more you could not stop the words that flew from your lips, watching as
Aemond’s chest rose and fell angrily.

“I was forced to marry a man who has sought nothing but pleasure in my anguish!” You screamed
at the Prince, coming closer until you stood in front of him, his face still as he watched you.

“Helaena threw herself from Maegor’s Holdfast to be impaled on spikes below, because she
couldn’t bear another day. My own husband leaves me to fuck his bastard whore before the whole
court, knowing that his brother would defile me! And you think me broken?”

Aemond did not answer.

“Say it again. Call me broken.” You sneered down at him.

Silence.

The only sound the crackling fire, and whispers of Helaena and Lucerys behind you.

“Am I only broken now that your brother has been inside of me? Am I no longer a toy you wish to
play with? ” Tears slid from your eyes as you shook with anger.

You were furious.

You were horrified.

You were grieving, and tired, and scared, and alone.

“Tell me.” You demanded.

Aemond blinked.

“Tell me!” You screamed at his silence.

Still, nothing.

Your hand flew through the air, slapping him roughly across the scarred side of his face, the sound
of the hit breaking the rooms quiet.

“Tell me.” You seethed looking down at him, his head slowly turning to look at you, blood on his
lip resurfacing as your slap reopened the cut from Aegon's fists.

And yet even after your outburst, even after your demands, your screams, your cries, and the hit
upon his face in which you knew would hurt him deeply, Aemond sat still, looking at you heave
angry breaths, tears filling your eyes, as the side of his face blushed red from your hand.

The dam spilt over.

“Tell me.” You begged, a sob slipping from your lips.

Before you could blink, you were engulfed in Aemond’s arms, your head tucked beneath his chin
as you stiffened. You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held you tighter, your arms stuck by
your side.

You inhaled deeply, trying to dispell the tide that rose inside of you, but it was no use. The wave
crashed over you, and you sobbed loudly into his chest, arms coming to grip onto his shirt in front
of you.

You stood as he held you, sobbing into his robes, his grip never faltering.

You cried until you felt you could not cry anymore.

You felt so defeated.

So tired.

So angry.

Perhaps you truly were broken.

"You are stronger than you think.” Came the whisper of Aemond atop your skull, finally breaking
the silence, “I think you are the blood of the mighty House Targaryen.” His chest vibrated against
your face as you cried.

Stronger than you think.

Then why do I feel so weak?

“The blood of Old Valyria. Iksā se kostōba issaros nyke gīmigon.” You are the strongest person I
know.

You are so broken that you seek comfort from me, the man who killed your brother. His own
nephew.

With a surge of anger, you pushed away from him, separating yourself from the arms that had held
you as you cried.

“Then why do you tear me apart?” You sneered.

Why?

Why?

Aemond stood, hands limp by his side as he looked at you.

Silence again.

You shook your head and fled, leaving the chambers and the man inside them behind you. Moving
past the guards who looked at you peculiarly, tears still running down your cheeks.

You needed comfort.

You needed solace.

You needed familiarity.

And so your legs took you to a place where you could find all three, down to the Godswood.

As your feet moved across the soft grass, you tilted your head backwards to look up at its crimson
leaves, dancing in a soft breeze that swept through the Keep. Your tears flowed as you moved
towards the place you always sat beneath its trunk.

Why do you punish me, Gods?

What have I done that I need to repent for?

Is this because I am acursed as a Kinslayer?

Is this my atonement?

The Gods did not answer your questions as you laid you back against the trunk, exhaustion seeping
out of you and into the earth below. You wished for the ground to open up, and for you to fall
through the cracks and be swallowed whole. To be done with such a life. To be numb to the pain.

I know I came here to help, but I find the strength I had dwindling. Was this how it was always
to be? To suffer the sins of man? To suffer the sins of my uncles? Please Gods, give me the
strength to do what I must. I am losing hope. I am losing myself to madness.

To grief.

Please.

You shut your eyes as you prayed.

Please, help me on the path I must take. Let Aegon die. Kill him for what he has done. By my
hand or another. By his own hand. By wine or ales hand. By the slip of his foot, or the hoof of a
horse, or the fault of his dragon.

Let the Stranger take him.

The prayers did not stop as you sat under the branches and leaves of the Godswood, praying for
help, from anyone, promising that you would do anything.

To have them take Aegon.

For the war be over.

To help you.

Your eyes stayed shut, and the exhaustion that never left your bones swept you away to a light
sleep, prayers following you to your dreams as you sat beneath the trees branches even there, its
face blinking at you as you begged and pleaded for guidance.

But the dream was ripped away from you as the Godswood had opened its mouth to speak, and you
woke to the gentle whisper of your name.

Your eyes shot open to see Aemond standing above you, looking down at you with a soft face. His
knuckles were washed of the blood that had dried upon them, and there now sat scabbed cuts and
pinkish bruises upon his pale skin.
His hand came out, as it had before, palm up in offering to help you stand. Yet as you looked at
him, all you could think of was his last words to you.

You are so broken that you seek comfort from me, the man who killed your brother.

His own nephew.

Sniffing you ignored the hand, and pulled yourself stiffly to stand. Your uncle watched you, the
sky around you darkened, and it was only then had you realised you had slept the entire day away.

For the first time in days, you had slept a decent sleep.

Aemond continued to look at you as you dusted down your skirts, before his chin stretched
upwards and he cast his eye to the leaves above you. The crimson in the evenings light looked
almost black.

You realised his lips had moved before the words followed them. His voice was so quiet, so soft,
gentle like the leaves that continued to rustle above you.

“I used to sit here, when we were young…” The air around you was tense as he whispered, eye still
cast upwards to the leaves he watched as he reminisced, “I would listen to you read. It was not
often that I could get away from him, or your brothers.”

You kept your gaze on his face.

“It was always you.”

Aemond's gaze moved and his eye settled back on you.

“It has always been you.”

It has always been you.

The worlds curled around you like the serpent in your dreams.

It has always-

“Please,” Aemond broke the spell, “Come dine with me.”

His voice was so low, that you almost had to strain to hear him.

Your stomach clenched at the thought of food, the realisation that you had not eaten at all dawning
on you. You searched his sharp features before giving him a shallow nod, and following him back
through the Keep to your chambers, where the three guards still sat stationed outside.

It has always been you.

You ate in mostly silence as tension filled the air of the chambers. The maids had come with your
meal and had watched you closely, waiting for you to ask or command them for something should
you need it.

But you didn't.

And so to quell the pain, and anxiety, and anger that continued to turn about inside of you, you
drank from your goblet of Dornish spiced wine, not honeyed Essos wine, and let the warm burning
of the alcohol distract your thoughts and give you something to focus on.
It has always been you.

“Is the food to your liking?” Aemond asked, his hands lowering to the table as he waited for your
response.

Your approval.

“It’s fine.” You replied, voice clipped.

Why was he asking you that?

“Is there anything that you need?” His tone held uncertainty in it, as though he was tiptoeing
around you. Around your anger.

Broken.

The fire that had been tamed roared back to life, everything about him irritating you in that
moment. The way he sat, the way he looked at you. The way his face bruised on one side of his
cheek, the cut on his lips, the cuts on his hands.

“The mundanity of these questions aren’t going to change what happened. What you said.”

Aemond blinked once, placing the cutlery on his plate, “I don't know what you want from me.”

What you want from me.

What you want from me?

You scoffed, “Do you want me to pretend that Aegon hadn’t come into these chambers and rape
me on our bed? Do you want me to pretend that I am okay with what you said to me?”

“You didn’t have an issue with pretending before.”

The sound of your hands slamming your own cutlery down cut through the room.

"If you think this marriage is anything but a political one,” You sneered, patience gone from your
body, “A truce to end bloodshed between our families, you are sorely mistaken. You have been
twisted into a man I do not recognise by the ambitions and obsessions of your mother.”

Aemond’s lips pursed, “Don’t speak about my mother.”

“Why? What has she done but start this war. What has she done but push, and push, and push
others to do her bidding for her. What has she done but start the pieces that fell, the pieces that led
to this war.” You leant forward into the table and hissed, “Her actions took your eye, not my
brother.”

Aemond’s violet eye twitched, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction at seeing his composure
break.

Why were you the only one to suffer?

You opened your mouth, “You cont-“

“You betrayed me!” Aemond screamed, shooting up from his chair.

“What?”
Betrayed?

“We were close once you and I, when we were young, and when your brother took my eye you
sided with them. You sided with the one who blinded me!”

“We were all children!”

“I loved you!”

The air left the chambers.

The room fell still.

The both of your chests rising and falling.

A confession.

“I loved you, and you betrayed me.” He growled, standing tall by the table.

Loved me?

Betrayed him?

“Betrayed you?” You scoffed, “And what have you done to me, hm? You killed my brother. You
killed my dragon. You have taken everything from me. You have raped me, and humiliated me,
and hurt me beyond repair. I am covered in the evidence of your demented love. Any love that I
held for you died when I was a child.” You spat, heart racing in your chest.

Aemond laughed mockingly, “We both know that is a lie.”

You turned away from him, huffing a laugh back at him, “You think I could love a man who has
attacked me? Tormented me? Haunted my dreams for years? A man who has slain my brother?
Raped me?”

Your hand flew to the table and ripped up the goblet of wine, drinking greedily from it as you
slowly rose from your chair, looking your uncle up and down as he stood before you, eye crazed.

“Once I had loved you,” You confessed, “You were sweet, and kind.” Your heart clenched, it
ached to know that those days were gone.

“A boy who’s devotion to his family was strong. A boy who I could turn to when I needed. A boy
who I grew beside and dreamt of our future together. I would have gladly wed you. But you’re not
him. You’ve taken too much from me.”

“I have.”

You stalked towards him, snatching a small knife from the table beside your plate as you moved in
front of him, his eye never leaving your face.

“And yet you expect me to love a monster? To forgive you of all of your sins?” You walked
forward until you stood before him, your chest bumping his, neck craned upwards to look in his
eye.

You rose the blade to his face, the feeling of deja-vu curling around you, holding its point to his
seeing violet orb as he stood still, face unreadable, looking down at you.
You let the blade rest on his cheek sharply as he still did not react.

It made you seethe.

Swiftly you moved the blade onto his throat pushing against it, not breaking the skin.

You watched his face as you tested him.

“You think I could ever love you?” You sneered, rising on the tips on your toes to look at him,
anger fuelled by the wine and all that had happened.

The knowledge that more was to come.

The knowledge that you were too trapped to do anything about it.

Aemond’s hand slowly came up to touch your elbow on the arm that was poised to hold the blade
against him, and pushed it harder against his throat. Tempting you.

Encouraging you.

He held your arm steady as it began to shake, his long fingers gentle against your skin. Warmth
burnt through you at his touch and you shifted your gaze to his lips, watching as his pink tongue
came out to wet his lips.

You wished to tear his lips apart with your teeth.

“I know you do.” He told you, “Though you have two eyes, you still don’t see.”

The Prince watched you intently, breath caught in your throat as you felt a familiar warmth begin
to pool into your stomach, desire moving its way around your body. Desire to hurt him. Desire to
be held by him. Desire to feel a touch that wasn’t pain. Desire to feel hands that did not bring you
terror.

Desire to feel loved.

Cared for.

Protected.

The need to be in control again.

To have control of your body.

You swallowed thickly, still looking at him as you leant yourself closer, blade pressing harder
against his neck as you crashed your lips against his roughly. A grunt slipped through his mouth
into yours, surprise catching him off guard as your other hand gripped onto his arm for purchase.

You kissed him intently, angrily, still pushing the blade against him as his lips sought yours.

Aemond pulled back with a hiss.

The blade on his neck had slipped, a bead of blood pooling to the surface before it began to trail
warmly down his neck. You watched the blood travel down the pale expanse of his skin.

You had cut him.

You had made him bleed.

And it made you feel good.

Leaning forward, you let your tongue chase the crimson stream, letting the bitter iron liquid spread
across your tongue, trailing up to the source and placing a rough kiss there. Teeth nipping the skin
and relishing in Aemond’s low whine.

For the first time in days, you felt powerful.

Aemond groaned beneath you, and the blade clattered to the floor.

His hands gripped your waist and pulled you tighter to him as you nipped along his neck, teeth
biting into his cut meanly. You wanted it to hurt, and as you bit and nipped at his flesh, Aemond
continued to groan and whine from above.

Yet despite it all, his hands did not move any further to touch you, instead simply holding you
against him.

Growing tired of his inaction you uttered to him, 'Touch me', begging for his hands on you as you
continued to lap the blood on his neck, working your way back to his lips.

Your uncles hands softly held the small of your back and behind your head as he let you guide the
rough embrace, your teeth biting down roughly on his lips, nipping at the cut there as you pressed
your body against him, the feeling of his hardened member throbbing against your stomach.

The memories of Aegon sprung to your mind and you paused, gasping, pulling away sharply as
disgust and terror wound its way around you.

It has always been you.

Aemond pulled back searching your face with a hooded eye, small patches of blood on his swollen
lips and a smudged trail of the crimson on his neck.

“Zaldrītsos,” He began to utter, his hands moving away from you, to push you back.

To give you space.

“Don’t.” You blurted, “It hasn’t stopped you before.”

And it hadn’t.

You crashed your lips back against him.

It was over.

It was not Aegon.

It was over.

It was Aemond.

It has always been you.

It has always been Aemond.

 The Prospect of Change
Chapter Notes

Hello my sweet angel loves, my little gremlins, the little monsters in my ears, here is
another chapter because I cannot resist and I also am so excited and eager to keep
writing ! So without further blah blah blah from me, here is the next chapter <3 P.S
can you tell I have a blood kink?

Grief, grief, and more grief.

It was what you felt. It was what you delivered. It was who you were now to your very core. Its
grip dug sharp claws into your flesh, ripping you apart so that it may make a home inside of you.
Inside the cavity of your chest, where your heart had once sat, now replaced with the blackened pit
of despair which continued to pulse, and open, and consume you with every waking moment.

And in this very moment, with Aemond atop you, his hard length lining itself up with your still
bruised and torn core, you felt it.

Grief.

Grief that you wanted it. Grief that in some ways you didn’t. Grief in knowing that he had taken
everything from you. Grief in knowing that he would continue to do so. Aemond took, and took
and took. Your dignity. Your sanity. Your girlhood. And he would continue to take, and take, and
take. And all that you could do was let him.

And take in return.

And so in the darkened chambers, upon the bed with your gown stripped from your body, you let
him take, and you took back.

What surprised you most about grief, is the way you sought out comfort.

Comfort in the form of company from someone who caused you said grief.

Comfort in the form of your justified rage.

Comfort in the form of wine, ale. Star fruit.

Sex.

Aemond was careful. Cautious even. As though he feared he might be the last to pull the fraught
and fraying strings that were continuing to be tugged apart inside of you. As though he feared that
he would burn the strings away with his fire, with no possible chance of tying those threads back
together.

Knotted to hold the lines of your sanity, damaged in a way that it could not come back.

Damaged.
And he treated you as damaged.

And it made the grief all the more encompassing.

Broken, he had called you.

And as he looked down at you from above with an eye that screamed caution, an eye that waited
for confirmation, a face of his own grief as he knew you had endured his own tortures from him
brother, it made you feel as broken as he called you.

Raising your hips upwards, you chased after his length, wishing for it to be over. Wishing for
Aegon to not be the last person who had been inside of you. To metaphorically wash your hands of
him. To cleanse yourself of him. To rid yourself of his smell, his touch, the feeling of him inside of
you.

For it is better to be with the evil you know, than the one that you didn’t.

Though, you supposed you knew Aegon now.

You wondered if Helaena found comfort in the evil of Aegon, and feared the one in Aemond she
did not know. Or perhaps she did know. Or perhaps, she too sought solace in Aemond herself from
the abuse of her brother and husband, seeking loving and soft hands, kind words and protection
from her younger brother.

But Helaena was gone, and even when she was here, you could not find it in yourself to ask.

Aemond had been clinical about the way he entered you, watching the way your face screwed up
in pain, slowing down and pausing, letting you adjust to him, through the bruising and wounds that
had not yet healed.

The pain was familiar.

The stretch was familiar.

Aemond’s ache was familiar, and so with your legs wrapped around his back, you impatiently
pulled him inside of you. To be over with it. To become accustomed to his pain again.

A low groan melted through him as he moved his whole length inside of you, and you grit your
teeth to get through the agony. To move through the motions. To not break again. To not cry. To
deal with it.

It’s Aemond.

It’s him.

He has done this before.

It is only him.

The Prince drew himself out of you slowly, to then push back in, looking down between your
bodies to watch his shaft sink into your heat repeatedly. Methodically. Softly. Looking down to
ensure that he was not breaking his prize further than already done. To ensure that his spoils of war
were not too spoiled. To ensure that his niece, his wife, his blood, his love was enduring as she
always did.

His.
It was like a bruise being pushed. A cut being pulled.

But you wanted it.

You needed it.

And despite Aemond beginning to thrust into you at an even pace, and his face flitting from
between you and then back up to you won, to watch as you whimpered and grit your teeth, and the
betrayal of tears began to pool in your eyes, he still continued, knowing that you would stop him if
you wanted. Knowing that you needed it, just as much as him.

And it showed.

For all his restraint, his reverence, and fleeting kindness, his shoulders were tensed and shook with
anger.

Anger that you had been hurt.

Anger that you had been touched.

Anger that he had done nothing to stop it.

Two pieces on a board moved by those above you.

Two pieces on a board who despite the illusion, had no power.

Two pieces on a board who had been moved at the whims of their parents, family, and sides of the
war.

Two pieces that had been melted down, and reformed. Crooked, and bent, and scarred.

Anger. Rage. Grief.

It seemed that was all the two of you were anymore.

Anger. Rage. Grief.

Curled into the bodies of two.

Anger. Rage. Grief.

Two of the same, with the refusal to see.

Aemond shifted, using one hand to pull your hips upwards, angling his thrusts to rub against the
sensitive spongey spot inside of you and you mewled.

You wanted to feel good.

You needed to feel good.

And Aemond could give that to you.

Aemond held your hips up and continued to thrust, spurred on by your reaction.

“Fuck.” He moaned, clenching his eye shut as he struggled to keep his thrusts slow, and his
dwindling composure there.
“Harder.” You commanded, voice hoarse.

His eye shot open as he looked down at you, stilling half thrust.

“Harder.” You told him again, shifting your hips upwards as you used your hands to grab onto his
arms, fingernails digging into the flesh of his skin.

Aemond kept his gaze on you for a moment, thinking over your command. Wondering if he
should. Wondering if he could let himself go. Wondering if it would make it worse. But as you
tilted your hips up once again, a sigh falling from your lips as the tip of his cock slid through your
folds, he gave in.

Thrusting into you with a new vigour, he held you close against him, one arm holding you against
his pelvis, the other propped above your head to give him leverage. Every thrust caused pain to
spark up within you, the soft tinges of terror hiding in your throat.

But the pain was soon mixed with pleasure as his hand moved to your pearl, and began to swirl
gently over it. You moaned, arching your back as his pace got quicker, and his fingers more
unrelenting.

“You’re mine.” He groaned, fingers wet with your slick as he began to pull shaky pleasure through
you.

“Only mine. Always mine.” He puffed, hips beginning to clap against you as he poured his own
anger and grief into you.

“Mine.”

“Yours.” You replied, back arching as tears welled in your eyes.

His.

Forever.

Always his.

In one way or another, he had left his mark on you.

Shifting backwards, Aemond sat on his heels, pulling your hips into his lap, the new angle causing
his tip to bully your spot within and brush against your cervix. You whined, throwing your head
back as he began to pump into you sharply.

“I love you.” He grunted, still fucking into your warm and wet heat.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him, his pupil blow wide as he looked down at
your face. He looked sincere. He looked passionate. Silver hair messed atop his head, scar raw and
red through his missing eye, lips half open as he lost himself to pleasure.

“Give in.” Aemond purred, seeing the way your eyes widened at his confession, “Admit it. You
love me. Just as I love you.” His thrusts became sharper, and one fo his hands moved to press
against your lower belly, feeling himself move through your walls.

You moaned, feeling him move deeply within you, the hand on your stomach pushing pressure
down into your core, before his hand travelled back to your bud and swirled with new vigour.
Memories swirled in your mind.

Aemond sitting atop Aegon in the dungeons. His fists pummelling into the face of his older brother.
The way he had growled. The way he had shook with anger. With rage. With grief.

“Your mine. No one will touch you again. No one. I promise.” The Prince rambled, thrusts
becoming sloppier as his shaft throbbed within you.

You arched into his touch, feeling pleasure begin to bloom in your core, the tell tale signs of your
release getting close.

Aemond atop Aegon in the Dining Hall, pretty hands wrapped around the pale throat of the King,
squeezing.

“My beautiful wife,” He moaned, fingers gently swiping through your folds and back to your pearl.
“My beautiful zaldrīstos. Always been yours. Always.”

“Fuck.” You puffed, feeling your release begin to rise inside.

Aemond in black. Black robes to match yours. Hand in hand. One.

“Can feel you gripping me. You’re close. Such a good wife.” You mewled, feeling your core
clench around his cock, “Sȳz riña.” Good girl.

Mine.

Blinding white pleasure burst through you, spreading up through your body as you cried out, tears
leaking down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut, relishing in the pleasure that he brought
you.

“Konīr, ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys.” There, my beautiful wife, He cooed, swiping your bud gently as he
fucked you through your release.

”Ñuha ābrazȳrys.” My wife, Aemond’s thrusts became sloppier, hips clapping into yours as you
laid limply beneath him, legs going numb, “Ñuha jorrāelagon. Avy jorrāelan. Eman va moriot
jorrāelatan ao.”

My love.

I love you.

I have always loved you.

Aemond shuddered, thrusting into you deeply as he came, his seed spurting deep inside of you,
filling your womb. He held still above you as he moaned, pressing his forehead to yours as his
cock throbbed inside of you.

Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao. I have always loved you.

You laid beneath him as you caught your breath, limbs tingling with pleasure. But as the pleasure
subsided, the pain returned, and you shifted beneath him as sharp throbs pulled up from your core.

Another tear fell from your cheek.

Avy jorrāelan. My love.

You sniffed, shifting beneath him, pulling your hips backwards, his softening cock pulling out
from within you. You hissed, shifting again to lay limply back on the bed. Aemond leant back to
look at you, a hand moving to cradle your cheek as he looked at you.

“Iksā ñuhon.” You are mine.

Mine.

Always.

Since the day you were born. Till the day you would die.

Another tear slid down your face, and Aemond’s hand quickly swiped it away.

“Iksā ȳgha. Issa sepār nyke.” You’re safe. It’s just me.

Another tear.

“Y/n…” Aemond murmured, laying down on to the bed beside you, pulling you against him and
the sheets over the top of you both. He tucked your head beneath his, and pulled you close to his
bare chest.

He was warm, and smelt of him.

Familiar.

Safe.

“Nyke kivigon naejot ao, ossēninna mirre mēre qilōni renigon ao arlī.” I swear to you, I will kill
anyone who touches you again.

And you believed him.

That night you slept beside each other, pressed against him, inhaling deeply as you shuddered
through the pain that ebbed inside of you. Though soon enough from exhaustion, from grief, from
rage, or the comfort of false safety, you fell to sleep in his arms and dreamt of nothing.

No nightmares of serpents. No dreams of whispering vipers, or the calling voices of your aunt and
brother. No dreams of falling. No dreams of Godswood’s which spoke to you. Or Aegon’s grin in
the dark.

Nothing.

When you woke, you were still in Aemond’s arms, his fingers on your hip tracing lazy runes across
the skin. Aemond sensed that you had woken and gripped you tighter to him, placing a kiss atop
the crown of your head.

“Did you sleep?” He asked, sleep in his voice.

“I did.” You murmured, “Did you?”

Aemond did not answer.

And soon the maids arrived, as they always did, to ready you for the day, and provided the two of
you with breakfast. Aemond helped you to stand, and wrapped you tightly in the gown beside your
bed, your bruised neck bare to the room.
When he led you to sit at the table, he pulled out your seat and helped to push you in, pausing
beside you as you looked up at him. It looked as though he wished to say something. But he didn’t.

As the two of you sat opposite of each other, eating your breakfast in a terse tension and
environment. Unsure of how to move forward. Unsure of how to go back. Unsure of how to talk to
him without mentioning the day prior, or the days before that.

But Aemond had changed. And you were changing too. And his usual greens had turned to black,
and his entire demeanour had shifted. Aemond could be an ally. And you needed to work him to it.

Reaching across the table you helped yourself to a large star fruit, relishing in the way Aemond
followed your hand.

Star fruit.

Always the star fruit.

You feared that you were growing to hate your favourite fruit, and the secrets that it held.

Another thing taken from you.

But, you digressed, and ate at it with sticky and unsteady hands, tearing it to pieces upon your
plate, barely containing the visible anger that shook you to your core. The visible anger that just
simmered beneath the surface of you.

Where is your fire?

It had never gone.

Not truly.

It was always there.

But fire needed to be tended to. Fire needed to be kept safe. Fire could burn out quicker than when
needed if it burnt everything in its path. If there was nothing for it to burn or hold onto. But
Aemond loved your fire. He encouraged it. He provoked it, and prodded it, and disturbed it, and
added to the flames.

And you did the same for him.

How long until you burn each other?

How long until the both of your flames sizzle out?

Small talk was exchanged as you ate.

“What is to happen to us?” You asked quietly, unsure of how to broach the conversation. Unsure of
how to bring attention to the three Kings guards who could still possibly be outside your chambers
waiting.

“I will go back to performing my duties as I always have.”

Always.

“Are you sure the King wants you to?”

“He could not rule without me.” Aemond’s tone was clipped.

Poorly hidden rage.

You hummed, licking the nectar of the fruit form your fingers, Aemond’s eye watching the way
your tongue darted out to gather the juice.

The way your tongue had gathered his blood.

You cleared your throat, pushing away the insecurities and fear that began to rise again.

“And what of me?”

Aemond looked at you intently as he put his cutlery down on the table.

“He will not touch you again.” His voice held conviction.

You believed him.

“Yes, but what am I to do?”

“Do as you were. Keep up appearances. Go to the Gardens that you love so dearly, and read. Go to
the Godswood and pray. Seek haven in the Library as we did as children. Do as you please as a
Princess of the realm.”

“Anything but leave.” You pointed out.

Aemond did not respond.

“But what if-“ You began.

“Aegon will be in my sight at all times. And if he is not, I will come straight to you.”

You stared at him.

Straight to you.

Always you.

“Promise me.”

Aemond leant back in his chair, “I think I have broken far too many promises to you. But I will
give you my word instead. My word as the Prince, and my word as the unnamed Prince Regent.”
He spoke softly, “My word as your husband. Kesan tepagon ao tolvie run.”

I will give you everything.

“And if you break your word?” You asked, tilting your head.

“Then you may bring fire as you always have.”

Days go past, and you and Aemond keep a routine together, creating a new one from the broken
pieces of the last. You eat, you sleep, and you fuck. You have breakfast together, and he goes to
the King to fulfil his duties. You read together by the fire in your chambers. You speak to one
another more about the books you read. About memories past. About anything, and everything, but
what haunts you both.
You return to the gardens like you had once before, book in hand, though not reading.

Thinking.

Plotting.

How to win the war.

 Moon Tea
Chapter Notes

This is a longer chapter than usual because I didn't want to split it up. Updates for a bit
may be slow at the moment as I'm caring for someone out of surgery , but will try
update you all as much as I can. Thank you all for the love and well wishes <3 Enjoy

Aemond stayed true to his word.

For days, you frequented the Gardens alone, and found that your peace was neither disturbed by the
King or your husband. It gave you a reprieve and the chance to breathe away from it all.

A chance to collect yourself, to gather the pieces that had been violently scattered across the earth
below.

And with those days, you sat where you usually did and attempted to read the mountain of books
and stories that were piled high in your shared chambers, courtesy of Aemond. Some being novels
that you had read already, others being new ones that the Prince thought might spark interest.

You had to begrudgingly admit, that he was right.

The books that he left you did spark interest, if only you got through the first few pages before
being unable to read further. Your attention span had dwindled, and even though you believed
Aemond when he said he would keep the King away from you, any noise, any presence of
someone walking past, a knight or servant or Lord, you would still flinch, and your heart would
race in your chest.

But still, Aegon had not been seen for days, and Aemond had been kind.

When you woke that morning, the young Prince had been curled around you as he usually was,
awake far earlier than you, but content to let you sleep for if only moment more. It was a routine
that the two of you had fallen heavily into.

He would rise with the sun as he always did, and watch over you as you slept, tucked to his chest as
a lazy hand would rub soft and featherlike fingertips across your skin, desperate to touch you, yet
not wanting to wake you up.

And you were thankful for it.

For Aemond’s time away in Harrenhal left little time to sleep, or breathe, or feel safe. Aegon’s
attack adding to further lack of sleep or calm, and in a shocking turn of events, you had all three in
Aemond's clutches.

You had wriggled in his hold, and the One-Eyed Prince hummed, pressing a lingering kiss atop the
crown of your head. A gesture that you had previously only gotten from your mother or father.

When you were both dressed and seated at the table, the maids had brought in your breakfast for
the both of you. The usual of meats, eggs and fruit, and todays warm bread, whose crust crackled
under your excited hands, had olives kneaded throughout.
You ate together, enjoying the way the soft sponge of the bread had subtle sour bursts of flavour
when a hidden slice of olive was revealed to your waiting mouth. It was different, and it was
something that you decided in that moment that you liked.

Joanna placed your tea in front of you, and you thanked her softly, pulling the small glass pot of
honey towards you as you put two heaping serves into the steaming brew. As you stirred the tea,
Aemond watched you with an inquisitive eye before speaking, your spoon clinking against the side
of the china.

“What are your plans for the day?” He asked, watching as you brought the teaspoon to your lips to
lick the remnants of the honey off, sweetness coating the roof of your mouth before placing it back
onto the matching saucer.

“I was going to go for a stroll through the Garden, then perhaps make my way to the Library.” You
picked up the steaming tea and brought it to your lips, blowing the steam away.

“I will be joining you today.”

You brought the unsipped tea away from your lips, “Oh? But haven’t you your duties to attend
to?”

“I have a duty to my wife.” His eye was focused on you, “And so I have freed my day to spend it
with you.”

Freed his day?

Your stomach turned, but for what reason, you did not know.

You nodded stiffly, bringing the tea to your lips to sip, tasting the tart, minty tea move hotly down
the back of your throat. You blinked, a spark of familiarity bursting on your tongue.

“And what shall we do on this fine day?” You asked him, hot tea in your hands still as you looked
out to the window.

The sun was high in the sky, and there was not a cloud in sight in Kings Landing. There was no
looming storm, or brusque winds. It looked to be a beautiful day.

“It’s a surprise.”

Anxiety was what you felt.

Surprise.

You sipped at the tea again, eyebrows drawn as you tried to figure out why the tea you had been
drinking so frequently suddenly tasted oddly familiar.

“Are we going to see Vermithor?” You asked, knowing that you would not.

But you so desperately wished to see him. You so desperately wished to fly again. To be by his
side. To feel his bond and connect again. To assure him that you were okay. To soar high amongst
the clouds, to feel free, to feel you again.

Aemond did not respond, and let the chambers bask in the silence of his answer.

No.
You looked down and placed the tea back on the table, moving to take a star fruit onto your plate,
cutting it up to eat. Aemond watched you the whole time, no longer using your hands to tear the
flesh apart, and instead using the sharp knife and fork.

“Perhaps,” Aemond began, watching your reaction, “I could take you to fly upon Vhagar’s back.”

You swallowed thickly, heart beating against your ribs, hands tightening around the cutlery.

Vhagar.

Arrax.

Lucerys.

Dracarys.

“I think I am perfectly content on the ground, thank you.” You grit out.

You did not want to be anywhere near Vhagar.

You lifted the tea to help wash down the tart star fruit which seemed to have gone bad in your
mouth, its sticky flesh stuck in the back of your throat.

As the steaming brew washed over your taste buds you froze again. Why was it so familiar? Tart.
Minty. A hint of honey. Aemond’s eye was no longer on you, instead sheepishly looking down at
his plate as he cut through a thick slice of sausage.

Familiar.

“Please Princess, you must drink the tea.” The Dowager Queen had said quietly, the Maester
beside you looking with clinical eyes, the colour from them seemingly gone, and nothing but a
blank mask upon his face.

You took another sip, letting the brew settle upon your tongue. Minty. Tart. Almost earthy in its
flavour, and yet as you took another trying sip it all came together. Aemond placed some meat into
his mouth to chew, eye looking back up at you.

It was familiar.

And now you knew why.

Moon Tea.

It was Moon Tea.

They were giving you Moon Tea.

You sipped deeply on the tea in hand, draining the last of the dregs into your eager and waiting
mouth.

It was Moon Tea.

They were giving you Moon Tea.

You placed the tea cup back down on the table as you looked at your husband.
Was he giving you Moon Tea?

Was this his doing?

You moved to open your mouth and ask him, but stopped.

Aemond, would never give you Moon Tea. Aemond would never prevent his seed from taking.
Because Aemond had done nothing but tell you of his desires for an heir and watching you grow
with his child.

You placed a small cut of star fruit into your mouth and chewed in thought.

Could it be them?

Could it be the King?

Was this another part of Aegon to spite his brother?

Or was this Alicent or Otto’s doing?

No.

The Greens needed an heir to support the treaty and solidify it.

As Aemond began to finish his meal, the maids entered the chambers to collect the plates and
empty cups, Joanna’s eyes flitting to the empty tea cup.

She was checking if it had been drunk.

The maids.

The maids had been giving you Moon Tea.

But surely the maids were not doing it of their own volition, after all they barely know you, and if
either were caught giving you such a thing, both would be killed for treason.

Aemond stood to move about the room, collecting some tomes on the side table.

But only Maesters, woods witches and brothel mistresses were skilled in making the tea.

The Maester.

Aemond came back over to you, books in hand. His pale fingers were wrapped tightly around a pile
of three, a familiar black leather bound book that was broken on the top. Aemond looked at you
and waited for you to stand.

You stood on shaky legs, mind reeling.

The Maester and maids were giving you Moon Tea.

You had allies.

Kepa.

You bit the sides of your cheeks to stop the smile that attempted to wind up your face, and blinked
away the tears that had begun to tickle at your eyes.
Your mother and father had eyes on you.

The two of you walked down to the gardens together, the sun beaming warmth on the two of you.
You led the way to your favourite spot, and Aemond followed, moving to sit at the small table that
sat in the centre of the space.

The Targaryen Prince placed the three tomes in the centre of the table before turning to look at
you.

“The road ahead of us is not easy.” Your uncle began, voice crisp, “But I intend to pave the path
with good intentions.”

Aemond kept his violet eye on you, the sun brightening the sapphire orb beside it.

Road?

“If you will let me.” He finished, waiting for your response.

Your mouth felt dry.

“And what road do you speak of?” You spoke slowly, unsure.

Behind Aemond, a group of servants came towards you, silver and gold trays in hand.

You looked at Aemond, brows furrowed, before back at the servants, who began to place trays of
food atop the table around the books.

Atop the silver and gold trays were cakes and pastries of all kind, rolls of puffed custard, buns with
cinnamon and biscuits, all piled high and far too much for the two of you. Some more familiar, the
others new to you.

On one tiny china dish in particular, sat two lemon tarts.

“Aem, stop!” You giggled, rushing towards your uncle as he snuck into the Keeps Kitchen,
small hands grabbing piles of freshly baked lemon tarts in his own.

“They’re your favourite!” The young boy hushed, grabbing more than his hands could hold,
tucking them into his arms before turning to face you, violet eyes dancing in mischief and
cheeks blush red.

“Shh! If the Septa-“ You began, smile cracking wider on your face as you turned to look around
the darkened kitchen as a noise caught the both of your attention.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Aemond’s eyes widened, one hand flying out to grab yours,
a single lemon tart falling to the floor between you before he was pulling you with him towards a
secret path, winding down the corridors.

Your hand flew to your lips as you giggled, half running with your uncle into a dark secret
passage, hidden behind a stone door covered in a painting of two lovers entertained, fire ablaze
around them.

As you ran through the corridor and through the passage, two more tarts were lost on your
escape, falling to the cold stone floors, forgotten by the two young children who had stolen them.
Loud laughter pealed from the both of you as you heaved in breaths, Aemond’s hands holding
the crushed tarts to his robes, sticky crumbs stuck to his green robes in the dark.

“There is a thief amongst us!” You exclaimed, nothing but joy rising in you.

“No such thing.” Aemond responded defiantly, teeth showing in his wide grin.

“Well, give me the spoils then.” You giggled, greedy hand reaching outwards towards Aemond,
who still held the tarts nestled against his chest by singular arm.

But only two remained.

Aemond’s small hand lifted a crushed tart and held it out to you, smiling.

You turned to look at Aemond, “Lemon tarts?”

“I remember them being your favourite.” He hummed.

You could not stop the smile that teased your lips.

“I remember you stealing them from the kitchens.” You teased.

“And I remember you asking me to.”

You moved to sit at the table, spiced Dornish wine being poured into seperate goblets for the two
of you. Aemond followed and sat opposite, back stiff as it always was. The man seemed to have a
permanent stick up his spine, posture exactly like his mother.

They were more alike than either would likely think.

“I did no such thing.” You responded contritely.

“Hm.”

The two of you sat together and nibbled at the plates of treats, sipping from your wines as he
reached across the table, picking up the broken leather tome to hand you ‘The Fourteen Flames’.

There was an undeniable shift between the two of you.

Aemond could be an ally.

Not only had the One-Eyed Prince stepped away from his duties for the day, he had arranged for
desserts of all kinds to be brought to the two of you. He had brought three of your favourite books
to read together.

And he had brought lemon tarts.

You took the book from Aemond and flicked it open at the start, not knowing where you had
gotten up to the last time, barely reading the words on the pages, instead thinking about what was
to come and what was required of you.

The two of you nibbled and read in parallel with each other, a silent affair, if not for the soft
chewing, sips, or the turning of pages. On occasion, Aemond would hum as he read, and you could
not help your gaze from rising to look at him.
You let yourself observe him, if not truly for the first time since your arrival, in a way that was
undisturbed or clouded by rage.

The soft round cheeks that Aemond once had, had melted away from his face, revealing sharp and
high cheekbones that hollowed his face. The nose that had once been buttoned and sloped, had
now grown aquiline, pointed, and angled, sharp to match the rest of his features.

You remembered that if the days were humid, or if he had spent much time training, his hair would
become wavy and frizz, the volume doubling, much like his mothers.

As a child Aemond had shoulder length hair, that he always wore in the same style, until recently.
Today, his hair was pulled backwards from the sides, braided and pulled into a singular, long braid
at the back of his head, the rest of his silver locks laying flatly on his back.

A ray of light shone on one side of the man, and his silver hair seemingly glowed from the light.
As though it held light itself. As though it was created for it. For Valyrian blood carried these
Godly aspects, and for the first time, you looked at him and realised what it may be like for
someone of non-Valyrian descent to gaze upon you.

It looked heavenly.

Godly.

Pure.

Was this how he saw you?

Was this how the realm saw you all?

Was this why you were said to be closer to Gods than man?

The longer you looked, the more you noted about your husband.

His lips were plumb, a soft pink, and curled lightly up at the sides, as though he was always
smirking or on the verge of smiling. His lips, which you had seen sneer, and grin, and frown at
you, naturally tilted upwards. And you were stuck with the knowledge that they were soft.

Then there was his eye.

As children, you had loved his eyes. The way they had expressed so much, had shown so much,
without the need for words. You could tell when he was younger if he was upset or excited, and
despite how hard he would argue that he was neither, you always just knew. The bright violet
would light up when you were near, and the two of you would excitedly talk for hours. And as he
has grown, the violet seeing eye had stayed the same.

Ever telling of his moods and desires.

But now, a large scar cut through his cheek, and the secondary eye you had loved as a child was
lost, and replaced with a sapphire orb. A colour which you had once loved, the colour of the night
sky when the stars lit the realm, the colour of Forget-Me-Nots in Spring, or Gentians in the late
days of Summer, or even, now that you looked at it longer, the colour of blue Monkshood, flowers
you knew to grow towards the North.

Sapphire had once been a colour that marked the flowers bloom for you, the stars and their tales,
but now it marked a time of change. The eye that was lost was replaced, and so was that part of
Aemond.

With the loss of the young boys eye came the embodiment of the deep and grotesque scarring. The
violence, the anger, the rage, and the spite. With the loss of his eye, came the Aemond that he had
grown to be.

Scarred. Tortured. Angry.

Riddled with sorrow, animosity, and cynicism.

And over the few days having been spent together, and the tension slowly bleeding away from the
two of you, you came to realise that there were still small parts of Aemond inside that you
remembered.

Still holding on.

Still lingering.

The Prince’s seeing eye was a reminder of what was, and his missing one a reminder of what is.

One violet eye. Your memories of youth together.

The sapphire orb. The new memories created.

Good and bad, both there upon his face.

Both there within him.

A man of complexity that even you were still trying to understand.

But he had changed.

His demeanour towards you had changed.

Always you.

I love you.

Aemond was not the only one who had changed either. You had changed too. The scars on your
body were similar to his eye. A reminder of what has happened. A reminder of change.

A reminder of what has been lost.

Visual representations of the people that you had turned out to be.

And if you continued to play your cards right, if you continued to slowly gain his trust, if you
continued to slowly get him to come to your side, to follow your every beck and call, to carry out
his word own doing anything for you, he could help you.

Do anything for you.

Kesan tepagon ao tolvie run.

I will give everything to you.

It was slow work, tedious, and something that could not be rushed. Go too fast in creating the
bond, and he would know something was amiss. He would know that you were not sincere in your
affections or intentions.

He would know.

For Aemond was a smart man, cunning, clever. As he always had been.

But you had been working to his strengths, and his weaknesses, as well as your own, and finally,
the fruits of your labour were beginning to show.

Though there was a shadow of doubt that continued to linger in the back of your mind.

Was he manipulating you the way you were him?

Was he aware?

For if he was, he did not show it. But after recent events, the matching black robes, his violence
towards Aegon, his disdain being voiced aloud, you knew that you were succeeding in what you
had known would be a long, and lengthy process.

Aemond was already a suspicious man. Untrusting. And it would take time. And time is what you
had. He would take from you, and you would take in return.

“What are you thinking?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You felt your cheeks blush and you cleared your throat, looking down.

He had caught you staring.

“How different you have become.” You replied, looking back to his violet eye.

Aemond hummed and placed the book he had been reading back into his lap, closing it shut, and
you mirrored him, shutting the busted tome in your own.

“You have… grown into a man.” You continued.

“And you, a woman.”

His gaze was so intense, the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. His pupil almost
swallowed his iris whole, and the lid of his eye was half closed, looking at you from under his
lashes.

Looking at you with intent.

With desire.

Hungrily.

Ravenously.

You looked away, eyeing the untouched lemon tarts on the side of the table. Neither of you
making the first move to eat them, instead nibbling at all the other treats around them. You even
dared to eat a rhubarb tart, which flavours were not favoured by your tastebuds.

Aemond followed your gaze, and reached for the small plate, lifting it across the table and offering
it to you.
You took the tart from Aemond’s waiting hand. The darkness of the passage shrouding the both
of you, a small sliver of light streaming in from an open hole on the side, shining moonlight
onto the older boys hair.

The young Prince smiled brightly at you as you bit into the tart, watching you with excited violet
eyes as you hummed, enjoying the sour and sweet pastry. But the young Prince did not move to
eat his tart, and instead, Aemond held it in his hand as he watched you devour yours.

Crumbs covered your lips as you licked them clean, swiping up the lemony custard away from
your lips. The young Prince’s eyes darted to your mouth, if only for a moment. A warmth spread
through his body and a blush rose on his cheeks, though you could not see it in the dark.

“They are so much better when they’re fresh.” You had grinned, chewing loudly as Aemond
tried his best to not laugh at his niece who ate more like a wild animal than a Princess, but he
still did not move to eat it with you.

“Aren’t you going to eat your spoils, Aem?” You had teased, confused as to why the older Prince
had not moved to eat the treat that he had stolen.

A pause.

He was thinking.

Aemond slowly moved his arm, tart in hand towards you, and offered you his wordlessly.

A shy smile replaced the once excited one on his lips.

You blinked at Aemond and reached across the table to grasp a tart, putting it on your plate.

Aemond’s hand lingered between the table, unsure of whether to take the plate back to himself,
which he eventually did, picking up the fresh tart and placing it upon his own plate.

You stared at each other uncertainly, waiting for the other to begin. And when Aemond made no
move after a few moments past, you picked up a small fork and pressed down into the centre of the
tart, cutting it in half, and then half again. Aemond watched with a keen eye as you brought it up to
your lips to chew.

The sweetness of the tart spread across your tongue, subtle hints of lemon mixing with the pastry.
You could not help the smile that spread on your lips, eyes closing as you savoured what had been
a favoured treat in your youth.

“They are so much better when fresh.” You spoke, watching Aemond slowly cut into his own,
though not lifting it to his mouth.

“Are you not going to eat yours?” You asked, watching as he seemed to enjoy observing you eat.

Aemond smirked, his eye roaming slowly up and down your body, “My tastes are more inclined to
things that are sweet.”

You blushed, heat rising in your cheeks.

Aemond was flirting.

Warm spread through your body as you shifted, rubbing your thighs together, “I think you also like
the bite that comes with it…. The lemon, of course.” You said coyly, a small smirk of your own
spreading on your lips.

“Truthfully, lemon tarts have never been favoured by me.”

“But you used to always eat them as a child.” You argued, brows furrowed, “You would steal large
piles of them in the Kitchens for me and-“

Oh.

Aemond gave you a small, shy smile, though it short lived before he picked up his plate, and
offered it across the table to you, tart cut in half, untouched beyond that.

Uneaten.

"Here." The young Prince handed you his tart in the dark, small smile on his lips.

"Are you sure, Aem?" You had asked, hand hovering in the air between you.

"Take it." He smiled.

An offering that you took.

“I thought you liked them.” You said, almost feeling guilty.

“I liked them because you did.”

That night you lay in bed beside Aemond, curled against him to sleep, the heat of his body
radiating around you. You shifted, trying to get comfortable, rolling over to face your back to him
as you closed your eyes.

The day had been good.

You had spoken without vitriol, ate sweets, and read together. You had walked around the
Gardens, purposely avoiding the spot where the Monkshood grew, before you both had stopped at
the Godswood, looking up at its bright red leaves.

Aemond had moved to sit beneath it, but it was too much for you. Too normal. Too familiar, and
you had lowered your head and walked back to the chambers, leaving a confused silver haired
Prince behind. You ate dinner together quietly, and thanked him for spending the day with you, for
the lemon tarts, for the walk, with a list you had compiled in your head, and he had given you a
small hum in response.

When you were readied for bed, he had not looked at you, nor had he moved to touch you like he
usually did. And instead, let you crawl into bed first, and then him a while after. Writing hunched
over a parchment and singular candle light before joining you.

The hour was late, and your eyes had grown heavy, lulled by his even breathing and the warmth
that he brought in the otherwise cozy chambers.

Two large hands gripped your waist as you had rolled, pulling you back against him.

Aemond, you quickly realised, craved physical touch. Searched for it wherever he went. Sought it
out in you. Even if it was the barest of grazes of a finger on your arm, a hand through your hair. His
hand in yours. Your body wrapped around his.

Aemond craved it, and sought it out from you frequently, and you let him.

The thin chemise that you wore did little for your modesty as you felt Aemond’s hardening cock
press into the flesh of your ass. You shifted, feeling heat bloom within you at his arousal, rubbing
backwards against him.

Aemond sighed, thrusting slowly up against you as one hand held your stomach, pulling you back
on him, the other worming its way beneath your head, reaching out to grip the hand that had rested
beneath it.

Long fingers intertwined with yours as he pushed forward again, anticipation building in your
chest. The hand on your stomach slid over the curve of your hip, resting on the bone as he pulled
you back to guide you against him, chasing his own pleasure as the chemise slowly rose up your
thighs.

Reaching back, you pulled the thin silk further up your body, revealing your bare core to him,
before moving back again, grasping his heavy length in the palm of your hand. Aemond groaned
and thrusted up into your grip as you gave him slow pumps.

You bit your lip, and guided the head down, feeling the leaking tip rub his arousal on your inner
thighs as you lined him up with your core. The hand holding yours tightened, and you felt a puff of
breath blow against the back of your head.

Rolling your hips backwards you let his cock glide through your folds, your slick coating his
length. You sighed, back arching as his tip brushed against your bud, pleasure sparking within.

Aemond’s chest vibrated with a groan as he let you arch backwards towards him, assisting in the
angle as you pushed the head of his cock to the entrance of your dripping centre.

Slowly he pushed through your folds, groaning as he stretched you apart on his cock, pleasure
blooming in your core as you felt every vein and ridge of him brushing your walls inside.

There was no pain anymore when he did this. The pain had long gone, and only pleasure was in its
place as you clenched around his length.

Aemond pulled out slowly before thrusting back into your heat, fingers twitching on your hip and
in your hand. You mewled loudly into the room as he began to fuck you slowly, sensually, and
sleepily.

You let your head roll backwards onto his shoulder as he kept a steady pace, the sound of your
slick folds filling the chambers as you whined.

The gentle pleasure bloomed within you, with the angle and the way he was moving, his cock
brushed against your inner pleasure spot with each thrust. Aemond had learnt your body well, in
ways that you did not know where possible. In ways that he continued to learn, and continued to
show you the results.

You let him fuck you sleepily, his hand moving to gently rub against your bud, soft, slow twists of
his hand that gradually brought you closer and closer to your peak, other hand moving beneath you
to grab at your breast, using it to pull you tightly against him.

Aemond did not whisper to you that evening, only soft moans and sighs leaving his lips behind
you, head buried into your neck as he brought you lazily to your peak.
Pleasure rocked through you as you moaned, hips stuttering backwards as he continued his pace,
fucking you through your release, slick coating your thighs and his cock as the fingers on your bud
continued their ministrations.

Hot flames licked at you as he continued, his pace faltering as your walls clenched down on him
tightly.

Aemond came with a grunt, pushing his cock to the hilt within you as he breathed raggedly into
your shoulder, lips occasionally placing soft kisses to the skin. You felt his seed fill your core, its
warmth settling inside of you hotly.

Turning your head, Aemond captured your lips into a searing kiss, keeping himself inside of you.
He kissed you until you felt out of breath, your release blanketing you in the fuzzy warmth of
fatigue.

You hummed as Aemond pulled away, pulling you tightly against him, his length twitching inside
of you.

You shifted, trying to tilt your hips so that his cock would slide from your folds, but Aemond only
tightened his hold on you, pulling you tighter to his chest.

“Shh. Go to sleep.” He murmured into your neck, placing another wet kiss there.

You stopped wriggling, feeling oddly full as you tried to do as he said and fall to sleep. It was
distracting having him inside of you, and you would occasionally feel his cock jump within you,
causing you to moan quietly and clench, and Aemond would shush you again.

Slowly but surely, the fatigue of the day swept you to your sleep, with Aemond still buried deeply
inside of you.
 The Library
Chapter Notes

We have all survived the great AO3 fall, how are we all feeling?

When you woke the next morning, Aemond’s arms were still wrapped tightly around you, your
back to him and his front to you. You shifted, feeling the stickiness of his seed between your
thighs.

Aemond hummed, kissing your neck with an open mouth, a shudder rolling through your body.

Aemond continued to kiss your neck as you slowly woke up, wriggling in his hold. A soft huff was
pressed into your neck as you arched backwards in his grip, feeling the pangs of desire move
through you.

“Wife.” Aemond purred in your ear.

Your core clenched, and you sighed shyly.

Rolling in his hold, you turned to kiss him lazily, brushing your hands through his loose silky
strands as he grasped at your hips, using them to bring you against him.

He was hard. He was warm. He was wanting.

Your hand moved between the two of you and Aemond hummed, pushing it away. You opened
your eyes to look at him, his gaze already on you. Aemond pushed you backwards onto the bed and
moved to hover over you, planting a soft kiss down your neck, over your exposed collarbones and
the mounds of your breasts.

Heat rolled inside of you as your hips bucked upwards towards him, but Aemond made no move to
settle his hips between your legs, instead he continued to kiss a trail down your body, pulling the
chemise over your breasts so that he could place wet kisses atop your stiffened peaks.

You moaned as you watched him travel lower, lips pressing to your ribs, your stomach, and then
finally, one to each side of your hip bones. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you looked
down at him, his long hair flowing over his shoulders, a rogue strand or two delicately hanging in
front of his face.

His eye on you.

A small wave of anticipation moved through you as his mouth hovered in front of your heat.

“Gevie.” Beautiful, He whispered, running a thumb through your folds.

Your back arched off the bed, thighs twitching as his thumb brushed over your bud.

“Stay still.”

Aemond dipped his head, swiping his tongue through your slit, his eye closed as he moaned,
lapping up his and yours combined spend.

“Taste so good.” He murmured, tongue moving to dip into your entrance, “Better than any honeyed
or spiced wine in all the realm.”

You moaned loudly, feeling heat bloom in your stomach as your hips moved upwards, chasing his
mouth. Aemond licked broad stripes through your folds, tongue flicking over your bud as his eye
stayed shut in pleasure, groaning into your core.

“Fuck.” You whined, your hand moving down your body to card through his hair, gripping it at
the roots to pull him closer to you. To hold him against you.

A large hand moved to splay across your hip bones, keeping you flat against the bed.

Aemond continued to lick and suckle at your core, the coil within you winding tighter, and tighter.
Aemond was skilled, and whenever you moaned at a certain movement or action, he would repeat
it.

Mapping you out.

Learning what you liked, what you disliked.

Eager to please you.

Desperate to hear the little noises that escaped your parted and bite swollen lips.

And soon enough, two long fingers moved their way inside of you, skilled mouth unmoving from
your pearl. The stretch was delicious, and you cursed into the chambers softly, head thrown back
into the pillows as Aemond dragged them in and out.

“Sylutegon sīr sȳz.” Taste so good, He groaned, sucking your bud into his mouth.

Pleasure rocked through you, both hands gripping his hair as you tugged him against you, rocking
your hips up into his face as you chased your high.

“Close.” You whimpered, feeling the tip of his sharp nose press into your sensitive pearl.

Aemond’s hand sped up, curling upwards inside of you as he broke away, dragging his eye to meet
your gaze. He fucked his hand into you rapidly, the lewd sound of your wet heat filling the
chambers.

“Give it to me.” He purred, “Nyke gīmigon kostā sagon sȳz syt nyke.” I know you can be good for
me.

You writhed beneath him, feeling his fingers brush over the pleasure spot inside of you. Aemond
felt your core clench around his fingers and returned his mouth to where you needed him, licking
and sucking with more vigour, desperate to push you over the edge.

“Qogralbar,” Fuck, You whined, feeling Aemond's hand on your hip push down on your lower
stomach, pleasure sparking a fire within, “Konīr, kostilus.” There, please.

Aemond groaned, eye shutting as his hand moved faster.

“Ȳdra daor keligon.” Don’t stop.

Aemond sucked at your pearl, tongue bullying it in his mouth. Shooting white pleasure shot
through you, sparking up your limbs as your release hit you hard. You twitched beneath him,
moaning and whimpering as he kept fucking his fingers through your release, your head thrown
back in the pillows as you squirmed.

"Tolī olvie.” Too much, You whined, trying to move your hips away from Aemond who did not
slow down.

“Kesā tepagon nyke mēre tolī.” You will give me one more.

And you did.

After Aemond brought you to your second peak, he continued to lick at your entrance, drinking
your essence and what remained of his out of you as you whined beneath him, eyes shut in ecstasy.

For the next for days, Aemond could not keep his hands off of you. Each day the Prince spent his
mornings eating with you, eating you, and occasionally coming down to the Gardens to see you, his
hands always touching you in some way or another.

No matter what it was, his hands always found you. And then, so did the gifts.

Flowers, books, jewellery.

Lemon tarts in the morning, lemon tarts in the evening, new gold or silver, fine jewels and stones.
Star fruit that appeared beside your bed, or inside the bed with you in great piles astonished you to
no avail.

Aemond had begun to court you.

And it was suffocating.

It was confusing, and enraging, and delightful all the same.

For every time your heart skipped at the gentle gesture, it would soon sink in disgust. A flower he
would pick for you on your walk, delicately placing it in your hair. The new tomes that he would
bring back to the chambers for you, acquired from some far off land, or a library that you did not
have access to. The lemon tarts that he ordered to be freshly made and delivered to you in the
Gardens when he was not there, or the star fruit in your chambers.

It was too much.

Each jump, or skip, or tremble of your heart at the gestures, at the kindness, at the way he would
bring you to your peak on his skilled fingers, or tongue, or stretched open on his cock, you would
remember why you were there. You would remember what he had done. You would remember the
reality of it all. And even with such prudent information, you still could not help but feel confused
by it all.

For you were thankful for his kindness, would blush at the gifts, and keen at his praise, but the fire
inside you had not dwindled, and as soon as the joy came, it would be replaced by bitter and angry
resentment. But you came to the realisation that it is better than fighting, and far better to have
some points of joy be given to you, despite who from, and you continued to tell yourself that this
was a way to turn him to your side and use him.

Almost a whole moon comes and goes, and your bond with Aemond is only strengthened.

By close proximity. By the walks you go on together. By the way that you are now able to talk
without bickering, or snarling or snapping, if only not for a few times. It was almost as though you
were children again.

And in that time, Aemond continued to whisper said prophesies to you, two of the same, one flame.

And you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t believe it.

For you and Aemond were both similar in many ways. Used by the war. Worn down by succession.
Both passed over for the throne. Both desperate to prove themselves. Both with unwavering loyalty
to your families. Both riding the largest dragons known.

Both scarred.

Both angry.

Both riddled with grief and rage.

With the moon that almost passes, Aemond became more devoted to you. Asking after you,
tending to your every needs, more jewellery and gowns than you surely needed. And with this, you
pushed to see how far he is willing to go.

It started off small, asking for more lemon tarts, star fruit, or other things you may have liked or
wanted at inopportune times. Some new chemises, a specific wine from Dorne that only one family
made far out from the city, and to your utter delight, Aemond delivered on your requests.

And so you began asking for things that you knew were hard to get.

A piece of Black Stone, you knew to be in Oldtown, with mysterious origins of where it came
from, and what properties it had. You had read about it in one of the tomes Aemond had acquired
for you, and when you had read that its solid form had an oily or greasy feel, you had asked
Aemond if it was true.

Not more than few days later, a piece of Black Stone was sitting in the centre of your table.

A Winter Rose, a rare and pale blue flower only known to grow in the Glass Gardens of Winterfell,
their petals said to look like frost. And when you had mentioned to Aemond that you wished to see
one some day, a few nights later, you woke to a single Winter Rose beside your bed in a glass vase.

The petals did look like frost.

Aemond procured your demands each time without question. Though on one occasion, you asked
after a necklace of Valyrian steel and emeralds that dripped from it.

You had pushed your luck.

And Aemond had turned to you with a frown, "Are you quite done testing me?”

That morning you had woken feeling sore, Aemond’s hunger preventing you from sleeping through
the night as he had continued to plunge himself deep inside of you, chasing his high, seed spilling
inside of you.

You decided after you ate that morning that you would go to the library to read, taking one of your
new books with you, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’. The library was quiet when you entered, all
except the sounds of the crackling hearth that you sat curled in front of, book in lap.

It was quiet for a time, and you were engrossed by the pages as you moved rapidly through the
book, learning of a lover that she had taken in Dorne. A skilled warrior named Farraj, just as she
was, and for a fleeting moment your mind travelled to Darras. His bright eyes, his tanned skin, his-

“I take that it is good.” Came the drawl of your uncle.

Your eyes flicked up from the pages in your lap, landing on your husband who stood, towering
over you with his hands behind his back, one foot jutted out at his side.

You cocked your head to the side as you looked at him, “You would be right.”

“Hm. And what lover is she onto now?”

“Farraj, a warrior from Dorne. A man of great skill, and skin kissed from the sun.” You smiled up
at him.

Aemond pursed his lips, “Sounds like you’re enjoying the description of Farras.”

“Farraj,” You corrected him, “And yes, he reminds me of a friend.”

Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line as he looked down his nose at you, “And do you know what
happens to this mighty Farraj?” He took a step closer, and you shut the tome in your lap.

“He is slain by her true lover. A Prince.” He lied.

You frowned, “No, he dies in battle, fighting for her.”

“Then he was lucky the Prince didn’t get to him first.”

You sighed loudly, “Aemo-“

“Do you think your friend could give you what I do?” He goaded, taking another step closer so that
his knees brushed against yours, “Do you think he could please you the way I do?”

“Aemond, it's a book. A book you gave to me, mind you.” You snapped, looking up at him.

Aemond bent forward and grabbed your chin, fingers pinching the flesh, “Gaomagon ao pendagon
aōha raqiros qogralbar ao se ñuhoso gaoman?” Do you think your friend could fuck you the way I
do?

His chest heaved as he looked at you, pupil expanding in the light of the fire, its warmth casting a
shadow across his face, almost giving his sapphire eye the illusion of glowing.

“Nyke gōntan daor jiōragon naejot sylugon, kepus.” I did not get to try, uncle.

You glared at Aemond as he straightened, letting go of your chin with a gentle shove, and before
you knew it, Aemond was on his knees, pulling you towards the edge of the chaise by your ankles.
A small squeak left your lips as he ripped your legs apart, frantically shoving your skirts up your
hips.

“Aemond,” You hissed, slapping his hands as you tried to sit yourself back up, only to be dragged
back down the seat, ass almost hanging over the edge, “Stop. Someone could see.”

“Let them see.” He growled, fingers digging meanly into the flesh of your thighs as he spread them
open forcefully.

Your heart raced in your chest, anxiety beginning to bloom. Your throat felt tight as he continued to
be rough with you, his eye fixed on your core as it was finally exposed to the library.

“Aem.” You whispered, feeling panic wind its way up your throat.

It’s over.

It's over.

It’s Aemond.

“Sagon lyka.” Be quiet, Aemond snapped before diving his head between your parted legs, tongue
darting out to lick at your sensitive core.

A small cry left your lips as you gripped his shoulders, trying to push him away. It was too much. It
was too soon. It was too sensitive. You were overwhelmed, and scared, and unsure. Anyone could
walk in.

Aegon could walk in.

Aegon.

It was over.

It’s Aemond.

His tongue lapped at your core like a a man starved, dipping between your folds as he sought out
your arousal, small sparks of pleasure beginning to ripple beneath your skin. Your hands moved to
his forehead as you tried to push him back and away, only to have your hands slapped away gently.

“Let me show you that there can be no one else but me. That no one else can give you what I do.”
He purred, his eye finally meeting yours. His hair was messed at the front, lips wet from his
ministrations, before he dived back in.

You tried to steady your breathing, all too anxious in your surroundings, eyes darting around the
room in case someone was to enter or see you in such a compromising position.

You were in the library for Gods sake, a public space of the Keep.

Did Aemond not understand the risk?

The Prince hummed into your heat as he continued to lick and suckle at your bud, rolling his
tongue back and forth over it, then dipping down to your slit where he gathered your slick greedily
with his mouth.

A small whimper pealed from your lips as you tried to keep your sounds to a minimum, hand flying
to your mouth to cover it. Aemond’s eye flicked to yours, grabbing your wrist and prying it away.

“Want to hear you. Iksā va moriot sīr gevie.” You are always so beautiful.

You gasped as you felt Aemond’s hand move up your calf before sliding between your thighs, long
index fingers moving up and down your slit as he continued to mouth at your core hungrily.
Slowly, he pushed his finger inside of you curling upwards, pleasure bursting within your gut.

“Fuck.” You whispered, head thrown back momentarily before bringing your gaze back to the
man between your thighs. He watched you hungrily as he began to drag his finger over the spot
within you as his tongue worked in tandem.

Aemond hummed, vibrations moving up your core and you felt yourself begin to lose yourself to
pleasure as he added a second finger, the delicious stretch moving throughout you. It was a feeling
of being full, yet not as full as you knew you could be.

You brushed away the hair that had fallen over his face as he continued to pleasure you, soft moans
and whines falling from your lips as your core clenched around his digits. He looked Godly.
Cheeks blushed, eye half shut and pupil crazed as he began to speed up, feeling your release near.

And in that moment as you looked at Aemond, sat on his knees on the stone floor of the library,
face between your thighs and desperate to please you, you could not help but feel a spread of
warmth through your chest and then straight down into your gut.

“Sīr gevie.” So beautiful, You whispered, watching as his eye shut, fingers beginning to fuck into
you faster, a small huff of air blown through his nose onto your pubic bone, almost like a sigh.

“Sīr gevie hae bisa.” So beautiful like this, You praised.

Aemond groaned against you, the wet sound of your core loud in the quiet library, but now you
were lost to the pleasure he brought you, and you did not care to be found. In fact, in some ways
you wished Otto Hightower or Ser Cole could walk in and see what their perfect Prince was doing
to you. What his perfect tongue was doing to you. What his perfect, long, skilled hands were doing
to you.

You whined, “Jurnegon rȳ ao va aōha ybon, ipradagon ñuha orvorta.” Look at you on your knees,
eating my cunt, You purred, feeling the hand on your thigh tighten into your soft flesh as he
whined, fingers fucking into you deeper, "Fuck, sīr sȳz.” So good.

Aemond took his mouth from your centre but continued his hands movements, watching the way
his fingers disappeared through your folds and inside of you.

“Such a pretty cunt,” He cooed, your core clenching around his digits as you felt your peak begin
to mount, “And all for me.”

“Just you,” You whimpered, closing your eyes as his lips made their descent back to your pearl,
sucking on it, “Only yours.”

Aemond fucked his fingers into your faster, your breath stuttering in your chest as you rose to your
peak.

“Please, please.” You begged, twitching in his hold.

With a flick of his tongue and the curl of his fingers Aemond brought your release crashing over
you, a loud moan tumbling from your lips as he continued to fuck his fingers inside of you.

“Good girl, so pretty. Look at you.” Aemond praised, watching as your core clenched around his
fingers.

Pleasure moved through your limbs as you laid limply back against the chaise, a light sheen of
sweat settling upon your skin as you breathed heavily, Aemond’s hand stilling finally so that you
could come down gently from your high.

You shut your eyes and hummed, letting the warm fuzzy feeling move through your body, vaguely
aware of the gentle kiss Aemond pressed against your centre and each thigh before sitting up on his
knees.

Your eyes cracked open as you looked at him, mouth wet with your slick and cheeks pink. Aemond
leant forward and pressed his lips to yours tenderly, tongue gently flicking against your bottom lip.
Lips slotted against lips, and you let Aemond pull you closer, the taste of your arousal on your
tongue as a hand gently brushed hair behind your ear.

The wooden clicking of the library door caused your heart to jump in your chest, pulling away
from Aemond as you looked over your shoulder. Aemond’s hands possessively went to your
thighs, tugging you towards him, using his body to shield you from whoever was there, your skirts
still around your waist.

At the door stood a blushing and flustered Ser Cole, eyes turned away from the both of you as his
lips were pursed tightly together. You almost wanted to laugh, and your first thought was that it
was a shame that he missed the show.

Silence filled the library, and you tried your best not to giggle.

“I think he has forgotten how to speak.” You whispered into Aemond’s ear, mirth in your voice as
Ser Cole still had not spoken more than a moment later.

“Speak, Ser Cole.” Aemond called across the library, still on his knees, not having moved from his
compromising position.

Ser Cole shifted on his feet, the sound of his armour clinking against itself, “The Small Council are
to dine with the King this evening in the Great Hall.”

Your mouth felt dry.

“Lord Jason Lannister has arrived in King’s Landing and will be joining.” A beat, “The Princess is
not required to dine with you all this evening.”

Not required?

When have you ever not been required?

“Thank you, Ser Criston.” Aemond called across the room, turning his head back to you.

Ser Cole gave a short bow and turned swiftly on his heel, obviously eager to leave the chambers,
his eyes not once directed at the two of you.

But his dismissal of you left a bad taste in your mouth, and as Ser Cole’s hand moved to the handle
of the door, you called out to him.

“Please inform the King that I shall be joining my husband to dine this evening.” You felt
Aemond’s gaze on your face.

Ser Cole did not turn to look at you, nor did he offer any inkling that he had heard you, instead
moving out the door at rapid speed.

“Y/n…” Aemond began, face soft as he looked at you.

“Hēnkirī hae mēre.” Together as one, You whispered.

This was a night to test your new bond with Aemond.

 A Council of Green
Chapter Notes

Sorry for slow updates, please accept my sincerest apologies from my knees

The dinner was uncomfortable for you all. Just as expected.

You had gotten dressed for the evening with the help of Joanna and Amala, a black dress with red
stitching and embroidery, hair half up, and half done in intricate braids with small rubies laid
inside.

Aemond had been dressed in his usual black leathers again, the tunic buckling up high on his
throat, but his hair was braided back and away from his face, half up, half down.

Two halves of a whole.

You had walked together, anticipation strumming in your veins with every step you took towards
the Great Hall with Aemond. Anxiety steadily building as you got closer, knowing that you would
be in the presence of Aegon once again, and not only that, but his entire small council including the
slimy Lord, Jason Lannister.

When you had arrived, you had been relatively on time. Most of the Lords arrived at the same time
as you, with Alicent decked in her usual deep green. She had blinked at you oddly, as though she
had not expected you to join, or that she had been told that you would not.

Though Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

Ser Otto Hightower however, did not even spare you a second glance, as though you were part of
the furniture or one of their tacky Seven tapestries that defiled the castle walls.

Perhaps you were like a part of the furniture by now.

There, seen, and rarely heard.

When Aegon finally arrived, all having waited for him for a time, food already atop the table, he
was flanked by Ser Cole, who announced his entrance to the Great Hall and the small council who
joined as though they were not aware of who the pompous silver haired fool was already.

The wives of the Lords of the Small Council were also present, dressed conservatively in their
House colours, bright blues and soft yellows and reds. When you had sat yourself down and looked
amongst the long wooden table, you had attempted to gage the attention of the other women,
hoping that perhaps you could make a friend. But none of the women turned to acknowledge you,
avoiding your eye carefully.

The table was full tot he brim, and even the longer tables that flanked the sides of the Hall were
full of men and women, servers and guards stationed about the sides of the room. There were even
some lower Lords who were not a part of the council, but in charge of large plots of land or
advantageous Houses and trades.
It was, for the most part, a loud and joyous affair for them, or for all those except anyone who had
witnessed the Prince and the King’s spat. Whenever Aegon’s eyes would graze over the two of
you, landing on you in curiosity, the Maester or another Lord like Jasper Wylde, or even Otto
Hightower would ask the King a question, speaking loudly to gain his attention.

Like you would a child.

But whilst most eyes were not on you, you felt a pair beside the King’s short glances to be
particularly burning.

Jason Lannister sat at the end of the table, donned in his House colours of red and Gold, his blue
eyes glued to you and Aemond. Beside him, an empty chair where his wife would have been.

"And where is your wife, Jason.” Aegon asked, noting the absence of the woman, and the presence
of every other Lords.

“She sends her apologies that she could not join me in King’s Landing. She is recently with child,
and well…” Jason intoned, a limacious smirk winding on his face, “You know how women get
when they swell.”

The Lords wives stayed quiet, some with small, shy smiles on their faces in mock agreement whilst
the Lords half heartedly agreed, others more enthusiastically than others.

It made your skin feel alight.

“And how do they get, Lannister?” Your voice carried across the table snidely before you could
stop it.

A knife scraped across a plate, and all eyes were on you. You could feel Aemond’s careful gaze on
the side of your cheek as you stared at Jason.

Prick.

The sound of Aegon snickering caught your ears, and you fought to not turn and face him.

The Lord pressed his tongue into his cheek as he looked at you, “Well, I am sure you will find out
in due time.” He smiled, eyes flicking from you to Aemond.

“Of course, but I’m asking you.” You smiled back falsely, reaching to take a sip from your wine
primly.

Jason laughed, and some of the other Lords laughed awkwardly with him, sensing the tension, “My
wife,” He began, looking around the table, “Has a terrible craving for fried trout, and will burst to
tears if she is without it. It goes without saying, her hysteria can be quite jarring.”

“Interesting.” You mused, placing the wine back down, “Perhaps she is not being adequately
satisfied with other smaller meats.” You grinned. Aemond hummed in amusement beside you.

Aegon bellowed, large hand slapping against the wood of the table jolting goblets and cutlery. The
other Lord’s joined in with their King, seeing permission to laugh at your snide remark. Even Jason
himself huffed out a laugh, though the smile did not reach his eyes, and his jaw was clenched tight.

“My niece everyone.” Aegon boomed, “The sharpest of tongues and the tightest of cunts.”

The room burst into laughter again, some more nervous than others. Otto did not laugh nor smile,
and Alicent glared at her son. Aemond inhaled sharply beside you, and from the corner of your eye,
you saw Ser Cole shift.

"Aegon." Alicent warned beneath her breath, eyes darting from Aemond, to Ser Cole, and then back
to Aegon.

“My brother is a lucky man.” Aegon hollered, raising his goblet up in mock toast.

Aemond did not move, eyeing his brother down, anger radiating from him.

It was perfect.

You lifted your goblet to Aegon, toasting to yourself, before taking a deep sip, turning your head to
Aemond, smiling. With a soft hand, you grasped his on the table, squeezing it twice.

Aemond did not squeeze it back.

“That he is.” You smirked, head still turned to Aemond who slowly turned his gaze onto you.

He was furious.

Good.

“And how is your son, My Lord?” You asked across the table, looking at Jason Lannister who’s
face beamed with pride, “The last I remember was you offering his hand to me, not too long ago.”

Aemond took his hand away from yours and moved it under the table, gripping your thigh.

“Loreon grows bigger by each day,” He grinned, “ A fine young Lord. He has his mothers eyes, but
thankfully my hair. Can’t have a lion without its mane.” The Lord joked, and all chuckled with
him. “Perhaps one day if you are to have a daughter, the Targaryen and Lannister Houses can be
united.” He grinned.

When the world is on fire, and I am long gone.

The rest of the Lords moved to their own small conversations as you continued yours with Jason,
feeling Aemond’s fingers dig meanly into the flesh of your thigh.

“Only if you were to build a Dragon Pit in Casterly rock. Our daughter will need to house her
dragon there some day, and I expect I would come to visit.”

“You are welcome at the Golden Tooth whenever you please, Princess. We have the finest silk
sheets, and the softest of beds.”

“I suppose I will have to see for myself if the riches of the Lannister House are truly what they are
said to be.”

“If it is anything like the beauty of the Targaryen House is said to be, then you will find that the
riches are just as spoken of.” He boasted and flirted.

You had to bite your inner cheek from gasping as you felt Aemond’s hand bruise your leg meanly,
his nails biting into your skin.

“You’d best watch yourself, Jason.” Aegon smirked, “Aemond looks ready to summon Vhagar.”

Jason paled, “My apologies, Your Grace. There were no ill intentions.”
“My husband is a possessive man and protective.” You intoned, turning your head to face Aemond
whose eye was locked on Jason again, "Issa iā orvorta, ñuha dōna. Ao gīmigon iksan aōhon.” He
is a cunt, my sweet. You know I am yours, You cooed sickly sweet, hand coming to brush against
Aemond’s cheek.

Aegon burst into childish giggles, throwing his crowned head backwards against the high seat of
his chair. Aemond’s jaw clenched. Whilst Jason cocked his head, not sure of what you had said
and turned to join conversation with the other Lords.

“Yn emā issare ñuhon tolī.” But you have been mine too, Aegon grinned, looking at you with bright
violet eyes.

Your heart leapt in your throat, bile rising in your mouth.

“Daor ondoso iderennon.” Not by choice,You plastered a fake smile upon your lips, Aemond’s
hand digging harder into your thigh as he straightened in his seat.

To anyone else at the table, it looked as though the three of you were having a lighthearted
conversation in your mother tongue.

To the three of you, it was a stand off.

“Kostan tepagon ao iā iderennon.” I may give you a choice, Aegon smirked, sipping his ale,
“Aemond kostagon urnēbagon lo ziry jeldan.” Aemond may even watch if he wishes.

“Aemond iksis ñuha iderennon.” Aemond is my choice, You purred, sipping your wine, mirroring
the King. You felt Aemond’s hand on your thigh loosen.

Aegon rested his elbow upon the table lazily, sitting his chin in his palm as he looked at you both,
“Sesīr hae ēza iā līve?” Even as he has a whore?

Anger bubbled up inside of you. You ground your teeth together and pushed out a false laugh, far
too high to be believable, Alicent’s eyes darting to you with her brows drawn.

“Sesīr pār.” Even then.

“Lēkia, emā zirȳla orvorta qilōny.” Brother, you have her cock whipped, Aegon smirked.

Aemond hummed lowly, “Issa iā sȳz ābrazȳrys.” She is a good wife.

You almost beamed at the praise. You picked up your goblet to stop yourself from smiling,
bringing the cup to your lips to sip at the honeyed Essos wine.

“Ivestragon nyke, qilōni's orvorta iksis rōvykta?” Tell me, who's cock is bigger? Aegon asked, and
you spluttered your wine, inhaling it and coughing into your palm.

The urge to dive across the table and force a knife between his eyes grew larger.

You stayed quiet, sipping the wine again to settle the tickling burn in the back of your throat, and
the rising anger that continued to mount within. Words fought in your chest to fly from your lips,
but you swallowed them.

“Aōha lykemagon vestras nyke.” Your silence says me.

“Ñuha āeksio valzȳrys’.” My Lord Husbands, You smiled, wishing to sink your teeth into his
throat, biting through the tendons and flesh, and ripping your head backwards, tearing the flesh
away and watching his blood spurt out.

Aegon ignored his Small Council, Lords and Ladies who had travelled from all over the realm to
dine with him, and enjoyed the small time given to direct snide remarks to Aemond without the
chastising of his mother.

“Ao gīmigon lēkia, eman ryptan mirri sȳz udir hen Harrenhal.” You know brother, I have heard
some good news from Harrenhal.

Aemond stilled.

The King grinned, teeth and gums being revealed by his lips pulling back, “Ēza Aemond ivestretan
ao?” Has Aemond told you?

“Nyke gīmigon iksā nūmāzma naejot.” I know you’re about to, You snipped.

“Ah, ēza daor. Sȳrī,” Ah, he hasn’t. Well, Aegon smirked, leaning forward, “Gaomagon ao
remember bona witch isse Harrenhal?” Do you remember that witch in Harrenhal? He tapped his
chin in mock thought.

He knew who she was.

“Alys?” He continued.

Alicent’s head snapped to her son, eyes darting back and forth at the sound of her name. Your heart
raced against your chest, heat rising to your cheeks.

How could you forget?

“Hen rhinka.” Of course, You said dully, swirling your wine in your hand as you tried to not give
him any satisfaction as rage bubbled inside of you.

Not only at the King, but at your husband.

“Ñuha lēkia ēza issare working qopsa, pār emā daor given zirȳla iā dārilaros.” My brother has been
working hard, since you have not given him an heir.

An heir.

“Aegon.” Aemond warned, jaw set in a stiff line.

“Skoros? Kostagon nyke daor biarvī manaeragon ñuha lēkia becoming vala? Iā kepa?” What? Can
I not celebrate my brother becoming a man? A father?

Your blood ran cold, and fire licked at your face.

“Kepa?” Father? You seethed, teeth showing, smile faltering on your lips.

“Oh yes, Alys iksis lēda riña.” Alys is with child, Aegon grinned.

With child.

With child.

You saw red.

“Alys iksis lēda riña.” You parroted, tying to collect yourself as you thought of driving your fist
into Aemond’s sapphire eye.

With child.

Alys was pregnant.

“Y/n-“ Aemond began.

“Aemond,” You interrupted him, turning your face to look at your husband, face cool, “Rijes aōt
issi isse jorrāelatan. Kostilus, jikagon ñuha udir naejot aōha līve.” Congratulations are in order.
Please send my word to your whore.

Aegon guffawed, eyes bouncing between the two of you. Aemond stared at you with a sallow face,
your own carefully schooled.

You were enraged.

Your hand around your goblet tightened, nails reaching around the cool metal to dip into your palm
as you desperately tried to use it to ground yourself.

“Bisa iksis daor skorkydoso-“ This is not ho-

“Valzȳrys,” Husband, You smiled joylessly, all teeth, “Ivestragī īlva daor ȳdragon hen aōha
nādrēsy’s.” Let us not talk of your bastards.

“Kostilus īlon should maghagon-“ Perhaps we should bring-, Aegon began.

“Aōha Valyrīha jorrāelagon mirre.” Your Valyrian needs work, You snipped, mock toasting your
wine to him again, small droplets falling from the rim to the table below at the force of your thrust,
barely contained anger spilling over.

You let your eye trail over the King, his crown atop his head, wavy silver hair peaking beneath it,
a small blush on his cheeks from the ale.

You were furious.

You were enraged.

You wished to hurt Aemond.

"Sir bona nyke pendagon hen ziry, iksā qumblie.” Now that I think of it, you are thicker, You
mused, eyes quickly dropping to Aegon’s waist before back up at his face.

You reached to grasp the decanter from in front of you to refill your wine which disappeared at a
rapid rate, and Aemond’s hand shot out, grasping your wrist tightly. The rest of the tables eyes
flitted to the sharp movement. You snatched your hand away from him, not even sparing the man a
glance as you continued to refill your wine.

"Konīr's bona ēngos,”There's that tongue, Aegon chuckled, smiling at you appreciatively, his eyes
grazing down your body, "Nyke gīmigon iā sȳrkta gaomagon syt ziry.” I know a better use for it.

"Ȳdra daor.” Don’t, Aemond finally spoke, voice low and rough, hand returning to your thigh
where he dug his fingers into it again, possessively and angrily.

Aegon giggled, excited that he had finally gotten Aemond to react, the unfinished fight between
them simmering to almost a boiling point. “Nyke gōntan daor jiōragon naejot sylugon ziry.” I
didn’t get to try it, Aegon pouted.

“Se kesā daor.” And you won’t, You purred, sipping your wine, “Yn ñuha valzȳrys gaomas.” But
my husband does.

Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightened again, and you watched as he grabbed his goblet of wine
and drank deeply from it.

"Kostilus kesan mirri tubis.” Perhaps I will some day, Aegon mused, pouting his lips at you as he
fought off a grin.

You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, swallowing thickly as you looked Aegon in
the eyes.

“Kostilus.” Perhaps.

The conversation had ended there, and Aegon had smirked, eyes half hooded as he looked at you.
Alicent did not take her gaze from the three of you before you excused yourself, stating that you
were tired and wished to leave your husband to his duties and fellow Lords for the rest of the
evening.

You had pried Aemond’s hand from your thigh and bowed to Aegon and the other Lord’s,
reminding Jason Lannister that he should begin preparing a Dragon Pit for Casterly Rock, to which
he grinned in response. Aemond’s heated gaze followed you as you left the Great Hall, walking
back to your chambers alone.

You arrived in your chambers and laughed loudly, furious at the news of Alys.

She was pregnant.

She was pregnant and he had not told you.

She was a greater risk to you now than before. You picked up a goblet at the side table and filled it
with wine, already tipsy from the night, tossing its contents back down your throat.

But Aemond’s reaction at dinner was another thing all together.

It worked.

Your last lingering comment to Aegon, a small, ‘Perhaps', left the One-Eyed Prince reeling in his
head, his hand not once undigging itself from your thighs. Even Jason Lannister unburdened
flirting that evening had helped you along tremendously.

You had filled your goblet with wine once more, sitting in Aemond’s armchair, drinking slowly as
you thought of the evening. Of the way his anger rose off of him in heated waves, the way he had
become possessive of you with Jason. The way he scowled at his brother.

He was beginning to resent them all.

The door to the chambers slammed open, and the storming footfall of Aemond caused you to lazily
turn your head to look at him.

He was irate.

“You seek to humiliate me in front of the council? In front of the King, flirting like a whore?” He
sneered, marching over to you as he yanked you up from his chair, the goblet of wine tumbling
from your fingers to the stone floor below, the red alcohol spilling across the tiles like blood.

“And what of you? What of your whoring? Your bastard is pregnant.” You retorted, lips pulling
back to bare your teeth.

“She gave me an heir long before you did.”

You hand slapped across his cheek, Aemond’s head turning to the side.

“You disgust me.” You spat.

A shadow crossed Aemond’s face.

Your knees hit the harsh stone floors before your brain could catch up, Aemond’s large hands
jarring you down by your shoulders. His eye crazed.

“You want to act like a whore, I will treat you like a whore.”

You tipped your chin up to look at him and smiled meanly, “Like Alys?”

“I told you, I did not see her.” He growled at you, hand gripping the side of your hair as he tugged
your head.

“I don’t believe you.” You sneered.

Aemond’s hand moved to the front of his breeches and began to tug at the strings, impatiently
ripping them open in front of your face.

A warmth spread within you.

He was so angry.

So on edge.

It had worked.

It was working.

Aemond finally undid the last of his ties and yanked his pants over his ass, pulling his cock out of
the confines of his breeches. You looked up at him defiantly as he began to stroke himself in his
hand, slowly getting hard.

“Having trouble?” You mocked, watching as he frowned down at you.

“Cunt.” He swore, before grabbing the back of your head roughly and tugging you towards his
length.

“Open.” He barked, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes on him as he slid his length cruelly down
the back of your throat in one rough push.

You gagged around him, tears prickling your eyes.

“Much better when you can’t talk.” He grunted, holding you down on him, the light curls at his
base tickling your nose.
Aemond roughly pulled you back off of him by your hair, a spluttering cough escaping your lips as
you sucked in a lungful of air.

“I should have his head for that. Who does he think he is?” Aemond growled, pulling you back on
his length, saliva dripping from your lips onto the stone below.

Your knees ached as he began to thrust into your face harshly, his tip hitting the back of your throat
as you breathed through your nose, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Fucking Lannister scum. A Dragon Pit?” He grunted, using both hands to pull your mouth up and
down his length, “He thinks he could fuck you? He thinks he could please you? Silk sheets? Is that
what you want? You want fucking silk sheets?”

You gagged loudly as he pushed himself all the way in, holding your head down on him as he
shook you with your hair, causing his cock to beat against your gag reflex.

“Stupid cunt. None of them could give you what I do. None of them could fuck you the way I do.”
He continued, and you squirmed on the spot, bringing your hands up to his thighs to hold on for
balance.

Aemond’s hands slapped yours away, “No. I didn’t say you could touch me.”

You dropped your arms, digging your fingers into your thighs as he continued.

“I am the only man for you. You are my wife.” Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

Warm heat settled in your gut as you hummed around him, curling your tongue up against the
underside of his cock. Aemond moaned, letting go of one side of your head to brush hair away
from your cheeks.

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, He praised, framing your jaw with one hand, “Such a good little whore.”

Your core clenched around nothing and you shut your eyes, rubbing your thighs together to ease
the ache that steadily began to rise in you.

“Aegon is a cunt." The Prince growled, "A depraved, pathetic excuse for a man. Do you think he
could please you?” He grunted.

You did not want to think of Aegon.

You squeezed your eyes tight.

“A useless King,” Aemond continued, thrusts becoming harsh again, “Can't even perform his own
duties. Has me do them. Has me fly about the realm when he has Sunfyre and does not ride him.”
Another growl, his length heavy on your tongue, you could feel every vein and ridge.

“Mother should have put me in line for the throne. We had to search the Silk Lanes for him when
father died.” The wet sound of your mouth filled the room with Aemond’s complaints. “I hate
him.”

I hate him.
Hate.

You sucked at Aemond’s length harder, a whine falling from this lips.

Rewarding him.

It spurred him on.

“He should beg for my mercy. Should have me rule.”

Delight sparked within you.

You curled your tongue up against the underside of his shaft, pressing the wet muscle against him
as his thrusts became sloppier, thick strands of saliva hanging from your lips as he continued, the
front of your dress and the stone floors below wet with it.

“Fucking pathetic.”

You hummed in agreement, opening your eyes to look up at him. Aemond looked down at you
watching the way his cock disappeared into your lips. A groan falling from his mouth as you
caught his gaze.

“He could never have you. He does not deserve you. He is not worthy.” His tip hit the back of your
throat, “Not worthy of your perfect cunt.”

You moaned around his length.

“Not worthy of the throne.”

Thrust.

“Not worthy of life.”

Thrust.

You suck sharply on him as his thrusts grow sloppy, his mouth slackened as he breathed heavily,
hands holding your head still as he chased his peak. You fought against your gags, tears moving
down your face as you continued to squirm from your spot on the tiles.

It turned you on.

“Fuck.” Aemond moaned, pushing himself as deep as he could go.

His hot seed burst down your throat, causing you to cough and gag on his length as he moaned
above you, holding you down on it with no escape. Each pump of his seed coating your mouth and
tongue.

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke.” So good for me, “Vok byka ābrazȳrys.” Perfect little wife.

Aemond pulled himself from your lips, and a sharp inhale sucked air into your lungs as you
coughed, swallowing what was left of his seed. The Prince’s hand moved to the side of your jaw
stroking it as he looked down at you, thumb swiping up the seed that had escaped from the side of
your mouth. Aemond rubbed it over your lips as he looked at you, your knees aching in protest.

“Filthy.” He purred.
Aemond bent down and pulled you up. The Prince took you to bed before hardening again, fucking
his seed deep inside of you in the hour of the owl. You had whined and moaned, and he had fucked
you roughly against the soft sheets, growling about his brother, about Jason, about the throne.

And you had encouraged it.

As the ebbs of your third release left your body, you found yourself boneless in the bed beneath
Aemond, who crawled down the length of your body, planting insatiable kisses against your
sensitive skin.

“I am falling to sleep.” You had argued, trying to pull him up and away from your core, where his
tongue darted between your folds.

“Then sleep.” He uttered, “Let me enjoy the pleasures of my wife.”

His tongue was soft and gentle, pressing soothing kisses to your core as you felt your eyes flutter
shut, fatigue dragging you down into the depths of sleep.

You woke some time later to the familiar stretch of Aemond’s cock moving through you. You had
groaned, blinking in the dark up at Aemond he pushed himself inside of you.

“Wha-“

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

 The Cracks
Chapter Notes

I had a dream that Ewan Mitchell was on a bridge with me and my best friend with
Tom Glynn-Carney, and I turned away for one second, and when I turned back Ewan
was babybird projectile spraying milk into my friends face from his mouth in a steady
stream. I woke up in a cold sweat. What does this mean???

A letter sat in the centre of the table in your chambers. Its soft yellow parchment was rolled neatly,
a black, three headed dragon wax seal holding the fine paper together. It had been untouched.
Unread. Unopened. The seal still in its whole form.

A letter from your family.

Its soft gentle sloping the telltale sign of your mothers handwriting. Small and gentle, feminine
slopes, no harsh ’t’s or sloppy ‘y’s. It was her. And you let a small sigh of relief escape from your
lips.

The letter began as most did, a greeting, a comment about Daemon to let you know it was your
mother, despite you knowing her writing by heart. But then the letter became more anxious.
Asking about your wellbeing, stating that it had been too long since they had last heard from you.

How long had it been?

Was time running away from you? The days bleeding and blinking together.

When was the last time that you had written?

Aemond had held the parchment out for you and you had taken it wordlessly, bitter resentment still
curling in your gut. You took your time walking to the chaise and moved to sit by the light and
warmth of the fire to read, the hearth crackling softly as Aemond sat at the table, quill in hand.
Quiet gentle scratches of ink rose in the air as he wrote, having been writing all day after you had
spent yours in the Gardens.

‘It has been too long, we fear you have fallen ill. Are you well? Must we come visit to see for
ourselves? Alicent has corresponded to let us know that you are well, but we wish to hear from
your own word. Have you lost yourself amongst the library? Or have you run out of starfruit and
are desperately in need of more?’

Alicent?

Your mother had written to Alicent?

You smiled at Rhaenyra's script, bringing the parchment to your nose and inhaling deeply. It smelt
of her. Her subtle oils that she rubbed into her skin, the soap she used to wash her hair, and the ever
so faint smell of smoke.

‘Jacaerys and Baela were wed in tradition here at Dragonstone.’

A stone sank in your stomach.

‘It was a beautiful day, no winds, nor rains, nor a cloud in sight. Baela was a vision, a beauty of
Valyrian blood, and Jacaerys as handsome as ever. His hair has grown longer, it curls above his
shoulders now. He misses you terribly. We all do. Your absence was noted at the union by all
present.’

A tear fell from your cheek.

You had missed it.

Baela and Jacaerys’ union.

A union of love.

A union of respect.

Something pure.

And you had missed it.

A day like that would never come again.

You felt sick to your stomach as another tear fell from your eyes, stomach turning painfully as you
thought of it.

You thought of your father, proud and smiling at his daughter and step son. Of how Rhaneyra
would have beamed, and fretted over Jacaerys’ hair and clothing. Of how Rhaena would have been
glued to Baela’s side.

You wondered what Joffrey, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger had worn. Of what they looked
like. Of how it had been.

Would you have smiled brightly at the union, filled with joy at seeing two people you love dearly
be wed to one another?

Or would have cried, overwhelmed by it all and what you had missed out on in life?

You sniffed, and Aemond’s head lifted from his page to look at you. You roughly wiped your eyes
with the back of your hand placing the parchment in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing.

You had not forgotten the dinner that the two of you had. Nor of Aegon’s confession of Aemond’s
deceit.

But you swallowed it as you did everything else, and made priority over what you could and could
not feel for. And soon the sadness that ate at you turned to anger, and you began to think more on
when the perfect time to strike is.

Aemond stood from the table, shoes barely making a sound as he came around beside you, one
hand on your shoulder as he reached forward for the letter.

If Aemond so wished it, he could sneak anywhere without being seen or heard.

“May I?” He asked, and with shaky fingers you lifted the parchment to give to him.

“Jacaerys and Baela were wed.” You spoke dully, pushing down the tide inside of you.
Stay strong.

Aemond hummed, eyes skimming the pages, “I am sorry to have missed it.”

“As am I.”

“Perhaps when Rhaena is wed-“ Aemond stopped himself.

Rhaena.

Rhaena was betrothed to Lucerys.

But now she would not wed him.

You would never get to see Lucerys be married to someone who would have loved him just as
fiercely as you did. You would never get to see him grow, or start a family of his own. You would
never get to see him grey with age. Lucerys would always be a boy.

You stood on stiff knees, brushing down your skirt in habit.

“Excuse me.” Was all you said as you moved yourself away from your uncle and the fireplace, and
across the room to leave the chambers, leaving Aemond behind, needing a moment for air.

Needing a moment to breathe.

A moment to be away from it.

It was overwhelming, and you fought the urge to cry.

You slowly made your way down to the Gardens, neither walking fast or slow, but taking your
time with each step as you tried to steady your breathing and tame the tides that surged within.

“It has been a while since I saw you here.”

You turned your head slowly, looking behind you.

Aegon sat in your usual seat in the Gardens, looking at you with a lazy grin. He did not wear his
crown today, and despite him being alone and you with him, your heart did not race.

“I have been thankful.” You responded, moving to continue on your walk down the Gardens to the
shore of the beach.

Aegon’s footsteps clunked against the stone ground loudly, heavy on his feet where Aemond was
light, as he chased to catch up with you, your hands held together at your front.

It was a fine day in King’s Landing. Small clouds littered the skies, and a gentle breeze rolled
through the trees and plants of the Garden, wafting the sweet aroma of the flowers around you.

“Might I join you on this walk?” The King asked, no tone of mocking in his voice.

You turned your head to look at him, eyes roaming up and down his body.

Aemond would be furious.

“You may.” You said stiffly, turning your head away as you strolled together past bushels of
lavender and rosemary, their gentle scents curling around you.
“And how is my brother today? Has his temper been soothed?”

“He is in our chambers, attending to your duties.”

Aegon hummed in agreement, a high pitch noise where Aemond’s was deep. Aegon’s came from
his throat, Aemond’s came from his chest.

“Aemond does love his writing and his books. Best to keep him preoccupied.”

“And you love your drinking and your whoring.” You replied primly.

“And what if I told you I have turned a new leaf?” Aegon’s tone lightened, head turned to smile at
you in your periphery.

You kept your eyes ahead on the path, “I would not believe it.”

Aegon laughed heartily, "I suppose you may be right. No harm in trying.”

“There is plenty.”

“Did Aemond ravish you after the council dinner? I have never seen him so fiery as he left to go
after you. I can’t imagine it had been fun.”

“It was perfectly enjoyable.” You sighed.

I hate him, Aemond’s voice echoed in your head, He should beg for my mercy.

“Aemond does not leave much to be desired.” You continued, insinuating Aemond’s skills.

“Though I am thicker. You said so yourself.” Aegon waggled his brows at you and you fought the
urge to not gag.

“Aemond is longer and simply reaches places you could not dream to reach, where you are thicker.
Though the thickness does not stop at your cock.”

“Such a tart mouthed woman.”

“A brainless, whore of a King.”

“Be nice, or I may bend you over that rose bush.” Aegon pointed jovially at a bush you
remembered Helaena getting caught in as a child.

Your stomach roiled and your heart rattled against your ribs.

“Perhaps I should bend you over it.” You quipped back, swallowing the lump that formed in your
throat.

Aegon laughed sincerely as you began to walk down the steps towards the water, “I would not be
adversed to it.” He smirked, hands tucked behind his back.

The walk down to the water was quiet, and as you got to the bottom, the two of you looked out at
the rolling waters, soft fluffy white tips peaking over the waves, wind brushing over it softly,
making the water look like diamonds.

You stood side by side for some time, counting your breaths in your head as you realised the risk
of being with Aegon alone where you were.
But it has already happened.

What is another time more?

You turned your head to look at Aegon, who still looked out at the water, face still. His nose
sloped softly where Aemond’s was harsh. Aegon looked more like his mother than Viserys. Soft
cheeks and pouted lips, and a perpetual sadness that lingered behind his lavender eyes.

“I miss her.” His voice broke the silence.

You blinked.

“I know that you would not believe me, but I do. She was my sister. My wife,” He turned to look at
you and you saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes, “The mother of my children.”

You swallowed as you looked at him, brows furrowed.

My children.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The King sighed.

“Do you know?”

Aegon shifted on his feet sighing, looking out at the water for a moment, letting the unanswered
question wrap around the two of you coldly. His jaw clenched.

“They’re not your children.”

Aegon huffed, “Vicious little thing aren’t you.”

“Aemond and Helaena-“

“Loved each other in their own way. I know this. Anyone with eyes would know this.” Aegon
began, brows pulled down, “But he was good to her. Kind even, if you can believe Aemond is
capable of such qualities.”

“You are brothers.”

Aegon laughed humourlessly, “That we are.”

Silence.

“They are my children. My heirs. Maegor will sit the throne after me. And his children after him.”
Aegon’s tone was brittle and stiff, an iciness that wrapped around each syllable.

“They ask after her, especially Maegor. But Jaehaera has gone quiet, so quiet since…” Aegon
trailed off and looked back at the water, “She asked for you once.”

You blinked, “Jaehaera?”

“Mother is in charge of raising them now.” Aegon’s violet eyes met yours.

“My condolences."

Aegon turned on his heel and offered and elbow for you to loop your arm through. You looked at it
in question. When had things gone so wrong? Why did life find a way for ruining connection and
families? You thought for a beat, looking at your eldest uncles arm, and swallowed the fear that
clawed at your throat.

Slowly, you looped yours through his as you began to walk back up through the Garden together,
step by slow step as you both looked at the flowers in bloom. Your skin prickled in disgust and
nausea ate at your stomach.

As you passed the Monkshood, your eyes darted to it and then back to Aegon who turned his head
to meet your gaze.

“Remember when you caught me and that servant girl in the Gardens?” Aegon smirked, “I don't
think I have ever seen you so red.”

There he is.

Fucking prick.

You hummed, “I could not think of a worser fate than having your cock in my mouth.”

“Ah, but you did say perhaps.” Aegon paused, letting go of your arm as he reached an arm
forward, plucking a bright red rose from its bush. You watched as Aegon stepped closer to you, his
scent closing around you as he lifted both arms.

You flinched at the movement, but Aegon did not stop, instead pushing its stem into the back of
your braid, a thorn catching a strand of your hair as he pushed it down. Aegon stood back and
smiled at his handy work.

“I did.” You swallowed, “Though I worry for your ability to actually please.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, I’m a quick learner.”

Aegon grinned, from up ahead, the greying head of Otto Hightower came into view and Aegon
sighed loudly, letting his head fall backwards on his neck as he looked up at the sky.

“Duty calls.” Aegon griped, searching your face. “Until ‘perhaps’?”

Bile rose in your mouth as you stared at him.

“Perhaps.” You said coyly.

A wide smirk pulled on his lips before Aegon turned away from you walking lazily up to Otto,
whose gaze flicked between you and the King, his voice hushed as he spoke to his grandson. You
watched the two of them walk from the garden out of sight before you released the breath that you
had been holding, heart racing.

When you arrived back in your chambers you moved straight to the table, retrieving a blank piece
of parchment and writing back to your family. Apologising for not being there, assuring them of
your wellbeing, telling them of the gardens and the new books you had been reading. Each swipe
of your quill caused heat to bloom in your chest.

Perhaps.

You were disgusted in yourself. But you knew it had to be done.

The sound of the chamber doors alerted you to Aemond’s entrance, but you made no move to greet
him nor even acknowledge him, your eyes still on the parchment as you wrote. His footfall stopped
beside you as he looked at you writing your letter.

“Where have you been?” Aemond asked, tone pressing.

“The Gardens for a walk.” You responded tonelessly, looping a ‘y’ with care.

Silence wrung out in the room before you felt the gentle pull of your hair at the back of your head,
Aemond held the red rose in his hand as he turned it over, your eyes still on the page as you told
your mother of some of the new tomes you had received, as well as the Black Stone.

“I did not know you were fond of roses.” Aemond mused, turning it over in his hand.

You paused your writing to dip the quill in the ink pot before you lifted your gaze beneath your
lashes at Aemond, “I’m not. It was a gift.” You said dully, scraping the quill against the ink well,
thick drops of black ink sliding back inside its holder.

A beat.

“A gift?”

You pressed the quill back onto the parchment, “Aegon joined me on my walk.”

“Aegon?” Aemond’s voice was dangerously low.

“Do you know of any other Aegon’s in the Keep?”

“Did he touch you?” He all but growled.

“He offered an arm.” You drawled, signing off your name at the end of the letter.

“An arm and a rose.”

You dropped the quill into its holder unceremoniously before turning your upper body to look at
your uncle, who’s face was pulled into a frown.

“An arm and a rose are far more respectable than a bastard given to your whore.” You spoke
cooly, tilting your head down to blow on the ink lightly before looking back up at him.

“You provoke me.” He grunted.

“I do no such thing.” You countered, “Merely a friendly walk and talk with my dear uncle.”

“When has he ever been dear to you?” Aemond snipped.

“When have you ever been faithful? Honourable? You wish to question me and my honour when
you have fathered a bastard. Not only have you fathered potential others," You hissed, "With this
one, you did not even think to tell me, your brother did. Your ‘pathing a path with good intentions’
has been trodden under your boot.”

Your words hung heavily in the chambers as Aemond looked at you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Good.” You snipped, pushing the chair out from beneath you as you handed Aemond the scroll,
“Feel free to read it if you like before sending it out.” And with that you left the chambers again,
needing to cool your temper.

Over the next few days, you and Aemond danced around each other, barely speaking except for
your snips and snarls, Aemond returning it with little patience and immediately apologising
afterwards. And Aegon took advantage of that.

And you took advantage of him.

The King begun to hang around you more often since the walk in the Gardens. His presence
appearing like smoke, seemingly out of thin air. He would find you everywhere.

Anywhere.

The Godswood.

The Library.

Even in the halls and corridors as you walked aimlessly, not wanting to be found by Aemond and
his incessant presence.

And you let him.

For humouring the man brought you an advantage that you hadn’t had before. You answered his
questions earnestly, and responded to his flirting with playful jabs in turn. You made quick work of
it, for though you had told Aegon his cock was thicker, which was true, he was also the thickest
brother. Not as smart, nor as cunning as Aemond, and it showed.

Each time the King found you, you would indulge him, little by little, and by the fourth day of his
small rendezvous, you even offered him a smile, something you had previously only reserved for
Aemond. And with each day coming to an end, spent by the side of the whoring and drunken King,
you ended your conversations with the same echoing ‘perhaps’, and the promise of something to
come.

It angered Aemond to no avail.

Each time you returned to your chambers, you would mention in fleeting passing that Aegon had
found you again. That he had spoken with you. That perhaps he brought you a gift, or
complimented your dress, brining home more roses, or in one instance a silk chemise. And
Aemond simmered with anger each and every time.

He fucked his anger out into you and you revelled in it, coaxing it from him. Making him believe
that you had no play in it. That you were not repeating ‘perhaps’ to the King. That you were not
letting your eyes linger on his breeches for fleeting moments. That you were not egging the King
on. That Aegon was seeking you out, that you merely had no choice but to endure his presence, that
you had said no once before and Aegon had not listened.

It also left him with the possibility that you were encouraging it. Though he had no evidence of
such.

Aemond saw his brother pursuing you, and you played the innocent dolt. The One-Eyed Prince’s
resentment to his brother was building, and you were ecstatic.

I hate him.
That morning as you and Aemond dined together, he asked you of your plans. You told him that
you would be going to the Gardens to read the rest of your book in the sun, and had plans to even
have your lunch there. At the mention of the Gardens, Aemond informed you that he would be
joining you.

“And is a certain King the reason for this sudden declaration of company?” You questioned, lifting
a brow at the Prince from across the table.

“No.” Aemond said all too quickly, “I have finished my duties ahead of time, and wish to spend my
day with my wife.”

You hummed, chewing on a small piece of toast.

Aemond wanted to make sure Aegon didn't get you alone.

When you walked down to the garden together it was a quiet affair, the only sounds being your
foot steps and the swishing of your skirts. When you arrived to your usual spot, you were surprised
to find it empty, but felt a small piece of disappointment knowing that the two brothers would not
use you as a weapon against each other.

You sat and read for a time, though you felt the constant subtle gazes of Aemond as he looked up
at you.

Sensing his unease, you sought to work on it. Tucking the book at your side you chuckled softly
and looked out at the water, Aemond following your line of sight.

You needed to bite your tongue about Alys. For now.

You needed to play to your strengths and his weaknesses.

Your shared childhood.

“Do you remember when the Sea Snake told us that there were dragons in the sea?” You coaxed,
letting a small smile rise on your lips as you looked back at Aemond, who’s gaze was on you, and
not the water.

“Hm.”

“I remember being so excited, and you were terrified.”

Aemond huffed, “I was not terrified, I simply did not believe it.”

You grinned at him, “And why is it so unbelievable?”

“Because who would claim them?”

“Perhaps the sea people he spoke about.”

A wry grin pulled on Aemond’s lips, “Again with your tales and stories. You always did love
fairytales and mystical creatures.”

“I remember you loving to hear about those stories. Besides, who is to say they aren’t real? I’m
sure the people in Westeros had stories of Dragons before, and they exist, do they not? What is a
tale without a little truth to it?” You turned your head to look back out at the water, Aemond’s not
committal hum beside you.
You paused a moment or two, looking at the water in mock thought before you opened your mouth
to speak.

“Aemond,” You asked again, looking back to find he had not taken his eye from you, “How did
you remember I liked lemon tarts? Did you remember when we snuck into the kitchens?”

“I remember you running into a passage to eat them greedily. You even stole mine.”

Your mouth dropped open, “I did not. You gave it to me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and you know it to be true. You stole armfuls of them and only had two by the end. A terribly
bad thief you make.”

“My apprentice was worse. You got caught the next time by the Septa.”

You winced at the memory, the sound of her shrieking voice as she screamed at the both of you,
dragging you to your respected mothers and telling them that you were sneaking out of your
chambers together.

“Not my fault you weren’t listening for footsteps. You were too busy complaining about Aegon.”

Aegon.

Aemond shifted at the mention.

“He was a twat.”

“Is.” You corrected him, "Do you remember when I hit him in the shins in the training yard?” You
laughed loudly, enjoying the small smile that wound on Aemond’s face, “He really thought that he
could best me with a sword just because I was a girl.”

“He underestimates a lot of people. Especially you.” There was a dark undertone to his words, but
you chose to ignore it.

“Seeing him fall to the floor, clutching his shins was better than any lemon tart or star fruit. You
should have seen Ser Cole’s face! I've never seen him so appalled.”

“Not even in the library?” Aemond teased, and you blushed.

“You’re cruel.” You teased, “But Aegon deserved it.” Your tone hardened, “I couldn’t stand to see
the way he treated you. How he pushed you around. How my brothers joined in.”

Aemond stayed silent as you continued.

“When I found you that day in the tunnels, after they gave you the pig…” You looked back at the
water, “I wanted beat them bloody. I’ve never felt rage like that before, I wanted to-“ You paused
taking a deep breath, “I know that you think I betrayed you.” You said quietly, looking at the soft
white peaks on the waves below, not daring to lift your gaze to Aemond’s piercing one, “But I
didn’t have a choice. Rhaenyra would have never let me stay in the Keep, and seeing your mother
come after Lucerys with a blade? I was terrified.” You swallowed, thinking of that fateful night.

“I stepped in front of Lucerys, I think I was ready in that moment.” You explained, your breathing
uneven, “I was ready to die for him. And then I saw you, and you were looking at me, and then I
saw your eye.“ You swallowed again, “I never forgave Luc for what he did to you, just like I will
never forgive you for what you did to him.”

You finally turned to face Aemond, who’s face was carefully blank, “But know that if Alicent had
not come at us all with that blade, I would have run to you. I wanted to see if you were okay. I
wanted to make sure that you were alright, I-“ You paused, reaching your hand out to touch the
scar that split through his cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You were just a boy. And
you were my friend. All we had was each other, and I left you alone.”

Aemond’s eye searched your face before his hand gripped your own, pulling it into his lap.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Aemond and your heads flicked to the noise, seeing Aegon standing at the entrance of the sitting
area, Ser Cole behind him. Aemond’s hand gripped yours tightly, and you soothed over his
knuckles with your thumb.

“It's not hard to find someone in a place they cannot leave.” You quipped back.

“Merely came to see if perhaps today was a good day.”

“Clearly I’m here, brother.” Aemond growled.

“Like I said, you could watch.” Aegon teased.

Aemond moved to stand, but you tugged him back down with his hand.

“When the sun rises in the West and sets in the East, Aegon.” You sighed, keeping a firm grip of
Aemond’s hand.

Aegon smirked, looking down at your hands and then back up before bowing his head to the two
of you. As he left, escorted by Ser Criston Cole, Aemond kept his eye on his brother the entire
time, whilst you kept your eye on him.

“Aem,” You brushed his cheek with your hand, coaxing his attention back to you, “Hēnkirī hae
mēr.”

Together as one.
 Desperation
Chapter Notes

I've written ahead, and oh boy, getting emotional because soon (not too soon, don't
worry, we have about 20 chapters left or so) this amazing lil journey will be coming to
an end!

Again, I want to thank you all as usual for you unwavering support, love and kind
words. Truly means the world to me. You are all so sweet !

The next morning, Aemond decided to spend his day with you again, his unease from Aegon’s
visit the day before setting him on edge. You spent the beginning of your day beneath him, soft
kisses being pressed to your lips as he held you tightly against his firm body. Your small apology
seeming to have softened his touches once more.

Breakfast was eaten together, as always, and you smiled when he told you that he would be
spending the day with you.

“I was going to spend the day in the library reading, perhaps send another letter to Baela and
Jacaerys.” You dabbed your lips with the napkin.

“Have you finished ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’ ?” Aemond asked, setting down his cutlery as
he finished the food on his plate.

Leaning back in your chair you smiled, “I did. Why? Did you wish to read it?”

“I think I might.”

You let out a soft laugh, “I never would have thought I would see the day when Aemond Targaryen
wants to read a book on the lovers of a woman.”

Aemond tilted his head, “What makes that so unbelievable?” He asked, sounding almost offended.

You mirrored his posture, “You who is possessive to the point of aggression? Wants to learn about
a woman who had taken multiple lovers?”

“Hm.”

“Hm.” You parroted him, standing up and moving to his side of the table, “Come, I want to read.”

And read you did not.

Not too long after you perused the isles of books to find a new one to read, Aemond had pressed
himself against your back, hands splayed on your hips as he dipped his head to kiss at your neck.

“Aemond,” You hissed, “Insatiable beast.” You swatted at his hands, trying to wriggle from his
hold.

Aemond only chuckled and pressed his clothed cock against your backside, a low groan falling
from his lips. Your skin felt alight as arousal burst through you.

“We shouldn’t.” You whispered, pushing back against him.

“Why?” Aemond gathered your skirts at your front as you pushed back against him.

“Someone might see.”

Aemond hummed as he dragged his hand between your thighs, fingers diving between your folds,
finding them already wet. “I think you like the idea of someone finding us.”

A quiet gasping moan left your lips as he swirled his fingers around your bud, nipping at the skin
where your shoulder meets your neck, your hands behind you gripping the material of his breeches,
unsure if you were pushing him away or pulling him closer. His long fingers dipped into your
wetness before bringing it back up, soothing circles over your bud.

“Fuck.” You whined quietly, hips bucking into his touch.

“Perhaps Ser Cole may find us again.” Aemond teased, and your stomach clenched, head lolling
back onto his shoulder as he let two fingers push inside of you.

“You like that don’t you? The idea of being watched? Getting caught?” He teased, dragging his
fingers in and out of your heat. You bit your lip to stop you from making any noise, but your walls
clamped down on his digits at his words.

“Such a filthy girl you are. Who knew that my sweet wife was so debaucherous.”

You hummed, shutting your eyes tightly as he continued to drag pleasure through you, your hands
clutching against the shelf, fingers digging into the hard wood for purchase. Every drag of his
fingers caused slick to gather in his palm.

Aemond suddenly spun you around, pushing your back against the shelf, hand ripping out of your
centre.

“Need to taste you.” He breathed, before moving down to his knees, hiking a leg over his shoulder
as he dove his mouth onto you.

“Fuck.” You whined, gripping his hair in your hands, his expert tongue already swirling over your
sensitive bud.

Aemond continued to lap at your core as soft whimpers fell from your lips, a hand flying to your
mouth to bite at your fingers, desperate to suppress the sound you made. But Aemond was
relentless, grabbing your hand and tugging it away from your face.

“Want to hear you.” He groaned into your cunt, and your head fell backwards against the shelf,
books sliding to their side as he slid two fingers back into your core, licking and sucking at your
pearl.

Pleasure wound its way inside of your gut and your heart raced in your chest at the thought of
someone finding you in your compromised position. Aemond began to thrust his fingers in and out
of you at a faster pace, and you could not stop the long whine that flew from your chest as his
fingers brushed against the spongey spot within you.

“Aemond.” You moaned, writhing your hips up to meet his face as he licked and prodded at your
core.
He grunted in approval and continued, speeding up his ministrations as he felt your core begin to
tighten around his digits. You squeezed your eyes shut as he sucked your pearl into his mouth,
tongue swirling around it wetly.

Prickles moved over your skin, and you felt your peak begin to rise.

“I’m close.” You warned Aemond, which only spurred his movements further, the sound of your
wet centre filling the space of the library.

You moved your head to look at him, opening your eyes.

A cry broke from your lips as you locked eyes with a pair of violet ones behind Aemond.

Aemond thought your cry was due to his pleasuring, his tongue and fingers on you, and hummed
against your folds. You felt yourself clamp around Aemond’s fingers as he fucked them into you
harder and faster, your thighs wet with arousal.

You were frozen.

Staring at the King.

You kept Aegon’s lustful gaze, his lips parted in arousal as he watched you.

Your peak ripped through you suddenly, ecstasy racing through your body as you whimpered
loudly into the library, grabbing Aemond’s head with your hands tugging him closer to you as
Aegon watched.

Your heart was racing in your chest.

How long had he been there?

“Aemond.” Your voice cracked, still looking at your oldest uncle who took a few steps back
silently, standing beside the shelves behind the Prince. Aegon smirked as he watched you twitch,
Aemond pressing wet kisses to your thighs before rising up to his full height.

“What?” Aemond asked, catching your eyes as you looked at him, cheeks flushed.

You thought for a beat.

Do you tell him?

Perhaps.

“Need you.” You whimpered, mind made, pulling Aemond in for a searing kiss, Aegon still
watching from behind.

Pervert.

Aemond kept hold of your thigh and brought up to his hip, unlacing the front of his breeches whilst
his head dipped to kiss the tops of your breasts in your gown, flesh sensitive to the touch. All the
while you kept your silent battle of gaze with Aegon, who’s hand slipped down to the front of his
breeches, pressing against the straining material in front of his cock.

“Perfect, wet, little cunny.” Aemond groaned as he freed his cock from his breeches, rubbing the
head through your slick folds.
You gasped loudly, bucking your hips forward as you pulled him in against you with your leg. In
one swift thrust, Aemond entered you, and you let out a loud cry in the library, putting on a show
for Aegon.

Let him think he has you.

Aemond began to thrust into you, head tucked into your neck as you held him against you,
moaning loudly with each thrust as the sloppy sound of your arousal echoed around you. Aegon
had loosened the ties on his own breeches, and stuck a hand down the front.

Disgust wormed its way inside of you, and yet also a strange plucking of delight.

Perhaps Aemond was right, you did like being watched.

Aegon pumped himself in time with Aemond’s thrusts, lip caught between his teeth as he held
back any noises. Noises that you still heard to this day. Noises that haunted you.

But right now?

You had power.

You were in control.

And it was exhilarating.

Aemond’s thrusts sped up, his cock bullying your cervix and the bone of his pelvis brushing
against your overstimulated bud, your second release winding within you rapidly. You kissed at the
side of Aemond’s hair as you watched Aegon pull his cock from his pants, tip red and angry.

Your mouth hung open as the coil within you wound tighter and tighter, Aemond’s hips becoming
sloppier by the second as he chased his high. A hand moved to squeeze your breast and you gasped
loudly, the flesh tender. Aemond immediately moved his hand away back to your thigh.

“S’close.” You slurred, fingers digging into Aemond’s back as Aegon sped up his hand, “Need
you, kepus. Need your seed.” You kept your eyes on Aegon.

Kepus.

Aegon.

Aemond.

The Prince moaned and his hand moved to grasp the skin under your ass, spreading you out on him
as a finger moved to rub against your puckered hole gently. Sparks shot up your spine at the
unfamiliar feeling, and that was all it took for you to tumble over the edge a second time.

Blinding white pleasure coursed through you as you kept your gaze on Aegon, watching as his
mouth became slack, his seed spilling into his closed fist at his tip, cheeks bright red and hair
tousled.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Aemond grunted before he reached his peak, hot ropes of his seed
painting your walls.

Your head fell back against the books as you all breathed heavily, the smell of sex filling the
library, overpowering the smell of parchment. You could feel Aemond’s cock twitching inside of
you as you clenched around his length, his head buried in your shoulder, wet kisses being pressed
to where he had bitten down on your flesh.

Slowly Aemond pulled back, softly pulling out of you with a whine, before straightening his back
to look at you. His lips were swollen and pupil blown out.

You gave him a lazy smile, willing your heart to stop jumping out of your chest. Slowly, he bent
his head down to press his lips against yours, kissing you sweetly. You could taste the subtle tang
of yourself on his tongue.

It made you feel nauseous knowing that you had an uninvited guest who watched over you.

But this was what you needed.

When you looked back over Aemond’s shoulders, the King was gone.

You had read together by the chaise after, kisses stolen from each other, and glances thrown around
the library to see if Aegon was still there watching, hiding amongst the many rows of books and
tomes, but he was nowhere to be found.

A small piece of guilt ate at you, but you quickly squashed it.

This was what you needed to do.

When the two of you returned back to your chambers, there was a letter in the centre of your table
waiting for you, a red rose placed on top.

A letter from the King.

Inviting you to dine with him and the council that evening.

Aemond in his insecurity, and sudden bout of jealousy ever since Aegon had made his presence
more demanding, pulled you onto his lap at the table, exposing your centre and sinking into it with
a single thrust.

He fucked you on the chair as you rode atop him, clutching his shoulders for grip as you whined.

“Want my seed to be dripping from your cunt when we dine tonight.”

You tumbled over the edge again for the third time that day.

By the time you went to the Small Dining Hall for dinner, you were exhausted, thoroughly fucked
out and body aching. You did not know if you could continue the way the two of you did, every
inch of you was sensitive and ached, and all you wanted to do in that moment was sleep.

You kissed Aemond gently before you entered the Hall, and whispered into his ear, “I can feel
your seed dripping from my cunt.”

And you could.

Aemond tutted as the doors were opened, “So wasteful with a gift from a Prince.” He whispered,
the two of you taking slow steps towards the table as you were announced to the room, “Kessa
emagon naejot leghagon ao bē arlī tolī.” Will have to fill you up again later.

You smirked, eyes meeting the King. A blush creeped across your face and you looked down
shyly before responding to Aemond.
“Gaomagon ao pendagon kostā jikagon arlī?” Do you think you can go again?

“Lēda ao? Va moriot.” With you? Always.

You sat down side by side, Aemond pulling out your chair for you to sit in and helping to tuck you
in after, Aegon’s gaze not leaving yours once, smirk pulling at his pink lips. A familiar face caught
your attention at the table.

Lord Jason Lannister.

He was still here.

He sat at the end of the table, Maester Orwyle on one side, Lord Jasper Wylde on the other. His
straw blond hair sat brushed and tucked behind his ears, and the red and gold tunic he wore was
embroidered with large standing lions.

Jason, catching your gaze, bowed his head to you and smiled.

“How goes the Dragon Pit for Casterly Rock, My Lord?” You inquired from across the table,
Aemond humming beside you in irritation.

“I have sent word for some of the finest stonemasons in all the realm. Of course, all would have to
wait until a daughter is born.”

“Of course. We should discuss possibilities later.” You smiled, turning away to look back at Aegon
as the rest of the table chatted amongst themselves.

When the food was placed upon the table, Alicent said her prayer to the Seven as she always did,
and this time, you bowed your head, sliding your eyes to look at Aemond beside you, who’s own
was diligently shut.

The table was loud with conversation and eating as the Lords spoke amongst themselves and the
King drank from his cups deeply.

Aemond spoke to you quietly in High Valyrian, careful to not rouse the attention of Aegon,
"Gaomagon ao drējī pendagon nyke'd ivestragī īlva tala dīnagon zȳhon tresy?” Do you truly think
I'd let our daughter marry his son?

“Daor. Yn iksis ziry daor kirimves naejot ūndegon zirȳla pendagon konīr iksis?” No. But is it not
fun to see him think there is? You smiled at him cheekily.

Aemond’s lips twitched, “You are a cruel, merciless little thing.”

“Ao jorrāelagon ziry.” You love it.

“Gaoman.” I do.

Jason Lannisters voice moved across the table to Aegon.

“I have heard word from Ser Amos Bracken about some interesting rumours in the North.”

The North?

All attention was on Jason Lannister.

Aegon placed his goblet down on the table, leaning back in his chair to look at the Lord.
“And what are these interesting rumours?” Aegon asked lazily.

Jason’s eyes flitted to you, then back to Aegon as though he was considering not speaking of such
things in front of you. But at the King’s prompting hand, Jason began.

“Well for one, House Blackwood still holds the Bracken lands, and has their and the Blacks
banners seated atop the Keeps.”

Aegon pouted, pulling his ale back to himself to take a gulping sip.

“And what’s more,” The Lord of Casterly Rock continued, “Is that there has been word of a orange
and green dragon sighted flying to and from the North.”

Vermax.

Jacaerys.

“It’s been seen at the Green Fork of the Trident, House Frey’s seat. But of course, Rhaenyra’s son
being witnessed to treat with their allies is not an unusual thing. Prince Aemond goes to treat with
Houses Swyft, Reyne, Crakehall.” Rivers, “But thats not all of what Ser Amos came to the Golden
Tooth to tell me.”

You wished he would get to the point.

Aegon sighed, “Spit it out, Lannister.”

“Rhaenyra has freed the North.”

Laughter rung amongst the table, the Lords looking at one another as they guffawed. Even Aegon
laughed loudly, holding up his ale in mock toast before he drained the dregs of his cup, holding it
out for a server to come fill it again.

“Freed the North?” Aegon chuckled, “Her largest supporters?”

Lannister beamed at the attention he was getting, his information seemingly delighting the King,
“Oh yes, she’s given word to Cregan Stark that she has no wish to rule over free people. Given
them their autonomy back.”

Lord Jasper Wylde shook his head, “Princess Rhaenyra-“

“Queen Rhaenyra.” You corrected him stiffly.

Jasper turned to look at you as he continued to speak, “Has undone what only King Aegon the
Conqueror could achieve. How many times did Lords and Kings try to claim the North? And how
many times did it fail? The only reason why we had the North was because of dragons, and now
she has set them free? Whats to say they won’t rebel against us all?”

“Who’s to say that they will?” You argued, “The North has been given no reason to attack the rest
of the Kingdoms.” Feeling defensive for your mothers choice you continued, “In fact, I think the
Queen’s option to give the North back has bolstered a relationship of peace.” You looked around
the table, only to find Aegon smirking at you.

Jason Lannister chuckled pitifully at you, your head snapping to him, “The North was the only
thing that gave your mother power.”

“My mother and her many dragons and supporters.” You snipped, “And if my brother is seen to be
often flying to treat with the North, then I would say their relationship still stands.”

“She’s given the men a way out.”

“House Stark gave their oath to my mother.”

“I know other Houses that did the same thing.”

“And turncloaks they are.” You snipped, “There has never been a Stark who has broken their
oath.”

Jason leant back in his chair and laughed heartily, head tipped back, even Otto Hightower chuckled
from the side of Aegon, his tired eyes looking at you with mirth.

“All men can break their oaths.”

“All men are not Starks.”

“Perhaps you should have been wed to to the Stark boy, what’s his name?” Aegon laughed,
“Crepan? Credan?”

“Lord Cregan Stark.” You spoke calmly, “And my hand was to be offered to him. But I decided
against it.”

Jason Lannisters laugh sounded more like a squawk or a squeal, “And here you are. You could
have been up in the North with the mudmen freezing your bits off.”

“The North would not have wanted to be used as a bartering piece in war. What my mother has
done was the right thing. The Starks were and are the Kings of the North.”

“Kings of ice and snow.”

“Kings no less.”

"I don’t recognise the Northerners of having Kings.” Aegon smirked.

“And I’m sure others don’t recognise you as theirs. And yet it still stands.”

Aegon clapped his hands loudly and beamed at you, teeth showing as he grinned.

“Tell me brother, you’re well read on the history and politics of the realm. You’ve always had that
nose of yours stuck in books. What do you think of this all? Do you think our sister made the right
choice?”

The chambers were quiet as all waited for Aemond’s response. Alicent had her elbows on the table,
hands clasped in front of her face as she tried to sneakily and unnoticeably bite at her nails in habit.
Otto looked genuinely interested in what Aemond had to say, but Aegon was clearly up to no good.

The Prince pursed his lips, tongue in his cheek as he thought, watching his brother.

“We don’t know what freeing the North means for the rest of us.” He began and you felt your heart
sink, “It’s true that Aegon the First was the only one to have ever conquered the North. Their lands
are stretching, Houses and alliances ancient and new, not to mention, the North is a most
inhospitable land to live in, let alone wage and win a war against.”

You breathed heavily in your nose, teeth grinding together, your hands in tight fists in your lap.
If Aegon had freed the North all would have applauded him for his bravery. But all laughed and
mocked your mother because she was a woman.

“As for freeing the North?” Aemond’s voice became louder, “I think it was the smartest move
Rhaenyra could have made.”

Your head snapped to your husband, staring at him in disbelief.

Had he just agreed with you?

Aegon scoffed, eyebrows high on his face. Jason Lannister and Jasper Wylde laughed softly and
shook their heads.

“If we know anything about the North and their people, we know that they do not recognise the
rest of the Kingdom’s unless forced to. The North bent the knee to Aegon the First, and who is to
say they would continue to listen to another foreign ruler from the South? Would you bend the
knee to a monarch who you knew naught about? Who you had no similarities to, besides being
men? What Rhaenyra has done, is bolster trust and respect. And I daresay that is more powerful
than ruling with fear."
 Growing

The rest of the evening was spent in chaos as the Lord’s and Maester argued amongst themselves
about the North and Aemond’s analysis. You watched in silence, mind reeling at the fact that not
only did he agree with you, he had done so openly and in front of the council.

About your mother no less.

His half-sister he has had no issue with raising his hatred for.

It surprised you.

And everyone else present.

When the dinner had finished, you and Aemond left to your chambers, your thighs wet in
anticipation and excitement.

He had agreed with you.

He had supported you.

Aemond had defied them all.

You pushed Aemond onto the bed and rode him passionately, pulling at the ties of his breeches as
he kissed at you from below. You slid onto him in one smooth movement, the both of you sighing
into the humid air of the chambers. The whole while, praising him with gentle whispers, kissing
over his face and scar until you both reached your peaks.

After this, Aemond was insatiable, constantly between your thighs, lapping at your cunt until your
legs shook, filling you full of his seed as he nipped and sucked at your breasts or neck. And as the
days continued to move by without issue, a new one arose.

It reared its ugly little head in the stillness of the storm, the dust having settled around you. The
skies had opened up, and felt the rays of calm warm against your skin, but then came the
downpour. Torrential and sudden, leaving you no room to seek cover or escape it.

It was not until one morning, when your tea had been left un-drunk on the table, had you realised
just how precarious your situation truly was. You realised with horror, that you had not had your
moons bleed in some time.

It was not until that fateful morning had you realised that Aemond had often pulled you from your
meals and would dive inside of you. That Aemond had been more rapacious than usual and
determined to fill you as often as he could.

That he always had been.

And for the past moons, you had been so self-assured that it would be okay.

It was as though the earth stopped spinning on its axis, and reality crashed down on you violently.
Joanna and Amala were in the chambers, bathing you in front of the fire. A wet cloth had been
brushed over the peaks of your breasts, and a sudden gasp had left your lips, flinching back and
away at the zap of sensitivity that ran through you.

Your brows furrowed, and Amala looked at you in concern.

Aemond was not known to be gentle, and on more than one occasion his teeth would nip at your
stiffened peaks and the soft flesh of your breasts. But this sensation was new and foreign to you. As
though your senses were heightened, tripled in strength. That a soft, warm touch felt like blazing
fire.

And the more you became aware of it in that blooming moment, the more you noticed the changes.

They had felt heavier than usual, and your new gowns, which were usually perfectly tailored to
your body, seemed to have become tighter around your bust, the tops of your breasts pushing up in
their confines which always seemed to drag Aemond’s gaze or the wandering eyes of the King.

It is then, in the steaming water of your bath, surrounded by your maids did you realise, you might
be with child.

Your heart felt cold, and your throat seemed to tighten.

Amala tilted her head looking at you, “My Lady?” She questioned, hand dropping back into the
oiled water, cloth still in hand.

Your mouth opened and closed. Unsure of how to get the words out of your throat that seemed to
be stuck there. Your gaze lifted to Amala, Joanna having stopped her tidying, coming to beside the
tub, concern on her face.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to think of when your last bleed had come. And the last time was
after Aegon.

It had been far too long without it.

Cotton seemed to sit in your mouth as you blinked, feeling dread settle deep within your gut. You
looked down at your body, hand brushing against your stomach. There was no visible swelling that
you would have expected, except perhaps a slight bloating. It was your breasts that seemed to give
it away.

“Princess?” Joanna prodded gently, kneeling by the tub with Amala.

“I think…" You swallowed thickly, eyes looking down into the milky water of the tub, “I am with
child.”

The words felt foreign. It did not feel like it came from your own lips. It seemed to pass through
them of its own volition, taking up space and devouring the air between you. As though it was a
sentient entity that fed off of the three of you. Four of you.

Amala and Joanna looked at each other before Joanna stood suddenly, moving to the table she had
begun to tidy, looking to the cold and undrunken tea. The maid picked up the china and fled to the
side of the tub to you, holding it out.

You stared at the tea.

Do you drink it?

Would it work?

You were sure you had been drinking the doses correctly.

You were sure you had not missed a cup.

But when you tried to think on it, you came to nothing.

Was it always affective?

What if you had grown a tolerance to it?

You looked back at the two maids looking between the two of them, then back to the tea.

You inhaled deeply.

No.

“Princess?” Joanna asked unsure.

You had voiced that out loud.

You shook your head.

“If it didn’t work then, it won’t work now. Maybe the dose was wrong? Or-or I forgot a day. Or
ma-“

The Gods.

Perhaps this was meant to happen.

You blinked, swallowing dryly and continued, “I can’t. Not now. Not when Alys Rivers is with
child. There was no running from this fate, as much as you have tried.” The two maids looked at
each other, “Keep bringing me tea, but not Moon Tea. We cannot let anyone become suspicious of
the two of you.”

Amala swallowed, “My Lady, we-“

“I know that my father has you looking over me.” You said quietly, so that not even someone a few
feet away would hear.

Joanna was the next to speak, “It is the Queen who commands us, Your Grace.”

The Queen.

Your mother.

You smiled sadly.

“Have you told her…”

The two girls looked at each other, “The Maester forbade it. It is to come from your lips and yours
only, Princess. When the time is right. When you want to.” Joanna explained.

They didn't know.

They didn’t know about Aegon.

You sniffed, bowing your head. “Good. Let us keep it this way. And do not speak a word of this to
anyone. Not the Maester, or anyone else in this Keep.”

“You wish to keep it?” Amala asked quietly, hands on the edge of the tub, curled around the metal
lip.

“I have little choice. They would become suspicious if it didn't happen soon, and if his whore in
Harrenhal has a child," You bit the inside of your cheeks, "And his own wife doesn't? Who's to say
they wouldn't legitimise it because of my 'failure' as a wife?” You sighed, “But, despite this, I feel
that it may help me.” You paused, lifting a hand, seeking help to stand in the deep tub, and step out
of the side.

Amala moved away to bring forth your robe, wrapping it around you tightly, careful to not brush
your sensitive chest. Water dripped from your legs and onto the floor as you stood before the fire,
looking at the two maids.

“Who else is there?”

The girls shifted on their feet.

“Is it just you?”

“We cannot say, Your Grace.” Joanna started, but upon pausing she took your hands in her own,
“But know this, we are not alone. Your mother and father ask after you often, and their eyes are far
and plenty. Do not think they have abandoned you. They are waiting for your command.”

Tears rose in your eyes, pricking in the corners as you squeezed her hands.

You were not alone.

You were not abandoned.

They have eyes on you.

They’ve always had eyes on you.

They were waiting for you.

You nodded and gave the two a small, and sad smile.

Amala and Joanna began to dress you, drying your hair and braiding it down your back. As you sat
in front of the vanity, you could not help but feel the anxiety and trepidation that you felt about
what was to come next.

You were pregnant.

You were going to have a child.

Images of blood and your mothers cries flooded your mind as you blinked.

What if that happened to you?

What if you lost your child?

What if you died in childbirth like Aemma? Like many other women did across the realm?

Like Jasper Wylde’s many wives?

The 'what if's' spun inside your head so fiercely, you could not think straight, your throat tightening
and air scarcely getting into your lungs. The maids noticed your sudden gulping breaths and
assured you that it was okay, and that it would be alright, gripping your shoulders to ground you,
but it was no use.

You stood from the vanity and begun to pace about the chambers, breathing shallowly as you
pressed a hand at your stomach to steady yourself.

Oh Gods.

What am I going to do?

What am I going to say?

Aemond.

How do I tell Aemond?

Your bare feet continued to carry you in laps around the chambers as the two maids watched from
the side, unsure of what to do. And then there it was, the familiar tickling in the back of your mind,
a shadow that had been forgotten.

Mandia, He whispered. Sister.

Two figures, side by side at the window watching you. A head of brown, a head of silver. Both
staring. Both unmoving. Both, thankfully, dry. A sob caught in your throat as you looked at them,
feet moving you towards where they stood by the window.

The chamber doors opened and you spun around, tearing your eyes away from your brother and
aunt, hand still against your skin, anxiety oozing from your pores.

What would he do?

“Are you well?” Aemond asked, walking into the chambers, laying scrolls of parchment onto the
side table beside the wine, before moving himself over to you as you stood dumbly in the room.

Were you well?

Were you?

Aemond came to take your hands in his, concern in his eyes.

“Was it Aegon?” He asked, almost frantically, sensing your anxiety and the tension that continued
to roll off of you in waves.

You scoffed, of course he would think the reason for your distress was his brother and not the
other multitudes of towering troubles that seemed to circle you like vultures.

You yanked your hands away from him and moved to pace the chambers again, walking back and
forth in front of the hearth as all watched.

Aemond turned to the maids and dismissed them sharply.

“Do not speak to them like that.” You snapped, watching as the girls bowed their heads and made
their leave.

“What is wrong with you?” Aemond questioned.

“What is-“ You laughed, “What is wrong?”

Gods, so many things.

So many things were wrong.

This was just the tip of the mountain.

Aemond came towards you again, grabbing your shoulders softly as he held you still, your eyes
darting over his shoulders, searching for Lucerys and Helaena again.

They were gone.

Aemond tilted his head towards your line of sight before lowering his voice softly.

“Is he here again?”

Lucerys.

You blinked.

“They are always here.”

Aemond’s hands moved to your cheeks, pulling your line of sight to his. You held his gaze as he
searched your face.

“What is-“

“I’m with child.” You blurted.

Aemond blinked, head moving backwards in shock.

“What?” He asked quietly, the word barely a whisper, his mouth parted and fingers twitching
against you.

You opened your mouth again to speak but your breath was caught in your throat.

The chambers fell still.

“I’m -“

Aemond crashed his lips to yours.

 Alys Rivers
Chapter Notes

*Hiding in a bunker somewhere underground* hey guys haha, so... heres the next
chapter, I couldn't leave you all hanging like that.... so uh yeah, iloveyouokaybyeenjoy
<3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Aemond did not take his hands off of you, looking at you with a wide smile upon his lips. A smile
which you had not seen for so many years. A smile where his teeth were bared and lines appeared
beside his eyes. He had buried his hand in your braids at the back of your head and kissed you.

He poured adoration into you.

Excitement.

Love.

And most importantly, chased away any fears you had in that moment.

It almost felt normal.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you could not even help the smile that lifted to your own
cheeks.

“We must celebrate.” Aemond declared, hand moving forward to touch your lower stomach fondly.

And celebrate you did.

Aemond dove his head between your thighs and brought you to your peak before he fucked himself
gently into your folds. You had cried beneath him, both giggling like fools as you let the euphoria
of the moment sweep you both away to a place that wasn’t there.

To a place you weren’t trapped inside of.

To a place where you were both happy, both unbridled by the world. Both terribly, deeply, and
madly in love.

A little lie.

A little game of pretend.

A reprieve.

Aemond had gone to the door of the chambers, cool expression back on his face as he told the
knight to send word to the King and his family that you should all dine together. That there was
good news that needed to be shared.

And so, the both of you had gone to the Small Dining Hall, hand in hand, and sat at the table first,
waiting for the rest of the Hightower’s, and closest members of the council to arrive and join the
two of you.

The three of you.

You were strung with anxiety, a nervousness that you could not squash.

What would they say?

What would they do?

Would Aegon be mad?

The Greens would no doubt be elated for the news, another bolster to support their treaty. And yet
why did you still have fear?

Your leg bounced beneath the table as you waited, Aemond watching you cooly, his well schooled
mask carefully placed back over his face. You chewed at your bottom lip, hands wringing in your
lap as you continued to glance at the doors behind you.

“Zaldrītsos.” Aemond whispered, trying to calm your nerves, thumb pulling your lip from between
your teeth.

The doors opened behind you and your leg immediately ceased its bounding, posture straightening
in your chair as you laid your hands delicately in your lap. You did not turn as Otto Hightower and
Alicent Hightower were announced to the two of you as they came around the intimate table to sit
where they usually sat.

“Mother.” Aemond bowed his head.

“Aemond.” She greeted him back.

Otto was silent, only nodding his head at his grandson before leaning back in his chair, adjusting
the Hand pin on his lapel as he kept his eye to the doors.

One by one, Lord Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, Jason Lannister, and then finally, the King
himself entered the chambers, finding their respected seats, waiting for whatever news was to
come.

Aegon looked irritated, as though he had been pulled away from something of interest, or perhaps
had an inkling of what was to be announced. After all, how could you not. The Prince and Princess,
the treaty pact, have news to share with the council.

Anyone but a fool could figure that out.

But still, the announcement was needed, and Aemond was insistent upon it.

You suspected he wanted to see Aegon’s reaction.

Another pissing contest between the two brothers.

The Lords spoke amongst themselves as they waited for the meal and announcement. Alicent said
her prayer to the Seven, specifically focusing on the Mother and Maiden, before finishing with a
flourish.

She knew.
“Your Grace,” You turned to the Dowager Queen, her bright eyes watching you closely, “I
remember you telling me that perhaps I could have an embroidery loom. I think I would much like
to have it soon.”

Alicent’s face softened, and she nodded, “I will have one of the maids bring it to your chambers.”

“Thank you.” You gave her a tight lipped smile.

Aegon cleared his throat loudly, flicking his fingers boredly, “So what’s this all about? Are we to
wait for your big reveal all evening?”

Aemond reached forward, grasping his goblet, and you mirrored his action. Pushing up on his long
legs he stood at the table, looking over all the Lords and his family as he held the goblet towards
you.

“My wife and I bring good news to the Council, and to the King,” You noted Aemond did not say
my King, or our King, “We have an heir.”

You looked across the table.

Alicent beamed at her son, motherly pride on her face before she flicked her eyes to you, raising
her cup in your direction. Otto Hightower raised his cup to the both of you, a quiet
“Congratulations” on his tongue. The rest of the Lords followed suit, all raising their cups to you.

However, Jason Lannister looked confused.

Idiot.

“Your heir in Harrenhal?” Aegon mocked, and you breathed deeply in through your nose. The
table’s energy shifted.

Aemond was quiet, but you were quick to the whip.

“No, our heir. I’m with child.” You smiled up at your husband fondly, hand coming to sit at your
stomach in show. “Early days, but we wished to share the good news with you all.”

“Congratulations, Princess,” Alicent smiled at you softly, a true smile, one that she rarely ever
gave, “Joyous news indeed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aegon hummed, “I wonder how the child will bare resemblance to its father. Time will tell.”

Your hand clenched against your robes tightly, “I hope that he has his fathers eyes.” You blinked
up at Aemond.

“He?” Aegon remarked.

“Of course. A strong Prince. I will have to send word to my mother and father, perhaps the Queen
will send an egg from the next clutch to put in his cradle.”

"Strong. Hm." Aegon hummed, smirk on his face.

You fought the urge to sneer at him.

Alicent beamed, “I am sure Queen Rhaenyra will be delighted by such news.”

You had a feeling that she would not.

You nodded your head at the auburn haired woman, Aemond holding your hand gently. Jason
Lannister offered congratulations, yet upon hearing your declaration of a son, his voice rose across
the table as the rest of the Lords and King went back to their more relaxed chatter.

“A young Prince?.” He began, “And when should we expect a Princess?”

You gave a small huff of a laugh, still holding Aemond’s hand, “I can assure you that it would be
soon after.” You gave a wide smile, and Jason returned it.

“Excellent news then.” His gaze shifted to the One-Eyed Prince, “Congratulations, My Lord. You
are a lucky man. A small piece of advice from a father to one soon to be, do not argue with a wife
when pregnant, you will never win.”

Aemond hummed, “I rarely do.”

You smiled snidely at Aemond, “And for good reason. Best to remember that.”

“Hm.”

Aegon continued to stare at you for a time, before a smile wound its way on his face. He lifted his
goblet towards you, then drank from it slowly, eyes still watching you over the rim of the cup.

It set you on edge.

The rest of the night, the Lords included you amongst discussion, a rare and almost confusing
affair. Though now, you supposed they did not see you as a threat. You were pregnant. A brooding
mare, and the breath that had long since been held at the beginning of the treaty had been released.
This child would strengthen their position in the eyes of the realm. And most likely weaken yours.

Good.

Let them underestimate me.

When you made your way back to your chambers, Aemond could scarcely keep his hands off of
you. Stripping you bare as soon as you entered the chambers, laying you on the chaise as he
praised you, kissing his way down your body in front of the fire, lingering hands cradling your
stomach as he pressed kisses with care atop it. Your heart was in your throat, fluttering like a
butterfly as you watched.

It was tender.

It was loving.

It was pure.

He brought you to your peak thrice that evening atop his tongue, whispering words of praise to
you.

“My perfect wife."

“My perfect thing."

“Going to be a perfect mother.”

“Can’t wait to see you swell.”

He even spent much attention to your breasts, lapping at your sensitive peaks, gently suckling them
into his mouth as he groaned. It sent sparks shooting up and down your spine, your senses
heightened by it all.

By the time you made your way to bed, Aemond had spilt his seed inside of you, kissing at your
neck and cheeks, before placing his lips atop your eyelids with chaste devotion.

The anxiety of the day had slipped away, and a blooming sense of joy had swelled inside your
chest.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the unfamiliarity of cold sheets. Wiping the sleep from
your eyes, you let your arm slide through the bed in search of your husband, confused as to why
you had not woken in his arms as you usually did. When your hands reached nothing, you sat
yourself up, head turning to see Aemond watching you, seated atop the chair beside the bed.

You frowned at him, the chill of the chambers setting goosebumps rippling over your skin.

But something else was wrong.

Something was amiss.

Aemond did not smile at you, nor did he move to come back into bed. He did not even greet you a
good morning. Instead, sitting still as he observed you.

Your heart began to beat a little faster in your chest. You pulled the sheets close to your waist,
completely bare in front of him. You let your hand rest against your stomach, hoping that the
movement would calm whatever storm was passing through Aemond’s violet eye.

His gaze lowed to your stomach, and a small puff of air moved through his nose. Almost like a
sigh.

“Come back to bed,” You pouted, “It’s cold.”

Why was he looking at me like that?

Something was wrong.

Aemond didn’t move from his seat. Nor did he respond to your request, instead watching you with
a hawklike stare. Shifting in the sheets you pulled them up to your shoulders, suddenly feeling
vulnerable.

“Aemond, what’s wrong?” Your voice was quiet, and your throat seemed to begin to close in on
itself.

Was he angry?

What had you done?

What was the matter?

Aemond stood from his seat and moved to stand before the edge of the bed, towering over you as
he looked down at your form amongst the plush, green sheets. Long fingers came forward to brush
a strand of hair behind your ear, tingles running through your scalp at the contact. And yet he still
did not answer you.
“Aem?” You furrowed your brows at him, unsure, your hand reaching out to grasp his wrist.
Aemond stilled his movement, eye flicking across your face as he took you in.

From your messed hair that tumbled down your back, to the fatigue that was still pressed into your
face, to the small love bite that he had nipped just below your ear.

You watched as Aemond’s chest expanded.

“Aegon is sending me back to Harrenhal.” He spat through his teeth.

It was as though you had been doused in ice, cold water. Your grip tightened around his wrist as he
looked at you from above. It wasn’t until that moment did you notice that Aemond wore his riding
leathers.

“What?” It came out as barely a whisper.

Aemond breathed through his nose heavily as he repeated himself.

“Aegon has commanded I fly to Harrenhal. With haste.”

You jerked your hand away from him, letting go of the grip you had on his wrist. Disgust and
anger winding its way within. And the simmering rage that you had squashed coming alight again.

He was going back to Harrenhal.

To see his whore, and his bastard.

After everything.

After everything he still goes back to her.

His Alys.

You scoffed, ripping the sheets away from you as you stood from the bed, grabbing the robe beside
it as you tugged it onto your body heavily, feeling your face heat with anger.

Aemond was to leave you alone in the Keep with Aegon.

Alone with Aegon.

Fear turned in your stomach.

'Perhaps.'

“Fuck.” You gasped, feeling as though a hand had wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing the
air from your lungs.

“Y/n.” Aemond whispered, walking around to your side of the bed.

“Don’t.” You snapped back at him, pulling the tie around your waist tightly as you gripped it for
dear life, your knuckles cracking from the force. You could feel your nails digging into your
palms.

And you welcomed it.

Your teeth ground down against each other as you tried to steel yourself from lashing out at him.
As you tried to desperately school your temper, but the waves continued to rise inside of you until
the water overflowed.

You spun on your heel, brows drawn, and sneered at the Prince, “You told me you would never
leave me alone in this Keep again. You gave me your word.”

Aemond’s hand came to reach out and touch you, his face falling, “If I ha-“

“-Don’t touch me!” You growled, slapping his hand away from you before it could touch your
flesh.

Aemond stilled, swallowing thickly as his jaw ticked.

“You’re going back to your whore.” You scowled, feeling stupid that you could have ever even
believed him.

You had given him a chance, you thought that after Aegon, this could have been different. That he
could be different. That he could change, be a good man and keep his word. But you were wrong.

And you felt more betrayed in that moment than you ever had. More angry than you ever had. You
felt like a fool. A pitiful fool.

Hope is a fools ally.

And you had been just that.

Aemond’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides as you looked up at him, letting him see your
anger, your contempt.

Let him see.

Let him see that any bridge that had been built was now lost.

That he had tossed flames atop it.

He did this.

“Aegon has commanded it.” He grit out, “I have little choice. I need to go as a Prince to attend to
my duties.”

You laughed.

Sincerely laughed.

His duties.

But as the waves of anger kept coming, a hole opened and sucked the water down into it, and soon
you tumbled down after, into fear.

“You love her, don’t you? Don’t you?” You asked shakily, searching your uncles face for any sign
of deception. Any sign or inkling of truth. To see how he would react.

Aemond frowned at you, taking another step forward, “No,” He said in disbelief, “I love you.”

You scoffed as you looked at him, feeling your chest ache, “I don’t believe you.”
The Prince’s face softened as he moved to step forward towards you again, hand coming to graze
your shoulder, “Then let me show you.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his palm on you, the heat of his skin atop the robe, the way his
pupil expanded as he looked down at you, how his chest rose and feel sharply.

Disgust sank in your stomach.

“No.” You slapped his hand away from you, storming past him, trying to get space. Trying to
collect yourself.

Incensed that you were stupid enough to think that he was capable of change.

“Zaldrītsos.”

You ignored him, flitting about the chambers in anger. Pacing about the length of the room as you
felt it begin to shrink, the walls closing in on you.

He was going back to her.

And he was leaving you here with him.

“I can’t believe I fell for it.” You breathed, one hand tight against your stomach where the tie of the
robe dug harsh into your skin, the other bawled into a tight fist at your side, “I am such a fool.”

Aemond walked towards you, almost stalking you quietly as he watched you continue to pace.

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a stupid, stupid fool. I knew that hope was a fools ally, and yet I
still let myself have hope in you.” You spun to face him, teeth bared as you snapped, whilst
Aemond watched you with a cool face, “And here you are, ready to put your cock in the cunt of
your whore, whilst your bed has only just been warmed by your wife!”

“Y/n-”

Rage burnt through your veins, and you did not contain it.

"You go to Harrenhal, do you not? You are to go to her and your bastard."

"Aegon is trying to-"

"You go to her," You sucked in a breath, "And I will never forgive you. You go to her, and I will
take what is owed, fire and blood, I swear it. I swear to you Aemond, you go to her..." You left the
empty threat in the air like smoke.

The Prince's posture stiffened, "You think to threaten me?"

"It is not a threat, it is a promise. I do not break my word as often as you. Unlike you, I stay true to
it."

"The King commands me and I must go, you know this. He has mentioned treason in passing if I
do not."

"Then perhaps I shall go to him when you leave."

Aemond's eye twitched, and his voice lowered, "Y/n-"

 “No, Fuck you! Go to your whore and bastard.”

Aemond’s eye twitched as he watched your chest heave with angry breaths, “You question my
honour?”

You laughed loudly, bringing a hand to your mouth before you dropped it back to your side as you
looked up at him. His hair was pulled back away from his face, and the light of the early sun cast
shadows across his cheeks and eyes.

He looked dangerous.

But you didn’t care.

“Honour? You’ve already fucked her. You fucked a child inside of her.” You jeered, “Do you deny
it?”

He does not deny it.

He does not deny anything.

Aemond took a steadying breath, battling his own anger poorly as he grit out a quiet ‘no’.

You laughed again, shaking your head to turn away from him, walking towards the chamber doors
angrily, “No, I don’t question your honour.” You finally turned back towards him, watching as he
stayed rooted to the spot, his chest suddenly still.

You were seething.

“I deny its mere existence.” You watched as Aemond’s gaze darkened, and it served to spur you
further.

Taking another step back towards him your snarled, “You and your brother are cut from the same
cloth.”

You turned on your heel and ripped the door open, storming out the chambers in only a robe, not
caring for who sees you.

Chapter End Notes

Don't hate me....

 Favours in Shifting Tides
Chapter Notes

Hello my babies, I couldn't leave you on that cliffhanger for too long, I'm far too
excited to pump out new chapters because I'm actually keen for us all to finish this
series hehe! This one is a little longer because I combined two chapters into one and
refuse to cut it down. Enjoy <3

Lords and servants that morning were confused when they were greeted by the sight of the
Princess, clad in only her robe, barefooted, storming through the corridors and halls of the Red
Keep.

None approached you, watching as your hands were curled into tight fists as you stormed away
from your wing of the castle.

You were furious, and a lot of the anger that kept curling its claws into your flesh was born from
the dark whispers of fear in the back of your mind. Aemond was leaving you alone once again, and
who was to say that Aegon wouldn't come back to your chambers once more?

Who was to say that he wouldn't come to redeem his ‘perhaps’?

What’s more, is that in your heated anger, you did not even ask Aemond for how long he would be
gone. For how long he would be leaving you to protect yourself from his family, from his allies,
from the court. From many people in the Keep who wished you harm. Who wished your family
harm.

And now, to make matters worse, you were with child.

His child.

You found yourself at the Godswood, simmering with anger, and as your toes pressed into the dirt
and grass beneath its roots, and your chest heaved angrily, a most spiteful and almost sickening
thought came to your mind as you looked up into its bright crimson branches.

You wished you would lose the child.

To spite him.

To punish him.

But you knew, that it would be more of a punishment to yourself.

And yet still, that did not stop you thinking such a thought beneath the shade of the Godswood,
wishing to hurt him. Wishing to punish him. Wishing to curse him with more losses than one.

More.

More than one.

And as if the Gods had heard your prayers, and your anger, and felt your rage, you remembered in
your fury something that you had. Something that you could utilise. Something that you had been
waiting for a chance to reach out and touch.

Something that came with risks.

But in this moment of hazed rage, it was worth it all.

You had an ally in the Keep.

It was not to the time nor the moment to use your star fruit pass to victory quite yet, but there were
other means of helping yourself in the Keep. Others who were devoted to your cause. Others loyal
to your Queen mother.

You thanked the Gods for hearing your anger, and moved away, storming back to the chambers,
your steps faltering with uncertainty at the potential of Aemond still being in the chambers when
you arrived.

But much to your delight, and also to your disgust, Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

He was gone to his whore.

Instead, there was a small piece of parchment, left atop the bare table for you, your name slopped
in his rushed script. Angrily, you snatched the letter and stormed towards the fireplace, throwing it
into the flames and watching in satisfaction as the fire devoured it.

You did not read it, nor did you wish to.

Fuck him.

You moved back towards the side table with great urgency, heat licking at the side of your face as
you hastily grabbed the quill and ink pot, moving to sit down at the table. You laid the parchment
flat, halving it in your hand with a satisfying rip.

Quill to paper, you wrote. And the more you wrote, the more anger you felt. The fire within was
fuelled by Aemond's leave. By the pregnancy. By Aegon. By 'perhaps'.

By all.

You kept it short. You kept it sweet. And soon, you were blowing on the scratches of ink with
impatient breaths, rolling it up and stuffing it into the pocket of your robe. You hastily moved the
ink and quill to the side of the chambers, and tossed the unwritten piece of parchment that had been
torn, into the fire.

There was to be no evidence of this letter.

When the maids came and brought breakfast for you, you had given them a tight lipped smile. It
was tempting to ask for their help, but in reality, you did not wish to put either of the girls in more
harms way than they already were. After they had dressed you and braided your hair, you had
gently folded the robe against the chair beside the bed, waiting for the girls to leave.

And as soon as the door shut behind them, you had dug your hand into the pocket and stuffed the
scroll into the breast of your dress, leaving your chambers with great haste as you set about your
way back through the Keep.
Not once did you feel fear. Not once did you feel conflicted. Though there was trepidation as you
came towards Lady Alicent Hightower’s chambers, Ser Criston Cole standing outside of her
chambers.

The dark haired knight gazed at you in confusion as you made your way towards him, holding your
hands delicately in front of you. You did your best to give him a sheepish and almost shy
expression, playing up the act of embarrassment and nervousness.

You needed to look defenceless.

You needed to look doe-ish.

Innocent.

A weak woman.

“I need to speak with Alicent.” You spoke softly, twiddling with the ring upon your finger,
spinning the dragon and ruby around in a circle in mock anxiety.

Ser Cole did not respond to your request, deep brown eyes still on you as you shifted from one foot
to the other.

“Please,” You begged, the word feeling bitter on your tongue, “I don’t know who else to turn to.”

Look innocent.

Look lost.

Look weak.

Ser Cristons eyes roamed you again, clearly sizing you up for any potential of danger before he
knocked upon her large wooden doors. A soft “enter” came from within, and the Ser Cole went in
first, stepping through to announce you to the Dowager Queen.

You took a steadying breath, anger still beating in your heart like a drum as you took a step inside,
looking down at the floor in a small bow. When you rose your head to meet her, you saw that she
was seated at her own table, eating her breakfast.

“Princess,” Alicent looked surprised by your presence, “I was not expecting your company this
morning.” She cocked her head, clearly uncertain of your visit.

You wrung your hands together in front of you as you looked down again shyly, “I’m sorry, Your
Grace, I-“ You paused, “I wasn’t sure who to turn to.”

Alicent blinked at you, lifting her napkin to her lips delicately as she beckoned you over with a
flick of her wrist. You turned your head to look at Ser Cole, who’s hand was on the pummel of his
sword. Alicent stood from her spot at the table and moved to sit atop a large green chaise before
her fire, another seated opposite, opening her arm to show you where to sit.

You moved across the room, glancing once more at Ser Cole shyly as you sat opposite her. You
wrung your hands in your lap as you let the room bask in uncomfortable silence. Alicent dipped her
head towards you, to show you that you may speak.

Bitch.

“You’re a mother.” You all but blurted, looking back at Ser Criston, who stood close by to Alicent.
The Dowager Queen looked at you oddly.

Swallowing, you placed a hand atop your belly, no real sign of life there besides the tiniest of
bloating, “And I am to be a mother too.”

You played up the act by smiling down at your stomach, before you looked back up at Alicent,
who seemed to have relaxed at your words. The older woman clearly knew where this conversation
was about to go, though her guard was still up.

You sighed heavily, wringing your hands back in your lap again, falsely picking at the skin around
your nails, in a way you had watched her do countless times, “I know that we have not seen eye to
eye.” You paused, watching as her brow twitched, “Nor do I expect us to. But,” You took a pausing
breath, watching as the room stilled with tension, “I don’t know who else to turn to.”

You looked back down into your lap as Alicent shifted, straightening, adjusting herself against the
green and gold pillows that were propped behind her before leaning forward, her head cocked as
she tried to catch your gaze.

“What is wrong, Princess?”

“I am- frightened.” You hesitated, pulling a piece of skin from the nail, watching a small bead of
blood rise to the surface. You bit the inside of your cheek as you fought with the anger inside of
you, trying to focus on your fingers instead.

The older woman said nothing as she allowed you to continue.

“It all seems so… foreign. I-“ You looked up at see Criston Cole’s brow furrow, standing behind
Alicent as he watched the two of you.

Cunt.

You shifted in your seat, looking down and up more than once before you moved yourself to the
edge of the chaise, leaning forward to whisper, “There are… changes in my body.”

Ser Cole’s eyes finally lifted away from you, his armour shifting as he suddenly felt
uncomfortable. Alicent seemed to understand your unease, and even sympathise with it. She turned
her head, her soft curls spilling over her shoulder as she looked to Ser Criston Cole, “Thank you Ser
Criston. I think the Princess and I should have this talk in private.”

The knight looked at the both of you, before bowing his head, turning on his foot to leave the
chambers, his white cape swaying with each step before it disappeared from sight, the door
shutting behind him softly.

You did not know that getting Alicent alone would be quite so easy.

“Helaena came to me when she was first with child.” Alicent reminisced, “It is nothing to be
feared.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, “I don’t know what to do or expect. The Septa had told me
once, but nothing but tales of birthing, and pain, and,” You swallowed thickly, “Blood. But there
are changes in my body, my bleed has not come for some time, and I find even my moods have
changed.”

Alicent gave you a small nod, and even offered an even smaller smile, “When I carried Aegon
inside of me, I found that my body knew almost immediately what to do. And whatever I did next
was instinctual. The Seven will guide you, and you will know what to do.”

You nodded looking down at your hands, thinking of how to ask what you were here for all along.

Alicent however, spoke before you had the chance, “We should have the Maester take a look at
you, just to be sure. Then we can figure out when we should be expecting the babe.”

She promoted it herself.

Stupid cunt.

You looked down shyly in your lap again and nodded, neck feeling as though it would snap from
the amount of shy looks you had given your lap, and hoping the blush on your cheeks from your
rage looked as though it was from meekness instead. Alicent stood and walked towards you, her
presence towering and looming, almost threatening.

Was this what it was like for Helaena?

Then the Dowager Queen did something that you had not expected. Your mothers once closest
friend, lifted an uneasy hand and placed it atop on your shoulder in an attempt of comfort. And you
let her. You turned your head to look up at her and smiled. Alicent gave you a crooked one back
before speaking again.

“Come, I will have one of the Maester’s sent to your chambers.”

But there were more than one Maester who served the Queen, and suddenly you began to panic.

“Please, Your Grace,” You grasped the hand that had not left your shoulder, before you took it
away from her awkwardly, fingers twisting in your lap, “Can I have the Maester that tended to my
wounds?”

Alicent’s once warm expression flittered and faded, and suddenly the Lady Alicent Hightower
looked at you with suspicion.

You needed to think fast.

You looked down again, fiddling with your fingers, imitating her nervous habit as her eyes
flickered down to watch them.

“He has seen me… compromised before. I don’t wish to have any more eyes upon my body than
my husbands. After Aegon-“ You stopped yourself and breathed a shaky breath, which was not at
all faked, “I know it is stupid-“

Delicate fingers squeezed reassuringly atop your shoulder, “Not stupid at all, sweet girl.” She
reassured you with a soft voice. Though her face still looked unsure.

“My scars are hideous,” You spat softly, “I don’t want people to see what I am. I don’t want people
to mock Aemond for my deformity at Court. I want to be good to him. I’m to have his child, and he
has been good to me. So good to me, Alicent. It is more than I deserve.” Lie, “Our marriage is
sacred, it was done under the eyes of the Seven and the Old Gods. I am his, just as he is mine. And
I don’t want anyone else to see me but him, or those who have already. I know it is a lot to ask,
Your Grace, but I want to respect my husband and the vows that we made to each other.”

The Dowager Queen smiled at you, her hand coming to brush against your cheek sweetly, as if
proud or relived by your words, “Aemond would appreciate your devotion and duty to him. I will
send for the Maester who attended to your wounds.”

You smiled at her softly, the wringing of your hands stopping, “Could you please ask him to bring
me some more of that cream? I know my side has healed now, but sometimes it itches and twinges,
and there was something in it that always soothed my skin.”

Alicent’s face relaxed and you felt yourself relax too.

“Of course. Now, let’s get you to your chambers.”

You were escorted to your chambers by Alicent as she sent Ser Criston to fetch the Maester, telling
him to bring the old man to your chambers. As you walked with Alicent, you suddenly become
nervous.

Was she to watch over this?

Was she to be in the room this whole time?

Alicent’s steps were slow yet determined, no rush in her pace and an air of authority that seemed to
come to her forcefully. Likely due to being crowned Queen at such a young age. To have been
tossed from Lady Hightower to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. To have the Court and nobles shift
their perception around you would have been a shock. But something that Alicent had carried well.
For the most part.

Though she walked with you, she was a mere two paces ahead, she was leading you. There was no
illusion that the two of you were equals, nor was there any illusion to the Lords and Ladies who
passed you in the Halls that you were more than a Princess and her mother-in-law.

When you had arrived to your chambers, the knight at the door had straightened himself, more than
you had ever seen, and reached for the door with a stiffness in his bones. Alicent had let herself
into the chambers before you, and you had followed closely behind.

Joanna and Amala were in the room tidying, and at the sight of the Dowager Queen in your shared
chambers, their eyes had widened and they had bowed at the hip to her, clearly not expecting such a
visit. Alicent had dismissed them with a quiet, yet polite command, and both girls had bowed
towards the two of you as they left the chambers.

The auburn haired woman looked about the chambers, her eyes roaming over the bed, to the table
that was now stacked with a pile of tomes, to the side table where the quills and scrolls were sat.
Her strides were purposeful as she moved across the chambers, seating herself atop the chaise
where you usually sat as she waited.

An awkward sort of silence curled around both of you, the only sound the crackling fire behind her.
You stood at the entrance of the chambers as she watched you expectantly. Taking the hint, you
moved to sit beside her as you waited for the Maester to arrive.

“You said he has been good to you?” Alicent broke the silence.

He has fucked a bastard into his whore.

He has raped and defiled me.

He has humiliated me.

He killed my brother.

But he has been kind to me.

“Yes, Your Grace. He tends to my every need with unwavering devotion. You have done well to
raise him as you have.”

With an anger that could scorch the world.

Jealousy that could kill.

You hoped.

Alicent gave a small nod, hands stiff in her lap as she thought of what next to say. As her mouth
parted once more, the doors to the chambers opened and she swiftly shut her lips. The old Maester
entered the chambers, a satchel at his side.

The man bowed as he looked at Alicent, “Your Grace, you have summoned me?”

Alicent stood, hands still at her front, “The Princess is with child.” The Maester’s eyes flicked to
yours, a flash of disbelief moving across his face before it was schooled with a sterile expression of
a Maester, “We need to ensure that all is well, and have you answer any questions that she might
have.”

The grey man nodded as he came further into the chambers. He moved towards the table, shifting
the pile of tomes to one side as he placed his satchel atop, slowly pulling out its contents. He did it
with a slowness and precision that was well practised and almost instinctual.

“When was your last bleed?” The Maester asked, pulling out a chair at the table for you to sit at.

You stood and made your way across the chambers, Alicent following closely behind, “I’m unsure.
Two? Maybe three moons ago?”

How long had it been?

The Maester hummed nodding his head as you moved to sit down, “And when did you notice the
changes?”

You thought for a second.

When had you noticed the changes?

The library? When Aemond’s hands atop your breasts sparked pain?

When you noticed a swell of your breasts?

Your moods?

“Perhaps a moon ago? It’s hard to say. I wasn’t expecting-“ You stopped yourself, “I didn’t know
what to expect.”

The Maester turned to face his back towards Alicent, his cool eyes dancing over you in concern,
you gave him a small, reassuring smile.

“And have you had any changes to your appetite? Your moods? Desires?”
The last question caused you to grimace, your eyes flicking towards the Dowager Queen who
shifted awkwardly atop her feet. You blushed heavily as you looked down into your lap.

You needed to get alone with the Maester.

“Were you trying frequently?” The Maester pressed, “Do you have an idea of when conception
could have been?”

You looked at Alicent shyly, hands twisting in your lap visibly. Alicent stepped forward again,
cheeks a rosy red like the bushes in the Gardens, or perhaps the leaves from the Godswood, and
placed a hand atop your shoulder, “I will give you some privacy. I will be at the door if you need.”
With a reassuring smile, she left the chambers for you to be alone with the Maester.

When the door shut closed, the Maester’s demeanour changed, and a sense of panic consumed him.

“Were you drinking the tea each day?” He whispered, eyes searching your face as he rifled through
his satchel.

“Yes. I think. I don’t know.” You told him truthfully.

“If I was to give you another dose, it may not work now. It would have to be stronger than the
small ones I had been giving you. They were supposed to be preventative, so it wouldn't harm
you-“ He rambled, “Your mother is-“

“Please.” Your hand grasped his, stilling his movements and words, “It’s ok. I have made my
peace with it. And so must you. Plus, they would become suspicious if I did not fall pregnant for
much longer. Our time has come, and there is no running from it.”

The Maester breathed through his nose and nodded solemnly, removing his hand from the satchel
and reexamining the ones he had brought out already. A familiar container seated atop the table.

“And what are your symptoms? Are you sure?”

You nodded your head, “I have not bled, and my breasts are sore and swelling.”

The older man let out a deep sigh, pushing towards you some bottles, “These may help you if you
get any sickness. Some women become sick when with child. I have crushed ginger root,
chamomile root and liquorice root, it can help settle any stomach ailments.”

You nodded your head as he began to explain the different vials and containers, all to assist you
along and to use in case of any ailments and asking which ones you may think you might need.
Though as he was explaining, and the longer he looked, he reached back into his satchel, ripping a
tiny patch of material back that had been falsely stitched, and inside was a tiny glass tube.

A dark and long root, that was curled around itself sat inside the vial.

“‘The Herb of Grace’.” The Maester uttered, leaning forward to slip the vial up your sleeve,
reminding you of the other hidden belonging in your gown, “Ruta is a powerful plant, if you wish
to end what ails you, eat it all. I cannot guarantee your safety after, but it will kill the child.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, before pointing at the cream, “Is this for my scar?”

The old man nodded, handing it towards you.

“Does it still cause pain?” He asked, the Maester’s inquisitive and healing front coming back.
You nodded, “At times it twinges, more itch than not. But others it causes a striking pain,
especially when touched or knocked.”

The man hummed, “That can be normal with scars like these. Aemond still feels phantom and
ghostly pains, as I am sure you have figured out.”

You placed the tub on the table, looking to the door again, before back at the Maester in a hurry.
You leant forward, hand coming up to the breast of your gown, digging your fingers beneath the
surface as you fished the scroll from within.

The Maester watched you with furrowed brows as he nervously looked to the door and back.

“We don’t have much time, but you told me once I had allies, and now I need one more than ever.”
You thrust the parchment into his hand, closing his fist around it hastily. His eyes searched yours, a
moment of fear settling over the two of you.

“I don’t call for help here yet, but when the time comes, know that I have other means of gathering
it. But this I must beg of you,” Your fingers tightened around his hand in a way you knew would be
painful, your knuckles turning white, “Send a raven to my mother and father. Give them this.” You
squeezed his hand.

You begged him with your eyes, pouring every ounce of desperation into you that you had. The
Maester stayed quiet as he looked at you, hand still in yours, the parchment scrunched in his palm.

With a tension that did not leave his shoulders, he gave a small, almost missable nod, taking his
hand back from yours as he tucked the paper into his belts, hidden away from sight. Relief washed
over you, and you felt tears rise into your eyes.

You blinked them away quickly as you thought of how compromising it would be to be caught in
such a way. You watched as he stood slowly, putting in unused vials back into his satchel, bringing
it to his side. You stood to join him, looking into his eyes.

With a deep breath he spoke one last time, “Without a doubt, you are with child.” Another breath,
and another hand atop your shoulder, once where Alicent’s had been, “I’m sorry.”

The Maester pulled away from you, moving towards the chamber doors as he pulled them open.
Alicent thanked the Master at the door, the both of them discussing the care that would be needed
as you moved to sit back at the table, looking at the many vials that he had left for you.

‘Sorry.’

But you weren’t.

Alicent had stayed with you for a moment more, as you told her of what the Maester had left you,
pointing to the different vials and cannisters, carefully hiding the bulge in the wrist of your dress
where a last and final, more sinister vial was hidden. By the time you were done, you felt fatigue
bite at your heels, and so you begged to be excused, wishing to lay down. Alicent seemingly
understanding the emotional upheaval of the day, left you to your privacy.

When the door shut behind her, you moved, and with gentle hands, you placed the tiny vial behind
the large wooden wardrobe near the bed, wedging it between the wall and itself. Flopping yourself
down, you laid atop the bed, a long smile winding on your cheeks.

On the piece of paper given to the Maester, was a letter written in High Valyrian.
‘Mother and father,

I am doing as good as I can be in this vipers nest, and the tides are beginning to shift. I ask of a
favour, and one you must not refuse. There is a woman, Alys Rivers, a Strong bastard who resides
in Harrenhal. She is a danger to us all. A witch, they say. And a paramour to my husband with
child. A sure danger to me.

See to it that she is no longer.

Yours,

Zāldritsos.’
 The Other Woman
Chapter Notes

Alexa, play The Other Woman by Lana Del Rey.... Here is another chapter, now there
are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what
I am talking about hehe. Enjoy !

Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.

Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving
your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your
pregnancy, that he would make himself present.

And yet, he hadn't.

And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as
surprised once more.

Was this a test?

The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?

Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?

When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked
around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching
you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to
you to strike him.

Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.

When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled
slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water,
concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark.

A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your
husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places,
and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.

Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue
munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You
stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little
haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.

You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips
atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose
bushes that you paused in thought.
Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush,
bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same
bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from.

You smirked.

You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding
yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.

You were waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him.

For your shadow.

To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.

To beg. To plead. To apologise.

Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.

It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you
had anticipated.

Aemond had come to straight to you.

Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to
disrobe.

The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.

Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your
voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.

“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your
last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was
behind you.

At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed,
“You’re back.”

His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”

Those were the first words from his lips.

His first words after coming back from his whore.

You saw red.

Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from
the steady rolling waves of the beach.

“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to
get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.

Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.
You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother
having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.

And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.

Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up
them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.

Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own
insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.

He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked
behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your
lips that you nibbled on gently.

To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was
wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His
approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all
together.

The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the
chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the
flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him.

“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my
duties, and that was all.”

You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the
pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your
surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.

“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards
him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.”

His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making
your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you.

You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still
holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches.

You hoped that your parents received the raven.

And even prayed to the Gods that they did.

What would happened?

Would it be done?

Would she be killed?

How would you know if it had happened?

What if they didn’t get your raven?

You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back
against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree
vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you
knew they had gotten your raven.

When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing
that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.

He would talk to you, and you would listen.

For a time.

Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before
the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look
at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands.
You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing.

With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine,
sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced
red, anger simmering beneath your skin.

Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence
before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the
chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.

You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and
sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.

You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.

Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face.
How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where
his eye once sat. If only you ha-

“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own
cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you
watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue.

“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.

You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha
pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.

Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you.
Never to you.

You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we
shall see if you are struck down or not.

Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I
will not see her again, I gave you my word.

You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up
your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the
top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.

You will never see that whore or your bastard child again.
And it will be because of me.

Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha
ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you
are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her,
shouldn’t you?”

The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none
passed his lips.

"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to
your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.

"No."

"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the
inside of your cheeks.

"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"

"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut
another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your
face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."

Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious
parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And
now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as
Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."

Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if
Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has
Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."

Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.

"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have
sired yours?"

"That child is mine." He growled.

"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."

"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."

"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."

Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.

In disgust.

In anger.

In rage.
"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have
explained all.

"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.

His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."

You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face
seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.

"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.

Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.

"Sorry, was it something important?"

Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.

You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance
can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an
apology to his mother."

Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as
he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.

"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you,
eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.

"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did
this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will
surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"

Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two
met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried
to swallow.

Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any
response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the
fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.

Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for
bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick
waves cascade down your back.

Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the
inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited.

When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him,
tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too
much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight.

You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as
Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness,
and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff.
A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.

DRAGONSTONE POV

A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to
Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the
Queen.

Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant
his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the
fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.

"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.

Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of
the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.

His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling
her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to
cradle his face.

"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.

"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands
rubbing against the flesh of her hips.

As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.

Both silver heads turned sharply.

It was late.

And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.

The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she
called out to the knight to enter.

Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off,
light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife,
always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.

To be there and support her.

As one.

"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as
he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.

There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and
Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's
hands tightening on the page.

Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the
Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."

The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband,
who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she
felt her own burn her just as hotly.

"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one
tight fist.

Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of
what his wife had said.

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling
just beneath.

"Before the Council can talk me out of it."

 Three Dragons
Chapter Notes

Bit of a shorter chapter this one, but I promise its worth it

It was no easy thing to juggle expectations and reality. Especially in a time of war.

It was as never ending cycle of do's and don’ts. Can’s and can’t’s. The questioning yourself
constantly for every little move that you have made, every step you may have taken.

A piece forward on the carefully crafted board you had created in your mind. Questioning yourself
for the things you hadn’t done, or what you would have done differently. The only consolation
being that time would tell, and the Gods were surely, hopefully, on your side.

You had of course expected to most likely fall pregnant to Aemond, your mother asking you if you
knew what was really expected of you, the terrible truth of it all, the expectations of cruelty and
misuse, and you knowing. Those you had expected, and in some cases welcomed his temper and
flickering devotion, for it was something you knew and expected, and it was the unknowing that
was most torturous of all.

However, you had not expected how much it would have surprised you.

You had especially not expected to notice the changes so suddenly.

Days pass, and you became aware of the changes in your body more than ever, now that your
attention was drawn to it. Your breasts were becoming swollen and sore, nipples growing more,
and more sensitive. Gowns became slightly tight around your chest and waist, and the grazes of
your stiffened peaks on the silks of your dresses causing you to gasp.

There was of course, another change that you had begun to notice.

Your stomach, despite still being early days, or what you assumed to be early days, had a small
swell to it. Almost completely unnoticeable, unless to you.

It was when you were dressed or bathed did you notice it the most, or when you were wearing a
gown Aemond had made from when you had first arrived to Kings Landing, thin and broken.
Those gowns strained at your front, and pulled tightly against it, wrinkles in the fabric new to the
usual pristine appearance that they usually held.

You and Aemond still danced around each other, unsure of how to move forward, uncertain on
whether or not to look back. New to the situation you both found yourselves in.

Parenthood.

Or yours at least.

The Prince, despite his lingering irritation at your coldness, still doted on you, and each morning
there were small and fresh lemon tarts brought to your chambers.
The smell was overwhelming, and you found your mouth watering as soon as they arrived. Your
uncle had tried to speak to you, soft whispers, gentle touches of the arm or hand, and you had
brushed him away, a false sadness to your eyes as you avoided him.

The rose by your bedside had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared, the remnants of a stem spotted in the
hearth the next morning.

The Prince had tried, hopelessly, to initiate intimacy, curling around you in bed to place unsure
kisses against the barest hint of skin on your shoulder. But you had wriggled away from him,
curling up in a ball in cold rejection.

And Aemond had taken it.

That morning as you sat in the chambers, eating your second lemon tart with little haste, you
thought of what was to come, and unconsciously tucked a hand around your middle. You thought
of what it would look like. What it would be like.

Would it have his eyes? Or yours?

His temper? Or yours? Or an unfortunate and most disastrous mix of the two?

What would you even name it? Obviously a name of tradition, but what? You could not stomach
the thought of naming it Aegon. Perhaps Viserys? Visenya? Rhaegar?

And then the excitement fizzled out, and was replaced with burning anxiety.

What would your mother say?

What would your father say?

You had not told them in that letter. And soon they would know.

Would they hate you now?

Would they try to kill the baby?

Or end the pregnancy?

You doubted it, knowing that they would always give you a choice, but you also knew that they
would hate to know it was Aemond who sired it.

You tried to finish your breakfast of lemon tarts, reaching forward to nibble on some sliced tomato,
yet a breeze moved through the window, curling the curtains behind them, and the pungent smell
of pork wafted beneath your nose. Your stomach roiled, mouth gone dry.

The Maester had warned you that some women get sick when with child, and you knew that others
had cravings. Perhaps you would now have more of an aversion to the pink-grey meat than ever,
which was all well and good, considering that you were never too fond of it in the first place, and
Aemond had an aversion to it.

When you had finished your breakfast, stomach struggling to settle after the pork had offended it,
you had moved down to the Gardens, quietly excusing yourself, knowing that Aemond would be
attending to his duties with the King all day.

You spent most of the day seated in the breeze, enjoying the way it settled your stomach and
brought the fresh smell of lavender under your nose.
The sun rose to its peak, and soon enough, began to sink lower into the sky, the day moving by
quickly.

As you sat and watched the waves below, thinking of your family, hoping that your letter had not
frightened them, praying that they had been moved to action that would be disasterous, a small
servant boy no older than ten came towards you.

You shifted from the pillow you were seated atop as he made his way confidently to you, a large
silver tray in his hands with a teapot and bowl of fruit atop. You frowned, but stood anyway
moving to the table that he placed it atop, skilfully pouring the tea without a drop spilt.

You looked at him oddly, not having asked for it, but as you gazed down at the bowl of fruit, you
noticed it was only star fruit.

Aemond must have sent the boy to bring you some afternoon tea.

When he had finished serving the brew, he watched as you sat in the seat, giving you a small smile
and bowing, before you watched him walk away, little brown head disappearing amongst the sea of
plants and trees.

You picked up the small silver fork and stuck it into the bowl of cut up star fruit, lifting it to your
lips to chew. The burst of flavour hit your tongue and you hummed in appreciation at it.

Perhaps you would forgive Aemond today, cease his begging and smothering gifts.

As you pressed the fork into the bowl again and lifted yet another neat square into your mouth,
you looked at the tea. It was darker than what you had expected, and as you brought it up towards
your eyes, you noted that it was almost completely black.

Lifting it to your nose, you inhaled deeply.

Liquorice root and elderflower.

Your mothers favourite.

They had gotten your letter.

A wide smile pulled at your lips, and this time you did not fight it. You let yourself grin alone in
the Gardens, surrounded by nobody but the various plants and bugs, the warmth of the sun behind
you, and the knowing that they had received the raven.

You sipped the tea joyfully, enjoying the flavour as you thought of your mother Rhaenyra. She had
sent you a sign. She had sent you a message. You wished to go home so terribly so that you could
hug her. So that you could bury your head into the crook of her neck and breathe in her scent
deeply. You wished to feel her lips pressed against your cheek thrice, and hear her sweet voice
once more.

Tears welled in your eyes and you blinked them away.

Soon, you promised yourself.

It would be soon.

You sipped some more of the tea again, putting it down onto the table and reached back for the
fork. The star fruit was most likely your father. And it warmed your chest with hope to know that
they both sent little signs of themselves to you.

You spiked your fork down into the bowl, a little more forcefully than you should have.

The metal prongs hit something hard, and the object shifted beneath.

You blinked.

Using your fork, you looked into the bowl of yellow fruit, moving a cut up chunk to the side. Your
eyes immediately being drawn to a subtle sparkle amongst the fruit.

Something that was not fruit.

There, hidden amongst the soft yellow flesh, was a silver chain.

Your fingers found the edge of the bowl and pulled it towards you, eyes darting across the yard to
ensure no-one was watching. You dipped your fingers into the bowl of fruit, feeling the cool nectar
spread amongst the skin, and pulled the chain.

Tucking it close to your lap, just above the napkin, you stared at it in a beat of confusion.

There, in your palm, was a necklace.

A gift?

It was thick silver chain that wound around itself in an intricate braid. Three green emeralds
hanging delicately from its centre, coated in the nectar of the fruit it had lay hidden beneath.

And then it dawned on you.

‘A gift from a Targaryen Prince’ Larys’ voice rung in your head.

Alys Rivers was no more.

 The Merciless Princess
Chapter Notes

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

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.

 Omission
Chapter Notes

Violence, blood, gore, death, warning.

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.
 The Absence of Three
Chapter Notes

Hello sweethearts, please read the trigger warnings for this one. Tread carefully as
always, and I love you all.
TW: Miscarriage, death of a foetus, blood, depression, anger, angst, grief.
<3

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.”
 Burn Together
Chapter Notes

Angst, grief, sorrow, fighting, what more could we want?

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.”
 Stoking the Flames
Chapter Notes

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!!! <3

What are women but an object for men to posses?

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.
 Sway
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone! Sorry for the lag in updates, have got some life things going on that
are out of my control, so please enjoy a big spam of new chapters hehe

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.

 An Offering
Chapter Notes

I am a cock warming Queen, merely a hole for this man. I look at him and my legs
spread

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.

 Whispers
Chapter Notes

Hi, me again. Just growling on my hands and knees, don't mind me

Aemond had left not too long after his offering of the blade to you.

You had taken it, with shaky hands and held it in your own as Aemond watched. He seemed on
guard, as though he half expected for you to plunge the blade inside him.

But you didn’t.

And instead, the smallest of sobs had fallen from your lips, and you had whispered a small 'thank
you' to him, before throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss goodbye.

You could not use it on Aegon, not unless you wished for your own death, but it was an option.
Something you didn’t have much of in a time like this, and it was something that eased parts of
your fears and worries.

For to have a weapon of protection is far better than to not.

It was clear that Aemond had the blade forged especially for you. Something that he had gotten
made before this moment, something he had the foresight to do.

Something he had clearly thought on for nights, to acquire Valyrian steel, rare as it was, to create
the design, and have it ready before his departure, something he clearly sensed was coming.

Something he had warned you about in his study.

Rebellions in Riverrun.

The hilt was small enough for your hand to hold, and not too heavy, the perfect balance within your
palm. It was obvious, if not glaringly so, that Aemond had put a lot of thought into giving you this,
but what truly gave it away was the two dragons and their stones.

Black and Green.

Kasta se Zōbrie.

You had watched Aemond leave, and tucked the blade between the space of the mattress and
headboard as he turned his back, hiding it somewhere just within reach so that you could easily
grab it, conspicuously if needed, if you happened to find yourself with the King again.

For the next two days, you locked yourself away in your chambers to hide, asking your two maids
to stay with you, having them sleep on the chaise and armchair in the chambers.

You barely slept, and when you did, you were plagued with nightmares of your eldest uncles
return.

The slightest sound in the chambers alerted you to a presence that was not there, heart racing and
eyes wide. You were sure your heart would eventually give out with the way it was constantly
stuttering in your chest. And so you slept with your hand beneath the pillow, fingertips grazing the
hilt of the blade.

When the fifth day had come and gone, you had started to feel yourself become undone.

Everything caused anxiety. The sound of laughter outside. Birds that breezed past your windows.
The soft hum of Flea Bottom below. It was all fear inducing.

The waiting of the unknown was most tortuous. The threat of danger constantly lingered in your
periphery, and even in your restless sleep, you were on guard, ready to fight or run.

And at times, exhausted amongst your sheets, nerves frayed and taut, skin around your fingers
picked raw, you wished the King would get it over and done with. To end the anticipation of his
cruelty, the constant on edge.

To get his cruelty and be done with it. To reap what he had sowed, so that your heart could at
leasts settle and know it was over. Know that it was done.

But it wasn't.

And a part of you felt as though he was doing this on purpose, as he had the last time.

The nervousness caused so much strain on your mind, so much worry, that you had begun to see
the familiar faces of loved ones in your periphery again, but when you would turn your head to see
the mop of brown hair or the head of silver, they would be gone.

It was as if they too were lurking in the shadows with the King.

Plotting.

Waiting.

The maids were fraught on what to do, and had insisted upon you exiting the chambers, begging
you to leave the room and get some time in the sun and fresh air.

"It will help you, Princess."

"It will ease your worries."

"The Maester would have told you to walk. Speak with the Gods. Be by the water."

And so after the fifth day, you had agreed with them, making your way down to the Gardens.

But you did not stay still.

You kept on your feet at a steady pace, never straying in one spot for too long lest you be found,
doing laps of he Gardens that made no sense at all. Cutting corners, running across beds of flowers
or ducking between branches.

You were lost in a daze as you kept the pace, mind tired from lack of sleep, and thats when you
found yourself at the entrance of the Dragon Pit.

And who else would be there, but the Master of Whispers himself.

“Princess.” Larys Strong greeted you, hand placed firmly on the top of his cane.
“Larys.” You greeted in return, tone clipped.

The Strong man tilted his head, taking in your appearance, “It has been a while since any of the
Lords have seen you. Are you well?”

“Yes.”

His eyes roamed your body in thought, before they settled back on your face, brown eyes boring
into yours.

“You need not grieve alone, Princess. Lady Alicent worries after you.”

You snorted, patience as brittle as your nerves, “Does she? She has not come to my chambers to
seek after me once.”

“The Dowager Queen has many duties she must attend to.”

“I’m sure. It would be strenuous work to usurp the Iron Throne.”

Larys stepped forward, his cane clunking down onto the stone below, the sound echoing down the
stairs to the Dragon Pit.

“I have yet to offer my fullest condolences to you and the child you lost.”

You breathed in through your nose heavily.

Larys tilted his head again, and it reminded you of a dog, “And the Maester too.”

You swallowed, memories of the blood soaking the throne room flashing in your mind. Cries. Pain.
Blood, so much blood. The smell of copper filling your nose.

The pain.

You stayed silent, not rising to his bait and continued to stare at the man, hands curled into tight
fists at your side.

“Although, there is not just condolences I can offer to you.” He mused, looking up at the archway
he stood beneath, short nose begging to be pushed further into his skull by your fist, “There are
congratulations in order.”

It was your time to tilt your head, “Speak plainly, Lord Strong. Alicent may entertain your false
intellectual musings, but they ring hollow to my ears.”

A small smirk pulled at his lips, “A congratulations to your disposal of the witch. I did not think
that you had the means to do so, but clearly the Maester had been a wolf amongst the sheep all
along.”

“A dragon devours sheep.”

“And wolves too.” He added, “The King saw to that. Or, I should say, you saw to that.”

Your teeth ground together, nails digging into the skin of your palm as you tried to steady your
anger.

Larys stepped towards you again, voice quieter this time, as both of his hands came atop his cane,
“Thank you.” He began, “For when you told me I was missing something, I spent many nights to
think on it.”

Your breathing became laboured and heavy, face heating up in anger and dismay at your own
foolishness.

“I was in bed when it came to me. Such a small, little thing. I almost missed it completely. Who
else had you been in contact with but the Maester? Who had such close relations. Had been in the
Keep far longer than others. Long enough to have a relationship with your mother, or dare I say,
your father.”

You sneered at the man in front of you, “A reminder, Larys. That though you are a sheep in wolves
clothing, you are sheep and wolf nonetheless.” You spun on your heel, moving to storm away from
him and the Dragon Pit to return to your chambers.

The clunk of the cane followed behind you, and soon the whisper of his voice filled the air.

“The clever wolf has no opinion on the sheep, or dragons. He simply thrives where he can. And if
the dragon can provide more than the sheep, then perhaps he can wear its scales.”

You stopped mid step, and spun one last time to face him, “A clever wolf is as smart as the sheep,
should he go asking for treats of the dragon and climbing into its jaws expecting to not feel teeth.”
You chest heaved, “If you are offering favours in turn for mine, I would have to tell you that I
would trust Aegon more than I could ever trust you. I am more inclined to devour you than
entertain your clever jibes. A Master of Whispers cannot whisper without his tongue." You
threatened.

Larys stared at you for one moment.

Then two.

And then, the older man bowed his head, keeping his eyes upon you with one brow raised, and left
you to stew in the confusion of the interaction.

Wolves and sheep and dragons.

You did not care for his riddles and clever word play.

All you knew, was that you were deep in the vipers nest and surrounded.

Several days turned into a dozen, and you had still not seen Aegon.

But this did little for your nerves, for you knew he was planning something. Waiting for the perfect
time. And so when you ventured down to the Gardens that morning, it had not come to you as a
surprise that he would be there.

And there he was, seated atop your pillows, looking out at the water as the light from the sun
glinted on the crown atop his head.

You blinked as you looked at him, feet rooted in the spot. His silver waves turned as he looked at
you with a smile, patting the spot beside him.

“I’m glad I have finally caught you, slippery little thing you are. Come. Sit.” Pearly white teeth
gleaming at you predatorily.
You slowly made you way over, carefully schooling your features to not show the fear that leapt
into your throat. You sat yourself where Helaena once had, and it felt like an eerie piece of
familiarity, as though you were seeing him through her eyes.

“It has been hard to find you, as of late. You seem busy in the Red Keep with no title to keep you
preoccupied. You are no Master of Law or even Mistress of Whispers.”

“Was it hard to find me because I seemed busy, or because I lacked a certain want to be found.”

Aegon laughed heartily, “Sharp tongue as ever. I would expect no less.” He shifted on the pillows,
leaning an arm on the wall beside him as he looked at you, chin in his palm, “And how goes my
favourite niece?”

“I am your only niece you speak with, and it is not by choice.”

“And that is what makes you so special.” He grinned.

A slimy feeling crawled over you skin.

“As well as I can be considering the circumstances.” You said flatly, answering his question.

Aegon frowned sadly at you, “But of course. It would have been hard to lose the babe so suddenly.
I only hope that my brother has been kind to you.”

You stayed silent as you looked into his violet eyes which danced with mischief.

“Tell me, have you tried for another?”

Heat rose in your cheeks, “Another?”

“Yes.” The King nodded as though you were a child, “Helaena lost a babe once, the stress of the
pregnancy weighed too heavily on her body. It is to be expected with some women. I remember the
Maester telling Helaena that after giving birth is when women are most fertile.”

Oh.

Aegon grinned at your silence, “Well, whilst my brother is gone, perhaps I could help you along.”

Panic wound its way through your limbs, hands curling into fists at your side.

Aegon sighed, looking up and out at the water, “Not for a lack of trying on my part. It seems that
mother and Otto have been purposefully keeping me preoccupied to keep me away from you. But
they can’t keep their eyes on me all the time.”

His silver waves bounced around his face as he turned to look at you sharply, sitting forward, “I’m
going to fuck a son inside of you.”

Revulsion curled up inside of you. Leaning forward, you sneered at him, “I killed your precious
little bastard that grew inside of me. The Maester’s parting gift.” You spat, standing abruptly you
towered over the man, whose smile had dropped from his face, “Touch me again, and I will claw
your eyes out and cut off your cock.”

You breathed heavily as you looked down at him, and he up at you.

Aegon did not speak again as you stalked away, making your way back to your chambers in a hasty
retreat.
You spent the rest of your day sat on the bed, hand beneath the pillow, hilt of the blade just in
reach.

And when dinner had been brought to you, and you ate with the maids watching and were readied
for bed again, requesting they sleep in the chambers with you, your fingers were once again under
the pillow, ready to grab the blade.

Aegon did not make an appearance.

 Consequences
Chapter Notes

TW: Mentions of rape, flashbacks and descriptors, violence, fear, PTSD

The sun rose slowly that morning, the room being cast in its gentle warm glow.

Shadows danced across the wall, growing larger with every hour that passed, and every crawling
step that the sun took to get higher and higher in the sky.

You laid as you were, nestled beneath the sheets, with your hand still reaching for the blade
Aemond had gifted you upon his departure.

Always ready.

Always waiting.

For him.

The maids woke alongside the sun, stretching long arms above their bodies to straighten their
spines, vertebrae’s clicking into place and aches settling into their muscles after sleeping on
chaises and chairs for many nights straight.

They rose, and helped you rise, dressing you in a deep black and red skirt, with a black leather
bustier top. The shoulders were cuffed with metal, with long dripping hoops of chains that pressed
cooly against the bare skin of your arms. The neck was high fitting, and splayed outwards like
dragon wings.

As you sat at the table, waiting for the two girls to bring you food to break your fast, Amala
entered first, a short bow, and the quietest of apologies on her tongue. The action caused panic to
rear its ugly head within you, and so you darted your head backwards towards the bed, seeking out
the place you knew the blade to be hidden, with your eyes.

Movement in your periphery, you turned your head, and met the deep brown eyes of Alicent
Hightower, dressed in an even deeper green gown, tight arms and stiff neck, standing in your
chambers.

“Good Morrow, Princess.” She greeted you, hands clasped gently at her front.

Your brows twitched as you looked at her, “Alicent.”

The Dowager Queen walked towards you slowly, “I thought I might join you to break our fasts
together.”

You blinked at the Hightower. Her hair was half up, half down, pinned away from her face in a
thick braid that Helaena used to wear across the top of her scalp, auburn wisps curling away from
her face, escaping the style.

You opened your palm towards Aemond’s empty seat. A silent invitation to join you. A motion for
her to sit. An unlikely guest in your chambers whom you had no real power to turn away.

A guest in whom you had to welcome regardless of the desire to slit her throat.

Alicent moved slowly, as though she was floating across the stones. Her feet did not make sounds
as she walked, an entirely silent ordeal that made you see Alicent in Aemond in more ways than
you had thought before.

Both having to have been seen and not heard. Quiet and dutiful. It was all there, the reflection of a
mother in her son. The silent resentment of all those around. The even quieter pain that lingered
behind the pairs eyes, pain from duty, pain from having no voice, pain from being trapped to the
shadows of men before them.

Pulling out her chair, she seated herself down, eyes flicking about the chambers in inspection.

What she was looking for, you did not know.

It was not long until Joanna, helped by Amala, brought in the food and plates for the both of you. It
was as if the Queen had planned this breakfast, and that it was not at all as spur of the moment as
she wished it to seem.

Alicent Hightower was always making calculated moves.

You wondered what this one was for.

“And how are you?” She asked gently, thanking the girls as they bowed and left the chambers for
you to be alone with the older woman.

You cleared your throat, serving yourself a plate of food as you stared at her. You let out a deep
sigh through your nose and responded, “I have been better.”

There was no point in lying to her, nor did you wish to soothe any anxieties she, in your opinion,
was most likely to have. And though you wished to have nothing to do with the woman seated
opposite you, there was no denying the similarities that you both shared. The combined struggle
that the both of you would understand, even wordlessly.

You were both women.

Alicent mirrored your actions, serving herself a plate of eggs, toast and cooked tomatoes, “It seems
to be something we can all agree on.”

You blinked at her.

“What happened to you,” She began, hands placed delicately in her lap, which you knew to mean
she was picking at the skin of her nails, “Was a horrific set of unforeseen circumstances. The
Gods-“

“Unforeseen.” You hummed, picking up your goblet of fresh juice taking a sip, “Unforeseen for
myself and Aemond, perhaps. But the King and his Council knew that I was to be brought to the
Throne Room that day. You knew.”

Alicent cut herself a piece of toast, smearing egg onto its crispy surface, “I had cautioned the King
against such an-“

“Alicent, you could not caution an ant if you wished.” You breathed, cutting into your own toast
with far more vigour than needed.

“Aemond was not privy to know-“

“As I am now aware.” You swallowed the bread thickly, “Please be transparent about your coming
today.”

Alicent’s doe-y features hardened, and the calculating serpent you had become accustomed to, was
revealed to the room, though her eyes still stayed soft, “I came to speak to you about my son.”

“Which one? The rapist, my husband, or the corpse?”

The reminder of Daeron set Alicent’s teeth on edge, jaw clenched as she stared at you, “Aemond.”
She grit out.

“My husband then." You gave her a clipped smile, "What did you need to speak to me of, which
you could no doubt ask him yourself? Do you not have a better relationship with him than I?”

“I wished to hear it from your own lips.”

“My lips have said many things about your sons, my husband especially. What does the famed
Green Queen want to know?” You sighed, munching on some star fruit as the Lady Alicent
Hightower struggled to keep her frustrations at bay.

“Do you love him?”

You laughed.

You didn’t mean to.

But you just did.

Alicent was not impressed, and seemed all together confused.

“If I did not love him, I would not be here still.”

“You would. It is a marriage-“

“-I would have thrown myself from the window like Helaena if I did not, or ripped his throat out
with my teeth..." You paused, "Or yours."

It was blunt.

Raw.

And hurt the both of you.

You strummed your fingers against the table loudly, looking down as you contemplated your next
words.

“I love him. That is the truth of it. A sick and twisted truth if anything, but something I could have
never fought. The Gods made us for each other. It is known. But my love for him does not
outweigh the hurt he has inflicted upon me. He is still a Kinslayer.”

Alicent tilted her head, leaning back in her chair, chestnut waves falling over her shoulder, “As are
you." One singular eyebrow raised, "I think you seem to forget.”
“How can one forget a life one took?" You spoke flatly, disinterested in the actions of the past,
"My only consolation was that it was war when I did it. Aemond however, pushed the first piece
on the board to start the others that fell. Like mother, like son.”

Alicent ate another piece of her eggs daintily, lifting to her lips with her fork, before swallowing,
“The both of you are Kinslayers, acursed in the eyes of the people.”

You gave her a toothy grin, “Then what better way than to have those who are acursed as
Kinslayers to be wed to each other. It would surely bring damnation and shame to any other
husband or wife and their House, but the Gods made it so that we are together as one. In actions. In
sin. In love. A small mercy really.”

Alicent gave an uneven smile, placing her cutlery back onto her plate, “It's strange, I must admit.
The predicament we find ourselves in. But if anything, I am glad that it was you. That meek
Baratheon girl would not have survived my son, I'm afraid.”

You frowned, and Alicent continued, “I would have no better match for Aemond. You have both
always loved each other. You know each other better than anyone else, and at times, though it
pains me to admit it, you know my son better than I do. You see him. All of him. The good and the
bad. My parts that played in it, and yours. And I believe the Seven helped to bring you together.”

“It was the Old Gods, not the Seven.”

Alicent merely stared at you for a time, picking her napkin up to dab at her lips before placing the
napkin back on the table, “With any luck, Aemond should return soon.” She stood, pushing her
chair back as she smoothed out her skirts.

“Godspeed.” You prayed, and watched as she bowed and left your chambers.

You finished your breakfast without the presence of the Dowager Queen, and when you were
done, you made your way down to the Library to read.

When you entered the Library it was quiet and still, with one lone servant stoking the flames in the
large fireplace, placing three to four large logs inside carefully.

As they heard your entrance, they bowed at the hip, keeping their face to the ground before they
scuttled out of the room like a rodent.

You perused the isles of books for some time, fingers tracing over the worn spines, and dusted
covers. Leather and embroidered tomes combined. As you came to one isle in particular, you
thought back on the way Aemond had taken you against the shelves, face diving between your
folds, his tongue lapping at you feverently before spearing you upon his cock.

Your core clenched at the memory.

Picking a tome at random, you pulled the heavy leather bound book from the shelf, making your
way to seat yourself before the fire as you opened it up in your lap. The first page was worn, and
faded, but the script was slanted beautifully by a careful hand.

‘Maegor the Cruel, The Usurpation of Aegon the Uncrowned, and The Seven Faith Militant. A
History.’

You had picked quite the intense read, but began it nonetheless.

‘Maegor the First was the son of King Aegon the First and his eldest sister-wife, Queen Visenya
Targaryen. Maegor was born of fire and blood, the prodigy of Aegon the Conqueror, A King who
laid waste to all the realms who did not bend the knee on the back of Balerion the Black Dread.
Maegor the Cruel had an older half-brother, Aenys the First, who was said to be a fair and just
Prince.’

The day floated by as you read the history of Maegor and his violent rise to power.

‘Maegor had six wives, to which the Faith strongly rebuked, polygamy a sin in the eyes of the
Seven Faith. Ceryse Hightower, and Alys Harroway - who was later killed by his third wife Tyanna
of the Tower. Then, there were the Black Brides; Elinor Costayne, Jayne Westerling, and his niece,
Rhaena Targaryen.’

The warmth of the fire settled over you gently, and your eyes excitedly read each page as you got
more and more into the violence of the Cruel King. You had read the history once before, but you
had been young and under the Septa’s supervision, which made learning about him boring and
irksome.

By now you had gotten half way through the tome.

‘At the death of his father, Aegon the First, his brother Aenys ascended the throne. Maegor was
still exiled for his sins in marrying a second wife, and soon after his ascent to the Iron Throne,
King Aenys passed. Maegor seized the throne, and crowned himself King. Yet his rule would not be
an easy one. Some moons later, Prince Aegon, Maegor’s nephew, laid claim to the Iron Throne, as
was his birth right.’

The sound of the library doors echoed in the chambers, but you did not raise your head.

‘Prince Aegon’s claim was supported by several Lords of the Westerlands and Riverlands, and so
the Prince marched at the head of an army, fifteen thousand men strong. Queen Tyanna, Maegor’s
third wife and the Mistress of Whispers, warned that Maegor's allies would turn on him for his
nephews claim if there was show of his prevail. In the Battle Beneath The Gods Eye, Maegor and
Aegon’s armies clashed, and fought in a bloody and brutal battle. Men were slain from their horses
by archers and swordsman, dragon fire lay waste to hundreds of men, the earth under The Gods
Eye was soaked with blood, and many soldiers sank into its red mud. Though it came to an end,
Maegor slew his nephew and his dragon Quicksilver, tearing them from the sky on the back of the
mighty Black Dread. Maegor the Cruel was thenceforth known for his cruelty and labeled a
Kinslayer.’

“Princess, Y/n.” A voice pulled you from your book. Your eyes lifted from the page to meet Ser
Criston Cole’s.

You straightened your back, looking to the two guards who flanked him either side, feeling a
strange sense of dejavu from the scene before you.

“Ser Cole.” You greeted him warily, placing the book atop the table in front of you and standing,
body ready to take flight.

Ser Criston lifted his head high, “King Aegon has requested for your presence in the Throne
Room.”

You blinked, and you stomach did a small flip, fear rising in your throat.

“And I suppose these guards are there to enforce my presence?”

The two men shifted, their armour scratching against each other, eyes aimed at the wall behind
you.

Ser Cole breathed, “No, My Lady.”

“Then tell the King I am busy.” You moved to sit back down, but Ser Cole took a step forward
towards you.

It was clear then, that there was no real choice.

Not that you ever had one in the Keep.

It was not a casual invitation that they would like you to believe it was, much like Alicent's
breaking her fast with you that morning, but they were not dragging you to the Throne Room,
kicking and screaming as they did last time.

It did little to soothe your wrought nerves, but it was at least something.

The small voice in the back of your head screamed that it would be another Maester situation. Your
intuition told you to run. Your baser instincts told you to fight.

But what if it was one of the maids?

Panic shot through you, and so you nodded, walking across the room, feeling as though each step
further settled your doom. But you could not leave them. If it was one of the maids, if Larys had
discovered them, you would not abandon them now in their time of need.

Ser Cole bowed his head to you, holding the door open before he began to lead you to the Iron
Throne, the two guards walking closely behind you, ready to snatch you if you so chose to run.

Each step of the men was a shuffle of robes and armour, and you watched the sword on Ser
Criston’s side sway heavily with each step, its long blade tapping the side of his thigh.

Each sway reminded you of how Aegon’s hand had swung down, separating the old mans head
from his neck. How your Grandsire's blade had tipped at Aegon's side as he descended the steps of
the Iron Throne to stand before you.

The blood.

So much blood.

On you.

On the stones.

You wondered for a moment, if the stain would still be there, or if they had tasked some poor
servants to scrub it out of the porous surface as though their lives depended on it.

You tried to steady your breathing. Counting each step as you saw the large doors to the Iron
Throne. Fifty-one. Fifty-Two. Fifty-Three. Fifty-Four.

Kings guards opening the heavy wood doors with steel bracketing along its face to let you in.

Ser Cole walked ahead of you announcing you to the chambers, as you held your hands behind
you, fingers digging sharply into the flesh of your palm. The King Maker voiced boomed as you
looked to Aegon, who was seated upon the throne, lazily leaning on one side with his chin in his
palm, as though summoning you back to the Throne Room was a chore and a bore.
The Small Council were about the chambers, dressed in their robes and House colours, watching
you with careful and guarded eyes, though nervousness shifted their bodies.

And there, beside the throne, once again, was Aemond.

His presence did little to settle your nerves.

It was happening again.

Gods, please, help me.

Aemond's gaze had snapped to you as soon as you had entered, and although he stood tall and stiff,
hands behind his back and face impassive, your presence had clearly come as a surprise.

Again.

Aemond looked blindsided.

Completely at a loss as to why you were there, and it showed in his eye.

The Prince looked as though he had only just arrived back in Kings Landing, dressed still in his
riding leathers, hair pulled back and away from his face by braids, and lips pressed into a thin line.
His brows had furrowed as he looked at you.

But Aemond hadn’t come straight to you as he usually did.

Something was amiss.

“Husband,” You called out to him, schooling your voice to hide the rising panic, “I am gladdened
to see you hale and hearty and returned home.” You gave him a small smile, and turned to the
King, “You requested my presence, Your Grace?”

Aegon did not smile at you.

He did not even sneer.

The King merely stared at you with his intense, violet eyes, lips slightly pursing in thought before
straightening into a flat line, much like his brother. But beneath those bright eyes you had come to
fear, there was something simmering beneath.

Rage.

Swallowing and sensing that you were in danger, you turned to face your husband again, “Did you
find the men who were responsible at the Red Fork?”

Aemond was still, shoulders tensed, head turning to look up at his brother who still sat staring at
you, crown atop his head. You watched as your husbands lips opened to speak.

Otto Hightower stepped forward, his greying and receding hair shimmering in the light that poured
in from the windows. His robes of green were trimmed with fur around his neck and chest, and the
pin of the Hand of the King sat against his breast.

“You stand before King Aegon the Second, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” His voice sent chills
down your spine, skin breaking beneath your nails in your palm. It was happening again, “You
have been brought before the King and his Council to answer for the crimes you are being
charged.”
Your immediate thought was to turn to Aemond, to ask him what was happening, to beg him for
help, but you remembered the last time this had happened. You remembered the last time he had
stood there and watched.

You remembered as he had done nothing.

You remembered that you were alone.

Again.

Otto straightened, a ringing in your ears beginning to grow louder, “You are accused of treason;
For the slaying of the Kings unborn child, aided by the traitor Maester. You are accused of
conspiring with Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen against the Crown. You are accused of
attempting to recruit Prince Aemond Targaryen to turn cloak and help your mothers cause. How do
you plead against these charges?”

“What?” Your voice was so small, and sounded so far away.

This was it.

There was no going back now.

Aegon straightened on the monstrous throne of melted swords, “The Princess was given a gift by
the Seven when my seed was put into her womb. She had made a confession to ensuring the death
of her pregnancy out of spite when the Maester was charged. She has murdered my son. The Kings
son. A highest of treasons.”

Your throat felt dry, “You raped me.”

Aegon’s lip twitched from the smirk he was holding back, “The Princess seduced me with
promises of good behaviour for favours and fruit. Star fruit is your favourite, is it not?”

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing
through your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and
his flesh slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs.

Aemond bristled beside his brother, eye narrowed on you. His posture was straight, and as your
eyes flicked from one brother to the other, you realised there was no hope.

There was no hope for you.

Aemond had made his choice.

And it was never to be you.

Aegon leant forward on the throne, silver hair shimmering in the light, “The Princess came to me
after Prince Aemond left for Harrenhal. She was alone and angry at knowing that my brother was
having an affair with the bastard wet-nurse, Alys Rivers. She begged me to warm her bed, and to
give her an heir so that my brother would not suspect a thing.”

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing
at him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to
come in here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled,
fingers tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin.
You swallowed thickly, the sounds of Aegon’s grunts breaking forth in your memory.

The night he attacked you.

The night he raped you.

The night that changed everything.

“That's a lie.” Your voice cracked, looking up at the King, “You came to my chambers, and held
me down, and raped me.” Your eyes flicked across the room, meeting a pair of distressed brown
ones, “Alicent, you know this to be the truth. You were there. You helped me.”

Alicent stepped forward, turning to her son, “Is this true, Aegon? Perhaps the Princess had not
known the implications. The Maester must have deceived her, or forced her to do as she did under
threat.”

Alicent had given you Moon Tea after Aegon.

She knew.

And she was lying.

"You're lying!" You sneered at the auburn haired woman.

Aegon looked down at his mother in mock pity, “Lord Larys Strong told me that she had been
given Moon Tea after she was given my son. She had willingly and enthusiastically drank it, as she
knew it was my child inside of her.”

Your stomach twisted in knots, and you felt as though you were going to be sick. But the anger of
seeing Alicent play games with her own son, whilst her other watched you, was simply too much
for you to bear.

Damn them all.

“The Queen gave me the Moon Tea.” You declared, voice clipped, "Is that not an act of treason?
Try your own blood before the Council for the sins of your flesh.” Your hands came down to your
side, clenched into fists.

You were not going to die in cowardice.

You would bite, and scratch, and claw until the end.

As you always had done.

“Princess Y/n, might I remind you that you are before the Small Council and King Aegon. You
will have time to speak for your innocence when the King has finished his petition.” Otto cautioned
you.

Your breathing became laboured, shallow, angry breaths that heaved.

It was that rage again.

That same rage that you had pushed down and away, that had been there at your finger tips, just
beneath the surface of your skin, hiding in the shadows. The rage that you had clipped and preened
like a rose bush, to not prick yourself on its thorns.
A rage that was innately yours.

Aegon straightened himself, the golden chains that sat heavily against his chest swaying with
movement. He shifted, pulling himself to be seated in a stiff and upright position, as though one of
the swords he was seated upon had slipped up his spine.

He looked every bit his mother.

And then he thought.

And the silence of the chambers was almost as deafening as the ringing in your ears. The pounding
of your heart in your head, the rushing of the blood in your veins. You felt every bone in your
body, the weight of them, the feel of them. Every tooth in your skull felt as though they were not
sitting correctly, your tongue heavy and too large for your mouth.

Aemond shifted again in your periphery, taking two short steps forward towards you.

Coward.

“Swear yourself to me.” The King boomed in the chambers, his voice echoing in the space and
decision made.

Aegon pushed himself to stand, looking down his nose at you.

“Bend the knee, and swear me as your King.”

 Hand Turns Loom, Hen Kasta naejot Zōbrie
Chapter Notes

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

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.

 To Set The Future Sway
Chapter Notes

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!

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.
 The One-Eyed King
Chapter Notes

I was just doing the maths, and since I have combined some of my chapters to make
them longer (and tbh might do it again) there is 110 chapters of SFA! So we have 10
left!! ( I do have plans for an epilogue planned after as well) HOLY SMOKES!

King Aemond, First of his Name, took you atop the Iron Throne more times than you could count,
plunging into your wet heat whilst the body of his brother lay cold on the stones behind you.

By the end of your passionate embrace, you knew that you would be aching for days to come, and
when you finally removed yourselves from the throne of melted swords, it was done with a gentle
hand on the small of your back and a passionate kiss.

You made your way down the steps, eyes locked onto the corpse of Aegon, the blood around him
soaked through the stones. You paused as you looked at him, at his body, at the way the blood had
trickled from his gaping mouth.

You thought of how he had raped you.

How he had mocked you.

Hit you.

Usurped the throne from your mother, and been the catalyst for your brothers death.

You thought, in that moment, of everything he had done to you and to Aemond.

How he caused you to lose your child.

Anger rolled through you, rage simmered, chest feeling impossibly tight.

But Aegon was gone.

And he could hurt you no longer.

He could touch you no longer.

You reared your head back, swirling your tongue and for the final time, spat onto his corpse, leg
shooting out to kick the head that lay on its side forcefully with the toe of your boot, Aegon's skull
skidding across the stones, wet sticky blood leaving a trail behind.

The hand on your back pushed you forward, a soft, 'that’s enough' whispered into the shell of your
ear. You heaved angry broken breaths, inhaling deeply once to calm yourself before you moved
forward, head held high as the King, your King, walked you towards the Small Council chambers.

The walk was swift, and it still felt as though your mind had not fully caught up to everything that
had happened. But you would have to deal with that later. Right now you needed to be present.

Or as present as you could be.

As you came up the stairs, you could hear the voices of those inside, bickering amongst each other
as they waited for you to arrive. The doors were opened by the guards stationed at the doors, and a
hush fell across the room.

You walked in together, and all bowed towards you.

All except Alicent, who hissed from across the room, eyes red and tear tracks staining her cheeks,
as she raced across the room, all fury, towards her son.

It reminded you of the night Aemond lost his eye.

“You have killed your own brother!” Her eyes darted back and forth across his face, horror, and
anger, and disgust on her features. But what was more, beneath it all, there was fear.

Alicent was afraid.

Aemond simply looked down at his mother and hummed, lips pursing forward in thought.

The hand moved through the space faster than anyone could have reacted, striking Aemond across
the cheek with a loud slap. Alicent’s chest heaved, and Otto came behind her to drag her
backwards, whispering into her ear to try and calm his daughter.

Aemond’s head had barely moved, not a hair was out of place, nor had he flinched when she struck
him. As though he had been expecting it to come. As though he expected nothing less of his
mother. As though it had happened, once, twice, three times before.

And it had.

Your husband chose to ignore his mothers rage filled glare, and moved towards the head of the
table, your own feet slowly trailing after him. Aemond held open a hand to the table, ordering the
men to be seated, and then he looked to you.

You were still standing beside him, and with a shift of his palm, and an almost imperceptible nod
of his head, you were directed to the seat beside him.

A seat at the Small Council.

Before you on the table was your council stone, round and seated within its dish.

You had a place in the council.

Alicent Hightower however, did not sit, her seat now filled by you, and her fury rolled off of her in
waves that crashed against the dark oak of the table. Her hands shook, and as you watched her, you
could see that she was merely holding on by a thread.

It was the first time since the night of Aemond’s eye where you had seen her so shaken.

The King's cold gaze lifted to his mother, and with a soft and careful voice, he told her to sit.

The Dowager Queen’s hands shook at her side, clenching and unclenching, hair wild and out of
place, and it wasn’t until that moment as you watched her did you noticed the small stains of blood
against the green of her gown. The dried coppery substance had stained her fingertips and hands as
she had held the corpse of her son.

Alicent did not sit, lifting a hand to her mouth, pressing it roughly into her skin with worry as she
looked to all the Lords who followed Aemond’s command without question.
It was hard to not feel some sort of pity towards her, some sort of empathy, because despite
everything, she was still a woman who had lost so much. Three of her children to be exact. And
you knew there to be no greater loss in the world than a mother who mourns their child.

The King sat straight in his chair, and addressed the men at the table, "As you were all aware,
Aegon was to set the realm to ruins. Rebellions had begun in Riverrun, and more and more of our
support had begun to turncloak. His lack of action has made us quick enemies.”

Lord Jasper Wylde nodded in agreement from across the table.

Aemond continued, “He was to bring the realm to war again. Aegon's inability to listen to the
council’s recommendations for Flea Bottom had caused uprisings from the small folk down in the
slums. Our Kings Guards and Gold Cloaks have been working day and night to keep them at bay.”

You shifted in your seat at the mention of war and the rebellions.

“My time in Harrenhal proved to be an enlightening one. Our men who reside there were ready to
erupt into battle with Rhaenyra’s allies. But hers are larger in numbers, and with the North at her
side, she is a formidable foe. My uncle Daemon would torch the realm, allies or not. He has no care
for the lives lost if that meant crumbling our power.” The Maester played with his council stone
before him in thought, the chain of his tunic shifting, “This disruption to the dust that we had once
settled, caused trade from the Golden Tooth to halt, and thus our reserves and coin have dwindled.”

Their coin has dwindled.

They’re losing power.

Gods be good, the tides are shifting.

The old Maester leant forward on the table, holding his sphere, “I had received word from the Red
Fork that the Blacks, after the commandeering of their small folks trading ships, have doubled their
fleet power with Lord Corlys’ warships to block any exit or entrance for our men.”

Your eyes skimmed over the table, and landed on a pair of dark brown eyes.

Larys Strong was watching you.

And he was smiling.

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Law, picked up his sphere to speak, “Perhaps if we make a
distinction that our purpose at the Red Fork is mere-“

“-Have you gone to madness?!” Alicent shrieked, charging towards the table on the opposite side
of Aemond, hands slamming onto the wood as she sneered at her son, “You have slain your
brother, the King, and now you move forward with business and trade?!”

“Aemond is King.” Your voice floated across the table, looking up at the woman through your
eyelashes.

The Hightower woman’s face darkened, “You have willed him into slaying his brother. A
manipulation most foul! How much more must we all fall prey to your-“

“Quiet.” Aemond’s voice cut across the room, and Alicent’s lips snapped closed, “For years you
have defended Aegon and his actions, and it has become our ruin.”
His voice became deeper, louder, and more grating, “Tis I the younger brother who studied history,
philosophy, and is trained with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who
should have been put forth for the crown, not that useless wastrel I called my brother."

Aemond shifted, leaning forward towards his mother as he looked up at her, "Aegon never took
interest in his birthright and duty, whoring and drinking and serving his own interests which set
ours back for miles. I have done what needed to be done. What should have been done. I wear the
Conquerors Crown. I ride upon Vhagar, the oldest and largest of dragons, Queen Visenya once
rode. I am the King.” His eye did not blink once, staring down his mother, who’s anger bled from
her face, and fear resurfaced in its place.

Aemond turned to look out at his Councilmen, meeting each and every eye, “If anyone dare
question my authority, I shall have you removed from these chambers and the council.”

You blinked.

And the world came crashing back towards you, as though you had been plucked from the sky
once more, and tumbled down to earth. Because the reality was far more than what you had
realised. Far more than what you had even had a chance to feel.

Aemond was King.

King.

And what did that mean for the treaty?

A small piece of anxiety began to worm its way through your bones, nipping at the tips of your
fingers, down to the heels of your feet, burrowing under your skin with an insistence that you could
not ignore or push down. Your mouth felt dry as you looked out at the table, looking at all the
Lords, who gazed back, before you finally turned to face your husband.

His eye was already on you.

With hands that shook, you lifted your sphere from its place, the weight of it stopping the uneven
movement. It was heavy and smooth, and as you look down at it and turned your hand, you found
the courage to speak, placing it gently back into its spot, rolling it within its small bed.

“What does this mean for the treaty?” You questioned, fingers pressing into the sphere far harder
than needed.

Aemond’s eye flickered in recognition, but settled quickly, grazing over your face and down to
your hand. The rest of the Lords at the table waited with bated breath.

It was clear that all wondered what was to come now after the death of Aegon.

What would become of the treaty?

The treaty had been made with Aegon, not Aemond.

Aemond’s jaw clenched, holding your gaze for a moment more whilst your stomach spun and
flipped. Blinking, he looked away, turning to his Small Council, “You are dismissed. We shall
reconvene on the morrow.”

You frowned, continuing to stare at him as the men shuffled out of the room silently, Alicent being
all but dragged out by her father Otto Hightower.
It was then, that anxiety truly settled in your bones.

“Go to our chambers, I will be there with you shortly.” Aemond spoke to you softly.

“But-“

“-Now.” Aemond commanded, tone clipped.

His word was final.

And after today, you did not wish to push his luck. The blood of his brother was still dried upon his
face, having not been washed away. Evidence and proof of just how far he was willing to go. And
if anyone knew the extent of his wrath, it would be you.

You swallowed thickly and stood on shaky legs, bowing your head to your husband as you left the
Small Council chambers, and headed for your own.

The walk was swift, nervous energy carrying you quickly to your shared quarters, where you paced
before the fire place in wait.

What did this mean for the treaty now?

What would Aemond do?

Was your family in danger?

Would he renew the terms?

Was war to come?

You spent the better part of what felt like an hour, walking back and fourth, thoughts tumbling
through your mind like jagged rocks, scraping against the sides sharply. Your fingers coming to
your mouth where you bit the nails down until they bled.

When the doors finally opened, you spun on your heel, facing Aemond as he entered, crown still
atop his head. His fathers blade was now at his side, which he leant against the chaise, and he
moved quickly towards you, one hand coming to cup your cheek.

His movements were sharp, and at first you had been frightened, but as you leant into the warmth
of his palm as he stroked your skin, you looked into his gaze and saw it.

Lust.

Swallowing your anxiety, and pushing all your questions to the back of your mind, you dropped to
your knees for a second time that day, willingly, the skin bruised and protesting, but hands that
shook making quick work of his breeches as he looked down at you, eye half half lidded with
desire.

For it would be better to broach these questions when he was disarmed.

When you pulled him from his pants, he was half erect, and so you worked him with your hand,
and the tip of your tongue until he was hard and heavy in your own palm. Your fingers wrapped
around him as you took him into your mouth, the muskiness of his own taste spreading across your
tongue, as well as the subtle tang of your own release on his length from earlier.

Aemond groaned from above, hand smoothing your hair from your face as you bobbed your head
along his length, hollowing your cheeks and feeling his tip press against the back of your throat.
The King gripped your hair and pulled you down his length, the hairs at the base of his cock
tickling your nose as you gagged.

Your husband guided you up and down his length, before pulling you off of him with a pop.

Lifting you up towards him, Aemond crashed his lips against yours, tongue forcing its way into
your mouth as you gasped in his grip, his hands spinning you around to push you forward over the
table. Your hands splayed out, knocking over an ink pot that sat on the surface, its dark ink
spreading across the wood and parchment.

The skirts of your dress were hiked up your thighs and pushed onto your back, revealing your wet,
and leaking centre to the room. Aemond knelt behind you as anticipation swept through you.

You felt his sharp nose press into the flesh of your ass as he gently bit the skin causing you to
whimper, before moving down to part your folds with one long swipe of his tongue.

You moaned loudly, pushing your hips backwards to meet him as he continued, lapping at your
wetness, and his seed which leaked from you from your coupling on the Iron Throne. Pleasure
wound its way through you, bud and folds overestimated and sensitive from the day of fucking,
and before no time at all, Aemond brought you to your peak.

You cried out against the wood, hands digging into it as he stood, lining himself up with your
entrance and pushing into you with a harsh grunt. Your breasts were pressed against the wooden
surface, sensitive and aching as they rubbed against the hard table top.

Your body jolted against the table with every thrust, hip bones pressing painfully against the edge
of the wood, which only added to your pleasure. Aemond rutted into you in a frenzy, grunts and
curses coming from behind you as he gripped your hips roughly, each stroke brushing against the
spongey spot within you.

You cried out, watching as the ink seeped into the wood of the table, nails digging into the
surface.

It looked like the stones did.

How Aegon looked.

How his blood seeped across the floor before you.

Thick and inky-

“Fuck.” Aemond grunted, “Squeezing my cock so tightly.”

You moaned loudly, hand reaching beneath your skirts so that you could press your fingers to your
pearl. You rubbed neat circles into the sensitive nerves, sighing as you did, your release rapidly
climbing once more.

“Killed that fucking cunt for you. Killed my brother for this fucking perfect cunt. Fuck. Going to
give you an heir.”

Each clap of his hips was bruising, and soon the both of you tumbled over the edge together, the
King pushing himself to the hilt inside of you, cock throbbing as it spurted his seed deep within.

You collapsed, face resting against the wood, small strands of your hair having gotten wet by the
ink that had been spilt. No doubt joining the blood that stained your hair too. You breathed heavily,
letting your release to spread through you warmly.

Aemond rested his cheek against your back, hot breath fanning across your skin as he came down
from his high, before he slowly pulled out of you with a groan.

In a tangle of limbs, the two of you stripped each other, the crown sitting beside the bed, as you
crawled beneath the sheets facing him, spent from the days events, spent from his cock, and spent
from the anxiety that continued to linger in the back of your mind.

The both of you lay on your sides, looking at one another as he smoothed a hand over your
shoulder and down your arm in a repetitive motion. Up, down, pause. Up, down, pause.

Up, down, pause.

His eye danced over your face, a finger coming to brush against your cheek where you felt a dry
flake fall away.

A dry flake of blood.

Aegon’s blood.

Aemond was lost in his thoughts.

“Skoros issi ao otāpagon, ñuha jorrāelagon?” What are you thinking, my love? You whispered to
him quietly, watching as his eye flicked back and forth on yours.

“Olvie hen mirre.” Most and all, Came his quiet reply.

You shifted, moving closer to him, hand pressed against his chest, “Gaomagon daor ōregon ziry
isse. Ȳdragon ziry” Do not hold it in. Speak it.

You watched as your husbands chest rose and fell, a static quiet around the both of you. He leant
forward, pressing a kiss against your forehead, and then another against your cheek.

“Ānogar kessa ropagon naejot nūmo se rūklun, se mazilībagon se vējes hembar." Blood will be spilt
to seed the garden, and set the future sway, “Iā pāletilla vēttan hen ānogar.” A crown forged of
blood, Aemond whispered, “Issa hae vestas.” It is as she said.

“Issa.” It is, You agreed, pausing before you spoke again, “Aemond?”

Your uncle’s gaze was locked on a strand of your hair that he brushed gently with his fingers. He
hummed, raising his eye to you.

“Sir bona iksā Dārys, kostagon jān naejot ūndegon ñuha lentor?” Now that you are King, can I go
to see my family?

Aemond watched your face closely, hand stilling in your hair before it dropped to your shoulder
heavily.

You breathed in, and out.

One.

Two.
Three.

Four.

His hand started to move again. Up, down, pause. Up, down, pause.

Up, down, pause.

“Valzȳrys?” Husband, You questioned again, “Kessa ao ivestragī nyke ūndegon ñuha muña?” Will
you let me see my mother?

Up, down.

Pause.

“Kesi jorrāelagon naejot ȳdragon nūmāzma se treaty ēlī.” We will need to speak about the treaty
first.

But there was no treaty now following the death of Aegon.

Now the prospect of war returning was a real one.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingers
against his cheek and scar, fingers delicately tracing it.

It was jagged and not as smooth as you would have thought when you first saw it. The closer you
were, the more you could see the small little dotted scars that lined it, courtesy of the Maester’s
stitches.

“Kostilus, gaomagon daor ōdrikagon zirȳ. Gaomagon daor ōdrikagon ñuha lentor. Hae aōha
ābrazȳrys, aōha jorrāelagon, nyke epagon ao, kostilus.” Please, do not harm them. Do not hurt my
family. As your wife, your love, I ask you, please.

Aemond hummed and leant forward to press another kiss to your forehead.

He did not answer your plea.

Up, down, pause.

Up, down, pause.

Where Aegon had anger, Aemond had wrath.

Where Aegon stewed, Aemond seethed.

Where Aegon saw reason, Aemond saw vengeance.

 The Merciless Queen
Chapter Notes

Oh my GOSSSSSH, with every chapter I post, we get closer and closer to the end and
I'm literally wriggling in my chair in excitement, like holy shit! hahaha, anyway, I so
hope you enjoy this new chapter and the remaining ones to come! ENJOYYYYY <3

“If we are to give Flea Bottom gold to build new dwellings, whose to say that the other small folk
across the realm won’t decide to take arms and demand the same?” Lord Tyland Lannister, elder
brother of Jason Lannister and Master of Coin argued, seated amongst the other Small Council
members who seemed to be in a disarray since the slaying of their previous King, Aegon.

It had been a few days since his death, and whilst Aemond and yourself could not keep your hands
off of each other, there was no denying the tension that still circled around the two of you.

You had been coronated as Queen Consort, a short lived affair in the throne room with only the
Small Council present, letters written to be sent out shortly thereafter to their supporters. There was
no celebrations to be had, no drinking or dancing. It was short, brief, and most importantly,
political move.

And now, all sat in wait for the more pressing question at hand.

What was to happen to the treaty?

And yet despite this question, and the sheer multitude of meetings with the council, Aemond let the
unknown hover over your head like smoke, filling your lungs thickly and choking you.

When once Maester Orwyle had asked the same question, which was asked more than once a day,
Aemond had barely given the man a second glance, and redirected the question elsewhere.

In no time however, much to the urging of Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, word would
soon reach Dragonstone, and the Green Council would need to be ready for such events.

There was a very real possibility that at the knowledge of Aegon being indisposed of, and the
Greens thus only having one dragon rider, may invoke the wrath and fury of all the Black’s
power.

And in this moment, they had it.

And the council, knew it.

There was an all encompassing feeling of dread that filled each member. The anticipation being a
most poisonous thing, and at any loud noise or uncertain sound, Alicent Hightower would jump in
her seat, eyes skating to the doors of the chamber they were in, or looking out the window to the
skies.

“Then see to it that they do not.” Breezed Aemond, the Conquerors Crown seated atop his head,
ruby glinting in the light of the chambers.
“I do not see why we need to do so in the first place, Your Grace.” Maester Orwyle spoke, “The
small folk are not in need or want, nor do they know more than what they have.”

Aemond blinked slowly, finger impatiently tapping on the table as he looked at his men and
mother, the gold ring upon is finger clunking on the wooden surface.

“We have the gold, not much, but enough. As it is, their disdain for us was exaggerated by my
brother and his selfish disregard for their needs." Aemond began, "I couldn’t care for what they do
below in their shit and piss, but my Lady wife has spoken of the benefits of having the love of the
small people, and we are in dire need of support.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling the eyes of all the Lords at the table, and the ever
present scowl of Alicent Hightower directed at you. Swallowing, you licked your lips, fingers
finding your council sphere and spinning it in its dish.

“My mother is loved by the small folk, as was I,” Before they dubbed me the Merciless, “‘The
Realms Delight', they named her, most beloved and fair, much the same for my sweet aunt
Helaena."

You paused, letting your gaze stop on Alicent, "Where as when they think of the King, they have
little good things to say. Two Kinslayers on the throne would no doubt further press their disdain."
You turned back to Aemond, "The support of the common folk is important when ruling, it makes
things easier, and if the time comes, they will take up arms to support your cause.”

Larys Strong’s voice carried across the table, his high lilt directed at you. His hands were crossed
over the top of his cane delicately between his knees at the table, “My spiders have told me that
there are ample supporters of your rule, Your Grace.”

You scoffed, “Supporters of the Faith perhaps, or the whispers of the old militant sect even, but
that support lies with Alicent, and they would surely have issue with mine and Aemond's union, as
is our tradition as Targaryens, and also the very issue of us both being Kinslayers," You looked to
Alicent, "Which we are very much reminded of. But the small folk, the true small folk who live in
poverty, where sickness and disease is ripe, have no positive feelings of loyalty towards a King
who does not see them and gorges upon riches unimaginable. My father took to the streets and
killed every rapist and murderer in Flea Bottom, punished thieves and crooks, and the small people
felt safer.”

“They were scared out of their wits.” Otto sighed, “The small people need nothing but the clothes
on their backs. Simple minds think not of extravagant pleasures.”

Anger rolled through you, “Having proper housing and not living in the streets is not an
extravagant pleasure. I would say it is a right for them to live freely and happily, to pursue their
desires and passions.”

Jasper Wylde placed his long fingers upon the sphere, several gold and silver rings adorning the
digits, “The Queen makes a point, Your Grace. King Jaehaerys was loved by the small folk for his
benevolence, and the actions of Maegor the Cruel brought him nothing but trouble. Perhaps the
spending of a few Gold Dragons on Flea Bottom’s worse affected slums could bring you support,
especially now that the treaty is in question.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, opened the conversation for the treaty to be discussed.

Again.
All eyes were now on Aemond, who sat stiffly in his chair, one elbow upon the armrest, the other
still tapping against the table.

“Has word reached Dragonstone?” Aemond questioned Larys, noncommittally.

The brunette leant forward, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, “As it were, a spider intercepted
an attempt to alert them. Though I have no doubt they will receive word by the morrow.”

The King hummed.

“Will the treaty be renewed, Your Grace?" Maester Orwyle began, eyes flicking to you, then back
to the King, "I believe it to be prudent that we do so. As it were, we are outnumbered in dragons.
You are but the lone rider here at the Keep.” You narrowed your eyes at Maester Orwyle, “Perhaps
if we sent word and new terms, Rhaenyra will be-“

“-No.” Aemond’s word cut through the air like a knife. Crisp. Icy.

Final.

“No?” Otto questioned, “The realm will fall to war again if-“

Your heart beat against your chest like a drum, iciness spreading across your skin and at the base
of your skull.

No.

“What do you mean, no?” You breathed.

Aemond did not turn to face you.

You snapped, “If you do not sign a treaty, they will come for you, Aemond. My mother and father
will come to claim what is theirs.”

The King’s nostrils flared, “Let them. I ride the largest dragon in the world. If my half-sister
wishes to declare war at the risk of your safety, then it shall be your blood upon her hands, not
mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“My blood?”

Aemond did not even turn to face you.

Your hands slammed against the table, and you shot out of your chair, leaning towards your
husband as you sneered, "Have you learnt nothing? You are blinded by your hatred. You will be
our ruin, not Aegon.”

Aemond breathed sharply, eye solely on you as he spoke to the table, “Send coin to Flea Bottom.
Hire masons and workers, or let the small folk build it themselves.” He looked to his men before
finishing, “Clear the chambers.” He commanded the room, and all Lords and Lady Alicent, stood
and quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Aemond with an enraged wife.

“Are you to doom us all with your stubbornness? Have you gone mad?” You growled, “Your thirst
for the throne will kill us, Aemond. My mother and father are not to be trifled with. My brother and
sisters are not to be trifled with. Do you think that we will survive this?”
Aemond simply stared at you, hand still on the table tapping, whilst the other gripped the arm of
the chair fiercely, knuckles white.

“Is it your true desire to have another war? Or is this a foolish little boys dream?” You said in
disbelief, looking down at him from your standing position, hands still flat against the table to
ground you, “I barely survived the last one, and yet you wish to play games with my mother and
father? With my life? Do you know what they will do to you? What they could do to you? You
would be dead before you even reached the skies.” You sneered.

The King’s lips pulled into a thin line, brows furrowed as he looked at you, barely contained anger
burning behind the violet of his eye.

“They would not do it if it meant jeopardising your life.”

You flinched backwards, as though he had hit you, curling your hands into fists at your sides as you
tried to steady your breathing, but panic coursed through your veins, and your throat grew tighter
with each passing second.

"Is that a threat?”

Aemond frowned at you, the lines in forehead pulling the crown down in the slightest of
movements. It was as though he was offended by your question, and though you had questioned
every natural fibre of his being.

“You think I would harm you? After all that has happened? After all I have done for you?” His
voice became raised, anger leaking into each syllable.

You scoffed, “You just said that them acting would put me at risk. What will you do? Have Ser
Cole at my side, sword ready to cast against my neck or plunge into my heart?”

Aemond leant forward and sneered, “Do you truly think so lowly of me? I did this for you! I love
you!”

“Then do this for me, too! Renew the treaty, Aemond.”

“I can’t do that.” He breathed.

The backs of your calves hit the edge of the chair as you leant back, looking at your uncle from
down your nose, “You can. But you won’t.”

Aemond did not respond.

“Sign the treaty.” You said more sternly, anger causing the words to come out harsh, and biting.

The King's broad chest rose and fell in his robes shallowly, his one eye watching you as his hands
flexed upon the table.

“Why do you wish to sign a treaty with them? After all they have done?” Aemond growled.

After all they had done?

“They cast you aside! Abandoned you here to be tormented by Aegon.” Aemond continued, voice
rising.

“They did not abandon me!” You snapped, hurt and betrayal causing tears to prick in your eyes.
“Oh? But they knew what would happen to you once you were wed to me. They let you be raped.
You were sold to me like a brood mare.”

“And who did those things to me?!” You screamed, a tear falling down your cheek, “Who,
Aemond? Who raped me? Who defiled me? Who scarred me? Because it wasn’t them.”

Aemond’s anger seemed to bleed out of him as he looked at you.

You pushed the chair backwards hard with a kick of your foot, sending the high-backed wooden
seat to crash against the stones loudly, “You raped me. You hurt me. You did that. Not them. You.
You act as though you’re innocent in all of this!”

“I don’t-“

“-I will not survive another war.”

The anger was back.

Aemond’s lips curled in disgust, “You expect me to bend the knee to your mother? The very
woman who wished to punish me after her son took my eye?”

Your face fell, “No.” You declared, “I expect you to give the treaty a chance. Countless lives will
be lost if you start another war, Aemond. Needless blood will be shed. Could you live with yourself
knowing this?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly, that it seemed that Aemond had not even needed to give it a second
thought. As though he had already weighed all possibilities against each other, as though he had
measured the odds.

And still, he had said yes.

You swallowed thickly, wishing the damn lump to leave your throat. And so quietly, you asked a
question which clawed at you from the back of you mind. A question of doubt. Of fear. Of another
‘what if’ that you had to bat away with a swift blink of your eye.

“Even if it is mine?”

It was an uncomfortable sort of silence, and this time, Aemond did not answer straight away. Not
like how he had a moment before. As though he had not weighed up this question in his mind yet,
or perhaps he had, and had come to no conclusion. You watched his face as he stared at you, his
seeing eye flickering across your face as a finger twirled the ring upon his hand.

“I will not lose you." He began, making a move towards you, "But I will not bend a knee to
Rhaenyra, and kiss her old cunny for the sake of peace.”

His tone was final, he had hissed your mothers name like a curse, and there was no changing his
mind. No shifting of the tide that had been steadily building for months now, a tide which had
moved away from the shore, sucking the water and life away from the beach, revealing the jagged
rocks that were hidden beneath.

You blinked again, another tear falling down your cheek.

Your uncle continued, “And if it need come to war, then so it shall be.”
It was so point of fact.

So emotionless.

Toneless.

Void of anything other than finality.

War was to come.

And there would be no changing that.

“But,” Aemond’s voice startled you from your thoughts, your eyes racing over his face, “You are
Queen now. My Queen. Something that is and was always your birthright.”

“Like my mothers.” You sneered.

Aemond ignored your comment and continued, “And you, as Rhaenyra’s heir shall sit the Iron
Throne in her place. And then, when the time comes, our heir shall follow."

It was clear to you then, that Aemond had thought on this.

"If Rhaenyra’s concern for succession is blood, then she can be satiated in knowing that the
daughter she denied shall sit where she is owed by her birthright.”

You stepped towards him, hands clenching and unclenching, “Aemond, please. Think about this.
You are asking me to depose my mother.”

“I ask nothing of you. I am telling you, zaldritsos. I will not have you be pushed aside again for
your bastard brother. I will not bend the knee to my half-sister. This throne is ours. It is ours by
birthright. And I will be damned if I let anyone take you away from me again."

The air in the chambers shifted, and you inched towards your husband as he continued to speak.

"Do you think that if I bent the knee to them, that your father would let you stay wed to me? Think
on it a moment, Y/n. Do you think that your mother would let you stay wed to a monster? The man
who killed her son? They will take you from me."

You stepped away from him, turning your back as your mind raced a as you looked around the
chambers, eyes casting out the veranda at the clouded skies. Dread settled in your gut.

You didn't want to be parted from him.

You loved him.

The air was charged as you spoke, voice shaking, “So what now? Are you to send word to them?”

Aemond stood behind you, the chair scraping against the stone floors.

“I will be sending Otto and Ser Cole to Dragonstone as envoys to give word to Rhaenyra and
Daemon. They will be told that their blood sits upon the Iron Throne as Queen. They will be
allowed to live where they do. My half-sister can have Dragonstone, I have no need for it when I
have Kings Landing and you. And they will bend the knee.”

You shook your head, still not turning to face him, “You should know that they will not.”
“Not if you don’t encourage them.”

Your eyes widened as you spun on your heel to look at him.

He was deathly serious.

“You wish for me to ask them to bend the knee to you?” You laughed.

Aemond frowned, “A letter from the Queen is a hard one to refuse. Especially if the Queen is their
own daughter. Tell them of the fears that you have. That war will break if they do not swear me as
their King and you as their Queen. They can remain on Dragonstone, and you shall remain here,
with me. Where you belong.”

He seemed so sure that it would work. So sure that a simple letter from you would bring the water
back to shore. But the tide was gone from your reach, and you were anchored on the coast atop a
beached ship with no way to get off.

Aemond stepped forward, cupping the side of your face gently as he looked at you, "They will
listen to you.”

You grasped his wrist tightly, “I am not so sure.” Your voice was quiet, so fragile, like the finest of
glass from Essos. One octave higher, one shift against your throat could cause them to crack or
break.

If you did this, you would be betraying them.

You would be deposing your mother.

Aemond pulled you into a reassuring kiss, one he poured love and adoration into as he cupped your
face in his hands. When he pulled back, his eye roamed your face softly, “I do not wish to see
bloodshed, nor do I wish to see you harmed. This is the only way, surely you can see that."

And you did.

You did see that.

You saw it all clearly.

Your husband pressed another kiss against the top of your hairline, your eyes sliding shut as you
breathed through your nose, preparing yourself for what you had to do.

"I trust that my Queen will know what to do.”

And you did.

You knew what you had to do.

And so with a short nod, you agreed to his terms.

“I will have Otto deliver your letter by hand.”

 Envoys to Dragonstone
Chapter Notes

Oh my god.... Everything is happening ARGH! I'm actually going to try and post
updates daily now for this, bar Sunday for the next Sublet chapter. I am just so excited
to finish this series! Hahaha, anyway, I've loved seeing all your reactions and
theories!! <3

When you had returned to your chambers, it was a blur of movements and thoughts, but one in
particular seemed to absorb all the rest. Its dark tendrils wrapped around the others, pulling them
into the dark with it, thus making its size almost immeasurable until all other thoughts were
devoured by it, gone from the light, and all that was left was it.

War was coming.

With shaky hands you grasped a piece of parchment and sat at the table. With the ink pot and quill,
you rolled the parchment flat beneath your palm and began to write.

You wrote as though your life depended on it.

Because it did.

And with each swift flick of your script, a blaring word in particular seemed to have broken loose
from the feeling of hopelessness. A word which had been whispered and cried. Spoken and
sneered. A word that had fuelled your hope, and created your despair. A word that you knew, now
more than ever, was a need to act.

Dracarys.

And so you wrote until the page was full, and tears leaked from your eyes at knowing what was to
come next.

Loss.

‘Mother and Father,

To write to you under the present circumstances does little to steady my beating heart, but it is
something that I know will ensure that it keeps doing just that. Beating.

Aegon is dead . Slain at the hands of Aemond.

And now he is King. And I, Queen.

The treaty is lost, and at the risk of another war coming to take us all, I must beg you, bend the
knee.

Bend the knee to Aemond.

If you swear him as King, he has said that he will allow you to live on Dragonstone and carry out
your days there safely and happily.

If you do not bend the knee , war will break, and I will not survive it.

You will not survive it.

None of us will.

My only consolation is that if you do, we shall all live, and that I will be able to see you again
soon.

I suspect I am with child, Aemond’s child. And if the promise of your own flesh and blood upon the
throne does not satiate your need to rule, then know I hold no grievances towards you. It is your
birthright , just as it is mine.

If you do not bend the knee, you must send star fruit to the Keep so that I know of your decision,
and may feel its sweet nectar upon my tongue once more before war breaks out. It is the only way I
will survive this all, and it is the only way that I will know that you do not hate me for asking you
of this.

It was not my wish to depose my mother of the throne, nor my father, or my dearest brother
Jacaerys. I beg for your forgiveness. I shall go to the Godswood and pray that you will forgive
such an offence, and pray that the Gods will forgive my sins too.

Until then, I wait to hear of your acquiesce to Aemond and I's rule, or the delivery of star fruit to
the keep in barrels full.

Yours forever,

Queen Y/n.’

Tears slipped past your eyes, and you had not even heard Aemond enter the chambers, nor sense
him standing behind you as he read your letter. It was only until he touched a lock of your hair at
the back of your head did you know that he was there.

“Are you ready?” He asked softly, cool patience in his tone.

You turned your head to look up at him.

Were you ready?

Would you ever be ready for what was to come?

If your parents bent the knee, that meant you would rule as Queen, like you had always wanted,
and at the side of Aemond.

But if they didn’t?

No.

They would come.

Just as you asked.

More tears fell, and Aemond swiped them away gently with his thumb, “Issa iā qopsa geralbar
bona ilagon gō īlva. Yn nyke gīmigon bona hēnkirī, hae mēre, kosti.” It is a difficult road that
lays before us. But I know that together, as one, we can.

“Iksan nāpāsagon ñuha lentor.” I am betraying my family, You sniffed, another tear trailing down
your cheek hotly.

Aemond frowned sadly at you, helping you to stand.

“Iksis ziry drēje?” Is it true? He asked quietly, “Issi ao lēda riña?” Are you with child?

You knew in your bones that you were.

Although there were not many symptoms but the inklings of sore breasts, you just knew. You knew
instinctually that it was true. That the Gods had given you and Aemond another chance of being
parents, and you would not lose that opportunity again.

You nodded, another tear rolling down your cheek, one of sorrow and joy.

Aemond bent his head down to kiss you gently, lips brushing against your own in reverence, but
his hands upon your face showed the true excitement that he held back. They were firm, and tight,
and almost tingled against your skin.

“I am scared.” You breathed.

“I will keep you and my child safe.” Aemond looked you in the eye, sincerity on his face, a hand
coming to press gently at your stomach.

You smiled sadly at him, “Not if war breaks.”

“Even then. I will not lose you, or our child. You are the most precious thing in the world to me,
my one and only love. Not even the Gods could take you from me.” He promised.

Your heart soared as you nodded up at him, rising on your tiptoes to capture his lips once more. He
whispered an apology against your lips, and you couldn’t help the small sob that escaped.

“Please do not make me choose.” You whispered, hands holding the sides of his face, stubble
brushing against the scar of your palm, the reminder of your union and love always there.

“You have already made your choice. Now they must make theirs.”

Aemond left you in the chambers alone to deliver your letter to Otto Hightower and Ser Criston
Cole, who readied themselves to leave by ship that very evening. They would arrive to
Dragonstone by morning.

And you would get your answer from the skies.

DRAGONSTONE POV

The morning broke the same way that it had before.

The sun rose above the waters surrounding Dragonstone, and cast the volcanic island in a glow of
golden light. There was a light breeze that morning as the maids had opened the windows and
balcony doors to Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon’s quarters.

They had been dressed and readied, and broke their fast together. Little Viserys and Aegon the
Younger tottered around their chambers, playing with tiny toy dragons that had been carved from
wood.

The couple eventually made their way down to the study, Rhaenyra having gotten word from the
men at the Red Fork that a certain war dragon had been spotted in the skies, and not seen to have
left until almost a dozen days later.

As Rhaenyra shifted the letters at the large desk and Daemon sat lazily before the fir with one leg
crossed over the other as Little Viserys sat on his knee, stories being whispered into the young
boys ear as Aegon the younger sat on the floor playing with his toys, the door to the chambers
were rapt by knuckles thrice in quick succession.

“Come.” Rhaenyra beckoned, and watched as the doors were opened swiftly by a Ser Erryk
Cargyll.

The twin gave a short nod in greeting before apologising for his intrusion, “Your, Grace, there is a
ship, just west of Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra stiffened in her chair, and Daemon snapped his head to the man, quietening his whispers.

“It flies the banner of your brother.”

Rhaenyra stood from her seat slowly, Daemon going her with his son in his arms, the boy nestled
against his side.

There had not been a ship to Dragonstone since the day Otto had come to watch her daughter be
wed to her half-brother.

“Notify the council, have them be ready.” Rhaenyra commanded, and Ser Erryk bowed his head,
leaving the chambers at once.

Rhaenyra and Daemon stared at each other, Viserys fussing in Daemon’s arms, sensing the tension
that mounted in the room like a storm.

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Daemon breathed heavily, smoothing hair away from his sons head as
two of Rhaenyra’s maids entered the chambers.

Daemon kissed the top of the boys forehead before handing him to one of the girls, the other
scooping Aegon the Younger into her arms before exiting the chambers.

Rhaenyra moved around the desk, coming to stand in front of Daemon, “I believe we should be
ready for it.”

By the time the two entered the Chambers of the Painted Table, the Small Council of Queen
Rhaenyra were already standing around it in wait. Jacaerys stood off to the side, his Lady Wife,
Baela beside him.

Lord Corlys stood to the side of Baela with Princess Rhaenys and their other granddaughter
Rhaena, all who wore black and red, with hints of blue, as was their new and old House colours.

All other Lords and Maester’s stood at the other end.

“When should they arrive to shore?” Rhaenyra asked, forgoing a greeting as she walked swiftly to
the head of the table with her husband.

“Within the hour, Your Grace.” Came the response of Maester Gerardys.

Rhaenyra nodded, looking amongst the table before she jumped into action.

“We need to be ready for whatever my brother Aegon has planned. Patrol the skies and the sea.
Have men at the ready for anything.”

Jacaerys stepped forward, “I shall ride Vermax.”

Rhaenyra nodded, though her heart raced in her chest.

The last time she had allowed her children to take to the skies, only one came back.

“I’ll take Moondancer, Your Grace.” Princess Baela declared.

Rhaenyra gave the girl a small smile, “Good.” She turned to face Rhaenys, “Take Meleys to the
sky. If Aegon or Aemond are to come on the backs of their dragons, we will need numbers and you
are one of our best.”

Daemon was the next to speak, “I shall take Caraxes-”

“-No.” Rhaenyra argued, “You will stay with me. I need you at my side.” Turning to Lord Corlys,
she requested the presence of his ships, “Have four of your ships ready at port.”

The older man nodded, moving swiftly out of the chambers to command them.

“You said there was only one ship?” Rhaenyra questioned the Maester.

“Yes, Your Grace. Only one has been spotted.”

The crown weighed heavily atop the Queens head in that moment, the first time she had ever truly
felt the weight of it.

At first when Daemon had crowned her, it was foreign, but with time, she grew to not notice its
presence, as though it was another set of braids atop her head. But now, she felt the heavy weight
of it all, pressing down on her skull, hyperaware that she had a duty, and it was about to be tested.

Once the ships had been pulled to the docks, and her dragon riders had taken to the skies, Queen
Rhaenyra and her King Consort, Daemon Targaryen, moved with the Queens Guard down to the
meeting point of the path where they had stood before.

When greeted with Aegon’s terms.

And then later with the return of their daughter.

But this time, they waited and watched as the heads and banners of the Green three headed dragon
came towards them, and they did not once sense that they would be reunited with their daughter
once more. Instead, Ser Otto Hightower was flanked by Ser Criston Cole and members of her
brothers Kings Guard.

Above them, three dragons flew in circles, watching from above.

Waiting.
Ready.

Ser Otto Hightower, in all his lithe glory, came to a stop before Queen Rhaenyra, looking all the
more like a weevil that had crawled into a farmers grain.

For he was a pest that had wormed its way into her fathers life, and become the driving force of the
usurpation of the throne, her daughter and sons deaths, and the removal of her surviving daughter
to her half-brother.

Ser Otto was a man that Rhaenyra as a child had hoped and prayed that her father would have seen
through. That Viserys could have seen the man before him was a mask, a shell, and hid his true
intentions behind duty and tradition. But Viserys had been blinded by the wolf in sheep's clothing,
and Otto’s lies had been strengthened by Daemon’s love for her.

Viserys never did get to see the ruin that his inaction would become.

Daemon, the once Rogue Prince, stood at his wife’s side diligently, as he had promised to do, large
palms resting upon the two swords that flanked him, one being the Dark Sister blade. He struggled
to not sneer at the man who had taken everything from him.

Taken his daughter from him. His brother.

“We come as envoys.” Otto began, Ser Cole staring at Daemon, his own hand atop the hilt of his
sword.

Daemon had not forgotten Cole's place in all this either.

Crispin Cole.

Rhaenyra looked down at the men from her nose. Despite being shorter than them, she stood
uphill, and gave the illusion that she was above them.

And she was.

Where she was Queen, they were mere Ser’s.

“King Aemond the First-“

“-Aemond?” Rhaenyra interrupted sharply, worry coursing through her chest, “Did my brother
Aegon drink himself to death in his cups?”

Otto reached into his coat pocket, the Queen’s Guard shifting as they watched his movement
carefully. Long fingers pulled apart his lapel and dove into the inner pocket, grasping the rolled
parchment from their daughter.

Daemon shifted atop the balls of his feet.

Lord Hightower held out the scrolled parchment, green insignia stamped into its papery surface
with wax, “A letter from the Queen.”

“Queen?” Daemon snipped, looking at the parchment.

Ser Erryk stepped forward to grasp the letter, armour shuffling as his eyes darted to his twin, Arryk
Cargyll, who stood behind Otto Hightower.

It was a sad day for either twin, seeing their other half on different sides of a silent war. Their eyes
met, if only briefly, all hurt and betrayal, before Erryk took the scroll and delivered it to Rhaenyra.

“King Aegon is dead. And in the line of succession, Aemond has taken his place.”

“What about his remaining son?” Daemon questioned, looking at the scroll briefly before back at
Otto.

Otto held his hands behind his back, “Maelor is too young to rule at such a time, and Aemond has
taken the Iron Throne.”

Ser Erryk held out the parchment for his Queen to take, which she took whilst keeping her eyes
upon Otto, much like her husband, who continued to talk.

“Bend the knee to the King, swear your fealty to him and he shall allow you to remain here as the
Lady of Dragonstone, whereafter your son Jacaerys the Lord of Dragonstone, and Joffrey Lord of
Driftmark. The Queen has agreed to send word to you now that the treaty has ended with Aegon’s
passing.”

Rhaenyra hastily unrolled the parchment, ripping the green wax insignia of the three headed
dragon off the paper, the wax crumbling onto the stone below. Violet eyes roved over her
daughters script whilst Daemon read over the top of her shoulder.

The Queen felt a tide of rage.

“I will not bend the knee to a usurper and kinslayer who is not even second in the line of
succession. He has no right to the throne.” She hissed at the Hightower Lord, “Where is the
Princess?”

“She is Queen Consort now, and shall live her days with the King in peace and safety. Your blood
sits upon the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra, something that should satiate your desire for war. Bend the
knee to Aemond, blood not be needlessly spilt again.”

Otto spoke like an old man telling his daughter or wife to buy something from the market that was
not needed, and not at all like a man who was preventing a war.

Daemon quietly seethed beside his wife, looking at Otto, and having read two words that gave him
the permission he so desperately sought. Daemon shifted, hand pulling the Dark Sister blade from
her sheath and stormed forward.

“Fuck this.” Daemon sneered.

Ser Cole stepped toward him, and from above a dragon screeched.

It was a blur of guards, and the sound of men and their blades being unsheathed filling the air.

Ser Erryk Cargyll stepped to the side of Daemon, if not slightly more forward, blocking the blow
of Ser Cole’s blade as Daemon moved towards Otto, whose eyes were wide in shock. Queen and
King’s Guards met in the middle, a blur of bodies as Rhaenyra stood firmly, planted as she were.

Watching.

With a swing of the Dark Sister blade, Daemon sliced through Ser Otto Hightower’s shoulder, the
blade cutting through flesh and bone as though it was butter, carving down to the middle of his
chest.
Blood sprayed from his wound, and the older man cried out into the air, the beating wings of
dragons loud above them.

As the King Consort pulled his blade from the Hightower Lord, who stumbled backwards on shaky
legs, Daemon swung the Dark Sister blade into the air once more, connecting with his neck.

His body landed on the floor before his head did, which rolled downwards into the chaos of the
guards and knights who fought, mouth open and eyes wide.

Ser Erryk blocked another swipe of Criston’s blade, who came at him harder and faster, anger and
desperation in his eyes. Ser Arryk, his twin, steadily approached the two as he battled through the
sea of fighting.

A few of Aemond’s men had turned back, running down the path to try to get back to their ship, to
send word to the King, but a large shadow loomed above them, and with a cry, Baela screamed out
her deathly command for the very first time.

“Dracarys!”

Moondancer, a slender and pale green dragon with pearl like horns, opened her jaws and a plume
of fire was cast over the Green deserters. The flames devoured the men entirely, who screamed in
agony, trying to outrun their burning flesh, before dropping to the floor below, silent and stiff.

Baela, to prevent any more attempting to escape, landed against the path, the large claws of her
dragon digging into the stone sides, much like how Rhaenyra had, many moons ago.

Moondancer screeched, head down and long at the backs of Aemond’s men who turned to face the
dragon in fear, swords lifted in a pathetic last chance of defence.

It was an opportunity that Rhaenyra’s men did not let pass.

And an opportunity Daemon didn’t either.

The Dark Sister blade cut through three men, and Jacaerys upon Vermax landed behind the Queen
and her men, a subtle threat, and a vow of protection for his Queen Mother.

Vermax growled deeply, teeth bared, whilst Rhaenys continued to circle atop Meleys from above,
searching the skies for any sign of her cousins.

Ser Cole, sensing that he was fighting a losing battle, did not give up, and came at Ser Erryk
brutally. The twin stumbled backwards, Arryk moving towards Cole’s side as Criston's blade
barely just missed the twins face.

But as Ser Cole was occupied, and Rhaenyra watched from behind stony faced, he did not see the
shadow that passed behind him, nor did he anticipate the thrusting of the Dark Sister blade through
the pummel of his chest.

Ser Erryk Cargyll took advantage of the opportunity, and turned to face his twin brother, a man
who was the exact image of him bar small scars upon their bodies, and if you had asked Arryk a
year before, he was taller. Their swords clashed together, moves and skill mirrored as both men
had grown and trained together side by side.

Daemon Targaryen, the once Rogue Prince and now Rogue King, a man who was seasoned in war,
and battle, and swordsmanship, stood behind Ser Criston Cole, blade in hand as it penetrated
through the top of his chest under his shoulder. Blood dripped from its tip thickly as he looked
down at it, eyes wide in shock.

Daemon’s silver hair, now streaked in blood, lifted gently in the breeze that rolled past.

The drops of Ser Cole’s blood was loud in Rhaenyra’s ears as she looked at the man dubbed ‘The
King Maker’.

With a large boot, Daemon kicked the knight off of his blade, and onto his knees.

Ser Criston Cole landed with a thud, looking up at Rhaenyra, eyes darkened by hatred. The blade in
his hand had fallen to the ground, and blood dripped down from his wound thickly, splattering
across the stones like many of his other men.

Rhaenyra looked down her nose at the man, lips pulled back in a sneer.

It was quiet on the path, the only sound Rhaenys’ dragon calling out from above, and the sound of
blood on stone. All other fighting was drowned out by the rage that pumped through her veins.

And as though connected through a bond, like rider and dragon, Daemon stood behind Ser Criston
Cole, The King Maker; a man who had been sworn to Rhaenyra once before, a man she had once
been intimate with when she was a young girl, a man who had witnessed the Gods affirmation that
she was fit for the throne, a man who had aided the usurpation of the throne, a man who had
broken his oath to the cloak, and Daemon heeded the Queen’s wordless command.

Daemon swung the Dark Sister blade one final time.

 Without Reason
Chapter Notes

When I say I have loved every single one of your theories, I mean it. Its actually so
amazing how much you guys like this and honestly never thought I would get this
much love?? CRAZY! Anyway, now we have 7 to go.... Good lord, here we go my
babies! Enjoy! <3

The sun had begun to fall beyond the horizon; a low and crawling pace it took as the realm was cast
in an orange hue, the warmth of its rays bleeding from the air, and an icy chill settling across the
land and into your bones.

Aemond sat at the end of the council table, both hands on the surface of the wood, clenching and
unclenching intermittently. His sharp jaw was set in a firm line, clenched as he looked at his
council men, singular eye flicking to the chamber doors and then back again.

“They should have returned by now.” Aemond said quietly, brows furrowed in a way that seemed
to be almost permanent.

“The tides pull away from shore, Your Grace.” Larys Strong informed the King, “And a storm
seems to be making its way to Kings Landing.”

A storm indeed.

The envoys of the King, Ser Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole had not returned with their men
from their voyage to Dragonstone, nor had a raven been sent to inform them of a possible danger,
or their incoming arrival/agreeance.

“We must be ready for anything.” Lord Jasper Wylde began, “Daemon could be out for blood and
on his way to Kings Landing as we speak. We must be ready for their arrival from both the skies
and sea.” He spoke with urgency.

You sat forward, hand on your stone, “We have not heard word from them yet. My father would
not attack the Keep blindly with me inside. I asked them to see reason and told them to bend the
knee.” You argued, turning to Jasper to scowl at him.

“Your father is rogue. Not even your mother could keep him in line.”

You bit down on your cheeks as you stared daggers at the man, “He would not put me in harms
way. And I asked them, if they are to declare war, that they need tell us first, give warning. They
would not risk my life on the gamble of coming here in secrecy.” You sneered.

Maester Orwyle scoffed, “Your parents have not set foot in the Keep to see you since your coming
here.”

“Not for a lack of trying, Maester Orwyle.” You snapped, “I have faith that we will receive word
shortly, and Ser Otto and Ser Cole will return to us with said word from my mother.”

“You are blinded by your love-“

“-I am blinded by nothing." You snapped, "I speak only of what I know. And I know that we shall
receive word for if they will bend the knee, or if they have declared war.”

Alicent picked at her fingers atop the table, her auburn hair pulled back against her head in a large
and tight braid, “Rhaenyra would not harm her only daughter. Not even her thirst for the Iron
Throne would push her to do that. I believe we should receive word on the morrow.”

Alicent had agreed.

You blinked in surprise, but nodded, inhaling deeply.

Aemond hummed, “My uncle is to be feared, yes, but I have faith in what my Lady wife says. We
shall wait for word on the morrow. If we have not received it by the suns peak, we send twenty of
our fleet to Dragonstone, ten to Driftmark, and send fifteen battalions to the Red Fork to be readied
for any retaliation. Have these ships and men be readied tonight.”

The Lords nodded in agreement, though anxiety filled the chamber rooms.

Your own was stifling.

“And then I shall fly to meet with my half-sister myself.”

Your head snapped to Aemond, and his eye was already on you.

Dread trickled down your spine.

“I shall go with you.” You insisted, fingers rolling your sphere atop the table, “That way-“

“-No.”

Your brows furrowed, and you felt a simmering sense of urgency curl inside your gut.

“If you fly to Dragonstone atop Vhagar, they will see it as a threat, especially now. They will meet
you in the skies. You’ll be outnumbered.”

King Aemond’s lips pursed as he looked at you, “Vhagar is larger than any of their dragons
combined. She has seen war, and won it. And she will win it again.”

Your breath rattled in your chest, fingers going numb. It was as though your mind had been dunked
into fog. Everything around you felt slow, sluggish, unclear. Your throat felt tight, and no matter
how many times you swallowed, the lump would not move.

The muffled sound of voices moved around you as you stared at your husband.

Your uncle.

Your lover.

The father of your child.

He was going to kill them all.

Your ears rang, and the walls closed in on you.

All this time.

All this time you had to prepare for this moment.

All this time you had been waiting for it.

And now that it was finally here, you were terrified.

“Zaldrītsos.”

You blinked, coming back to the room to find it empty, Aemond standing before you, looking
down at you in concern. Your mouth opened and closed, and yet no words came out, not even a
breath.

“Paghagon.” Breathe, He whispered, a hand cupping your cheek.

You sucked in a large breath as you looked up at him, head spinning. Another shaky inhale rattled
in your chest, his thumb swiping against the edge of your lips.

"Iksā ȳgha kesīr.” You are safe here, He cooed.

“Yn skoros nūmāzma ao?” But what about you? Your voice came out so quiet it was like a breeze.

Aemond helped you to stand, and guided you back to the chamber, not answering your question,
holding one of your hands in both of his in front of his chest, as though he was keeping you from
running, or that he had a fear that you would slip away.

There was a small scratching in the back of your mind as you walked. A tingling that clawed in the
back of your skull, inching closer with every step you took. A continual and irksome thing, like a
buzzing of a fly, or the hum of a mosquito in the summer. And it was most difficult to ignore.

For every step you took closer, the more familiar that scratching became. Like fingers that clawed
against the bone, it’s scratching becoming louder and louder, until it wasn’t just a hum or clawing
noise, and soon it was a whisper.

A familiar whisper, of an all too familiar word, from an all too familiar voice.

And it grew louder, and louder, and louder.

Dracarys.

Aemond had sat you down gently before the fire, a subtle glance thrown back at you as he moved
across the chambers to fill a goblet of wine for you to help settle your nerves. But there was no
settling them, not when a small and wet, brunette boy stood in front of the fire, dripping atop the
hearth.

Not when he kept whispering over, and over, and over again.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

Not when the distant rumbling of a storm began to roll in from the sea. Not when the breeze began
to pick up outside, and the temperature within your chambers dropped. Not when you finished your
goblet, and then another, and the maids had rushed into the room to close all the windows and
balconies as a downpour of rain descended upon Kings Landing.
Not even then, when you sat opposite Aemond, merely picking at your food could you settle your
own storm that raged within you.

The anxiety.

The terror.

The anger.

The sorrow.

The grief.

And that all too familiar tide of rage.

“I fear war is coming for us after all.” You whispered to Aemond across the table, voice almost
drowned out by the rain outside.

The King placed his cutlery down upon the table as he looked at you, “If it is to come to that, then
it is by your mothers doing.”

You shook your head, the tide rising within.

Why couldn’t he see?

Why couldn’t he see what you saw?

“It is your doing. You will not see reason. You would not even give the treaty a chance. Could we
have not asked for me to be the next in line for succession? You be my King Consort after my
mother has ruled? There must be some other way.”

Aemond sighed, “There is no other way. They either bend, or we war.”

A pit settled into the bottom of your stomach sharply, “And what of me? What will happen to me?”

Aemond reached forward to grasp his goblet, sipping it softly.

“What will happen when we war, Aemond? Will you keep me locked away in this castle like the
prisoner I am?”

The King placed the goblet upon the table with more force than was needed, “You are not a
prisoner here.”

You scoffed loudly, “I have not been permitted to leave this damned Keep in months! I have not
even been permitted to see my dragon. I have been kept here like a brood mare for you to fuck your
seed into.”

The silver haired man breathed heavily through his nose, jaw ticking, “You may leave after the
war is won.”

“After?”

Aemond did not respond.

“So you expect me to sit here on my thumbs whilst you wage a war against my family?”
“I expect you to keep yourself and the babe safe.”

“Keeping me trapped in this Keep is no safer than letting me be out there! I will not lose you,
Aemond, and I will not lose my family either. I have lost too much already!”

A fist beat against the table, the cutlery and china clinking loudly against each other, “And I will
not lose you! Not again.” Aemond growled, his eye dark in the chambers, “I will not have you risk
the life of our child. Our heir.”

You frowned, hands flat on the table as you leant forward and sneered, “You already put us at risk
by declaring war and not seeing reason!”

Aemond shot up from his chair, fingers stretched across the wood of the table as he looked down
at you, his chest heaving, “I have declared nothing! This is war! The very moment you agreed to
step into this Keep; they declared war! The very moment they took my eye; they declared war
against me and against you! For too long have they kept us apart. Do you think that if Rhaenyra
takes the throne that they for one second will allow us to stay wed? Have you thought again on this
question, I ponder. Do you think that your father will not cast the first stone to condemn me?”

Aemond’s large hands curled into fists, stepping away from the table, “I will not have you taken
from me again, Y/n/n. I will kill anyone that attempts to do so. I will raze the Keep to the ground if
I must. The realm, if I must. There is nothing in this world that will keep you from me. Not
anymore.”

Your husband turned to face you, his eye crazed and lips pulled downwards into an angry scowl.
His posture was stiff, readied, prepped to fight, to lurch forward, jaw tensed and and arms locked.

But it was the look in his eye that scared you most.

And then, his words finally sunk in, like claws in your flesh, tearing at your chest painfully as
blood rushed to the surface. As though he had struck you with a thousand blades.

It was painful.

But he was right.

They would never let you stay wed to him. Your mother would be swift to put him to death for the
killing of Lucerys, and no doubt the crimes he committed against you if they knew the truth of it.
But they didn’t know him now.

They didn’t know him as he was the man today.

Who had helped you. Who had saved you.

Who loved you.

Who you loved.

“I can’t lose you, Aem. I will break.” Your voice crackled, and Aemond came towards you, pulling
you up from the table as he looked at you intently, his eye roving over your face. He cupped your
cheeks in his hands, fingers stroking the skin.

“I will kill them all if I must. For you.” He whispered.

The pit in your stomach grew larger, and the lump in your throat, calcified. You opened your
mouth to argue, to beg, to plead, but Aemond pulled you forward and crashed his lips to yours,
silencing you.

At first, you were shocked, gasping into his mouth, but Aemond’s touch was familiar, calming,
and it distracted you from the constant whispers of Lucerys in the background and the thundering
rain outside. And so you kissed him back, trying to push down the grief, and fear, and horror that
had begun to swallow you whole.

He was going to kill them all.

You wanted to feel anything but that pain.

You wanted to feel loved. Feel safe. Feel sure and secure and cherished and above all, you. And
Aemond gave that to you. He held you. He made you feel safe. He loved you. And he would
protect you from the war that was to come if your mother did not bend the knee.

Aemond pulled apart from you, breathing heavily, his eye still on your lips as his pupil was blown
wide with lust, the violet of his eye swallowed into the black abyss. His hand slid from your cheek,
down over your chest, cupping one breast through the silk of your gown, a soft moan falling from
your lips as he squeezed.

And then it carried on, making its descent to press against the front of your stomach, holding his
palm hotly atop where your womb was, the heat of his hand radiating through the dress and into
your skin.

Aemond pressed promises into you with his hand, of reassurance, his love, adoration, and that
warmth creeped across your chest and up your throat.

You smiled warmly at him, holding his hand against you with your own, beneath it, something you
had both created. Something the Gods had given to you.

A child.

His child.

Yours.

And this time, you would not lose it.

This time, it would be perfect.

And then there was the other warmth, another one that was all too familiar that had begun to settle
into your core as he held his hand there, while his other held your cheek as though you were made
of glass. And so you dragged his hand down further from your womb, gathering the skirts of your
gown with it, his large fingers slowly making their way under your dress as he kept his eye on you.

His fingers grazed the hair atop your mound, and you thrust your hips forward, a soft sigh falling
from your lips.

“Please, show me you love me.” You whispered to him.

His eye was hooded as he looked at you lustfully, fingers diving between your thighs to part your
folds, finding you already slick with want.

Aemond’s plump lips parted, inhaling deeply as he gathered your arousal to drag it back towards
your bud, rubbing small circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves, dragging mewl after mewl
from you.

It was a heat that spread through your entire body, not just the pleasure, but the love and care he
was giving you, the proof of his love, the promise of his violence, and although the latter
frightened you, you pushed away the thought to give in to the simple pleasures of flesh.

A singular moment for you to escape the whispers and presence of your brother, to escape the
anguish that pulled at your veins, or the sorrow that had begun to burrow its way into your chest.

For now, you just wanted to feel him.

Two large fingers pushed into your heat and you moaned, pulling Aemond into a searing kiss
where you nipped and sucked at his lips, tasting the wine on his tongue, and feeling the softness of
his kiss. He curled his fingers inside you, teasingly rubbing the sensitive patch within you before
he pulled back to look at your face.

“Sīr gevie.” So beautiful, He uttered.

Aemond pulled his fingers from your core, a soft whine falling from your lips as you chased his
mouth, the King moving back to escape it, before leading you towards the bed.

It was a race to undress each other, the seams at the back of your dress ripping as Aemond tore at
the ties until the gown fell heavily at your feet.

Then it was his boots, your own, his tunic, your chemise, his breeches, and soon enough, you fell
against the bed, pushed down by his two large hands before he pulled you down the edge of the
bed by your ankles, a short squeal of delight falling from your lips as he knelt on the stone floor
before you.

You leant up on your elbows looking down at him as he watched you with a hooded eye, tongue
darting out to wet his lips before a cheeky smirk lifted upon his face. His hand brushed up your
thigh, parting your legs before it continued to travel up, hand spread across your stomach.

“Ñuha Dāria.” My Queen, Aemond purred, before nipping sharply at your inner thighs with his
teeth.

You gasped as you continued to watch him slowly make his way to where you needed him most.
He nipped and kissed at your flesh, soothing the bites with his tongue, lathing at it hotly before he
pressed a barely there kiss atop your pearl.

Your hips thrust up towards him, another gasp falling from your lips as you tried to seek out his
mouth again. To seek out the pleasure he always brought you.

The joy and love he showered you with.

Aemond chuckled from where he knelt at the foot of the bed before he placed another kiss there
with more pressure, lingering until he opened his mouth and his tongue swiped through your folds
hotly.

You cried out, elbows giving under you as you fell back onto the mattress, hands gripping the
sheets as your uncle suckled at your pearl and swirled his tongue around it expertly in the way that
you liked it best.

“Fuck.” You moaned, back arching as sparks of pleasure shot through your core.
The King hummed into your folds, lapping at it loudly and wetly, messily as he always did in a
way that would surely bring you to your peak shortly. His fingers met your core again, swiping
between your folds as he continued to focus on your bud, until he pressed them inside of you,
immediately curling them upwards.

Aemond fucked you with his hand and tongue, bringing you to your peak with a cry, pleasure
coursing through your veins like molten lava. You writhed on the bed below him as he crawled up
towards you, kissing a wet and sticky trail from your cunt, all the way up to your breasts.

He kneaded them roughly, sucking a nipple into his mouth greedily which he lapped at with his
tongue, teeth grazing the stiffened peak as pleasure rippled across your chest.

“Kesā hōzigon aderī, se kessi nehugon.” You will swell soon, and they will leak, He groaned,
swapping to the other breast, showing it the same amount of attention as the other.

You moaned loudly, pulling him closer to your chest, hand gripping his hair tightly.

“Fuck.” You whined, hips rolling up against him, feeling his heavy length rest against your thigh,
a drop of his arousal sticking to your skin.

Aemond groaned, nipping the flesh of your breast sharply before capturing your lips in a passionate
kiss.

"Going to watch you swell with my child. Then I’ll fuck another into you. Going to keep you full of
my seed.”

Your heart soared at the thought of having many children with him, adding to your lust. The image
of you and your husband surrounded by small little heads of silver.

You lifted your hips, wrapping a leg around him as you tried to pull him closer to you, “Please,
Aemond.”

Grasping his length in his hand, he rubbed it through your folds, coating himself in your slick
before lining himself up. With one long thrust, Aemond seated himself fully within you, stretching
you apart on his cock as your walls gripped him tightly.

“Fuck. Such a perfect cunny.” The King hissed, pulling out of your warmth before thrusting back
inside.

You bit your lip, pleasure blooming within your walls, “Yes. Please. Fuck, Aemond.”

His hips snapped against yours, cock drilling into your cunt sharply as the tip of his length brushed
over your spongey spot within, the coil within you beginning to tighten. The sound of your arousal
filled the air around you as he plunged inside.

“Sīr qogralbar lōz syt nyke. Va moriot sīr lōz.” So fuck wet for me. Always so wet, He grunted, and
you could feel the sheets below you soaked and clinging to the skin of your ass.

“Īlē vēttan syt nyke. Īlen vēttan syt ao. Jaes' nyke jorrāelagon bisa orvorta.” You were made for
me. I was made for you. Gods I love this cunt.

You nodded as you whined, wrapping both legs around his hips, allowing for him to reach deeper
within you, “Yes, Aemond, only for you. ‘m yours.” The angle brought you closer to your peak,
your walls clenched around him in a vice grip.
Aemond hissed, feeling you begin to near your second release, and dragged a hand down your
body, pulling back to spit wetly atop your core.

You felt his spit land atop your pearl and dribble down and around his shaft, where it was fucked
back inside of you. His fingers moved to your pearl, sitting back on his haunches to rut into you at
sharper angle so he could watch you come undone from above.

Aemond’s fingers swirled around your bud, drawing the coil within you tighter, and tighter.

“So close. Fuck, so good Aemond. Always so good. Fuck. I love you.” You whimpered, keeping
your eyes locked on your husbands face, who looked down at you with determination.

“Want you to spill on my cock. Come on, give it to me.”

You bit down on your lip hard as the shifting of his hips brought a deeper pleasure, something that
settled much deeper in your gut than before. It built rapidly, and hotly and Aemond continued to
swirl his hand in the tempo of his hips which he thrust upwards into your core.

It washed over you in an instant, no warning of its arrival nor telling of its destination. But it filled
your limbs with flames, your entire body clenching as it crashed over your head. Your eyes were
scrunched shut as you threw your head back, a long whimpering whine pealing from your lips as
you reached your peak.

Wet coated Aemond’s cock and thighs, dripping down onto the bed below as he cooed and praised
you.

“Konīr jā. Konīr iksi. Sȳz riñ a. Ao gōntan sīr sȳz syt nyke. Sȳz riña.” There you go. There we are.
Good girl. You did so good for me. Good girl.

You whimpered beneath him, almost in a daze as your core continued to spasm around him,
Aemond not once letting up. His hand left your pearl to give you some reprieve, but his thrusts
sped up, hips clapping against yours wetly as you were jolted up the bed.

Aemond chased his release, hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you back down onto his
length, using your body to fuck him like a limp doll. His thrusts became erratic, and he jerked one
final time inside of you as deep as he could go, the warmth of his seed filling your walls with each
erratic spurt.

He moaned lowly, followed by a small whine.

You watched him from below, his chest rising and falling, a sheen of sweat over his body, head
thrown back with his eye shut, plump mouth hung open inhaling deeply.

The low light of the chambers shone on his body and accentuated the muscles of his form. Your
eyes roamed his pale skin, from the scar atop his shoulder where you had plunged the shard of
mirror into the flesh, to the countless others that littered his body.

His hair seemed to glow in the moonlight and light of the candles, long and straight down his back,
two smaller braids which had come undone from your hands, pulled apart strand by strand with the
desire to devour each other in your matrimonial bed.

His jaw was so much sharper than what it used to be, so harsh and angled. Strengthened by the
constant clenching of his teeth, the biting of his tongue, grown handsome by time. His nose, much
the same, sharp and long to match the rest, but his lips were different. They were soft, and plump,
and alluring if you were given the opportunity to get close enough, but even they could be sharp
with his sneers or scowls, or the words that he hissed through clenched teeth.

Aemond puffed out another breath of air, his chest slowly evening, thumbs rubbing soothing
circles against your hips as he kept himself deep inside. His head dropped to look down at you, and
you were met with the whole of his face, much softer now at this angle, but still razor sharp.

But it was his eye that was the softest of all.

Not the one scarred by loss, its cruel jagged line that cut through his cheek and brow, causing pain
still to this day from an injury that happened many years before. Not the darkened skin and empty
socket which he filled with a large sapphire in its stead.

His seeing eye.

Violet like lavender, lilac, or petunias in spring. Violet like the skies in summer when the sun had
begun to set, and night began to creep across the realm, casting a blanket of darkness over all, until
the sun would rise to meet it once again.

Not like Helaena, or Aegon’s eyes.

Not like your mother or fathers.

But his.

Just his.

Just him.

Your Aemond.

His own unique colour that you had grown more, and more fond of. A colour you had adored and
loved as a child. A colour which you had looked forward to gazing into as you hid amongst the
shadows, or played amongst the flowers of the Gardens.

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at him, watching as a small smile pulled onto his lips,
a rarest of sights, as he dipped down, pressing the softest of kisses, a kiss to match the way his eye
had looked into yours, upon your lips with ease.

It was love.

When you were both settled into the sheets once more, pressed and curled against his chest, feeling
the glow of your peak slowly seep away from your body, you felt him drift to sleep beside you,
leaving you awake in his arms.

And as you lay in bed with him, dread settled into your chest.

Hope was a fools ally, and you found that you had none left.
 Star Fruit and Sacrifices
Chapter Notes

Oh boy, look how far we have come? This has been such an insane ride, so just
remember how much you love me... hahahaha. This chapter has been sitting with me
since I started writing this fic months ago, so at least the vision stayed the same! We
still got 6 more chapters to go... I sense some therapy invoices coming. Anyway...
enjoy <3

Sleep evaded you that evening as you laid in his arms.

The storm outside the Red Keep quietly raged on, and the chambers were lit intermittently with the
bright flashes of lightning, your heart jumping in your chest each time as it illuminated a small
figure at the end of the room.

Lucerys no longer whispered, but instead stared at you.

Watched you.

Waited.

Always the same, and you were sure, would always be forever more. Dripping wet as he had been
the day he was taken, on a storm very much like the one outside.

But war was coming, and there was no possibility of escaping that now.

And what was more; you were caught.

Caught in the decision that you knew you would have to make. Caught in the knowing that it
would come too soon. Caught in the knowing that it would change everything forever.

Change you forever.

You loved him.

That much was true.

But you also loved them.

And there was no way that any of you would come out of this unscathed.

Unmarked.

Unscarred.

And Aemond would keep you locked away in these chambers as you would lose more of yourself
and your family at his hands.

Aemond would kill them all.

Or they would kill him.

But you loved him.

Despite all, you loved Aemond Targaryen.

And oh, how he had changed. How he had grown. How he had become his own man, held his
own, made his own moves, and all because of you. All because you pushed him to. All because you
made him believe he could.

And he could.

And he did.

And now he was King, and you his Queen.

You shifted in his arms, looking up at his face.

He had never looked so at peace. Lost to his dreams, his eye shut, the other sapphire, forgotten to
be taken out, shining down at you. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed, hands wrapped
tightly around you protectively, possessively, and legs intertwined with your own. Your stomach
warmed.

Long, white eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as you wriggled out of his hold, moving to
straddle him, your body atop his, chemise thrown over you at his insistence before you slept. ‘You
will catch cold’ he had said, and you had let him dress you, as he pulled on a pair of loose breeches
and dragged you back to bed to sleep.

You sat atop his body and watched as he slowly came to wake, those long white lashes flicking
open, pupil dilating as he focused on you and how you sat atop him, not unlike the many times
before in the throws of your lovemaking.

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered to him in the dark, voice as quiet as the storm outside moved
with every passing moment.

Aemond wet his lips with his tongue, clearing the sleep from his throat as his hands came to rest
atop your hips, “You are more beautiful than any other in the realm.” He whispered back.

Tears prick at your eyes, and one slowly rolled down your cheek, your uncles brows twitching.

“My husband,” You cooed, “My King.”

Another tear fell.

The hands on your hips tightened, “What has happened?” He asked, concern nipping at you with
each word, “Did you have a night terror?”

“I would move the heavens for you if I could.” You breathed, a hand coming to brush against his
jaw, the subtle roughness of his shaved facial hair prickling your palm, “I love you. I have always
loved you. I will always love you. I will always be yours.”

Aemond wiped away a tear that fell from your cheek. You grabbed that hand, bringing it down to
press against your stomach, intertwining your fingers together, his hand dwarfing your own as you
held him against you.

“This is us. Ours. Your child grows inside of me each day. And I cannot wait to meet him. I know
he will be just as lovely as you.” You smiled at him, and Aemond smiled back softly, grabbing
your other hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

You swallowed thickly, feeling the presence of the memory of your brother behind you getting
closer.

Dracarys.

Tear after tear fell down your cheeks, running down your face to land on Aemond’s bare chest
below. You swallowed, that great lump in the back of your throat again as your hands shook, heart
beating against your chest like a drum.

“But you have broken me.” You whispered, gnawing at your lip painfully.

The hand on your stomach twitched as he looked up at you, smile dropping from his face as the
other palm moved to grasp your hip again, fingers flexing against your skin.

“You have scarred me, Aem. My body is covered in them. My mind faces the same fate. You
raped me, Aemond. And left me to Aegon.” At the mention of his name, Aemond shifted beneath
you, hands on your stomach and hip flexing, “I was miserable here, gone to grief, wishing to be
dead, and you did little to save me.”

The man below you’s lips parted, a lungful of air being sucked into his chest as he moved to
rebuke your accusations, “I am not that man any longer.”

You shook your head, “No. You’re not, and I am so proud of the man you have become. Of the
man you were always destined to be. We were meant to burn together, you see? Destined by the
Gods.”

Aemond’s face held remorse, but poured love towards you, “I know I can never atone for what I
did, for what I have done to you. Taken from you. But I make no apologies, just as you would not
do the same. We are changed, now. One.” The hand from your stomach slid to cup your cheek,
“We will start anew. You have always been mine, and I have always been yours. Zālagon hēnkirī.”

Burn together.

"Always." A sob flew from your lips, and so you leant down to capture his with yours, holding his
face in your hands as you poured love and adoration into him.

You loved him. You loved him so much it hurt. It felt as though with every beat of your heart, a
knife was twisted further and further into your chest.

Doomed from the beginning.

Doomed by the Gods.

Doomed by fate and the path they had laid out for you.

You pulled away, hovering above him as you looked at his face, his eye, his eyelashes, his lips that
you loved to kiss, his hair which was soft and flowing, and it made you sob harder.

“I know. Zālagon hēnkirī. Lanta hen keskydoso,” Two of the same, You repeated Helaena’s
prophesy to him, watching as his eye lit up in recognition, "Vējes ondoso se Jaes'.” Fated by the
Gods, “Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre. Hubon hen kasta, hubon 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.

A smile worked its way back onto Aemond’s lips, and you continued, “I would never be whole
without you. You have carved yourself into my every being, Aemond. We were always meant to
burn together, the Gods made it so when they fated us since birth. I know this now. I know this
now more than I know myself. You have shown me my future. Our future.”

You knew what it meant.

You understood it all now.

You kissed him, and he kissed you, and you held his face in your hands as you uttered the words
you know he had been craving to hear, needed to hear once more, “I love you, Aemond. Stars
above, I love you. You are mine. And you will always be mine.”

Aemond’s smile widened, teeth showing as he held onto you, another tear falling from your eyes,
“Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos.” I love you, little dragon.

Your lips sought his, eyes wet and heart beating in your chest. The cool of the sheet rolled beneath
your hand as you slid it beside his head. Aemond gripped your hips tightly, slowly beginning to
roll you against his hardening length.

Fingertips sought what they seeked, and your lips parted as you breathed into the kiss.

Aemond jerked beneath you, and your face pulled back. His fingers dug their nails into your hips
painfully as another sob fell loudly into the chambers.

The blade in your palm was cold.

Such a beautiful blade.

The same blade that he had gifted you, with two dragons dancing around each other on the hilt.

Green and Black.

You and Him.

You held it tightly, knuckles white and hand shaking as it was imbedded in his neck, in a place
where you had once tried to pierce with a shard of mirror before and missed, just above the scar of
the old wound, but this time was final.

This time, it had met its mark.

Aemond’s hand flew to your wrist as you held the dagger in his flesh, blood spurting from the
wound, spraying across the white of your chemise, and pooling into the sheets below. His brows
were drawn in pain as he looked at you in disbelief, in betrayal, and you sobbed louder, tears
falling down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you hurt them. I can’t let you kill them. I can’t.” You sucked
in a large sob, pulling the blade from his neck in shock, in horror, and dropped it against the
pillow, forgotten.

But then regret settled in your chest, like that knife that twisted against your ribs, making its way to
your heart.

Your hand flew to the wound, pressing against it as his blood spilled over, pulsing through your
fingers. Aemond’s eye widened, and his hand pressed yours against his neck, trying to stem the
bleeding.

But it was no use.

The thick crimson life flowed from him steadily with each beat of his heart, and the tears in your
eyes continued to fall with it. Your stomach twisted in knots, and all you could do was cry atop him
as his eye fluttered.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn't let you. I couldn't let you become a monster again." You
sobbed down at him, watching as his brow softened, a small trail of blood leaking from the corner
of his mouth as it opened, his hand skating up your hip to cup your cheek, palm covered in blood.

But it was not enough.

It would never be enough.

Hands shaking, you leant down to kiss him one final time, tasting copper on your tongue as blood
had begun to fill his mouth. Aemond kissed you back weakly, hand still cupping your face.

In love.

Denial.

Shock.

Betrayal.

You sobbed into his lips, pulling back as you looked at him, his mouth opened again, and another
trickle of blood leaked down his chin, meeting the rest of the crimson that seeped onto his neck
and chest.

“I love you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What have I done? Oh Gods, what have I done?” You cried,
watching his lips part over and over, the love of your life attempting to speak, attempting to
breathe, as he drowned in his own blood.

But no words could have passed his lips. And the soft fluttering of his eye slowed, and became
hooded, his face growing paler than the pearl-like skin he already had. The pink flush of life
beginning to fade.

The hand that cupped your cheek, the hand that had loved you, the hand that had held you, that had
hurt you, slipped from your cheek and back onto the bed limply.

Blood still pulsed from the side of his neck, though weaker now, soaking thickly into the sheets as
you sat atop him. Its thick essence soaked into the white of your chemise at your knees and hips,
and where the initial arterial spray had dashed across you.

Those long white eyelashes blinked at you slowly, opening once more as he looked at you, teeth
coated in his own blood. The side of his lip twitched, and you prayed to the Gods that it would pull
into that smirk you both despised and adored. That he would grin at you and laugh, sit up and pull
you into his arms.

That he would whisper into your ear that he was fine, that it was nothing that the Maester could not
fix, that he would call to him now and have the maids fetch fresh sheets for you both, and bring a
hot bath to soak into and wash your sin away.

That you could take him once more inside you, feel the joy he could give your body, kiss his lips,
and his cheeks, his neck, all of him. That perhaps this would be a tale that you could tell your
children of later, laugh heartily at how silly you had been, how awfully in love the two of you
were, and watch each other grow old and grey and withered by time, your heir eventually sitting
the throne after him.

But then the hand atop yours at his neck slipped away, and the violet eye that had seen so much of
you became unfocused.

An ache spread across your chest as you sobbed atop him.

And his seeing eye, saw no longer.

Another eye had closed.

Aemond’s chest stopped rising and falling, no more stuttering or shaking of his limbs, his thighs
and core no longer tensed or twitched, and the blood that spilled from his wound had stopped its
pulsing.

He was gone.

“I’m sorry.” You cried, your hands shook as you cupped his face, his lifeless head rolling in your
hands, eye open to the ceiling, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh Gods, what have I done? What have I
done?”

You looked down at your hands.

They were stained with the oozing coppery liquid, the smell of iron curling around you thickly.

Your stomach rolled.

And then, denial.

Your hands frantically tried to press against his neck, blood causing him to slip out of your grip, the
open wound brushing against the scar of your palm, the scar you had given yourself, the scar he
had given you, and the scar that now, ultimately would never heal.

“What have I done? What have I done? Aemond? Please, Gods. Oh, Aemy. Please, wake up. Curse
me, strike me, anything! Please, please don’t leave me here without you.”

The death of Aemond Targaryen broke you completely.

Burnt pages and crisp beginnings, marred by blood and choices that no young woman should be
forced to make. The night moved slowly, and you would not move from his side.

Curled up against it, laid in his blood, you held his body against yours, clutching him to you as you
sobbed and cried, begging for forgiveness, apologising over, and over until your throat became
raw, and your voice rasped barely above a whisper.
Your chemise was soaked red, clinging to your body, and your silver hair became stained as you
tucked your head beneath his, feeling the warmth of his body slowly fade away. His eye, untrained
on the ceiling, and yours brimming with tears.
 A Crown Forged in Blood

“When I’m Queen, we shall fly to Essos and eat as many lemon tarts, star fruit, and pies as we
wish.” You had smiled at the older boy, sitting in the Gardens, hidden away from the searching
eyes of the Septa.

Aemond grinned, both eyes creasing as you spoke, “When I claim a dragon, we can race there.”

“Syndor would beat you any day.”

The young Prince pouted, “We shall see if that’s true.”

“Yes, we shall.” You had said haughtily, lifting your chin higher as you tried to squeeze the
smile from your face.

“When I’m Queen,” You had stood, looking down at him in mock regality, “I shall make you
my knight, so that you may always be at my side to bring me lemon tarts.”

Aemond’s button nose scrunched, “Why not make me your King? Then we can make Aegon be
our cup bearer.”

You snickered, “You’re right! How did I not think of that? Gods, I've been so blind, Aemy! I
would have no other man by my side but you.”

The older boy blushed, looking away shyly.

You sat down beside him again, nudging his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Aemond shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Don't you lie to me. It's a sin to lie. What would the Septa say? What would your Lady mother
say?”

The young boy gave you a glare, to which you giggled lightly.

“You mock me.” The Prince whispered.

You frowned, “I don’t mock you, Aemy. Never you.”

“Do you think being wed to me would be a punishment from the Gods?” His voice was so small,
so quiet, and your ears had strained to hear it come from his lips.

But there it was, his ever present self doubt, lack of self worth, and constant state of anxiety.
Aegon no doubt being the thorn in Aemond’s side, which continued to grow and press meanly
into the wound, festering into the young boys confidence.

“Kepus,” You grabbed his small hand in yours, shaking it about between the two of you, “I think
that being wed to you would be the greatest gift the Gods could ever give me. Who else makes me
smile but you?”

Petrichor floated over the realm, the soft earthy smell of rain settling atop Kings Landing after the
storm had finally passed, making its way further West, where it would eventually run out of its
rage, and dissipate into the sky.

Your chambers smelt coppery, irony and thick, from the blood that had begun to coagulate beneath
you, beside you, on you. Much like the blood that had begun to coagulate within his own body, that
lay still and cold at your side.

But the smell of rain lingered in the chambers, if only just so, as the sun slowly rose into the sky,
the first glow of morning light filling the room.

Your hand continued to brush through his hair, soothing his silken strands whilst your palm cupped
his cheek with each movement. Admiring his beauty, committing his image to your memory
forever more.

His eye was now closed. For you had brushed it shut with shaking fingertips, and pressed another
kiss to his lips. Just as the prophecy had said.

Another eye will close.

And it had.

The tears on your cheeks had dried, and your sobbing had ceased.

The ache that had once settled deep within your chest had gone cold, and now a subtle numbness
spread through your limbs, up your arms, all the way down to your toes.

Shifting amongst the sheets, you looked down at the man you loved, the chemise against you cold
and sticky with his blood, clinging to each and every curve of your body. Your love's blood.

The man you had killed for.

The man who had killed for you.

And the man, you ultimately killed with your own hands.

His face was soft, and he looked at peace. Finally at rest.

No more sneers, or scowls, or frowns. No more anxiety, or worry, or anger.

Just him.

Your Aemond.

Sister, A voice whispered in the low light of the chambers.

Your head moved slowly, sluggishly, as though your body had been frozen in ice, or as though you
were moving through thick layers of snow in winter. Winter had finally come for you.

At the side of the bed, stood the young boy who had been taken first. The first loss in the sea of
losses. The first life to have been taken in this war. The first person to pierce all who had been
close with grief.

His dark brown curls were dry atop his head, cow-like eyes blinking at you gently, long lashes
fluttering against his cheeks, and atop his lips was a small and sad smile. His robes were no longer
wet as they had been during the night, and his cheeks held the soft rosy blush that they used to.
It’s time, Lucerys spoke again.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It’s time.

With one last glance at Aemond, lips pressed against the cold of his forehead, you slowly stood
from the bed. Joints aching and sore, but only just. The chemise stuck to your flesh, and the
coldness of your hair that had settled in his blood sent shivers down your spine.

But it was time.

And you had been waiting for this moment since you first arrived.

Every move you had made had come to this, every piece of the board you had meticulously placed
had finally fallen to where it had needed to be. Every hour of suffering, of agony, of isolation, was
so that this moment could come to fruition. From the moment you had stepped back into the Red
Keep with Aemond, the pieces had been moving.

As you started to walk across the chambers, almost in a dream like state, you turned one last time,
in the hopes that you would see his chest rise and fall, the colour come back to his cheeks and the
violet of his eye open to look at you.

Hoping to see him sit up in the bed, sheets tucked around his waist as he looked at you in
disappointment, for him to chastise you, mock you, call you to him. To give you a lecture, tell you
were a fool, tell you that he forgave you.

To have him hold you, and kiss you, and feel him against your skin. To plan a future together,
more children, and convince him, truly convince him to flee with you. To leave Kings Landing and
start anew, somewhere far away.

To say, 'See? This is what would have happened. Now we know what we must do. Now you can see
I was right. Now we can leave, be together.'

But he didn’t, and he was still, and he would be still forever more.

The glinting of the blade on the bed caught your eye, and so with fingers dried with his blood, you
picked up the Valyrian steel and gold dagger, red on its blade and hilt, splashed against the emerald
stone of one dragon. You spun, taking slow steps across the chambers towards you brother.

Lucerys turned his head, looking to the table.

And there it was.

The Conquerors Crown.

Sitting where it had been placed the night before, in wait for Aemond to rise that morning with the
sun and place it atop his head. But the Targaryen man would not rise that morning, nor would he
rise ever again to place that crown atop his head, or rise to place a kiss against your lips.
Nor would he rise to see the suns gentle warmth or feel its rays. Nor would he reach out and grasp
it with his long fingers. Nor your hands, not your face, nor your body, or his goblets of wine. Not
his tomes that he loved reading, or his quill that he spent countless hours writing with, nor the reins
of his dragon he had lost an eye for.

Aemond Targaryen; a son, a brother, an uncle, a nephew, a lover, a husband, a King, was no more,
and grasp, or hold, or sneer, or kiss, or smile, or breathe he would not. Never again.

The crown of Aegon the First.

Valyrian steel that had been passed down generations, its sharp edges and points curved to its
peaks at the front, and smaller ones at its sides stared up at you. The ruby in the centre, a blood
coloured stone, round and perfect sat at its front.

The last one left.

No more were the others flanking its sides and around the entirety of the crown.

Were they plucked by greedy hands, or lost to falls or breaks? Or did they never truly exist in the
first place?

Fingers wrapped around its rim, small smudges of blood smearing atop the steel, you turned it in
your palm. It was heavier than you had remembered, the weight of the crown balanced in your
hands.

But the weight of the crown atop your head was barely felt.

Some say, the weight of the crown can drive men to madness and cruelty, or impassivity in the face
of adversity, but was it the true weight of the physical crown, or the weight of what it represented.
The weight of the duty that it carried alongside. The weight of the realm at your finger tips.

But to you, the weight was both overwhelming and not there at all, and it was only when Lucerys
whispered your name in your ear did you look up, catching your reflection in the mirror of the
vanity at the far wall.

The chambers were filled with an amber glow of the early morning sun, a warm orange that
touched all inside, casting shadows atop the furniture and art, illuminating the ruby at the front of
the crown.

And there you stood, bare except the blood stained chemise that clung to your curves and the
crown that sat atop your head, smeared in the blood of the King. Silver white locks were clumped
with blood on one side, whilst a smear of red appeared across your cheek, where Aemond had held
your face in his dying palm.

But it was your eyes that truly caught your notice. Not the crown, or the blood, or the dagger that
was still clutched in a loose hand by your side. It was the violet of your eyes that had seemed to
darken, seemed to have dulled, in the way Aemond’s had.

It was as though you were looking at a stranger.

They’re coming, Luc whispered again behind your shoulder, head turning to look at the door.

And there, at the entrance, stood Helaena. Dressed in an apricot gown, hair pulled away from her
face in the braid she wore every single day. Never changing, never evolving. She stood and
watched.
Waiting.

Your throat felt dry as your aunt stared at you, her face void of any emotion, ghostly white and
silent. Her lavender eyes were locked on you, never once straying to Lucerys or Aemond.

And she stood where you knew you had to go.

She stood where you knew you had no choice but to.

She stood in the room alongside her only niece and deceased nephew, her younger brother still, and
bloodied on his bed. The last of Alicent's children to fall. The last of her brothers to meet the same
fate as her.

All gone.

All lost.

Taken by the stranger.

Hand on door, you pulled at the handle, slowly sliding it open, the weight of the wood against your
stained palm, bare feet pressed into the cold stones of the floor. Your heart thumped steadily in
your chest as you stepped out.

You looked down the wing, eyes searching the walls and space before you. The corridor was quiet,
no maid nor servant moving through your wing of the Keep as they usually would.

The knight at your door was gone.

He knew.

And so you left, leaving your chambers behind you, the corpse of the man you loved, bloodied and
cold in your bed. Leaving it behind to do what you knew you needed to do. Like an invisible string
pulled and guided you, down the corridors, down the halls, the many stairs and steps, with not a
single guard present.

Not a single knight to be seen.

Nor Lord.

Nor Lady.

Nor maid.

Empty.

Too early for the morning rush of the higher Lords, racing to their duties.

Too late for the maids and servants to not be racing about.

But none were seen.

As though the Gods had cleared you safe passage, ensuring you go undetected for as long as
inhumanly possible.

They were helping you, you thought, after all you had done.
And so you kept on, toes having gone numb from the cold stones below, and all feeling in your
body disappearing; like you were floating. Hovering above the stones, body as light as a feather as
you moved. The feeling of being foreign in your own skin, bones not feeling at all like your own,
thoughts lost to the cool morning air.

And then suddenly there you were, standing in the large chambers of the Iron Throne alone.

Empty.

You stared up at the mangled and broken swords, crafted to create a monstrous throne that would
and should spark fear into any enemy in its presence. Into any man who dared to defy it.

The embodiment of the Targaryen dynasty. The legacy of fire and blood. A promise of dragons
and death.

A silent tear fell from your cheek.

“Your Grace?”

You blinked, brows twitching, the hand holding the blade at your side tightened, hidden amongst
the folds of the chemise that was caked with Aemond's blood.

A noise came from behind, a thumping against the stones.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

It seemed to echo in the space around you, jolting your brain with each step as it became louder
and louder behind you, coming nearer and nearer.

Closer and closer until it was right behind you, and a large hand had reached to press itself against
the flesh of your shoulder, fingers curling over you gently, a position that could shoot back quickly
if needed.

You slowly looked over at the hand that gripped your shoulder, nails were cut neatly back to the
cuticle, and a singular gold ring upon its forefinger.

A bee engraved in its centre.

You followed the hand up its wrist, to its elbow, then all the way to his face.

Larys Strong stood behind you with caution in his Strong brown eyes.

Eyebrows knitted in concern.

Uncertainty.

He took in your appearance, eyes roaming down your bloodied body, chemise clinging to your
skin, stiff backed and quiet, crown atop your messed waves of silver white hair.

“Where is the King?” He asked, voice quiet as he looked at you.

You breathed in audibly, throat rasping as you parroted him back, “The King.”
“Where is your knight?” Larys Strong’s voice became sharp, prickled, as he looked about the
chambers in search of the man who had known, who had fled, who had most likely had warned
others to go with him.

You shook your head, body still facing the throne, hand tightening against the blade as your
knuckled creaked. Eyes unblinking as you took a shallow breath.

“I must-“ Larys began, but the words were halted in his throat.

You had spun.

Quicker than you thought you would have.

Not unsure of what you were truly doing, but following instincts.

The instinct to survive.

His cane fell to the floor loudly, rolling away from him, as his brows pulled down in agony.

A cough of pain bubbled from his lips, spittle laced with blood dribbling down his chin. His deep
brown eyes finally dropped down, your fist pressed against his stomach, the blade of your dagger
thrust deep within his gut.

He opened his mouth to cry out, but you jolted the blade upwards, using all the strength you had
left, his hands gripping your shoulders painfully as you held onto one of his, keeping him on your
blade.

You looked into his eyes and leant forward, whispering beside his ear, “A dragon devours the
sheep and wolves whole, Lord Larys. I warned you of this. And I always keep my word.” Your
voice came out smoothly, softly, as though a coin had been tossed, and the shock of Aemond’s
death had fallen away like a curtain, drifting down to the stone below.

“I- you have-“ He gasped, one hand moving to grasp your wrist, to try and pry the blade from
where it was nestled in his flesh, blood spreading outwards on his green and brown robes, the soft
dripping of the thick, viscous liquid hitting the stones below.

“The King is dead, Larys." You pulled back to look at him, "And I am the Queen.” You yanked
the blade from his gut, stepping back as you watched him stagger backwards and fall to the ground
with a thump, his iron foot scraping against the floor loudly.

“You-” He coughed, blood dripping from his lips, and overflowing from his hands where he
clutched desperately at his robes, “Y-ou have p-layed the ga-me well.” He praised brokenly,
another pathetic cough falling from his lips, a thin string of bloodied saliva dangling from his chin.

“I have not played the game, Larys. I have won it.”

You turned away from him, and slowly made your way up the steps of the Iron Throne, Lord Larys
Strong watching weakly from the stone floor where he bled heavily against the grey stones, his
crimson spreading across it rapidly.

They would be fed once more.

Blood dripped from the blade with every step you made, a long trailing path following you up to
where you finally stood, eye to eye with the monstrosity.
The Iron Throne.

You thought of all the blood that had been shed for this throne.

All the suffering that had been endured.

All the loss.

For, Aegon the Conqueror, who slayed each man and took their swords to create it. To Maegor the
Cruel, who was destined to flood the Keep with blood from those who defied him, and the men
who built it. To Viserys, your Grandsire, who let blood be spilt in his inaction. In his
complacence. Incompetence.

To Aegon.

To Aemond.

And now, you.

And in that very moment, as you stood before something you had desperately craved as a child,
which you had thought you would be promised, which was yours by birthright, it caused nothing
but hatred and despair.

A throne which had taken so much of you. So much from you.

But when you fight for the Iron Throne, you either win, or you die.

The Greens had declared war.

And you were still standing.

After all odds, you were still here.

You turned to face the room, looking out at the many large stone pillars, the stained glass
windows, the unlit torches, and slowly sat atop the throne, looking down at Larys as he lay on his
side, chest rising weakly as he blinked sluggishly up at you.

It was cold, the throne.

The sharp edges beneath your flesh poked at you threateningly, but it did not break the skin, nor
tear at you chemise. A reminder of the threat of sitting atop it. Perhaps the true intentions of Aegon
the First when he had the throne made. Have a throne that reminded you of the threat that was
sitting atop it. A reminder of the enemies, the usurpers and turncloaks alike that would nip at your
heels and back when you blinked.

The dangers of even your own self.

And yet even still, you were not cut. As if the Gods had made it so.

And they had.

You sat and watched quietly as Ser Larys Strong, The Master of Whispers, took his last, dying
breath against the stone floors of the Iron Throne chambers. You watched as his head rolled limply
against the cold floor, and the hands clutched at his stomach loosened.

You let yourself smile, an angry smile, and rage filled smile, small on your lips as you looked at
the corpse below you. A man who had done so much damage, who had taunted and teased you,
mocked and provoked.

A man who had whispered in Alicent's other ear, whilst Otto purred in the other, pushing her to
choices which started the pieces that would fall. That would start the pieces of all her children
dying.

To her being alone.

The blood beneath him pooled thickly, reflecting the ceiling of the chambers like a puddle.

They were coming.

And you would wait.

Dagger in hand, crown atop your head, seated upon the Iron Throne, you would wait.

And so you did, for a time, until the familiar screech of a dragons flew over the Red Keep, and the
deep rumble of another crossed closely by. Shadows sweeping across windows, distant screams,
men running, and the sound of dragon fire.

But you could not pull your eyes away from the doors as you waited, not as you saw men run past
the Iron Throne chambers, nor when you heard rumblings from Flea Bottom.

You were to wait.

And wait you did.

As though you had gone into a dreamlike state, a meditative state, no worries, nor cares, nor
thoughts within your head. No feeling but the cold numbness that creeped through your pores and
crawled through your bones.

Time moved differently.

And the noises became louder.

Until there, at the far end of the room, stood a pair of silver hair and violet eyes.

One much larger than the other, taller and broader, the other smaller and dainty, a golden crown
atop her head. Their eyes were open in shock, in relief, in fear, heads snapping from Larys and then
to you.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had returned to the Red Keep.

 The Rightful Heir
Chapter Notes

Oh boy, get the tissues ready. Mummy and daddy have returned to the Red Keep for
their baby, and honestly? I think we have all been waiting for this reunion. Not long
now till we finish this holy smokes! Enjoy <3

The room rushed around you as you stared at your parents.

How long had it been?

How long had it been since you last saw them?

Held them?

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with tears as she ran swiftly across the chambers towards you, her
steps faltering as she saw you did not stand to meet her.

Buttoned high across her neck were her riding leathers, but across her chest was cuirass of a black
armour, the insignia of your House raised at the front of it. Her long hair was braided and pulled
back and away from her face, golden crown nestled amongst the silver strands.

She was dressed for battle.

They both were.

Daemon donned riding leather and armour alike. His hair was messed, braided back and half down,
pressed against his scalp likely from the weight of his helmet, which was nowhere to be seen;
tossed to the ground as he ran through the Keep with your mother in search of you.

Each pauldron was crafted to look as though they were dragon wings, curling down over the length
of his shoulders and upper arms. Each rerebrace and and vambrace slotted over each other down
his arms like dragon scales. The same for his chest piece and faulds, perfectly made to look like the
belly scales of Caraxes, dripping down his body sharply, meanly.

A new set of armour you had not seen before, made for this moment.

“Y/n?” Rhaenyra whispered, almost in disbelief, head tilted as she looked at you.

But your fathers reaction was different.

He walked slowly, as though assessing a risk in the room, as though he was waiting for some
unseen danger to reveal itself. As if you were being used as bait to lure the two of them out.

But it wasn't just his careful scouting of the chambers in search of his nephew, his eyes told another
story. A story which entailed just how shocked he was to see you, in the way that you were, blood
covered and crown atop your head. Your fathers mind not quite catching up to the image before
him.
Daemon's eyes cast over Larys Strong’s body, jaw tensing, but then a small smirk twitched at the
corner of his lips.

It reminded you so much of Aemond.

And yet you did not move towards them. You sat and watched as your parents looked up at you
from the bottom of the Iron Throne. Questions on the tips of their tongues, barely held resolve
vibrating in their bodies.

It was clear they wished to come to you, run to you and hold you, but they didn't, and all because
you didn't take the first steps.

Your heart ached in your chest. You wished they could feel it. Feel how much you wished to run to
them, to leap into their arms and feel their hands and lips against your cheeks and head. To smell
their scents around you, and hold them to you finally, in ways that you had longed to for months on
end.

But you could not move, like you had grown to the throne, flesh and bones curling around each
pommel and blade that your weight sat heavily on. Unable to lift yourself from it as you leant back,
gut churning with anxiety. But what was more, an unavoidable rage and anger prevented you.

Prevented you from giving up something you had given so much for.

The war.

The losses.

Aemond.

You breathed deeply.

“I’ve had some time to think.” You licked your lips, the skin dry and cracked as you spoke down to
them, Rhaenyra’s posture stiffening, and Daemon’s eyes roaming your body rapidly, finally
landing at the bloodied crown that sat atop your head.

"About what I have done." You continued, voice becoming louder, firmer, more authoritative,
"What I have endured to sit here. What I have had to do to sit here. And the more I sit, the more I
think; Why?”

Rhaenyra shifted on her spot, brows furrowed in concern as she looked over you, trying to assess if
any of the blood that was drying upon your skin was yours, “Why what, my sweet?”

Your lungs expanded as you sucked in a deep breath, the sound of guards and men outside yelling,
no doubt Rhaenyra and Daemon’s, claiming the Red Keep and Kings Landing.

But it was the bitterness of disdain that settled heavily upon your tongue, the anger that you would
have to live forever more with your choices, the denial of it creeping across your skin.

In that moment, in those months you had been locked away, kept away, trapped, it was hard to not
feel anger. To not feel hate. Or pain. Or anguish. To not feel righteous and justifiable disdain at all
who did not suffer the way you had.

And so you channeled that rage, and you let it pour from you like a steady stream of fire.

“Why should I give the throne to you?” Your voice sounded foreign as it passed your lips. The
presence of a silver haired man in your periphery as you spoke caused you to inhale sharply,
blinking to try and get him out of your sight, “Why should you sit here, on a throne I have earnt
with my blood? Why should you sit here, after all I have done to ensure it. After all I have lost.
After all I have sacrificed.”

“Tala," Daughter, Daemon's voice rose, confusion, concern, and sorrow in his voice, "Skoros
ēza-“ What has-, But your voice raised higher, angry and resentful as you interrupted him,
Rhaenyra flinching at his side.

“-I have earnt this, more than you." You sneered down at them, "I have been raped and defiled for
this throne." You watched their faces crumpled, "I have been beaten and mocked, before the
court... The realm, to laugh at, to jest. Trapped and kept from my family in this vipers nest for a
year! I have lost a child, and gained another to survive. To win this throne for you.” Your heart beat
rapidly against your chest as blood rushed in your ears.

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled further, the softness of her eyebrows pulled down, and the violet of her
eyes seemingly sparkling as tears gathered in the corners.

Even in her sorrows, she was beautiful.

Daemon however, looked enraged.

“But what have you done for me?” Your voice cracked, “You left me here.” You took a shuddering
breath, watching as Rhaenyra shook her head in denial, chest rising and falling brokenly.

But then your voice hardened, lips twitching as you held back a sneer, "You made Jacaerys your
successor, and me your Hand." You scoffed, "I have lost a dragon and gained another. I have been
plucked from the sky and lived. The small folk say we are closer to Gods than man, but I must be a
God if I am standing here today. If I sit where I sit. If I have survived what I have endured.”

Rhaenyra’s guards flooded the chambers, ensuring the safety of their Queen and King, eyes all cast
up to you, their daughter, who sat upon the Iron Throne, Conquerors Crown atop her head.

Your knuckles gripped the arms of the throne tightly, blade of your dagger scrapping loudly
against one of the swords as you leant forward, “It is I the eldest daughter, the Merciless Queen,
who should sit this throne. I have earnt it. It is mine by right.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s brow hardened, and her lips pulled down as you spoke, though a traitorous tear
escaped her eye, sliding down her face. Daemon shifted beside her, looking up at you through his
white lashes, his jaw ticking and hands at his side flexing.

“So you are to depose me of the throne? Like my brother? Your own mother?” Her voice cut
across the chambers.

Your nostrils flared, trying to push the tide that surged within you. But it built, just as it always did,
rising and climbing inside of you, dragging you down into its cold and murky depths, suffocating
you in its clutches.

It was sorrow.

Loss.

Grief.

You licked your lips again, voice crackling in the back of your throat as you felt your own tears
prick at your eyes, "The thought of sitting here, despite me earning it with my own hands, is
agonising, muña." Mother, You clutched a hand against your chest, wringing the bloodied chemise
in your fist, and watched as Rhaenyra's head tilted to the side sadly.

"It fills me with sorrow, knowing that sitting here would mean to depose you. That it would be
another usurpation of the Iron Throne. Another of my own mother, who I love dearly. Who I have
suffered for months for. And my father. Kepa.” Father, Your lips shook as you spoke, a small sob
falling from them as you said kepa.

A tear tracked down your cheek, “It tears my heart in two to even think of such a thing, the pain
more mighty than what has been done to it these past moons.” You shook your head, clenching the
arm of the throne, a sharp sting running up your fingertips, the blades of the slicing at the flesh that
gripped them tightly, knuckles white.

“I did this all for you, muña. I stayed for you. Because I love you, because it is your birthright.
Because it was my duty. So much so, that I have committed the most egregious of sins. I have done
something that can never be undone." A loud sob filled the chambers, "I will never be whole
again.”

It was quiet.

So very quiet in the throne chambers as you mother and father looked at you with tear filled eyes,
wet tracks sliding down Rhaenyra's face. But they waited, they waited for you to continue, as they
always have done, knowing that you had not had a chance to be open with them for so long,
opening the door for you to speak your truth, which had been taken from you since the very
moment you had arrived to the Red Keep.

Your chest ached, pain spreading across your body, and up your throat.

Was this how Aemond felt? When you betrayed him?

When you pierced his throat with the blade he had given you?

Was this how it felt when he looked up at you as he died?

That lump settled in the back of your throat once again as you desperately tried to swallow it.

“Iksan ēdrugī." I am tired, "I am weary, muña. Eman issare pryjatan, kepa." I have been broken,
father. "And yet I sit on this throne, babe in my stomach; the son of the One-Eyed King."
Rhaenyra's eyes widened, "A man I loved. A man I killed. And all for you. I pierced his throat with
mine own dagger in our bed; a dagger he gifted me, to keep me safe from Aegon. And what did I
do?” Another tear slid past your cheek.

"I betrayed him." You sneered, anger at yourself rising.

Daemon lifted a foot and set it on the first step below the throne, his hand holding Rhaenyra’s
tightly for grounding. The both of them wishing to run to you, to hold you, to feel you with their
hands and make sure you were real, and not an illusion.

But the chill was back. And Aemond's presence in your periphery became harder, and harder to
ignore.

You wished it was anyone but him.

Lucerys, Helaena, even Larys.

But it was him.

And he was there.

Watching.

“If I give you this throne, what do I get?” Your tone became icy, emotionless and cold, the warmth
having bled from the tip of your tongue as you tapped it at the back of your teeth, “What is my
payment for months of rape and torture. Of Aegon! Of Aemond."

The anger was back, bursting through you like wildfire, uncontrollable and ungraspable. You
couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the heat that continued to rise inside of you.

“Will you banish me to Dragonstone, never to be seen again? Will you strip me of my titles once
more, and give them to Jacaerys? Will my actions have no reward? No recognition? Will you
turncloak against your own daughter?”

Daemon’s eyes opened in horror before narrowing into slits, angry, remorseful, bereft, “Why didn’t
you tell us?! I would have burnt the kingdom to the ground! We would have come for you!

“And then where would we be?!” You cried back, “Still crownless, with a broken daughter and a
war once again. You have sat at Dragonstone growing fat from my achievements, none the wiser
to my suffering as I have lost myself and my senses for this throne. So tell me, what do I get?”

You saw Aemond's body shift, directing his eye to your parents.

Watching.

Waiting.

Supporting.

A tear slid down Rhaenyra’s porcelain cheek, “Why did you let yourself suffer so? My sweet girl."
She said sorrowfully, and a tear slid down your cheek, "What horrors have you been subjected to
that you have not yet told us?" Her hand tensed in your fathers grip, and you watched as his thumb
brushed over her skin to soothe her, to calm her. But you knew it was more for himself.

"Why did not call for us sooner?" She sobbed, and another piece of your heart broke, "We would
have come to get you. What of the people we had here for you? The maids? The Maester? I would
have died for you to come home. To come back to us.” Her voice crackled and broke at the end,
her pale hand spread against the sigil of her breastplate, fingers digging into the cold metal.

You leant back in the throne and shut your eyes sadly, not being able to bear the sight of your
parents looking so broken, so horrified, so remorseful for something they had no control over.

You had made your decision to stay.

Not them.

You breathed in, and your voice came out quieter this time, softer, the fire simmering in the
background, “I sat in these walls and dreamt of you coming to save me. But you never did. And
you couldn’t have. Because it would have been for naught. All my suffering, my blood spilt, it
would have been for naught if I had sent that raven to you earlier." You opened your eyes to look
down at them.
Daemon and Rhaenyra had crept up three steps more, as your eyes had been shut, desperate to get
close to you. Desperate to hold you.

You continued, "And I had tried once. I wrote a letter, but quickly dashed that hope into the flames
of the hearth and watched them burn away. I stayed because I knew it was my duty to do so.”

Duty.

Duty.

All of it was for duty.

All of this had been for duty.

And what had duty done for you?

Nothing but losses.

You straightened yourself in your seat, tapping your dagger against the metal arm in thought, “I
have conquered this throne by right, not just one King, but two. I did that, and alone no less. No
one else. Me.” You raised your head high. “Aemond slayed Aegon for me. And I have slayed
Aemond for you.”

The flames were back, and they licked at your face hotly.

“What could we possibly give you that could take this pain away?” Rhaenyra breathed, unsure of
what to do, what to say, whilst Daemon stared at you the way you had stared at Aemond's corpse;
with nothing but grief.

“What could we have possibly done without knowing the truth of what has happened here? I never
wanted this for you, you forced my hand! I would have never let you come here if I had known you
would suffer so." She all but cried.

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a fools Queen. A Queen, muña. The Broken Queen. The Queen
Maker... And a Queen for a Day.”

Rhaenyra Targaryens face morphed into one of confusion before settling on shock, half blinking as
another tear slid down her cheek. Daemon took another step towards you, but was held back by his
wife, who’s arm was stretched out, keeping him from ascending any more stairs to you.

There was that anger again.

Anger that was not justifiably directed at them, and you knew it. You knew it to your core. But it
still ate away at you, tearing at your flesh, and resolve, and strength, piece by piece. Sharp claws
lashing at your heart with every word spoken.

They had been none the wiser to what had happened here, perhaps small whispers from the maids
and Maester, but you had promised you would call for them, summon them with two little words if
it became too much, if it became too violent, if it became the horrors that not even yourself could
quite conceive just yet, but you hadn't. And it did not erase the hurt. It did not erase the pain.

And you were punishing yourself.

Keeping yourself from them. Hurting them. Lashing out at them, trying to be the worst version of
yourself so that you could justify what you had just done in the mere early hours of the morning,
before the sun had even risen.

Trying to justify that you were a worse monster than he had been. Trying to convince yourself that
you deserved it. That you deserved the pain. The abandonment. The grief.

Because you betrayed him.

In his softest of moments, in his most honest of moments, in his most vulnerable of ones, you had
betrayed him.

And how could you ever forgive yourself for that?

How could they ever forgive you for that if they knew the truth of it?

And they would.

They would know the whole truth of it.

And they would come to fear you, be horrified by their daughter, you were sure of it.

It nagged at the back of your head, like the scratching of Lucerys' whispers that had haunted you
for months on end. A darkness in the back of your mind that you knew was yourself, a part of
yourself you could never escape. A part of yourself that had always been there, that had been fed
by the violence you had endured, and doubled in size in the violence you had committed.

It was there.

Just like it was there in him.

Always there.

To burn together.

Monster .

How could you ever do it?

How could you ever betray them?

You could not.

You would not.

If you did, you would die.

Your heart would stop beating itself, you were sure of that. It would still in your chest as it felt it
would now, as though it would no longer beat for another. As though when Aemond's had stopped,
yours had with it.

You couldn't do it.

You could not take this from them.

From her.

From your mother who had loved and raised you.

From your father who had done the same.

You would sooner throw yourself into the ocean, or onto the spikes at the bottom of Maegor's
holdfast to be pierced upon, in a way you felt you deserved, and then, only then, would you be
reunited with him. Would you get to hold him once more.

Would you get to love him, and never be threatened, or taken from him again.

Another tear fell.

You gave them a small smile, a sad smile, of regret, of sorrow, of mourning, “Let me have a
moment more… Please.” You spoke quietly to them, and only to them.

Guards stationed themselves at the door to secure the chambers, the sounds of dragons flying
above the Keep loud and ever present. You breathed in again, closing your eyes as you found the
strength to speak once more.

“To see how it feels to sit on a throne I have earnt, and to know, that it was I who put you here. For
never again shall I sit here. For after you, it will be Jacaerys, and then his heir, and their heir after.
Let me be the Queen I was fated to be, if only a moment more.”

And so you sat, watched on by your mother and father as you felt the weight of the crown atop
your head, the Conquerors Crown. A crown you had, by design, conquered.

The blood of the King drenched heavily atop your body, darkening your hair and skin and chemise,
the sharp cold of the blades of the Iron Throne beneath you.

A crown forged in blood.

You stared at them, a moment more as they gave you the time you requested, watching as they
stood stiffly, eyes shimmering with tears, their faces having fallen as you sat a moment more. And
then, all too soon, your resolve and anger melted away, and a tidal wave of grief and relief flooded
over you.

You stood shaikly, legs aching as you stretched to your full height, your parents looking up at you
in anticipation, taking steps backwards away from the throne.

Your chest heaved, as you took one step, then another, and then flew down the steps and crashed
into their waiting arms, Daemon lifting you off the stairs, turning you to face your mother, who
buried her face into the crux of your neck. A small sob fell from her lips as they both held you
tightly for the first time since you had left them at Dragonstone.

You cried, loudly, sobbing into Daemon, who cooed and kissed at the top of your head, fingers
digging painfully into your flesh as he gripped you tightly. Making sure you could not leave him
again.

Your father almost collapsed as you felt him cry and shake with you in his arms. Holding him so
tightly to him you could scarcely breathe, hands shaking so violently that they almost vibrated.

“Ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” My little warrior, He whispered into your blood clumped hair, “Issi ao
ōdrikagon?” Are you hurt?

You sobbed louder, heart feeling like it would give out, stomach hardened and in pain with how it
clenched, "Ñuha prūmia iksis pryjatan.” My heart is broken.
Rhaenyra hushed you gently, pressing a kiss thrice against your cheek, and oh how you missed it.
How you missed the way she always did it, always in three's, always the same. Familiar. Yours.
Hers. Whispering praise into your ear, promising that you were safe, that they were here now, that
they loved you, that they came for you.

And they had.

“I loved him.” You wailed brokenly.

“We know.” Daemon whispered, smoothing your hair at your back.

“I’m with child. And I killed him. I killed the man I loved.” You bawled.

“Ñuha dōna riña.” My sweet girl, Rhaenyra took you from your fathers arms, and you buried your
head into her neck, feeling Daemons heat behind you, gripping you tightly, as you inhaled her
scent, "He would forgive you. I know he would. My brother would understand. He understood."

It didn't do much to help calm you, but it helped to reassure you that they were truly there, and that
they were not a vision like your brother, or Helaena or-

You lifted your head, opening your eyes to the chambers behind Rhaenyra.

There, at the back of the room, hidden amongst the shadows, was the violet and sapphire gaze you
would come to miss the most.

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