• (I) Old Rivalries.

Aemond understood from the beginning that being the legitimate heir of his father would not be enough. Seeing ahead of him, he knew the transition to his power wouldn’t be smooth.

“It is unwise to arrest our own sister for no reason other than that she was best loved by our father”, he is advised by Helaena, who, by Targaryen tradition, is married to Aegon, a younger brother of them. Aemond, though always getting along with her, opted to remain unmarried.

“She may want to reclaim my crown, though. She despises me, I see it in her eyes ever since the day Lucerys took my eye out”, grumbles the ever resented prince.

“Peace is the best way to rule well and uncontested. Besides, I may have a solution for you”, says Helaena with a rare display of mischief in her eyes.

“You find me intrigued, sister.”

Thus she has his attention.

*

“What are the chances that uncle Daemon might press his claim to the throne via right of his wife?”, Aemond inquires the council that day.

Although his father hasn’t slipped into the unknown yet, he’s surrounded by allies. Aemond must be prepared for the expected event of his life.

“It is a possibility, however, the common folk shall not support him. He’s a disliked character”, says his grandsire, Ser Otto Hightower. “Nevertheless… The prince has a daughter, who has been legitimated.”

The suggestion of a political match with his cousin is left implied. Aemond doesn’t say a word about it, though. It’s Aegon, his younger brother, who speaks his mind instead:

“You know that Mistress Rivers will not be tolerated as your queen.”

Again, the presumptive heir is silent. His brain, however, is doing some machination. His fingers are tapping on the table, a sign of his thoughtfulness state.

“If sacrificing our affection is the price I must pay for my throne, so be it.”

As long as I have what’s mine by right.

*

You land with your sisters and brothers at the capital, hoping to be as discreet as you can even though your mother’s inheritance—her red locks, as she was a daughter of House Tully—is there to show you are not a full Targaryen like them.

You follow closely behind Rhaena and Baella, Jacaerys and Lucerys, chin raised as if pride is your only shield. In pairs their walk in, and you take the chance to sneak out there.

“Curiosity always takes the best of you”, it’s the remark you often heard of your stepmother.

You are very thankful that Princess Rhaenyra took you as her own daughter even though you are the fruit of a love affair between your father and a woman of the House Tully named Lady Minisa.

You’ve never met her since she died in childbirth and your relations were relieved that you were taken by your father, so you were never acknowledged by them. Not that you cared anyway.

You’ve learned to call the princess your mother as years went by, only knowing your origins by the time you counted five years of age when you realized how different you were of them all. To be told of the truth at an early age was wise, so the scars of insecurity didn’t hurt as maybe would now.

So here you are, exploring. You still recollect how you loved to investigate some spots here and there in Dragonstone—going as far as to reclaim a wild dragon, Cannibal, much to a general surprise.

Like a shadow, you graciously step in these strange corridors, smirking to yourself how to be unseen is a virtue you take pride in possess—“but it’s what makes you very dangerous too”, your father remarked once.

Until you find a tall, handsome silver haired Targaryen coming just as unseen out of the library. The one-eyed prince, enemy to your relatives, looks as surprised as you when you two collide.

“Lady Y/N.”

“Prince Aemond”, you say, trying not to look so disconcerted.

“Sneaking around?”, says he, in between amusement and annoyance.

“It’s good to see what this new place is like”, you say, rather reservedly, even though your eyes give the distrust his presence inspires you.

Aemond doesn’t shy away before the aversion he spots in your lilac eyes, your only evident Targaryen inheritance. Taking a better look at you, though, the prince sees you could pass by a Tyrell or even a Hightower relation mostly due to your auburn curls and delicate features. Thanks to his childhood provocations, however, he was soon informed that you were rather a fish out of sea.

“New place you say as if you haven’t ever stepped here”, muses Aemond, inclined against the wall without losing his arrogant air. You detest that his one bloody good eye is capable to make you feel small.

But you wouldn’t give in easily, of course.

“Few were the times I came over here”, you snap back at him. “Enough to make me forget about it.”

“And what brings you here then? A grandfather in name only?”

You hold his stare. Aemond shortens the distance and you notice it’s been a while since you’ve last seen each other. Although you weren’t present in the odd circumstances that led the draconian prince to lose an eye, rivalries persevered through time passing.

“I am as Targaryen as you, Aemond”, you speak softly, even though your eyes remain cold. “Mock me as you wish. I can handle my past well. The question is: can you?”

In saying so, you leave him there, heart racing and hands shaking. Aemond stays, irritated by that question you left posed and unanswered, aware of his fragilities, but also… intrigued to see the woman you’ve grown to.

*

• (II) Blacks & Greens.

Your red curls become an interest stark with the black gown you dress for your uncle/stepgrandsire’s dinner. You tie a few locks in small braids, following your stepmother’s fashion and you take your seat by Rhaena’s side.

Aemond watches as you take your seat. It is alluring the contrast in you. Every inch a Targaryen. Even a man like him cannot deny it, as much as he wills it.

The draconian prince sees how quiet you are, barely interacting with your half siblings. It takes no more than a few seconds to understand why you take silence as your companion: it is as if you don’t belong there, amidst the Velaryons.

How to access you, though? He studies you. You speak little, except at times when Jacaerys remembers you are there and plays the role of perfect prince. So there is a brief small talk about dragons, dancing and plans for the next day.

Then he’s surprised when your eyes eventually meet his. You are so caught off guard by his attention on you that even when you look away, there is some color in your cheeks. And Aemond is shocked with himself for finding out that blushing suits you well.

*

You are found dancing with cousin Daeron as music plays in the tune dictated by the old king.

“In honesty, I was surprised you’d actually take my invitation for a dancing”, says the cousin who is of your age.

You chuckle lightly. The tune is pleasant and you are content in dancing it.

“I am diplomatic, cousin. Besides I hold nothing against your person”, you flash him a smile as your hands barely touch his.

“Then it’s against whom do you hold grudges?”

“None in particular”, you say casually but as you twirl, your eyes fall in the figure of Aemond, who’s been watching you and gives a smirk in turn.

Daeron chuckes low when seeing where your gaze falls.

“I was expecting this long time grudge would not involve you, but alas! I am as naive as it’s often said about me.”

“You have a good heart, cousin Daeron. Do not regret it, I ask you.” You smile again. “You are not to be blamed for the sins of others.”

Before the conversation goes longer, music is interrupted and it all ends with the old king standing to make announcements. You hope to cast away the sentiment of an outcast as the betrothals are announced and yours is not mentioned.

Rhaenyra inclines her hand to yours, assuring you that soon you’d marry her own child, Aegon. But, you wish to argue, why not arranging Daeron for her instead?

Diplomatic like always, you nod in agreement, despite the displeasure within. What’s to be done about it anyway?

*

When Aemond is going to ride Vhagar that night, he’s surprised to seeing you with your dragon. He’d always assumed you didn’t reclaim yours, but what a shock is to find out that the wildest dragon is actually bounded to you.

Under moonlight the one eyed prince stays in quiet contemplation. And you feel his gaze. Cannibal senses your mistrust and the beast gives a glare to Aemond in a very protective manner towards his rider.

“What are you doing here?”, you ask him, with your guards up. “Coming to check on me?”

“I was actually planning to go on a ride with Vhagar”, Aemond doesn’t quake in fear; positioning his hands behind his back, he steps forward to speak to you closely. “Thought I was the only one to enjoy doing so at night.”

“I see. So no businesses bring you here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

You cede a smirk.

“Always trapping me in your mind games, Aemond Targaryen.” Then you tilt your head. “But I don’t think a cool breeze is the only excellent advantage to fly, eh?”

Aemond seems to study you again. You like that you are not often so evident to him.

“Is there any other reason why flying late night makes so entertaining?”, he inquires.

“Freedom. To be untamed, free of these courtly rules that bound us to false pretenses. I like being myself when I’m up there”, you make a gesture with your head to indicate the clouds.

“What pretenses do you speak of?”, Aemond is incisive in his gaze, partly pleased that you dare to hold it, not looking away.

“You are the ones with the brain amidst your siblings. You know the answer for the question you ask”, you chuckle quietly.

But you are strangely unmoved. You dare not to walk away even if it should be the most sensible thing to do.

“I see that we come to agree on something. I do not appreciate court by all means, but I must make use of it if I want to rule well.”

Aemond can tell that only now you come to realize that he is the heir of old king Viserys, even if the monarch has often showed his preference to Princess Rhaenyra.

“I… see. Well, it comes with the position. Nobles like us cannot afford a degree of liberty”, you muse with a side smirk. “That’s on you, my prince. Wish you the best of luck with it.”

You are preparing to mount Cannibal when Aemond dares to come near.

“You are not betrothed to anyone yet”, and here he comes, right at your weakness.

You are tying your long curly hair in a simple ponytail when your lilac eyes set on his. There’s a maliciousness in his words and you perceive it in how his lips twirl on a small smirk.

“Why do you care for it? Weren’t you meant to be betrothed to Rhaena or Baela?”

“I do not concern myself with Velaryons”, his words slip so naturally that you are almost knocked out of your seat by what those words mean.

You give him a baffled look.

“Aemond, I strongly recommend you to stop right there.” And you avoid his curious look, coming to realize how irritating it is to be under his watch, as if he’s always searching for a manner to overpower you.

It doesn’t help he’s grown to a fine handsome man. Gods!

The prince says nothing. He steps back, but you know he’s doing so not because he is admitting defeat.

Damn. You know it’s never good when he does so.

To go two steps back only means he’s going forward with a precision blow.

You shake your head. You couldn’t know it. How well do you know this cousin you’ve seen so little? Sooner, you command Cannibal to fly, in secrecy hoping that Aemond doesn’t fly after you.

Which he does not. Not that night anyway.

*

Dressed in green, there he is. Dressed in black, there you are. Right at the library, you sense his presence.

“Do you not have anything else to do but to annoy me at your will, cousin Aemond?”

Leaned against the wall in his usual pose, the one-eyed prince smirks quietly. When you dare to raise your gaze off the book you read, goosebumps run over your spine, almost shaking you to the core.

“Library is not your property, cousin Y/N.” Then he steps forward and takes a seat nearby. His smell is surprisingly good, and you hate it. But you cannot pretend he’s not there since he’s suddenly holding your wrist and taking the book out of you. “Have you considered what we talked about the other day?”

You are frowning at him and Aemond is more than content in knowing he’s the reason of your annoyance.

“What is there to consider when you haven’t made yourself clear?”

“Come now, Y/N”, the prince notices you haven’t let go of his hand and neither does he let go of yours, rather making circles around your wrist. “Don’t play coy. You are better than that.”

“The absurdity of the suggestion does make me wonder why me of all the ladies at your disposal.”

As you narrow your eyes, Aemond wonders if you are aware of his liaison with Mistress Rivers.

Why should I care if she does?

“You are not any of these supposed ladies that are allegedly at my disposal”, he snaps back, amused. “You are a Targaryen. I cannot marry anyone else.”

“I am half a Targaryen. A bastard fished out of the river if I recall well”, you retort, making an allusion at his teasings back in the day where you were two younglings.

Aemond chuckles low. You stand impatient, but to your disconcert, he doesn’t let go of you. On the contrary, the prince pushes you against the wall.

“You have a dragon”, he muses in a whisper, never quitting holding your glance. “You reclaimed Cannibal, of all the dragons.”

You do not understand his point, so you save your breath and say nothing. But you cannot ignore the spark there is between the two of you, the fire he lights in you just by shortening this distance.

It doesn’t help your case further that he fuels it with eyeing your chest with lust. You feel your knees going weak and despise yourself for it.

“So what?”, your voice comes out partly choked.

Aemond laughs quietly.

“You have something very alluring in you, Y/N. A wit sharped as sword that is not entirely valued by those whom you call family. In pairs, you stay an outcast. I see you when they don’t.”

It’s here that he caresses your cheek. Leaning forward, seeing you barely breathe, he whispers in your ear:

“Never forget that only a dragon can love another.”

To your dismay, he parts from you. When he goes back, turning to the door, you realize that his absence leaves cold.

When Aemond turns, though, there’s nothing wicked in his eye and no defiance in your eyes either.

“I will marry you, Y/N. Even if I must burn the Seven Kingdoms for it.”

You barely gasp as he leaves, missing the hole he left in you.

Fuck me. I am doomed.

*

• (III) Harrenhal.

You stay there in evident stunned silence as the family dinners, gathered again. Your father is the one who notices you’ve been too quiet.

“What is troubling you, daughter? You seem off.”

You are more than aware that Aemond, today sat by his father’s left side, is discreetly staring at you.

“I… I am not troubled, father”, you smile at him. “I was wondering, though, if there’s any chance I can have my own household.”

Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. Even Baela looks at you if you have gone insane. You feel your face going red.

Not making my situation better, am I?

“What’s wrong with Dragonstone? Besides, you cannot live by yourself as unmarried lass. Quite frankly, Y/N, you are better than that.”

Your lips tremble, you have the words, but fearful of attracting an undesired attention, you nod your head and lower your eyes to the food.

*

Aemond is practicing swords with Ser Criston Cole when he perceives a pair of eyes watching him. Knowing their owner, he smiles at himself, even though a weak shade of crimson paints his pale features.

“Y/N”, says he once Ser Criston gives him a break and is gone out of his sight. “There’s no need to hide! I do not bite.”

You roll your eyes. In truth you tried to go unnoticed as you returned from another ride with Cannibal, but catching a glimpse of a shirtless ruthless prince denounced your position.

So here you are. Dressed in robes that reinforce your curves, much to Aemond’s delight, who doesn’t conceal where his eyes wander to.

“What? Stop looking at me like that”, you snarl at him.

He gives you a side way crooked grin as he steps closer.

“As if I didn’t capture your eyes lingering on me. What’s this, Y/N? You refuse me for pride. I can offer you what neither your parents nor siblings can.”

You glare at him.

“Do not speak in such terms of my family, Aemond. Unlike yours, I have been well loved, thank you.”

He tilts his head to his right and you are irritated how you are unable to annoy him by any means.

“Nevertheless, you are not betrothed and you have long passed the age of such, eh? Or, if the rumors are correct, you ought to wait before little Aegon comes out of age?” Aemond laughs. “What a waste!”

You are so annoyed by how easily he knows your weakness that reason leaves you and you slap his face, getting you both surprised by this unpredicted act.

“Well, I’ve always known you were a true dragon, Y/N”, says the prince.

“I hate you. Stay away from me”, you are about to walk off when you suddenly turn at him and spit: “Why do you not chase your whore instead? I’m sure that she fits your liking and perhaps, who knows, a crown would look nice in her instead. But a man like you knows nothing of the matters of heart. Your ambition is your fall, Aemond Targaryen.”

And just like that you storm off. Aemond watches you go, finally irritated by how these things are going. He had underestimated you, but the prince also sees that if this game isn’t working the way he wants to, well then, all he must do is… wait.

After all, Aemond is very patient.

*

You are not present at King Viserys’s funeral. Under the excuse of sickness, you are left behind in Dragonstone. Your siblings protested, but you insisted them to leave—specially now that Jacaerys had married Baela.

It’s been three months since you last the prince who now is risen to be king. Your heart aches when you think he may take that woman as his wife and queen.

The idea of it, the game of court he made you play, annoys you so that the pretense of sickness cannot conceal the impulsiveness that, disguised as silent, often made you as the deadliest one of all your father’s children.

Against the maids and servants efforts in making you stay, you tie your hair in a long braid before putting a sword in your gown.

Dressed in black, suiting the mourning for a broken heart you only know are forced to admit, you are about to do what no one could have foreseen—not even you: claiming the old castle of Harrenhal.

*

“Long may live Aemond, First of His Name…” so his name is proclaimed.

It took a lot of convincing and orchestrations on Queen Alicent’s part to help putting her bright son on the throne. In spite of King Viserys’s reluctance, and moved by the tradition that helped putting himself as the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, here is Prince Aemond now acknowledged by all as King.

The one-eyed prince, after his coronation that day, is surprised to welcome Princess Rhaenyra in the banquet offered at his court on behalf of his ascension. Nevertheless, advised by his mother, Aemond chooses diplomacy and treats her well.

However, why do I feel painfully disturbed by the abscence of Lady Y/N? Where on earth is she?

“Your Grace”, the proud princess steps forward to greet the brother who’s several years younger than she. “It appears that fortune does favor the bold.”

A sly smirk runs like a shadow over the new king’s lips.

“Does it? If I recall well, tradition has been reinforced by our ancestor, King Jaehaerys, when he acknowledged our father’s rightful claim to the throne upon which he passed to me.”

He does not look away nor quake beneath the icy stare with which he’s looked.

“Going against his wishes would mean… war”, says Aemond.

“I do not think wise to suggest so, brother. Best we should do is bury the past, leave it where it is”, says Rhaenyra. “Otherwise, shouldn’t you think I offer you war when I am here pledging for peace.”

A short moment of silence is carried between them. Brothers. Rivals. And yet… Aemond knows it is insensible to let this enmity cast its shadow to his early reign.

“Then I welcome you at our court”, says he with a smile on his lips.

*

Cannibal may not be as terrifying in sight as is Vhagar, but it certainly has its presence. The howl, however, is as frightening as it is due to a savage beast as a dragon is.

Before you fly straight to the castle, you let your dragon feeds the way it sees fit. It means burning cattle and stealing sheep as well.

There is already a murmur of witnesses by the time you reach Harrenhal.

“Who might you be?” the castle lord comes to meet you.

You are presenting yourself with the colors of your house, hair tied in one long and elaborated braid; very aware of your charms, you dismount Cannibal with grace.

“My lord, I am Y/N of House Targaryen. I came here to reclaim my inheritance. As you can see via my red locks, I am a Tully also. Nothing in me is untrue. Let us speak. I come in peace.”

Charming. Clever. It only takes a deadly combination of these two traits, most of which comes from your father, before Harrenhal bends the knee to you.

*

A deed that earns Aemond’s admiration. The moment Lady Alys sends him a letter in complaint of the usurpation of that castle by you is the excuse he needed to fly after you.

Leaving Aegon as his Hand, he takes Vhagar and within two hours he lands there. Repelling his former mistress, the king makes his way only to find you… alone, in the library.

“I knew I’d find you here, little rebel”, says Aemond, amused. “This is a very risky move you made, didn’t you know?”

He doesn’t wait for your careless act to go on. Aemond removes the book of your hands and makes you look at him.

“It would oppose me and your parents. A war is worth a disappointment?”

“I am doomed if you think you can read me so well, but may I remind you I have as right as you to hold my own household?”

Aemond smiles and you are shocked to see it rising to his eye. He pulls you by your wrists and this time you do not fight him.

“I told you from that very first day, Y/N. I see you. I do not want you just because of your looks and your blood, though I shall not deny these factors led me to you”, his hand is now on your face, stroking your cheek all the whilst he places his free hand on your waist.

You sigh.

“I hate you”, you whisper, letting your body lean closer to his. “You are but a brat, king Aemond.”

Aemond chuckles, slowly pinning you against the wall. His hands are going up and down your back, before gently pulling back your hair.

“You don’t hate me, Y/N.” His lips are so close to yours now, barely brushing over them. “We’ve never hated each other.”

You cup his face, caressing his cheeks and removing his eyepatch. The sapphire that stares at you only reinforces the accuracy with which he’s always been able to read you.

“I claim you”, proceeds Aemond, resting his forehead against yours before wrapping a hand around his neck. “I claim you as my wife, my queen, my woman. You will bear my heirs. You will rule by my side.”

“Together as one.”

“Together as one”, he confirms it.

Then every pride dies when the hearts speak in one same language the moment your tongues pair in synchrony.

***

• (IV) Peace.

“I’ve always said that the quietest ones are the most lethal”, says your father in the day a banquet is offered to acknowledge your queenship. “But then again it was my mistake that I paid so little attention in your desires.”

“I am your daughter after all”, you smile at him. “I had to find my place in this strange world and here is where you leave your inheritance in me very well disposed.”

“A sharp wit and a sharper tongue”, Daemon laughs. “Well, I will not deny that I am pleased with the outcomes of it.”

Your red curls are left loose for the occasion, brushed until they shine; on top of your head lies a smaller crown, sapphire made. You dress a short sleeved gown that shows some cleavage; the silk garment is black as coal but it carries the symbols of the Houses Targaryen and Hightower in it in order to demonstrate peace amidst these factions at least.

Daemon kisses your forehead before patting your shoulder fatherly.

“I am proud of you. Make your way. Rise as if it was I.”

You chuckle lightly, eyes twinkling with pride. Then comes your sisters and brothers. Despite the jest with which they turn your situation, you know that something has changed in it.

Once they go back to their seats, you sense that familiar touch from the moment fingers intertwine. As you turn and see Aemond, who silently perceived you needed him, you give him a weak smile.

“You’ve always read me so well, haven’t you?”

“True, but it’s because I’ve always seen you. You’re unlike any other. Precisely why you are here… and not there, with them.”

Discreetly, your husband leads you out of all that feast, going to a quiet place instead—which is the privy council quarter, a spot you are familiar with, having been instated to participate it by your lover.

“See, Y/N, one of the reasons why I read you so well is because we are two souls very alike. We possess virtues that fit us to rule, but to make a place to ourselves in this strange world we were born into”, says he, stroking your chin and sliding his hand before posing it behind your neck. “We are not very understood, our tastes are despised and yet here we are. Family is… overestimated. They rarely see us for what we can be, truly.”

You close your eyes, leaning to kiss his lips. Your hands entangle with his long silver locks, enjoying the moment.

“You give me peace after spending a lifetime in war with myself.”

*

“I didn’t expect you to be ambitious”, your stepmother remarks when you two have the chance to speak after the feast. “But then again you are your father’s daughter.”

“Again with this, mother? Do not tell me you would act differently. Had my father pressed, you’d claim the throne yourself. I am the piece to prevent a war between two sides in long time opposite.”

This morning you two are walking side by side at the gardens all the whilst Aemond is welcoming an embassy sent by Essos.

Rhaenyra chuckles low.

“I suppose you have a point. Besides, you are the daughter I’ve never had. I’m glad we all came to terms. Diplomacy is a weapon that at times may be underestimated.”

You give her a smile.

“Something I’ve learned from yourself, mother dear.”

“You are every inch a Targaryen, sweet Y/Nickname.”

*

Aemond watches as you rule the court with your elegance and wit. If he’s reserved, you have a way to charm others around you. Such a sight to behold.

From his seat, his eyes follow every move you make, never missing you out.

“So the plan has succeeded”, and when he turns it is Helaena who comes to speak to him. “Like it was predicted.”

“It has surprised me in many ways, that I shall admit”, Aemond recognizes. “This union helped secure my throne.”

“But you know this is not the end of it. To rule well and wisely you must be mindful of how to conduct the realm without appealing to violence.”

The king says nothing. He throws his shoulders back, placing his hands behind his back. Then he gives her another look:

“What do you see?”

“Your union has prevented a civil war to come, but until Y/N gives birth…”

“Well”, he gives his sister a smug grin. “This is not going to be a problem”

*

Aemond is watching you untying your hair just as you wear your nightgown.

“Come over here, love”, he pats your usual seat in bed next to him. “You’ve been so quiet lately.”

You pat your huge belly, not enjoying the weight of carrying children as you do so. Aemond wraps an arm around your shoulders, massaging each before holding you close to his chest.

“Cannibal has been unusually restless. Dragons can tell when something’s up to their riders”, Aemond proceeds. “What is troubling you, Y/Nickname?”

You cuddle against him.

“Childbirth scares the hell out of me. I would not hesitate in claiming a stronghold, in expressing my views, in following you wherever you’d go, but… This is where I wage my war and I’m scared to lose it.”

Aemond takes a deep breath, burying his own fears deep inside.

“You are a cunning woman. It’s in your blood, in your flesh and bones. Fear not. You will deliver safely.”

When you look at him in the eyes, Aemond sees how vulnerable you are. It softens him in a manner never before known. Removing his eye-patch, he holds your face with his hands and plants tons of kisses all over it, much to your delight.

“It’s been difficult months for you, my queen, that I can see. What a great responsibility is to carry the heir to our throne in your belly. But let us be ourselves right here, right now”, he rubs his nose against your cheek, pleased to make you beam. “Today we are a married couple, expecting their first born child. Given the size of your belly”, and here he caresses it gently, “I am led to believe it’s going to be twins.”

“Twins”, you repeat in shock. “I cannot even consider it”, you giggle. Then looking up at him with eyes twinkling with expectations, you say: “If comes a pair of girls, though?”

“I’ll love them the same”, Aemond smiles at you the way it makes your heart race. “We are young and fertile. My seed is strong as you can see. There’s nothing to fret, Y/Nickname.”

Saying so he pecks your lips and kisses you nice and slow. Then you and him exchange ideas about names and somewhere along those lines, you fall asleep in his chest.

*

As predicted by Aemond, your husband, you deliver a pair of twins. It was a long labour, though, which got your king concerned. But nothing to worry further: mother and children are well.

“A pair of boys”, you tell him, blissfully. “Double blessings, husband! The Gods favor you.”

Aemond side smirks at you. Taking a seat at his side, so the king says:

“It appears so. By the Gods. Who was born first?”

“The ginger one”, says the midwife, who was cleaning the babies and delivering to him the silver haired whilst the other is being breastfed by you.

Aemond raises his eyebrows.

“Woman, we may never be accused in mistaking our boys”, says he in a jest that makes you both laugh.

“What are their names?”, inquires the dowager queen, Lady Alicent, who’s been doting on you.

“Aegon and…”

“…Jaehaerys”, says Aemond. “Traditional Targaryen names.”

It is a delightful day for the family. Later, your brothers and sisters come to pay you a visit. The presence of those boys, so similar and yet so different, represent the symbolic union of a house that was close to rip in two opposite sides.

As Queen Alicent would later remark to Princess Rhaenyra:

“These boys are fundamental in keeping peace amongst us. It is a sign that the Gods forged such beautiful boys to bring them peace.”

Arm to arm with her former rival, the princess says in turn:

“They are as my grandsons and yours. It couldn’t be otherwise.”

An exchange of glances and they laugh quietly.

“Aren’t we too young for that?”, muses Alicent in jest.

*

The twins are in between you and Aemond in that bed that night. You watch, rejoiced, as they sleep soundly, hands tight.

“I want more”, he tells you. “I didn’t think I’d enjoy being a father, but look at what you’ve done to me, woman. You gave me precious little beings to look after, to educate. And I cannot not be anxious about them.”

“I want girls now so they can make me company”, you giggle at him. Very carefully, you put a lock behind his ear. “With a handsome consort like you, though, I don’t think I’ll be unable to prevent more to come.”

Aemond chuckles lightly before giving you a chaste kiss.

In the midst of chaos, security must come as a form to provide means to prevail the mess provoked by enemies.

Aemond frankly believes that his brother is an incompetent king, wasting sources as if he’s already the winner—when the blacks are clearly proving to be relevant adversaries.

And if these sources are ending… where else to find an alternative? Pillage is not a stable solution, improper as it is, and even Aemond Targaryen has his principles.

The answer for his inquiries comes surprisingly through his mother. The dowager queen storms inside the privy chambers, where her children are reunited, and exclaims in between amusement and annoyance:

“How ravens fly fast!”, she snorts. “Lord Stark's heir intends to take Lady Y/N Arryn as his wife!”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, but his brother voices the general discontentment:

“I judged House Arryn to be neutral in this conflict, but then again they are related to Rhaenyra via her mother. This means no good if their heiress is becoming Lady of Winterfell. A power we might not lean against.”

Silence falls stunned in it. Very few would admit out loud the obvious reasoning of the situation: with House Arryn and their men next to the Starks, this only means defeat for Aegon's cause and his party.

Until Aemond comes up with a solution. One of the kind that might bring displeasure to his lady Alys, but when it comes to his family, no love nor gold can break his loyalty.

“I know how to impede this matter”, and looking easily at his stunned mother, Aemond even smiles. “I do not say anything about killing, my lady mother.”

The other option… no one feels comfortable to ask. But Aemond is confident in its solution, at whatever costs he is willing to pay in order to settle this bloody war as soon as possible.

***

In the meantime, you are found at the Gates of the Moon. Dressed in silk robes and with hair perfectly tied in two buns, you are attending your uncle’s council.

Every eye is on you and there is nothing but exasperation in their semblances.

They’d rather see an illegitimate Arryn here than I.

Nevertheless, you still bear in mind the concept of duty, so long ago transmited through your recent deceased parents to you. For it is duty that will aim you as high as honor.

Here you are thus, mounded to your soon to be position as Lady Arryn, one of which is not welcomed by some of the oldest nobles. However, against tradition of male inheritance here stands yours as a stark contrast. Winds of change... it seems.

You smile to yourself as you leave the safe guarded spot, completely unaware that your life is about to change for good in a matter of seconds. For you miss a large shadow crossing high above your head, probably taking it as a cloud that will soon pass—weather has been really odd these days.

It’s when so suddenly…

Danger crosses your path.

“Greetings, my lady”, says the one eyed silver haired prince, coming out of the blue.

You freeze. Taking a look at his features, you need little to tell who he is and what house he comes from.

Not to say the stories told about this character…

“My lord Prince”, your voice comes out choked, your chest is heavy as you find yourself powerless—and overpowered.

Perhaps this is your death. Perhaps this has been a trap for you planned by your enemies—your cousins—and this saddens you more than angers you, once no harm was done to them.

“No need to be frightened, dove. Methinks you’ve been too caged in this cell”, says he in his calm, easy voice.

You quickly side gaze at your surroundings, but seeing where you stand, there is little point to escape.

“Kill me then if you must”, you sigh, trying to show some dignity in such a time. “May my cousins reward you well for this cowardice if this is what should be.”

Aemond chuckles at what he believes to be a mix of drama and bluntness on your part. Which, in his concept, makes you more interesting than he’d formerly judged.

“I did not take the heiress of Arryn for a quitter. Mayhaps I’ve been misled to think that a woman as yourself would hold onto her rights in higher grounds.”

“I am no ordinary woman, lord. Do not think I’d easily give you my rights to bring Arryn to a war that is not mine to wage.”

“Not yours to wage?”, he scowls at you, though his eyes glint with mischief. “You are betrothed to a wolf, kin to another dragon, both of whom have been allied. Do not take me for a fool, I am everything but one.”

“Many sobriquets have been attributed to you, lord, but liberator of women was not one of them.”

You defy him with your pride, but this is not a prince like any other of his station. There is nothing usual around his person, and yet… when he comes at you, you dare to try to escape.

Regardless of what instincts can do, Aemond knows he’s stronger and faster—but he’s impatient in playing games with you. He’s been tired of doing such, so he wastes no more time.

That is how the prized heiress ends captured by the dragon’s claws.

***

“From one cell to another”, you blurt it out the moment you find yourself at a strange, tall tower. Your whereabouts are unknown and even after an intense fly, you’d think able to recognize this new land you’ve been taken to.

“These are your first words as we land”, observes Aemond, amused. “I feared you’d throw up once you set your feet in this soil, since I forget that this is the first time you fly on a dragon.”

You refuse to answer him further, angry as you are for being taken out of your home without your consent. Seeing the silent treatment is all he gets of you, the prince tries another approach.

“We didn’t start really well. But this is war, my darling. I am loyal to my house and I could not afford letting yours so willingly side with the enemy of mine.”

“What a good excuse to justify a kidnapping”, you snort at him. “Take the heiress few support! Do you not realize how, in doing so, you make easier to have my position usurped? What makes you think the Starks will not be offended by your recklessness?”

Aemond side smirks at you, ever serene in his countenance.

“You will get what’s yours by right, that I assure you. After I marry you, of course.”

***

Lady Alys does not approve it either. She may understand her lover's point and see sense in his plan, which is not, due to the current circumnstances, unusual. How many heiresses weren't kidnapped and had their inheritances used by their captors?

But the mistress of Harrenhal is not pleased with the possibility that she might lose the influence she's been long enjoying over her flawed prince.

"It is a marriage of convenience", the prince addresses her cooly once she admits her fears. "I do not expect you to understand, but to accept. Noblemen like me do not marry out of love."

The answer is not well absorved by his long time lover, but Aemond does not mind to it. That night they have the first disagreement, a crack in what once was his comfortable zone. And he hates you for it.

*

But even if he does, the prince comes after you, to see how well you are settling in your privy bedchambers. Without the need of announcing his presence, Aemond walks in--less cautioned than he planned, more anxious than he'd like--and is surprised to find you with your long dark auburn locks falling in cascade behind your back, wearing a line gown that captures his attention--and he detests that he comes to notice your well shaped breasts.

"Lord prince!", you stand quickly and toss a proper robe over your shoulder. "You should have knocked."

Aemond holds his hands behind his back and assumes his cold posture for his own sake. Nonetheless, there is a malicious smirk twisting in the corner of his lips.

"This is my home. I act as I see fit. Besides", he softens when seeing you are frowning, prompted to protest, "I wanted to make sure you are comfortable."

You stare in response.

"How can I be comfortable in a strange place?"

"It will be yours in a matter of hours."

You begin to pace anxiously. Aemond's good eye is fixed upon you: your posture indicates not only pride, but how well versed you've been in the matters of nobility (in ways of walk, dress and talk). You are gentle, he suspects you might share some traits of sweet nature with his good sister Helaena, but proud.

Every inch an Arryn who refuses to give in after dropping out the nest.

"I refuse to marry you", you say, reclining against the window. By how you grip tightly the border, Aemond can tell you are trying to find comfort in the fresh air of the night. "I cannot consent to this."

"What other option do you have? There was a plot to overthrow you and steal your inheritance", Aemond is careful with the distance there must be between you two.

When you look at him, he is knocked out of his high guard just by the lightest shade of blue that colors your irises.

What am I staring at? The bluest sky or the bluest sea?

He swallows.

"The Starks do not take well when their honour is offended", you reply.

"They have long been associated with Rhaenyra to care about this war. Your betrothal is a proof of this", Aemond snaps back, cold. "But they cannot offer you what I can: the protection of Vhagar. Long time ago, she belonged to another rider who was precisely there when the Arryns subdued to the Targaryens."

You see reason in his speech, but there is fear in your eyes. Aemond begins to pace around the bedchambers you occupy and your eyes follow his moves.

"It is not my intention to do you any wrong", his voice comes out as a whisper, but you listen well to what he is saying. "Nor my wish to usurp your position as the rightful heiress of your lands. However, I do need your men and your gold."

“Knowing I am one of the few heiresses available, how dare you affirm you have no intention in usurping me?”, you say in gritted teeth.

Aemond and you stare each other with mutual despise.

“You are well aware that you aren’t safe in your own home. Tell me: how many men support your claim to the Arryn seat? And more: what assurance do you have that they are not plotting with the Starks to remove you out of it? Isn’t it convenient that you are expected to marry the heir of Winterfell who cannot and will not abandon his seat to occupy yours?!”

Your composed mask falls. A side smirk at Aemond’s lips tells you victory is his.

“You lie”, you whisper, but not even you believe in what you are saying.

The prince leans against the wall. Something wicked in his eyes warns you not to stare, but you hold back his gaze with the dignity there is left in you.

“Why would I? Marriages often are political alliances. They are arranged based on mutual benefits. I’ve already made clear my points.”

“By kidnapping me, you are imposing your will on me”, you say, although the more you see, the more reason you reluctantly concede him. “Although I wasn’t consulted either when the nobility chose a husband for me, I could, at least, give my consent.”

“This consent you gave was false. You are saying yourself: you didn’t take any active part in choosing a husband for you.” Again he smirks when seeing he won you over. “Be reasonable, my lady. I did bring you against your will, but by associating with me you’ll get your share of benefits. Like I said, I have no interest in governing the Eyrie. I could, in fact, leave you there to rule. Unions like ours are made not based on affection, but political purposes.”

His words shock you. When noticing it, Aemond comes to realize you have been poorly prepared for your own task.

Must I do something about this too?

His good eye remains observing you. Reality is exposed and you come to see how you’ve been a pawn to other’s interests all along.

“If we marry”, you turn at him, hesitantly, “will you…?”

“Let you be? Gladly. I have a mistress, so you are not required to perform wifely duties”, says Aemond, sounding more arrogant than he intended.

It’s for her own good. It’s what he tries to convince himself.

But why does the look on your face give him a bitter look? His victory, his reward for coming up with a perfect reasonable solution to prevent a crisis in his family, suddenly have no taste.

“Very well”, when you speak, you raise your chin and meet his gaze with a defying one of your part. “I agree to be your wife, Aemond Targaryen.”

You turn your back on him. Aemond only nods, saying something about sending preparations for the feast the following day. But when he closes the door, he listens to a gut-wrenching sound that breaks his heart: the sound of abandonment transmitted through your violent sobs.

What have I done?

It is too late to have second thoughts. He’s doing for his family, the prince remembers. Not to satisfy himself.

If this is true, though, how come not even the idea of remaining by Alys side comforts him?

*

Once your tears are spent in what seemed to be an unending waterfall, you lean close to the window. Contemplating the dark skies, you search for the constellations you once liked to appreciate by your father’s side.

“Whenever you feel an outsider, look up at the skies and see how the stars shine for you”, your father said. “Never, daughter of mine, forget the prize that you are and where you came from.”

Although anguishing is what you have as company, slowly you start to unite the missing pieces. The sudden disappearance of Lord Tully, your paternal cousin, the day after your father was discovered without any signs of life. The displeasure in the nobility when you were announced as the lawful heiress of Lord Robert Arryn.

“A woman can rule if, and only if, she is well advised by her husband. In these circumstances who can provide security for us?”

Us.

You weren’t included in that inflamed speech. You attempted to show respect to the tradition of the family, but now… After what Lord Aemond told you, can you contradict him? Looking back, you weren’t taken seriously by those who claimed to be your allies.

They didn’t even consult me about the alliance with the Starks.

You toss and turn in your bed. It may be comfortable to lay down in that silk bed, but it’s not yours.

You stand and move up to the window. Silently, you scream.

Only then… You accept the fate the Gods give you.

*

Aemond decides to wait for a few more days before he joins you in sacred ceremony, although ravens flew with the news that you are already Targaryen by marriage.

This morning, he pays you a visit. Though he isn’t inclined to do so, he could not sleep the night before knowing he brought you misery—even if the prince saved you of a worse destiny.

Aemond, hardly one to be surprised, is perplexed to find you recomposed. Expecting to find you in the semi state of protest and depression you were when he brought you to Harrenhal, he’s shocked to see your hair tied in one long braid and you embraced the green of the Hightower in the long sleeved gown you dress.

Fuck. She’s beautiful.

“My lady”, he says after clearing his throat so he can dissipate his troubled thoughts.

“Lord Prince”, and impeccable as ever, you lift your chin and nod your head, gracefully acknowledging his presence. “I came to terms with what you told me yesterday. It appears this union must occur to save my position in the Eyrie.”

Aemond is trying not to look too puzzled when he says:

“I’m glad you came to your senses. I knew you were a sensible woman, lady Y/N. Since you are open about the union of our houses, I’d like to warn you that I have sent a raven communicating our marriage.”

You can only nod, aware there is little to be done to prevent it when you have accepted it by now.

“War may come to you, lord.”

“We are already in it, my lady.” He shortens the distance between you. “I intend to espouse you in a discreet cerimonial in a couple of days at the capital. But by all means we are married and you must act as my wife in all doings. So when I go to the Tullys early tomorrow, you will come with me.”

You nod again in a sign that you are listening. It must not be a difficult task. You are his wife in name and politics. This shouldn’t be difficult to understand.

Why then do I feel sorely disappointed with this arrangement?

“And your mistress?”

“She will not disturb you.”

Silence hangs in between you. Each seems to wait for the next move of the other. Are you implacable? Is this meant to be a competition of who’s the proudest?

You opt to make easier for you when you nod and go back to your seat. Aemond understands that it’s how things are done. It’s a mere arrangement, he tells himself.

Even if misses something he cannot comprehend. It’s just politics.

*

You are walking around the gardens when your paths cross. The resignation in you troubles the one eyed prince who somewhat expects still that you’d rebel.

On the contrary, however, you play your role with grace. A few days passed since the incident and he’s seen you’ve been through a few tests, most of which were provoked by Lady Alys and her jealousy.

You stood well for yourself, you’ve learned to shield your gentleness behind your pride. However, each night he heard you weeping and that troubled him more. Each night he was left anguished.

So the ceremony was finally performed and you two were married.

“Welcome to the family, my dear”, the former queen consort, Lady Alicent Hightower, addresses you kindly. “I know the union should have happened under better circumstances, but we are most pleased to have you with us.”

You nod your head, portraying your role well—but you could not help yourself thinking that it was the money and position she was welcoming, not you.

That day, you are dressing in blue, the color of your house, that matches the irises of your eyes. Your dark hair is tied is an elaborated braid and your skin is embellished with jewelry selected for the occasion.

“My lady wife”, Aemond comes at you when seeing how outsider you look amongst his family. “May we have a stroll outside? I don’t think I showed you the gardens.”

“Do I have a choice on the matter?”, the words slip out of your tongue without second thoughts. But you offer his arm and when he takes, you discover how relieved you feel upon leaving the court behind.

“I know it’s a difficult process. I didn’t make it easier for you”, Aemond says. Although everything in him is composed, something about his words tells you different, which captures your attention. “I’m loyal to my family, even if they are complicated. I’d do anything to them.”

You think of your own, taken too early out of this world. Then you slowly opt to open yourself to him.

“A feeling I understand. I fear to be seen as someone who switched allegiances, even if you brought me here without my consent, but when I think about my relatives… I don’t remember seeing any proof of their loyalty to me.”

There is a moment when the two of you exchange glances. You are surprised to find in Aemond a good listener and, in his good eye, no harshness nor arrogance that there were in the very first day when he got you.

“Speaking of which, I must deliver you bad news”, says he carefully.

You don’t look away when you encourage to speak whatever there is, even if in your heart you might know what’s it about.

“Your cousin has usurped your seat, backed by Lord Jacaerys Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark”, Aemond shows you a parchment containing the news so you might see for yourself this isn’t any forgery.

As you hold it in your hands and open it to read these treacherous news, your eyes widening at every word there written, the Targaryen prince tells you that a spy he planted amongst the servants of Princess Rhaenyra told him that a meeting between these men was conducted with her approval.

“Your cousin has long sided with her, as you can see. But he waited for the opportunity in doing so. The arrangement with House Stark was merely the most peaceful option he encountered to make worth his claim to the seat.”

You swallow back your frustration. Aemond studies your reaction: your posture never ceases to be regal and you walk from a side to other, but in your face the emotions betray you. A flash of anger is seen behind your eyes, replaced by sadness and then a wave of despair before reason makes you close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“My lord”, you turn at him. For the first time, he doesn’t see any pride in you when you speak. “A war must be waged to clean the Eyrie out of these usurper hands.”

The one eyed prince smirks at you.

“And how would you suggest us to do so?”

You hold back anxiety when you come up with a plan. Aemond can see your brain engineering it and he’s found very interested in witnessing your wit operating it.

“I believe that Vhagar is an excellent weapon for that matter. Although I’d like to pursuit diplomacy first, we cannot ignore that we have better chances in invading it. I would suggest to have a number of men, around 500, disguised and mixed amidst the common folk. You should choose a man of our trust to spread a rumor that the nobility of the Eyrie betrayed the Arryns by selling me to you and opening the path to Princess Rhaenyra usurp it.”

“That is a smart strategy”, Aemond is amazed.

You side smirk at him.

“Men like you underestimate women like me, but I appreciate your recognition all the same. As I was saying, we must send a common man first so he can speak in their language about all of this mess.”

“Perhaps, to spread the news faster, we can plant others too.”

You nod your head. Then you two smile because each comes to find out how the other thinks similar.

“We wait for a week”, you say. “Then you leave instructions for the commander in chief to leave the men through a secretive gate that will allow them to step inside. However, I must be assured that no pillage will occur if we do not wish to lose the people’s trust.”

“That will be arranged”, and then he pauses. “I admire your sensibility in using the folk to our purposes, my lady. I cannot help asking you, though, why.”

“It is a question very simple to be understood, lord: we rule them, we make laws for them, we are placed in this position for them. I cannot forsake my duty to these people and think of my own privileges. If they do not support me, then who will? Sure, we could discuss violence, but in a long term will it work? We must administer our goods wisely and a rule by fear is no guarantee of loyalty.”

These are the words that deliver an unexpected and, at first, unwanted change for the way they are welcomed by this ill reputed prince and expressed by you conduct one to the other’s world in a route of collision impossible to prevent.

Aemond realizes he’s misunderstood you, a regret he hopes to amend. Inevitable, he comes to compare you and lady Alys. The prince knows each has unique traits that draw him to them. But here’s the difference: there is something genuine in you whereas in his mistress… magic and other artifacts are used to mask the darkness in her heart.

Not that he is pure. He is not, far from it. But once he has the glimpse of the sun, why would he like to remain in obscurity?

“Wise words, my lady”, he concedes, after a time spent in silence, pondering the ideas that you bring. “I lament to say that when I thought and considered every possible angle, yours didn’t occur me.”

The first signs of a significant change come when crimson paints your cheeks and you are forced to look away briefly upon this uninvited heat.

He cannot affect me so. I forbid it.

“You said I was meant to be your wife in business, for such is the purpose of marriages”, you speak gently, but firmly. “Here’s my part.”

Oh. Is she playing this game now?

Aemond side smirks, amusement twinkling behind his good eye.

“I admit the good you are doing for my house, so I owe you an apology for underestimating you. No one likes to be underestimated.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Is my lord the kinslayer apologizing?”

In other circumstances, he would have been annoyed with this unexcused use of a despicable epithet. But now what he does is take your arm again and lace with yours, starting another pace.

You too seem surprised by his change of manners towards you, but somehow his presence is too enigmatic to let you be pushed away.

“I’ve already said what I thought appropriate to say. We didn’t start well.”

“I wouldn’t say that taking someone against her will is a good start”, you tease him, daring to poke his side. The surprise in his face when you do so makes you laugh quietly.

“How can we make it right then?”, the question posed is strange when he makes it, but Aemond finds too intrigued to let it pass.

“Leaving aside that marriage is business only is a good start”, you dare to suggest.

The one-eyed doesn’t say anything for a start, rather staring instead. You do not escape his intent gaze, aware he’s analyzing you, whether your intentions in this propose are genuine.

“Marriage for me wasn’t an option before all of this”, says he in a whisper only you can hear.

“You may call me a dreamer if you like, but I’ve been raised in an environment where marriage was more than a political alliance. Yes, my mother wedded my father for duty, but then it turned out to love”, you tell him.

Aemond again prefers the silence, letting you open up. He actually listens to your childhood memories and finds himself envied by your position as only child.

“They tried to have more children”, you answer him when he asks why you don’t have any siblings. “But my mother’s pregnancies never carried on, I don’t know why. She did give birth to a few children in these years, but I was the only one to reach adulthood. Eventually, childbirth was, like it is for most women, her battlefield and she lost her last battle.”

Aemond furrows his eyebrows. He seems to remember how Alys was hardly ever carrying his seed—a topic never discussed. But he came to wonder, as he does now, whether was his issue… or her obsession with youth preventing its possible dangers that giving birth to a child could bring, however royal this child would be.

“I lament to it”, is all he says.

“So do I, but when my father told me about it, it was when I was better instructed about marital duties. A woman must be prepared for it. Though she is spared of gladiating in the battle field, he said, she has her own battles to fight and the noblest one is to provide her family continues.”

“That is quite a teaching.”

You shrug your shoulders. As you two continue to walk, the veil that once separated one from the other now falls.

“And you?”, you eventually ask a question that turns Aemond’s world upside down. “I heard stories about you, but they seem… exaggerated now that I see you in flesh and bone.”

He chuckes low at your remark before musing:

“I do not blame my enemies for spreading stories them about me. Most are not untrue and I’m certain that those who dislike me will not favour me under any light.”

You concede a smirk.

“That is a very good point. But I am interested to hear them from you. After all, I am married to the deadliest man of the Seven Kingdoms. How can I be prepared to deal with the man?”

As Aemond turns at you, so casually, your heart skips a beat and you come to find that no, you can never be prepared to deal with this prince.

*

You settle well at court, becoming thus a favorite to those who surround you. Aemond shouldn’t be irritated that you irradiate a sunbeam whenever you come up.

But as you show up with your long hair tied in two braids, dressed with a green gown that has the symbol of your house embroidered in the silk, acting so gracefully as if you are the queen, and not merely the wife of a second son in the midst of a civil war, jealousy ripping his chest.

Why so suddenly? What was meant to be a simple solution for his family issue is now… his person problem.

“Lady Y/N”, he comes up like a shadow and snakes an arm around your waist. The proximity gives you shivers and he fears for himself when smelling your scent. “I see how well familiarized you are here.”

“It could not be otherwise”, you tell him. “I must adapt.”

“Adapt or survive?”

Eyes who meet in an intent gaze tend to speak through it. Has communication begun to flow naturally between you?

“Is there a difference?”, you snap back.

*

The council is set and that day grave news are delivered.

“It appears the next battle is indicated to happen close to the gates of the Eyrie. How thankful we are that you’ve married the right woman, Aemond”, so says Aegon. “This is the time to restaure the woman’s inheritance and… be at her side. We must secure the Arryn’s seat.”

Aemond doesn’t hold his brother’s gaze initially, preferring to look at his fingers playing with something on the table.

This is what had moved him to you. The goal was achieved. But why is there hesitation on his part?

It appears that Aegon, with his eyebrows raised, has the answer he doesn’t want to hear:

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of our pet.”

To the king’s amusement, a flash of anger is perceptible crossing his brother’s good eye.

“She is not our pet. Don’t call her that. I do not need to be reminded of my own suggestion, thank you very much.” And without waiting for some answer of his part, Aemond quickly adds: “I am parting with Vhagar early tomorrow. It appears I must take my wife with me to fill this task.”

He narrows his eye at a very amused Aegon, who cackles quietly.

*

You are found in the library, concentrated in your reading. Aemond at first doesn’t make his presence noticed; prefers to study you first.

This day your hair is tied in one elaborated and elegant braid. You wear a cream gown that shows some cleavage and whose details show an eagle and a dragon embroidered together. The sight of the symbol, which represents the union of two distinct houses, makes him smile.

There is no space to think of his recently abandoned mistress—-she, in fact, apparently chose to switch sides by bedding Lord Daemon, his uncle—when he’s so charmed by your heart shaped face, your blue eyes that mirror a cloudless, sunny sky, your rosy lips and pink cheeks.

His eyes linger at your calm breathing, how peaceful you are and, what’s worst, finds himself eager to see your breasts completely bare. The kinslayer prince, bad reputed at its core, is willing to have you as his wife by all means.

What an effort he puts in not taking you to his arms and convince you that he wants you, that he is willing to discover the possibility of being happy next to you.

However, he instead swallows hard and it’s when his breathing becomes heavily loud that you raise your eyes and are shocked to find him there.

“Lord husband”, you say, disconcertedly putting the book in your hands aside. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here. Has something happened?”

There’s something that is not the usual despise you’ve got used to it in his semblance. What has changed? You try not to look at his lips. Nor notice his well built muscles underneath his leather robes.

This is pathetically unbearable. We are meant to be partners only, not lovers.

You stand. He shortens the distance that separates one from the other. Neither of you dares to speak for a moment and it comes to oblivion what you asked and the reason why he stands before you.

Something about his presence, so close to yours, makes you warm—so warm that you fear for yourself, usually composed. It begins to form a strange sort of ache in your feminine parts that leaves you uncomfortable.

Oh the way he looks at you as if he’s ready to undress you.

Then, of course, all the warmth is replaced by his usual cold when duty takes the reins of the situation.

“We are leaving tomorrow early”, says the composed prince, breaking the spell. “We are heading to the Eyrie. The men were instructed to do in accord to what we have formerly discussed.”

It is shocking to feel disappointed by the distance he puts between you two. Holding back a sigh, you do the same.

“Good”, and though it hurts to act in a nonchalant manner, you disguise well by putting some distance again as you head to the door. “You will leave the diplomacy for me. I’m counting on your sword if it comes to it. Then remember, lord. As thankful as I am for your help, I am the mistress of Eyrie.”

And just like that you leave, please to have twisted the game to your favor, much to Aemond’s annoyance, who’s used to have everything and everyone under his control.

*

Fuck.

The one eyed prince isn’t expecting to see your curves perfectly shaped by the armor you put over your silk gown. It doesn’t help that your hair is tied in one long braid. Today, you opt to a shade of blue that carries something green within in order to show the party you’ve been associated with.

You side smirk, pleased to have his eyes on you.

“What? Do you take me for a quiet woman whose inexperience in politics might reflect in hesitation in battles?”

Aemond clears his throat as he helps you mount Vhagar, himself not taking so long when following you, holding you so tight against him that he feels your shivers at this mere contact.

“I may do”, he answers close to your ear, pleased to see he affects you. “You possess a sharp wit, that I admit and admire, but to hold out a sword and shed blood? I cannot see you doing so.”

You blush deeply. It does not help you that you are found on top of an old dragon, flying back to reclaim your seat and inheritance all the whilst your husband is seducing you.

“I could”, you stammer a bit, much to your consternation and to his amusement. “I could show you I am perfectly able to cut you if I wanted to.”

Aemond’s laughter gets you out off the guard and it warms you to such a point that makes your heart race. It worsens your case when he dares to plant a kiss on your jawline.

“Aemond!”, you protest.

“What? Can’t I admire your wit?”, he whispers charmingly, tightening the grip around your waist as he holds the reins of Vhagar.

“You must be wishing the death of me. We have not yet arrived at the Eyrie”, you speak with your gritted teeth. Gods know how you hate him for playing you like this.

Aemond chuckles low.

“You bear so little trust in me that I’d simply let you fall?”

You dare to turn your head and give him a knowing look. His smirk shakes a little when he understands what’s not being said.

“You are my wife”, says he, annoyed. “Have some faith, woman.”

There’s no time to discuss nor to focus in foolishness—as much as you have secretly enjoyed to have the captor who’s now your husband very closely; more than you’d admit out loud—once the dragon, as if acknowledging the spot, finally lands and growls.

*

To reclaim your inheritance comes from a long way. When you look back at it, you are surprised to see how far you’ve gone to pursuit your rights.

You’ve once believed that upon your father’s demise the succession would go smooth. Men of his trust had assured you it would be so, but until Prince Aemond of the House Targaryen took you and wedded you against their will, nothing was far from the truth.

As the rogue prince had forewarned you, the councillors betrayed you by arranging a match with the lord of Winterfell’s heir, a political alliance that would benefit the Black party by extent. Sending you away to marry Lord Cregan Stark’s son would guarantee your cousin’s usurping your seat and continue with the male lineage in the Eyrie.

“The hypocrisy of this situation does not cease to irritate me”, you tell Aemond the evening of your arrival, after a feast was given in your honor in order to try to delay any possible draconian interference. Diplomacy was used, but at what avail?

“What hypocrisy?”, Aemond is occupying a seat in the large private chambers that once belonged to your father and mother. He’s entertained by the fact that, once he announced he’s your husband, a quarter as this was given for you two. As a couple. So he watches as you pace anxiously in nightly gown, hair completely loose.

Indeed, my wife.

A side smirk runs in his lips.

Unaware of his thoughts, you turn at him and say:

“You are helping me to take back my rights to the Eyrie seat in the midst of a war caused because your brother took the throne of his sister. It is also ironic that by the same reason she supported the stealing of my inheritance”, so you explain, irritated as you offer him wine.

Aemond takes it, reclining back in his chair and finding intriguing how from enemies you two are… allies.

And in one step to become lovers, even though we are married.

“We need the men of the Eyrie. And your gold”, says Aemond, after sipping the wine. Bittersweet, but enjoyable. “Principles hardly make war consistent.”

You turn at him with such an intent gaze that the prince almost looks away. Then you remember that is precisely why you’ve agreed to marry him, to bring the old winged beast by your side.

You take a deep breath and mask your disappointment.

“Yes”, you say. “True. But they are not entirely convinced to switch sides.”

“If diplomacy is not working, force will be uncontested.” His eyes do not leave you. “Why hesitate? Are you expecting to convince them when you didn’t in the first time?”

You ponder his words, not saying anything at first. Aemond stands, going to where you are, before the window. You are surprised to have him so close to you, but you are tired to fight him away, to play these foolish games.

However, this isn’t about lust. Aemond sees you are tired and distressed. Very gently he plays with your hair, letting silence hang in between you two, a silence that is only broken by the howl of the wind and the sound of the owl.

“I am scared”, you admit it then.

“My darling, you offered peace twice and twice you were refused. They are purposely delaying you so the Starks will come. Can you not see that? If not the Starks, worse may come and the civil war will be transferred to this territory”, he whispers.

You furrow your eyebrows, seeing reason in his speech.

“Very well”, you nod. “You are right. I will do as you suggest. Send a rave to your men. They can enter the Eyrie via that secretive area I’ve told you about.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t go straight away. You half expect that he parts, preferring to be elsewhere, despite the current circumstances. But he is still there. With you.

“I am not leaving”, says he when reading the unposed question behind your eyes. “Come here, wife. We should stop with this play pretending.”

You cannot refuse him. Fearful of ending broken hearted, though, you do not dare to go against these desires of your heart you’ve thought to repress.

“If you are sure”, you whisper when leaning into him, helping remove his eye patch as he starts to unlace your nightgown.

“More than sure.”

Saying so, he leans close enough to wrap his arms around your waist, rubbing his hands up and down your back. You rest your forehead against his, smiling quietly as you admire his sapphire eye.

“Do you like what you see, my lady?”, he smirks, caressing your skin so softly he feels the goosebumps he causes you, which delights him greatly.

“You are so handsome”, you admit, finally removing yourself the mask of iron you’ve long learned to wear.

Aemond smirks as he pulls you to sit on his lap. This intimacy feels different, the result of a deeper shade of affection.

You slide your legs to wrap around his waist, unsure where this confidence is coming from.

He pecks around your neck, giving small bites around it.

“No, my love. You are the blessed one in matters of beauty, so gorgeous you are, specially when undressed”, then Aemond gently turns you under him in bed.

Locked gazes, secretive smiles. And one, deep passionate kiss to finally, oh finally!, bury once for all any sign of resistance from either part in consuming this unexpected alliance that has long left the politics field.

“Gods”, he grumbles, his hands all over you. “My wife, my consort. Fuck.”

“Mmm”, you like how domineering he is, you delegate the control you’ve been holding to him and you come to find how you’ve been longing for it. “Aemond, my husband.”

It then occurs him something so he stops the making session to cup your cheeks and gives you a soft smile that warms your heart.

“What?”, you ask him breathless, suddenly aware of how exposed you are under his gaze in so many shades. Your face begins to flush. “Aemond, it now occurs me that you should…”

“Shush. You may be the mistress here in the Eyrie”, says the prince maliciously as he climbs over your body, hands opening your legs gently. “But I’ll be the master right here, right now.”

You smirk as he leans forward to kiss your lips slowly, but fervently, quietening any riot that might come out of your lips.

As his tongue pairs with yours, Aemond’s thighs overcome yours, teasing your entrance with the tip of his manhood. You play with his hair, scratching his back with his nails, nearly begging him to do whatever he pleases with you.

Aemond breaks the kiss, chuckling at how under his power you are. You gently touch his face and it seems time stops when you kiss again and part.

There’s no need to speak when the language body speaks for itself. His head buries in your neck, his tongue paces from it to your collarbone. His hands work his way to cup your breasts, not stopping until you mewl loudly. Only then… his lips move downwards.

And when your eyes meet…

“Aemond”, his name comes out as a whimper in your lips, which only fuels his arousal. “Aemond, please.”

His lips open in a devilish smirk before his tongue twirls around the tip of your nipple, getting you too close to the edge. You pull his hair and he complies to your unspoken demands.

You are the center to which he gravitates and he’s the air without which you cannot breathe.

“Oh my darling. I haven’t even started yet”, so he grins whilst brushing his lips against every piece of your skin.

And moving up to your body again, he ties your hands, pinning over your head. It doesn’t help that this rogue prince strokes himself right before doing the same to you, inserting his finger, filled with precum, right into your womanhood.

“You’ll be the death of me!”, you cry out.

“Not if you kill me first”, teases him.

Slowly, he lifts your legs; slowly, but intently he pursuits your lips; and slowly, but lovingly the prince finally sets his way inside you.

Oh what a night to remember! To be deliciously fucked by your former enemy, the man you are lawfully married to.

*

Despite the ache in your legs, it is not the time nor the moment to recall the night before. As well pointed by your lord husband, out of the bedchambers you will rule the Eyrie as you see fit.

What happens next is the stage that will define the fate of this bloody war. Aemond had risen early to send a raven to his trusted men. He followed your instructions in flying away with Vhagar to give the false appearance of departing.

In truth, he is supposed to lead the invasion from the back. Propaganda was a useful tool: you were told that the common folk, like you predicted, supported you. They opened the gate to let the green army step inside.

And you, on your turn, captivated the old allies of your father with your charming wit.

“The war demands us to choose a side. Remaining neutral is not an option. We must think for ourselves, but what interests do you defend for the Eyrie by sharing them between the Starks and the woman who is causing war? I for one stand for peace and have been throughout my life properly educated for this role. I aim for duty, I aim as high as honor. By going against my father’s wishes and pledging for the enemy, you are being everything but honorable.”

Naturally, cousin H/N does not take well the words expressed. Another round goes as ideas are fought, and most fear for violence. You are no quitter, however.

Raising your chin, you defy them. You defy them all by destroying each argument posed against your cause.

But if words are not enough to support you, the roar of the dragon does its job and quiets the discontents.

You won.

And without shedding any blood.

*

King Aegon graces you with a visit with the well beloved Queen, Helaena.

“My lady of Arryn, we greet you well”, says your brother in law with a warm smile. “I cannot ignore that you have been a valuable asset to our family. Truthfully, I had to fly all this way to thank you for sparing the kingdom further years to bleed.”

This day you are dressed elegantly in a silk gown that mixes the symbols of the Houses you are linked to, by blood and by marriage. Likewise, your husband’s robes are in a blue-greenish that represent this union.

“My king and brother, I did as honor compelled me”, you’d curtsy but he prevents you to do so.

“A very adequate match to our brother”, says Helaena, affectionatively. “We did not really like Mistress Rivers anyway.”

Aemond clears his throat, embarrassed, but you and Aegon share a laughter.

“Why, I’m glad to be part of the Targaryen family. It is my pleasure to be linked to you. You, sweet Helaena, have been a friend from the day I stepped in that court.”

She extends her hands for you to take and so you lead the way indoors. Aegon and Aemond watch as the two of you act like sisters.

“Well”, says the elder of the two. “Little wonder why you are such a freaking master mind, Aemond.”

Aemond buffs, but a smug smirk could be seen in his lips.

“The perks of being a second son.”

“The Eyrie is now ours”, says he in a whisper. “Since Lady Y/N is now Targaryen.”

Aemond gives Aegon a sideway glance, but says nothing of the matter.

“What is more relevant, brother, is that we have nothing else to trouble ourselves with. Rhaenyra has been defeated once for all. That is enough for us.”

Aegon studies his brother, but keeps quiet whatever reserves he has of what is said—or left unsaid.

“Very well. You are right. Why troubling ourselves, eh? And since you refuse to aid me, which I understand why, I have Daeron as my Hand.”

Aemond doesn’t turn to gaze at his elder brother. He adjusts his posture, hands are put behind his back and leads the way indoors.

“Aye”, says the new lord (albeit consort) of the Eyrie. “You chose well. Daeron is very capable, you will see.”

*

• A few years later…

Aemond is found playing with his sons in the private quarters you two share when the door opens with a pair of twins running wide to get his attention.

“Oh, hello there!”, he laughs quietly when Rhaella and Alysanne dispute to climb over his shoulders.

Right in this moment you walk in, carrying your fifth child. (You like to blame Aemond for never stopping to engage in marital affairs. Gods help you.)

“Mother! Can we go outside now?”, inquires the elder of them, your heir named Robert after your father.

“No”, you tell him, hugging him against his will, which makes you giggle. “It’s snowing.”

“When can we fly Vhagar again?”, this time it’s Aegon, your second boy, who questions his father.

“Let Vhagar sleep. She’s old. She needs rest”, so your husband says, holding the twins together. “Besides, didn’t you hear your mother? It’s snowing.”

“It’s bedtime for you all”, you announce thus.

It takes some time before the children are tucked in. You let Aemond tell them bed stories, but the girls insist that you sing an old, ancestral song they love.

Finally, however, you and your husband have a time to yourselves.

“Y/Nickname”, Aemond comes with that voice you know so well. You shiver. He smirks because of it. “Come over here, please.”

You walk to where he is, having barely removed the jewelry.

“I want to care for you”, says he in a whisper, helping untangle your braid. “You should not work so hard in this condition.”

“I feel tired”, you admit, albeit reluctantly. “However… I cannot. You know….”

“No. Right here I have the last word”, says the prince, firmly, but gently as he unlaces your gown. “Come over here, love. Let me tend you.”

You slip by his side, helping him undress too. Fire lights in his eyes, mirroring yours, just after he put some more wood in the fireplace.

Tossing the fur blanket over your exposed bodies, tangled as one, Aemond rests a hand over your growing belly.

“My seed is strong”, he muses, caressing it before looking at you, “as is my wife.”

Your face goes bright pink at his flattery. Even now, after four children and seven years married, he knows how to affect you.

Aemond holds your chin and kisses your lips. And then…

“I love you”, those three words rarely come out, but you’ve never needed to hear them, even if when you do you get tearful. The prince smiles in secrecy. “I truthfully do, Y/Nickname. I have in vain repressed it, but to what point? Even the day before I brought you back here, I knew in my heart that you’d be my redeemer.”

You lean closer as if possible.

“And I, you. My husband, you have held the possession of my heart and soul since the very first day.”

Without his eye patch, just the two of you, no clothes. A soul reflected in another.

• (I) Dangerous Liaisons.

As Helaena’s twin, you are seen as a gift sent by the Gods. To many serving the Targaryens, this is a good omen: a girl for each boy. In other words, following old Valyrian tradition, Aegon is expected to wed Helaena as Aemond is expected to take you as his wife.

Despite the closeness in bond and a natural sisterly affection between you two, observers do not take too long to notice how different a sister is from the other. Helaena, plagued by green dreams, finds solace in her unreachable world to where she withdraws frequently; you, on the other hand, are lively and with a mind of your own.

Where Helaena is the moon, you are depicted as the sun. You’ve always liked to shine bright, aiming for some recognition… but as you grew, little would be achieved.

There are a few stages where you are granted the position of protagonist, though. And yet they result in spending little time at the company of your mother and earning comparisons to Rhaenyra by your father.

These complicated situations do not help you in forming your personality. Often, it is Helaena who comes for you.

“You shall climb higher, my sister. At what cost? Only the Gods know…”

“I know naught what is there to sacrifice. Didn’t ask for this lack of…”, affection is the word you fear to speak, as if it’s sinful saying so.

Helaena looks at you with sympathy.

“Red is the path you will trace.”

“Indeed it is a colour I like”, you do not always understand her lines of thought… or rather, you are afraid to. But when she takes your hands, this connection comes like the fire of a dragon. And it burns you.

Because you can see what she sees.

“Dear Gods!”, you cry out, breaking the frenesi. “My sister, I’m so sorry!”

You pull her to an embrace and for the first time, she grants permission to be embraced. That evening, neither of you speak for a while.

*

Vhagar has been claimed. A price had to be paid and Aemond lost an eye for it.

“It was worth it”, he tells you.

Aemond in fact likes your company. Even though there are moments you suspect he tolerates you because you two will marry in due age, you cannot deny that he’s a better prospect than Aegon… and not to mention you have similar tastes, being in each other’s company ever since you could remember.

“How?”, you shoot him an angry gaze. “How losing an eye was worth it? If I was there…”

“Don’t. Don’t be condescending, Y/Nickname. This is not you”, he smirks.

“Condescending you say. Allow me to disagree! I’d gladly…”

In this very inappropriate time, your mother, the queen, doesn’t like the tone she hears in your voice.

“I pray you are not speaking in an unlady manner, Y/N. I didn’t raise you to act otherwise. You are almost ten and four, a trait as this should have past this age.”

Aemond spots a crimson red painting your cheeks. He sees the shadow of fury rising in your chest by the way you breathe heavily, and yet your face is effortlessly unreadable.

“Yes, my mother”, you curtsy. “I promise I shall improve my manners.”

Alicent nods her head, but makes you look at her, gently stroking your chin as doing so.

“My dear child, I assure you there is little need to expose yourself in this manner. And Aemond, stop misleading Y/N to improper behavior. This is unlike you.”

Aemond says no word, though the prince nods his head in a submissive gesture. Then, to his displeasure, you both are forced to part ways since the queen is suddenly reminded that her daughter has lessons with Helaena to attend.

*

It’s late when you opt to trace a path of your own. You make sure Helaena is sleeping well before slipping out of the bed you two share. You wear your court green gown and tie your long hair in a messy braid.

Barefoot you walk, silently so. Or so you judge, forgetting that Aemond is usually an owl. He has just landed Vhagar when the young prince spots a shadowy move going to the cave where a legendary dragon is asleep.

At first he is uninterested, believing it to be some of his uncle Daemon’s children. But then… thanks to the moonlight he can spot a green gown.

“Y/N”, he hisses surprised under his breath. “What the fuck…?”

He’s panicking at the mere prospect of losing you. For what you are doing is insane! None has dared to reclaim Vermithor since King Jaehaerys’s demise, but those who attempted to do so… well, they are not around to tell the story.

“What are you trying to prove?”, he asks himself, in between annoyance and admiration. “I am the only one allowed to be reckless.”

To Aemond, you are his princess that must be protected at all costs. Forgetting himself in the process, he prays whatever deity there is to remove you out of this idea. You should not look up at him.

Oh what have I done?

Meanwhile, ignoring that you have been followed, you struggle with your fears. This could go worse, you know that. Targaryens are not immune to fire and even though there’s none to recollect failing to claim a dragon, there is a part of you that fears you to be the first.

You create, albeit unwillingly, a whole scenario of your funeral and you lament already for the pain it might cause Aemond. Or not, since now you are rather unsure of his affection towards you.

Well, there is little to think of when you grab a torch and light the way inside the cave. You hold your breath, motion it very slowly and carefully. You are sure that the silence of it can hear your heavy breathing.

It is a large cave, far better fit for savage dragons—legend has it that Vermithor opted to rest in there after his rider’s demise. Who would dare to be Jaehaerys sucessor and claim this ancient beast?

You spot a red scaled large dragon at long last. As you stand there, you stare at a possible death. But you do not dare to walk away, not now.

Helaena wasn’t afraid when she claimed Dreamfyre so many moons ago. Why should I fear doing so? Aemond has Vhagar. I will have my own too.

“Vermithor”, you call out it it’s name firmly.

Silence breaks and your voice echoes through the long cave. The beast opens its golden eyes and stares at you. It watches you, as if it’s wondering your intentions.

Whether this is my failure or my success, it relies on me what’s to be done. Here I go.

Not too far from you, Aemond is willing to go after you. To take you away from this recklessness, but part of him stops him doing so. It’s your moment. He must have some faith in you.

So he watches as the dragon begins to move, distrusted. It spits fire across the cave before moving towards you. He doesn’t listen what you are saying, but apparently some wrong words come out of your mouth for now Vermithor spits fire in your direction.

“Y/N!”, Aemond chokes a scream.

But to his surprise, the misunderstanding—as it has proven to be so—is quickly solved. You speak the right terms now and in a matter of seconds, you climb Vermithor.

And you soon fly with it.

“Goodness me!”

Not everyday Prince Aemond Targaryen is impressed, but the day Princess Y/N has claimed Jaehaerys’s dragon and proven herself to be his rightful heir and rider… is one that he will never forget. And neither will you.

***

• (II) Blossoms the courtship.

Some years have passed ever since. You are finally the protagonist you aimed to be. Your name has been found in poems and in the lips of bards.

Aemond watches as you have grown to a handsome, lively woman, whose Valyrian traits manage to even shine off your twin’s.

How’s that possible? They look the same…

Intrigued as he is, you are every inch your Targaryen’s ancestor. Some compare you to Rhaenys, the Conqueror’s wife, for you suit well in silk as you settle fine over your dragon’s back.

Whoever they compare you to, you care not. Indeed, you love dancing and flirting, flying with Vermithor above all… but when it comes to Aemond, he’s your weakness.

The prince has turned his back on you, rather going outdoors. Little he is surprised when you are by his side, snaking your arm to his. Aemond smells your scent… and it makes it difficult for him to breathe.

You awake in me desires I wish I was not familiar with. Oh, Y/N. Had you known my struggles, would you make me at your mercy?

“Will you not salute me, Aemond?”, you smirk at him.

The cream gown you dress today seems to reinforce your curves and you take notice of his lusting good eye lingering at the swell of your breasts.

“I often greet you well, Y/Nickname”, he tries to hold back his composure. “How is my little reckless dragon doing this day?”

Despite his effort in looking away, Aemond knows he cannot. You take advantage of it by playing with his long, slander fingers.

“Very good, thank you. Our grandsire has been planning our wedding. It will be splendid so I heard, though discreet as it should.”

“Hum”, is all he says.

You tilt your head, trying to read the meaning this “hum” may imply. Despite knowing his nature, you’d expect him to show some emotion. Realizing your disappointment, Aemond’s pale cheeks are painted by a light shade of crimson.

“I’ve meant to say I look forward to it.”

“It doesn’t sound like it at all.”

“Y/N…”

You say nothing, but you don’t leave him either. Instead of going to yard, you are surprised when Aemond is leading you somewhere outdoors.

He takes you to his secretive spot. It is located right at the center of a very elaborated labyrinth of trees, grasses and different kinds of flowers. There is an old fountain in it, but he takes you farther… and only then, where trees and silent birds are your witnesses, he makes you look at him.

“I am not good at expressing sentiments of any nature.”

He looks away for a moment and you take the opportunity to lace your fingers in his. His skin, so cold in contrast to your warm one, gives you some shivers.

“Only a bard is skilled enough to transmit sentiments of any kind to beautiful words, rhymes and verses.” You pause. “We’ve been raised in this mess together, my dear. I struggle to find a place for me in this world, but you already have it.”

Aemond scoffs.

“I am second best in all. Came too late for the higher prize. What should I offer you…”

You seem to recollect your sister’s words about climbing high. It gives you bad taste in your tongue, but you swallow it.

“You are my greatest prize, Aemond. You offer me wit and devotion. Should I start to listen your virtues? Or to say you have been my major inspiration, the reason why I pursued Vermithor?”

Aemond once again finds himself blushing upon your words. He lowers his gaze and smiles shyly. You are pleased with this sight, very warming to your pounding heart.

“Did you do that madness because of me? Why?”, he asks at you, impressed.

“I wanted to prove you my worth”, this is your time to blush. “I…”

One look is enough and before you know, the prince takes you with his firm hands and presses his lips against yours.

It is as if the winds have tossed you into the storm, and you feel electrified by it. His tongue so domineering pairs perfectly with yours. You are captured in his web, a victim of this hungry hunter. And you gladly subdue to his power.

In this privacy, a kiss so intimate evolves. And you confidently slip to his lap, your hands now playing with his hair, touching his face…

“Seven hells”, he parts it to catch up with his breath. “Y/N…”

“I want you”, you brush your lips against his, hands now slipping to his neck. “I cannot wait…”

Aemond groans, cutting you with a kiss. It deepens, it burns, it hurts. He’s intense now, chewing your bottom lip, letting his hands finding your curves and caressing your chest, much to your delight.

You moan against his lips, setting your hips properly against him. The next you thing you know his hand is lifting your skirt, desperately moving high your thigh until…

“We best leave to our wedding day”, he smirks when seeing a quiet riot storming behind your lilac eyes. “Believe me, my dear. I am as willful as you are. You shall not regret when time comes.”

You blush furiously. Something about this early interruption annoys you, fuels your frustration. As if he reads what you struggle to express, Aemond holds you against him still, refusing to let go of you.

“I love you, Y/Nickname”, he turns your head so you can see he means what he says. “I shall not treat you unkindly, moved by lustful desires. You are more than that to me.”

This time you soften and Aemond is more than pleased to see how smooth is your breathing, how frustration has been set aside by a new degree of satisfaction.

Like a needy boy, he clings onto you, his strong arms lacing around your delicate frame protectively, breathing in your scent and there staying. You shiver softly, to feel his breath against your skin is a secretive invitation to temptation.

But there is more than craving, than to submit to the needs of flesh. You smile to yourself, finally seen, understood… somebody else’s protagonist.

You are his heroine, his valiant damsel who claimed Vermithor for herself. His sun, to whom he gravitates.

“I adore you”, he whispers in your ear, his husky voice singing to your heart intimately, closely. “Do not dare to leave me, Y/N.”

“Never, Aemond”, you turn your head so he can meet in your eyes the reliance his heart requires. “I am yours as you are mine.”

You rest your forehead against his and for the last time this day, he kisses you.

Slowly. Achingly. Burningly so.

*

You stand before the window, watching as the moon rises uncontestedly in the skies. A cold breeze blows against your loose hair and you know it’s an announcement of your sister, your other half.

Ghostly-like she comes to you. It’s said that when moon and sun meet, a shadow is what results.

“You will rise as high as your heart desires. But a price of blood is the cost. Are you prepared to pay for it?”

You close your eyes, unwilling to admit, unwilling to believe.

“Not my Aemond.”

“Not him”, her echo makes you turn at her. You spot hurt behind her lilac eyes, the mirror of yours.

“Sister…”

“It is the will of the gods”, Helaena sets beside you, looking now to the horizon before giving you a sad smile. “What am I if not a pawn to their games?”

This evening, Helaena does not take your hand.

*

You are flying with Vermithor, hours before your wedding day. Your red scaled dragon is as attached to you as you are to him. A new bond is strongly formed.

“There you go! Are you ready for it, baby boy?”

As if aware of your request, Vermithor growls. The dragon flies high and spits a cloud of fire in between clouds. You cross it, not minding the smell of burning. Just after you do so, you hear Vhagar’s.

“Looks like we have company”, you chuckle. “Greetings, husband to be.”

“I was afraid you eloped”, you hear Aemond say. His words are the only evidence of his long companion, insecurity. A sentiment that you are familiar with.

“Eloped?”, you chuckle quietly as Vermithor and Vhagar pair in a rhythmless dance. “With whom?”

Aemond doesn’t answer, his face unreadable. Then his sharp tongue denounces his jealousy.

“Ser Criston, perhaps.”

The disdain in your eyes makes clear to Aemond that his jealousy is unfounded. Nevertheless he never appreciated that you took his invitation and danced in the feast of your father’s name day.

Realizing that, you charm him with a loving smile.

“I shouldn’t be so imprudent, my dear Aemond. Nevertheless I could not help one last fly before our marriage.” Only as you instruct Vermithor to fly back that you tell Aemond. “You are a fool to think Ser Criston would have the same consideration I have for you. He’s nothing in comparison. Only a Targaryen can love another.”

Aemond says nothing, but his chest swells with pride when hearing so. He follows you, for where else should he be?

*

You are at last his wife. The ceremony is conducted under the guidance of High Sparrow, discreetly and with selected witnesses. You notice that your sister Rhaenyra has been absent, but she’s barely missed.

“Mine”, these are the words you capture as Aemond takes your wrist and presses a long kiss upon it. “Mine lady wife.”

And your face burns with the dark shade of pink. Has the reckless princess Y/N been tamed? Something about how his good eye stares at you confirms the courtly whisper.

“Mine lord”, you smile, suddenly shy; yet Aemond sees how bright is your gaze, how full of life your eyes are. “Mine husband.”

“Here we are”, says Aemond as if there’s just the two of you on the table as your siblings dance along others. Surprisingly a good deed that Aegon has at last succumbed to Helaena’s charms. “Took us a long road.”

“It did”, you agree, lacing fingers with his. “What took you so long, I wonder?”

You cast him a gaze, one of the kind Aemond doesn’t find difficulties to decypher. It has taken time to admit that what one feels for the other is not merely the ties of duty, but a bond deep and old as time.

He holds your hand gently, watching how well moulded yours is with his.

“I needed to be sure.”

“Had I confessed my feelings earlier, would it have changed anything?”

“No”, and here he smiles gently. “I would not flee of my duties, my dear Y/N.”

You lean forward to kiss his cheek, not minding showing affection in public.

“I am most pleased to have conquered a place in your heart, dear Aemond.”

Not for the first time, the one eyed prince blushes. And now comes the bedding feast…

*

Once the bed is blessed by the greater authority of the church, privacy is granted and finally it is just the two of you. Here, denuded, you are shy—whereas with Aemond is quite the opposite.

Unashamed, he takes a turn to the other side of the bed, where you are yet to slide in when he rests his arms around your waist as he stays behind you.

“So beautiful”, he puts away your long silver curls, and you smile timidly when he does so; his cold slander fingers going up and down gives you quite a few shivers. “How could this be? My wife, there is no one like you.”

“You are being kind, husband”, you close your eyes, head throwing back at his chest. His hands are going down your neck, wrapping one around it before sliding another to cup your left breast. “Kinder than I deserve.”

“Not at all”, his voice, husky, warms you inside. Aemond smirks, attentive to your body language. But the prince takes his time. “You are incomparable, woman. And yet you are mine.”

“You could have any other, though”, the subtle jealousy in your voice arouses him. The way you press your hips against his only helps to make his bone go harder. A sentiment that warms you… rather intently. “It is my understanding you once whored.”

“I did, yes”, he admits shyly, his lips now glued against your cheek, his tender kiss going to your jawline before moving to your neck. His thumb rounds around your nipple makes you arch your back and moan low. “And yet rarely did I indulge myself in such activity.”

You turn again to be face to face to him. Your hands rest now against his chest before boldly moving to his erect manhood.

“I pray that you keep your word”, you plant kisses around his neck, leaving some bruises before your instinct leads you to grasp him.

Aemond side smirks at you, aware that your timid comportment would not last too long. He lifts your chin and kisses you thus, aroused at the prospect of being the one to lecture you in these marital activities both of you longed for.

***

• (III) Fire and Blood.

The domestic stability does not last too long when your elder brother Aegon succeeds your father. Transition should occur smoothly… had not been the fact that the nobles of the realm had swore an oath to acknowledge Rhaenyra’s rights to inherit her father’s throne.

Yet, soon there is talk about the princess’ weakness and incapacity to rule. It weights against her that she is wedded to the ambitious Daemon Targaryen.

A solution is proposed: as tradition dictates, the male heir’s claim is pressed in opposition to the female’s and the old king Jaehaerys’ council is used as precedent. Besides, not even the oath swore by noblemen can state the lack of King Viserys’s official appointment. In other words, Aegon is acknowledged as his natural successor. Not Rhaenyra.

And soon he occupies the Westerosi throne.

“I am more than aware she will not take this transition well”, Aegon says.

In that evening, the coronation had been planned and now the siblings are gathered together. So far, you content to watch.

“We are more than prepared to defend your position, brother”, says Aemond. “We are excellent combatants and our dragons are a force that must not be underestimated.”

“You speak truth even though they have ancient beasts in their side as well. I’m hoping that Rhaenyra will come to her senses, though.”

“Hardly”, points Aemond. “She is a stubborn woman, and very vain.”

“We must be mindful of gathering support. What are the houses that stand for us?”, inquires Daeron.

Aegon lists the names of it. The younger sibling nods his head.

“And Citadel is, naturally, on our side. A pen is as important as a sword when battle comes”, says he.

The talks occur between the men, not regarding your or Helaena’s perspective. You let this be, but eventually you clear your throat, drawing every eye to you.

“Yes, dear Y/N?”, says Aegon in a condescending tone.

You know Aemond’s unreadable look is on you, but you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t say:

“We should not forget to send a dragon to the seat of the Arryn family. They hold a great deal of men who could aid our side in this.”

“Have you ever flew there? It is too high and they remain neutral in any case”, Aegon counter points you.

“Precisely why we should use a good deal of diplomacy. It worked once when Visenya flew…” you make a dramatic pause and cast a quick glance to Aemond, whose good eye remains glued in you, “… with Vhagar there.”

“I cannot send Aemond, though. His bad reputation would ruin it”, says a resented king.

“Who says anything about sending Aemond? I am a princess, my role is to serve my house, brother.”

Aemond closes his fist, a sign of displeasure—but to your surprise, he doesn’t disagree. The one-eyed prince is reasonable. So he says:

“We have dragons. Let us make use of it. In this first part of war, no moves are needed. Diplomacy works best under female arts, I believe. So Helaena could go North and work with the Starks…”

“Helaena is my wife”, so cuts Aegon. “She is not going anywhere… since she is carrying our children.”

His sweet smile, one you’ve seen he saves only for your twin sister, melts every tension that could have come by the form he addressed Aemond.

“You are expecting!”, you exclaim, delighted. “How come you’ve not told me about this?”

And that is how Aegon closes the council by delivering these great news. You leave the meeting in great content, arm in arm with your other half, both of you discussing and arranging plans for the unborn children.

*

Aemond is already in the quarters he shares with you by the time you return from Helaena’s chambers. He’s standing before the window watching the landscape as the sun sets.

You stand there for a moment, contemplating his handsomeness, the military posture that you admire in him—every inch the embodiment of family, duty and honor. Though these are the epithets more often associated with House Tully, you think they suit your husband just fine.

Aemond, in turn, has long perceived your entrance—although he likes to pretend he’s no observer just to amuse you. The silver haired prince’s excellent listening caught the slight and delicate way you opened the door and so gracefully slipped through it, charming the quarters with your perfume—ah, the scent of lavanda! It is so characteristic of you, Y/N.

Although he is admiring the mixed colored of orange and dark blue in this twilight, the prince feels your gaze fixed on him. A side, crooked grin twists at the corner of his lips at it.

“What is my wife looking at?”, Aemond’s husky voice breaks the spell without even turning to gaze at you.

You giggle foolishly at how easily you can be seen drooling over this man you are lawfully married to. Planting by his side, you rest your head at his shoulder as you link your arm in his.

“I was admiring my lord husband. Am I not allowed to contemplate such an exquisite man?”

Aemond chuckles.

“How flirty of you.”

“Always with you.”

His chuckle turns into laughters. You smile at yourself, taking pride in being able to dissolve a serious day and turn into a light one.

He deserves it.

“Praise the Gods for that. We wouldn’t want it the other way around, would we?”

And now that he turns at you, Aemond can see every shade of affection transmitted in your eyes. He almost forgets to breathe when seeing it, once he grew up under that fragility—which he still despises—that made him believe he was unlovable.

Damned be him for being possessive towards you. Aemond sighs quietly as he strokes his long fingers over your cheek.

“Never”, you agree. “I am not a woman to share, you should know that by now, my prince.”

“Neither am I”, he whispers, eyeing you intently and smirking quite mischievously when seeing you blush right as he wraps a hand around your neck. “But this shouldn’t surprise you, should it? You know me quite well by now, Y/N.”

And saying so, Aemond leans you against the wall. You barely breathe; oh you like when he takes what he wants. The fire in him warms you and you are more than ready to get burnt.

“True. I do. This is why I’m here, although I recall your eyes following me like a hunter when we were betrothed”, you smirk.

“A teaser is what you are”, Aemond leans so close you can smell his breath and this proximity makes you weak in your knees.

He knows you well and smirks wide. His hand is still around your neck when he uses another to pull your hair.

“But it’s not your beauty that captivated me”, says he in the tone that gives you whispers.

You don’t know you are holding your breath until his touch makes you moan softly—and he’s only playing with your hair and exercising his dominance over you.

Aemond likes how easily you subdue.

“How so?”, you whisper back, unable to do anything, although you are opening your legs and lifting one to wrap it around his waist.

“Your wit”, he says so close to your ear, his right hand playing with your locks before going to your back and unlace your gown. “It arouses me.”

Only your husband can bring this fire out of you.

“The iron underneath your beauty… I see it. I like it. I own it”, and that being said he pursuits your lips, pressing his well built body against yours.

Your moan is shut under his fervent kiss and what is delightfully painful is that you do not dictate the rules of this sensual encounter, but he does. You close your eyes, letting him do what he wants with you--specially after what he said.

That he is aroused by your wit, that he acknowledges it and appreciates it, only makes you want him more. Aemond is about to find how much he's desired.

His lips move to your neck as his impatient hands help you out of the gown. You take the opportunity that you have some more space to move and wrap your arms around his neck, letting your hands wander around his muscles.

So suddenly you and him drop in bed and you help him toss away his robes. In your eyes there's nothing more than devotion and lust when you scratch your nails from his chest below. Your gaze moves down to his manhood, but before you can do anything at all he pins your hands above your head.

“Aemond!”, you whimper in protest. “This is torture!”

Aemond laughs quietly.

“In truth this is what you like. Don’t deny. You may play with others at your will, my sunshine, but right here, right now…. I am your master”, and then his lips move to your neck, there staying for a while when he uses a hand to caress your breasts, playing with each nipple.

“Aemond!”, you gasp out of despair. You smirk at yourself. The prideful shrewd is tamed, humbled before her husband and the mere idea makes you unbearably wet.

“Please!”, you beg.

Aemond smiles at you all the whilst his lips move down to your chest.

“I greatly appreciate when my wife begs. I am at your disposal, noble lady.”

Your eyes match in a gaze. You believe nothing can hold you back any longer and the very moment you feel those slander fingers inside you… you explode indeed.

Aemond knows his bone is dripping wet—a sensation he himself cannot bear much longer. But he is patient. And when he slides to his knees, when you humble before him, the prince groans.

“Fuck. This is where our fun begins.”

And the night has just gotten started.

*

Aemond is not a man who shares anything at all: power, books or women. But when you are on his knees—just after he had his good share fun with you—, he doesn’t mind delegating it to you.

And here you are, right where you wanted to be.

“You like that, naughty princess? By the Gods…”, he whimpers and the sound of it makes you wet again. His hands play with your hair, but he lets you tease him.

For her now at your mercy and you enjoy it more than a wife should. But to have his large length erect… harder it goes as you tease its tip with your tongue, is so damn good.

“I save myself for you and you alone, though you have introduced me to these dark arts, haven’t you, husband?”

Your sweet voice arouses him further. Proving to be his best student—not as if he likes to teach; in the past he preferred experienced women, but even they could not be compared to you.

He pumps it right to your face and… Gods be good! His patience is well rewarded! All of this waiting and…

“Rise, Y/Nickname. Let us not waste my seed in your beautiful mouth.”

Something about your confidence lets him delegate some more power to you. So you ride him good that night, very certain that you have conceived.

*

But in the following morning, serious issues requested the attention of all.

“Rhaenyra chooses war”, Aegon announces. “Our diplomacy has been refused.”

You sigh. Discreetly, you cast a glance at Helaena. Seeing how she is uncomfortable with being there, you decide to get her out of there. So you excuse yourself from the throne room—Aegon and your husband look worried, but you reassure each that you and Helaena need some time alone.

So you lead the way to the gardens. Only then you two sit and wait. Helaena is pale, her hands are wrought in one another. Her eyes tear up, but she does not say a word.

You wait. You are familiar with her crisis. Somehow you feel it too. You bat your eyelashes in order to prevent tears to come uninvited.

I must be strong for my sister.

And then comes. Helaena takes a firm grip of your wrists and in urgent tone, she says:

“We are not going to survive this. Do not let our sacrifice go to nothing.”

“Laena…”

“Promise me, Y/N. Promise me! Your ambition will save us from disgrace.”

You have the decency to look away, embarrassed, but then Helaena softens and makes you look back. There are tears in those eyes that are so similar to yours.

“Y/Nickname. I do not fault you for who you are. We are the same but different, and yet we need each other.”

“I don’t like your prophecies”, you don’t realize you are breaking in tears until she holds you close.

“We are the instruments of the divine will. Do not try to understand. I quit that a while ago”, and just like that she drops you.

“I cannot… I will not accept it.” And then you take her by her shoulders. “Fight this, Laena! You are a goddamn Targaryen. We don’t answer to Gods or men!”

Helaena says nothing. She gives you a significant smile and this is the moment you understand what’s being left out. You feel it even if you were not granted—or gifted, like your mother used to point out—-this ability she possesses.

“I was meant to protect you”, it’s all you can say.

“Destiny is inexorable, my dear”.

*

Aemond knows there is something wrong with you no matter how chatty you are, how kind you behave and how confident you show to others. But, patience is a virtue and, even if he’s not entirely virtuous, this is a trait he takes pride in possess.

“Y/N”, he comes at you just after dinner. “Let us have a walk for a moment?”

Just by how he cordially extends his arm to you, you know there is no escape. You nod. There’s no alternative and even so… Could you share with him that secretive bond you and Helaena share?

Aemond doesn’t speak a word. He is tranquil and lets you have the way. You do have the tendency to speak too much when you are anxious, so it’s not until you stop talking and suddenly burst to tears that you find peace when he holds you.

Because Aemond knows you very well. He can read you like a book. How could you consider not sharing anything with this man? The intimacy of your bond goes back to infancy.

You would die for him. Like he would for you.

“Y/Nickname”, he whispers in your ear as he holds you close. His voice is tender, gentle, empathetic even. “What happened when you and Laena left the room? Right when we were discussing important points that I’m sure were interesting to you.”

Aemond caresses your face again, giving the time you need to speak. This is one of those rare events when you need to be comforted—it is often when the roles were reversed. You are always there to everyone, and he remembers when you punched Baela in her face when you were children.

To see you fragile leaves him anguished. So he adds after a while:

“You do not have to be strong all the time, Y/Nickname. Isn’t that what you often tell me?” He kisses your forehead.

You nod. And then you share everything to him—even those details he’s unfamiliar with. Aemond is a good listener, he actually listens attentively to every word you say.

As if I needed any proof of his affection for me.

“I see”, Aemond strokes his chin, thoughtful. “It does certainly not look a good omen. But at least we have time to prepare ourselves.”

You cast a knowing look at him, understanding what’s not being said. The prince looks at you as well, almost as if defying you to opposite it. He’s surprised, however, when you take his hand and there press a kiss, saying:

“You are the light of my world, Aemond. My heart and soul are yours to command. You are not my master. You are not my lover only.” And you find yourself smiling. “You are my king.”

Indeed, whatever your souls are made of… It can be said it’s made of the same material.

*

You stay with Helaena whilst the boys go to war. Your sister is not going well with her pregnancy and as much as you have been excited to ride Vermithor for these battles ahead, you must stay behind with the one whom you shared a womb.

“I appreciate you staying”, so your sister tells you. “Thank you.”

“You are my sister. The sun of…”

“No”, she interrupts you with a giggle. “You are the sun and I am the moon. It is only fair it is so.”

You rest your forehead against hers and close your eyes as you two embrace. This is going to be difficult and heart wrenching. Oh. Ignorance would have been a blessing!

In the meantime you stand side by side to Helaena, Aegon flies with Sunfyre whereas Aemond is heading to take Harrenhal. Daeron, on his part, is leading the troops to Storm’s Land.

For now no one is looking at Dragonstone, since Rhaenyra’s party is located there and without Vermithor, the chances are low.

As Aemond flies to Harrenhal, however, his conscience admonishes him about his brother. This is not the time to disregard Aegon for the foolishnesses. He is his brother.

Brothers do not abandon each other. Not by ambition.

Right?

Aemond knows that Helæna’s prophecy might work well for him. But will he be able to live with it?

“Fuck”, he mutters under his breath.

“Vhagar, turn back. To Storm’s Land!”

Despite the resistance of the old lady, Aemond successfully manages to go back. So he flies as fast he can. Is he looking for redemption for what he’s done to Lucerys?

That is a tricky question. One of the kind an answer is not needed to.

So he flies as fast as Vhagar can. Aemond tries not to be dominated by these unusual mixed of sentiments. Whatever it is he feels for Aegon, he cannot dismiss the fact they are family—as their mother likes to point out.

Isn’t it because of Aegon he’s waging this foolish war—or rather started it?

In the meantime, Aegon is tangled in a battle that trapped him between the experienced Rhaenys and her granddaughter, the bold Baela. The young king is despaired when noticing the foolishness in coming this way by himself, but who’s to blame for this if not himself?

Swallowing his frustrations, Aegon is not going to be a quitter now.

But it is somewhat too little too late to realize that only a dragon can destroy another dragon.

Was it worthy it?

In his last hours, all Aegon Targaryen could think was in his beloved Helæna.

*

Blood is in your hands. You are completely numb as you watch your mother hold Helæna in her arms. Guilt pains you even though you’ve done nothing wrong.

I can’t stay here.

You stand quietly and leave your sister’s quarters. A vale of tears covers your face and once more you are fragile. Exposed. Broken.

You go outdoors, heading to the dragon’s pit. Vermithor seems to feel your pain for you are able to hear his howl even from that distance.

It’s when a grand shadow is spotted. A large winged beast crosses skies. It howls like Vermithor.

Oh no.

You stand still. Remorse crawls upon your heart. By the looks of Aemond, you do not need much to understand.

When he stops abruptly and see you, he too pales. This day couldn’t go worse, could it?

For a moment, you remain apart of each other. You could barely breathe when you remember the prophecy of Helaena.

“You shall climb higher, sister. At what cost? Red is the path…”

These words echo in your mind and you feel losing the grip of yourself when you slip to your knees—but you are saved in time by Aemond.

He holds you close. Neither of you speak for what it seems to be a long time. You two are oblivious to the storm that is rising in the horizon.

“Listen to me, Y/Nickname”, he lifts your chin and cups your cheek. “None of this is your fault. War is a risk.”

You nod, unable to speak. Then you lift your eyes and panic is stamped in your features when it comes your mind the consequences of the death of your beloved siblings:

“Does this mean we’ve lost? Rhaenyra…”

“No”, Aemond says firmly. You may detect pain in his eyes, but there’s a certainty in his voice that helps you recompose. “We cannot let her win. What they did to Aegon was cowardice, Y/N.”

“Very well. Let us embrace this prophecy then. For Helaena, deprived of a long life filled with happy children and a good husband; for Aegon, who was deprived of his inheritance, his family. For us. For our cause.”

Neither of you finds the need to say a word. Aemond rests his forehead against yours. He takes your hand and squeezes it. You take a deep breath, wishing this wouldn’t have to come this way.

At the same time, a thought occurs you: who better than Aemond Targaryen to be king?

The Gods could be cruel…

***

• (IV) Vengeance.

Aemond occupies the head of the table. This day he’s arrived early, way before the council starts. Dressed in fanciful green robes, he is staring at the long table with empty seats. He cannot keep the satisfaction that is to finally be in what is his rightful seat.

Being the second son has its advantages.

But the sentiment of success does not last long. He is recalled of his mistakes and how—with the exception of you—he was never acknowledged for any good thing he did for this family. However, even in his worst days, Aegon was there for him.

Poor Helæna…

Although she was spared of a longer suffering… Aemond thinks of how you must be. It’s been a difficult week, but what matters the most is that one has the other.

The door opens abruptly and Aemond is not entirely surprised for seeing his mother there.

“You couldn’t wait, could you? We’ve barely… I’ve lost two of my children and you are already claiming what you’ve always wanted!”

Aemond waits before her burst ends. The one-eyed prince is hurt, but not entirely surprised. Should he have hidden his envy better?

He lets her speak. He avoids the silent accusation. Should he defend himself?

What’s the point? She never listens.

Aemond doesn’t trust Alicent Hightower.

“Because you are my mother, I respect you”, says he, calmly. “But you forget we are at war. To disrespect the memory of my brother, to whom I’ve been as loyal as any dragon could be to its rider, is to give away the throne to the woman whose associates trapped Aegon.”

The dowager queen seems to come to her senses. Although she’s hurt, she is not unreasonable in seeing his point. This is the moment that you walk in.

You perceive the tension between them. Very carefully, you keep the thoughts to yourself. With these past weeks, you have come closer to your mother and all of this was thanks to Helaena. You’d not want to disrespect her efforts by taking a side in this.

Instead, you wisely say:

“Husband. Mother. I do not know what has come to pass between the two of you, but we cannot be divided in this delicate time. I was told that Rhaenyra sees this as the best time to come to the capital.”

Alicent nods. Aemond gives a quick glance to you, appreciating your diplomatic skills.

“Call the others, mother”, you ask her. “We have pressing matters to resolve now.”

Once she leaves, Aemond turns at you.

“By the Gods, how do you manage…?”, he leaves the question unfinished.

You walk to where he is and stand by his side, smiling as he plays with your fingers.

“Let her feel useful, Aemond. Mother can be complicated, but if she has her way, you’ll see she actually has a heart.”

Your husband is too resented to agree with you, so he opts for the silence instead. You sigh.

“Can you at least try?” You pout. “For me?”

He raises his good eye and stares at you. Then he whispers:

“When have I ever denied you anything?”

You lean to peck his cheek, a smile so bright on your lips that Aemond could feel his inner demons being dissipated with your sunbeam.

How does she do it?

*

Once the allies are listed, plans are made. You are very determined to have Aemond crowned. But you also come up with a very bold plan.

“We need to take Dragonstone. We can do it through gold, diplomacy and fire and blood”, you try not to blush when sensing his long stare at you. “With the right proposal, the Velaryons can switch sides.”

Daeron looks at you, bewildered.

“For how long have you kept your brain hidden, my sister?”

You give him a smug smirk before proceeding with the plan. If the enemies did dirty by trapping Aegon, then you’d have to be wiser in doing worse.

Later that evening, you come to Aemond’s side. The two of you have retired earlier since the day after is promising to be decisive.

“Aem”, you call him, softly playing with his long silver locks.

“Yes?”

Silence hangs in between. It’s comfortable. Then he turns at you and says:

“I need you.”

“And I’m here.”

He raises his gaze at you and you take the chance to remove his eye-patch. Gently, you caress the spot where his good eye was removed.

Then, Aemond leans his head against your chest and embraces you.

“I want you to… to fly with Vermithor”, says he, exposed to fear in his crude state.

“I will”, you stroke his hair, pulling him against you. “I will have you crowned, Aemond Targaryen, even if it’s the last thing I do in this lifetime.”

You side smirk to yourself but when he looks up at you, the smirk is wiped out of your lips. Aemond is afraid. He’s lost so much. He’s been through dark paths where many had been unfaithful to him.

“My dear love, I’m here. I will never leave you.”

For the very first time in a while, a tear comes down from his eye.

“I didn’t mean it. I did not wish to have the crown for myself at the cost of his life. Aegon was my brother too.”

In your arms, wept the rogue prince. Misunderstood by all, unfairly attributed the epithet of kinslayer, a troubled soul who longed to be loved by those who abandoned him.

But you remain.

Of all people, you stay.

And this has many shades of meaning to a man who believed to be difficult to love—and be loved.

*

Sun has started to set its first rays to light up the morning when you begin to feel sick. You try to feign this is nothing to be worried about—for you rarely feel any kind of stomachache.

But eventually you lose your sleep. You stare at Aemond, naked, sleeping soundly by your side. He is so closely tied to you that it makes difficult for you to leave him.

Yet. You must.

Discreetly and without making any sound, you go straight to the small quarter that is joint to your privy bedchambers.

Gods, how you detest to bend like this. You pale, feeling dizzy. You cannot be sick now! Not this day!

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then you stand and go back to bed. You pace lazily around your chamber so this strange sickness goes away. When your stomach settles, you go back to bed.

“Mm”, grumbles a sleepy Aemond. “Up so early, my sweet?”

You feel strangely emotional at how gentle and kindhearted he is with you… specially out of the public sight. You lean closer to him, snuggling against his chest.

“Sleep, my darling. It’s nothing, really.”

When he snores back, you chuckle quietly. Slowly, you drift back to sleep as well, feeling safe in his arms.

*

Aemond is reluctant to let you take part of this war. When seeing you wearing armor, his heart is pained by this sight.

What am I asking of her?

The former Queen isn’t pleased with his idea.

“You are sending my only daughter to feed your ambition, Aemond. Let us hope you don’t take her from me.”

Cruel words, but they hold some truth. Even though he cannot be condescending to your nature—Aemond knows you are his other half, except that you shine so much brighter with your optimism. Little wonder why you were nicknamed the sunbeam of the family.

Who wouldn’t be contagious to the joy you irradiate? The peacemaker, the stronghold of them all, you are, in many ways, like Rhaenys Targaryen, their ancestor.

You are as comfortable in silk as in armor. With your silver hair tied in a long braid, you are more than ready to burn for your beloved.

Yet… Something about you is different. Aemond only doesn’t know what that may be and he is troubled by it.

“Y/N!”, he runs at you.

Luck for him you haven’t commanded Vermithor to fly yet. You tilt your head and give a curious glance at him.

“Yes?”

“You can… still change your mind. I…”

“Shush. Do not speak nonsense. I cannot tolerate this now”, you laugh quietly. “I may be a woman, Aemond Targaryen, but I have the heart of a man. My spirit bends to no other that is not you, the husband I love ever for Gods know how long. I will make you king. Mark my words.”

And so you don’t turn your head to see Aemond looking astonished at you.

“I love you, Y/N”, he whispers to himself. “Come back to me safe and sound.”

*

You should be heading to Storm’s Land. That was the deal. But Gods decide otherwise.

It really helps little your discerning that your strange sickness has returned. Vermithor, as if feeling something’s different with its rider, turns his back to check on you.

Or so it’s what you judge.

“Come now, boy. We’ll be fine.”

However… you spot a shadow not far from you. Despite the distance, you suddenly are afraid. This is your first battle and it could not happen in worse conditions.

You swallow your tears and lift your chin.

“I am as Targaryen as any other. Let them see I can burn as bright as any of them.”

And so you fly to meet the enemy.

*

Aemond has conquered Harrenhal once for all. By subjecting the Riverlands to his will, he is beginning to be acknowledged as King of Westeros.

Naturally, he’s far from the vindictive slayer many assumed him to be so. Aemond is no fool, so he spared many of his enemies, welcoming the change of alliance and forgiving their treachery based on their ignorance.

News begin to spread of his success. His men take Storm’s Land. The Lannisters of Lannisport submitted to his cause. The Freys swifted sides too.

Daeron has succeeded in bringing the Starks to his brother’s side specially after defeating Jacaerys, Rhaella and Rhaenys in the Battle of Winterfell.

But… where is Y/N Targaryen? Why hasn’t he heard any news from you?

Fearing the worst, Aemond is, in a rare demonstration of his sentiments, imprudent. Ignoring his councillors, he mounts Vhagar.

I will find you, Y/N. And Gods forgive me for sending you to this mess.

What will he find is a surprise that should never be forgotten.

*

It’s Baella who comes to meet you first. Despite the strength of Vermithor, it’s your cousin who dictates the rhythm of the battle first. Specially because she is experienced when you are not.

Disregarding the swift changes in your mood, when you feel as if you are battling yourself over the control of your body, you pay no mind to it.

Adrenaline surpasses reason, however, so what you do is guide your dragon through the clouds, get some impulse and give a surprise attack by pushing Baela and her creature to a circle of fire.

“We won”, you tell yourself… before leaning to the side and throwing your breakfast out. “Ugh, my apologies Vermithor. But at least the puke wasnt entirely on you. How on earth did I manage that? I don’t …”

Had your dragon been a new one, you’d probably have suffered a painful death. Not long after you defeated Baela, you are surprised by Rhaenyra herself. Her dragon bites the neck of yours, which startles you. To worse all, Rhaenyra jumps to your dragon and pushes you out of it.

It happens very fast.

Gods, you hate this. To be inexperienced in battle, to feel sick.

What happens next? You cannot tell. You seem to have accepted death so your eyes close.

You don’t hear the despair in Aemond’s voice. He managed to rescue you, but had to carefully interfere in the dance of the dragons. Vhagar is responsible to take you home whilst Aemond jumps back to Vermithor and leads it in a battle against Rhaenyra.

How quickly the circumstances change. Vhagar, though, sensing the energy and the blood of battle, does not obey Aemond.

Suddenly there are two old dragons against one. Rhaenyra is no quitter, she fights until the very end.

No mercy is offered, but even if it was… She wouldn’t accept it. They’ve come too far for this.

“For Aegon. For Helaena”, whispers Aemond, cold as ice. “Dracarys.”

The vengeance is complete at last.

*

• (V) King and Queen.

“How couldn’t you tell that you were pregnant?”, inquires your mother, in awe.

You are holding a beautiful pair of twins whom you name Jaehaerys and Alysanne. Aemond stands by your side, a secretive smile displaying on his lips as he watches over you and the infants. There’s some mischief twinkling in his eye as he listens to the conversation.

“I was under stress in these days so I assumed it was something like it”, you explain. “I’m glad everything ended well, though.”

“Indeed, in spite of your stubbornness. Even if it wasn’t pregnancy, you shouldn’t have ridden Vermithor in that state”, your husband protests in such a protectively way that you do not even snack back at him.

“It was a complicated day”, you admit, albeit reluctantly.

Aemond presses a gentle kiss over your head and places an arm around your shoulders. He knows he should wait for your churching before seeing you again, but by now the new king of Westeros is paying little mind to these traditions.

When he thinks of how he almost lost you—first, with the encounter with Rhaenyra herself; second, in childbirth—, Aemond finds himself weak. Exposed to a different sort of danger he doesn’t venture to know or understand.

“We’ve come a long way here”, says he. “I cannot believe we’ve managed it against every expectation.”

“On the contrary, my love, I’ve never doubted you. And you know what? I’d do it again. Everything.”

That being said, you and your charming prince share a kiss as if to seal this so achieved peace.

*

The twins are barely five months old when you take them for a ride. You laugh quietly when your mother reprehends you for such imprudence.

“Aemond! Control your wife, put some sense in her head!”, so panics Queen Alicent.

Aemond limits himself giving the dowager queen a smirk.

“I do not think she needs to be controlled, mother. Y/N is as capable as any of us, if not better, in terms of parenting.”

And naturally he takes part in it too. So here you go, mounted in old beasts, showing your babies to the world.

“My greatest defender”, you tell your husband, right up in the air. “My love.”

Aemond gives you a shy smile, a sight so adorable to behold. He is holding baby Jaehaerys close to his heart, protectively so. The dragons, it must be said, seems to feel that fragile creatures are taking part in this unusual flight so they fly quietly.

There is peace at last. No pretender. No civil war. All sides have been placated. Your brother and sister were avenged.

As you look at you sweet Alysanne, you get a little emotional. This is what you have always wanted. A family of your own.

*

Aemond, First of His Name, has placed his younger brother, the very capable prince Daeron Targaryen, as his hand. This, in due time, would prove to be a very prudent choice.

Wisely, and under your influence, the privy council would have amidst its seaters members who, in the past, supported Rhaenyra and her ill fated claim to the throne. Aemond knew the importance in keeping his allies close and his enemies, closer.

A good deed he would later be praised for was the end of factions. No more favouritism and when the former queen of Westeros, lady Alicent Hightower, came to join the rest of her family in grave, the green color was abolished.

The unity of the house is finally solved. Although there have been rumors that the offspring of Rhaenyra and Daemon are possibly living in secret, the loyalty of the realm has been once for all conquered and transferred to the rightful king Aemond.

Now in the privacy of your household, the ancient seat of your family, here in Dragonstone, Aemond is enjoying his moments with you.

You are content and settled with the role once occupied by your sister Helaena—and this quiet life and gentle queenship you opted to shape so you are not overshadowed by the great dislike once tossed to your mother, has been very helpful. As it was with your beloved sister, you are as popular.

Thus, Aemond is watching you with amusement—and desire—as you are occupying yourself with sewing. Reclining in the back of his chair, he watches your hair fall loose in your back, which helps shape your oval face, giving you an almost delicate appearance.

Your rosy lips and your neck remind him of these past weeks. Even now you subdue to him, though at times you manage to reverse the roles. When his eyes scan to your full breasts, Aemond, already feeling some rigidness in his pants, sighs loudly.

“You know what’s being said about you, my dear?”, impatiently, he moves closer to you, and you are more than happy in setting aside the embroidery.

You smirk at him, having been sensing his lust from that distance. You tease him a little when you unlace your line nightgown.

“What is it, husband?”

As he takes it off and scans your curves, your face still goes crimson. He knows your breasts are larger and then…

“That I may be the master of Westeros, but you rule it through me”, Aemond pushes you against the wall, lifting your legs so he fits in between.

You barely breathe as a result. But you are smiling at it.

“Is that so?”

And here comes the teasings. Thankfully, the children are off to bed.

“Yes.”

Aemond is wrapped in your legs and he lifts you up, leading you all the way to bed. Unsurprisingly, you take the opportunity to switch positions.

“And what are your thoughts about that?”

You smirk wide when those lustful eyes stop at your hardened nipples, his hands caressing each. You rub yourself upon his manhood.

Oh boy. It has been some time.

“I cannot think an answer when you are on top of me, my darling.”

Then, of course, he swaps places again. This time he’s your master. The way you like him to.

You help remove his eye-patch and you stroke his face.

“I love you, Aemond Targaryen.”

“And I, you.”

When he kisses you, when he pins your hands above your head, all else is forgotten.

Specially the fact that you are carrying another child of his.

***

• Epilogue

Aemond is teaching young Aegon how to use a sword when sounds explode so suddenly in the yard and the one-eyed king is attacked by no other than his two daughters.

“I told you”, he listens to your voice, a little short breathed, “to let your father be! Come back here, little brats!”

But the once serious and composed husband is seen laughing heartily when Alysanne is climbing with little Laena in his back.

You are holding the newly born Maekar in your arms, scoffing all the way. This may be the consequences of refusing help of your ladies to handle the children, but you cannot feed this regret when you see your husband so carefree, so happy around them.

“Ladies”, you call them. “Your father is occupied.”

To your not entirely surprised, he laughs quietly and says the opposite.

“No. I’m never busy for my family.”

Aemond holds each and so suddenly what was a private training is a family reunion. Your husband likes it that way: a growing family where there’s nothing but joy and laughters filling the room.

You are somewhat emotional when seeing the scene. With baby Maekar in your arms, you walk to them, at the same time you offer your hand for Aegon to hold.

It’s a lovely day, you think to yourself.

And in due time more would be born. In total, you and Aemond have ten children.

1. Aegon, Prince of Dragonstone, and his father’s successor. He takes as wife his twin sister.

2. Alysanne, Princess of Dragonstone, who inherited your joyful temper.

3. Laena Targaryen, made Princess of Dorne in due time. A great match arranged by your husband, and some say orchestrated in silence by you, this union would bring Dorne to Westeros.

4. Maekar, Lord of Harrenhal, who may have inherited your beauty, but is every inch like his father. He’d be married to his younger sister.

5. Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Harrenhal, whose sharp wit would—according to some gossipers—make her a general favorite.

6. Aemon Targaryen, sent to Citadel to become a maester. He’d live for a very, very long time, destined to great things.

7. Rhaenys Targaryen, Lady of Winterfell. She’d be married to hold the support of House Stark after rumors were spread that they’d be supporting some supposed son of Rhaenyra. Curiously, this match proved well for both parties involved and secure the Northern support.

8. Viserys Targaryen, Lord of Summerhall. In due time, he espoused his cousin, Lady Margaery Hightower.

9. Daella Targaryen, Lady of Lannisport. Married to a Lannister. She’d die young as a consequence of childbirth. Her loss would shake the family, united to the core.

10. Rhaella Targaryen, a general pet. Did not want to marry, preferring to be by your side—she was close to you and your husband—until… she fell for a knight named Duncan. The rest is history.

This life may not be perfect but it’s what you and Aemond aimed. Later, he’d say:

“Without you by my side, I’d not be where I am now.”

“Likewise, husband. You’ve always seen me, who I really was, and never stepped away. You did not refuse me nor underestimated me. “

• I

As the second child and oldest daughter of Lord Gwayne Hightower, you are privileged to be sent to your aunt’s household and there be raised as her royal ward.

Your Hightower charms do manage to captivate Queen Alicent at the time of your arrival—as well as King Viserys, by then very alive and in good health, who treats you as his own daughter. In the meantime you are settling at court, you ought to share the same apartments with your royal cousin, Princess Helaena, the first of your regal relatives to make your acquaintance.

“Greetings, Y/N. In green and black wheels, our fortune will gravely depend on it, I’m afraid. But you are a welcome addition to our misadjusted family.”

At first you do not understand the meaning of her words, however, your kindness speaks louder than reason so you flash her a smile—rather than pushing her away as so many have done before, which surprises the princess.

“Noble families are often troubled homes to be raised within, cousin. Every privilege comes with a price and aren’t we all willing to pay for it? Either way, thank you for receiving me. I hope you can find in me a friend to rely on.”

Initial distrusts put aside, Helaena nods her head. The idea of having a friend melts away her defenses and makes her smile to you.

“Do you like embroidery?”

“I fear I do not excel at it, but it is a pastime of mine”, you smile warmly.

“Very well. Come and follow my lead, I’d like your help to proceed with my work on it.”

“Gladly”.

And a bond is now forged.

*

Aemond watches as you walk almost arm in arm with Princess Helaena. You are dressing a green gown with long sleeves and your red hair falls loose behind your back. Some of the curls does in fact remind him of his mother.

But in secrecy the teenaged boy thinks you are prettier than the Queen.

“You should speak to her”, he struggles to hold back a sigh at the voice of Aegon. “Aren’t you doing your duty and welcoming her properly, brother? My, where are your manners?”

In order to avoid Aegon’s annoyance further, Aemond does in fact go after you. Like a shadow, he moves silently. Once spotting you at the gardens, he awaits for the best moment to get to you. With Helaena out of the sight, Aemond takes his chance.

“If the rumors are true, we are marrying when we reach age”, you turn around only to spot this long silver haired male who is likely the same age as you, counting three and ten summers.

You curtsy out of respect. Aemond nods his head in turn.

“Well, I wasn’t told of marriage prospects yet, but I would be lucky if this proves to be true”.

“Lucky? I lack my brother’s charms”, the boy chuckles in abhorrence. “Surely you must have met him.”

“I believe we have been introduced, yes. But I do not think he has any charms, if anything he’s an annoying prince”, you are pleased to find the Targaryen male chuckling. “And whom might you be, suitor of mine?”

Aemond does not admit at first, but you do strike him a positive impression, reminding him of the damsels he used to read about in chivalric novels.

“Lord Aemond Targaryen, Madame”, and here he does a proper bow.

“Cousin Aemond”, the way you break formalities so easily leaves him disconcerted. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, one hopes.”

“Naturally so. Would you care to spend the rest of the day with Helaena and I?”

Aemond’s reason urges him to leave you, but his tongue decides otherwise.

“I believe I am free off my duties, so why not?”

*

Later that evening, one could not stay too far from the other. Aemond soon comes to find out how much you and him have in common. To his surprise you are very educated.

“I prefer the philosophers of the East”, you tell him. “They are deeper in thoughts and observations about life. The ancient ones, in the days of Old Valyria, left some good works.”

“How’d you reach out to it?”, asks the prince, impressed.

“Well, living nearby Old Town has some advantages”, you laugh quietly. “Daeron has helped me with it.”

Something about his younger brother doesn’t sit well with Aemond. A sensation close to jealousy comes uninvited. But the prince disguises it well, though.

“How’s he by the way? I barely remember him now. We’ve been apart for many years.”

“He’s doing great and he misses his siblings too”, you tell him. “It is very lonely the journey to become a maester. And yet… if I can say anything about your younger brother is that he possesses a very sensitive soul.”

“Hum. Probably he’d be a better companion than Aegon”, he chuckles low.

This twilight you two are pacing around the castle. For a pair of youth, it is striking to see both of you discussing philosophers, historians and all that is in between. Then as day turns into night and dinner is prepared, you are forced to part ways.

“Are you not coming to join us for dinner?”, you ask him expectedly.

Aemond isn’t sure how to react about the suddenly expectation he spots in your y/c eyes. He is left again disconcerted. A feeling he doesn’t appreciate at the same time he is found eager to please you.

Why? A voice asks him. But he refuses to find the answer.

“I will… just change my robes.”

Your lips spread in a large smile and it is a sight that warms his heart.

“Good. I’d like to see you there, my lord.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Hesitantly, one says farewell to the other in a very typical young manner—even though you and him shall meet within five and ten minutes.

*

You are very pleased to be told you are betrothed to Aemond. The sight of your delight, that you make no effort in disguise, is a good omen to all, and even the wayward prince is not immune to it.

“How can you be this content in becoming my wife?”, he asks you when you are found walking towards the yard where the prince is to be trained under the guidance of Ser Criston Cole. “I have no dragon to call mine own.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”, and you list his virtues and why each one earned you fondness. “A dragon doesn’t make you any less, my dear Aemond.”

But he cannot find a way to answer you properly for Ser Criston has summoned him to practice. It does little good to his pride when perceiving your presence. Your beaming presence. You are there to support him in ways few of his family ever did.

He casts you a long gaze and you hold it, pleased with the subtle certainty that he feels what you feel too.

*

Nevertheless, it’s you who eventually feels like an outcast for not being one who claims a dragon. In this comes your dear Helaena, who says:

“High you may fly, but not to skies you will find your might.”

You cast her a long glance. For a while you don’t speak a word but then curiosity gets the best of you.

“What is the price?”

Helaena ponders whether she can trusts you with her dreams. Eventually though, she realizes you are far more trustworthy with them than most of her relatives ever cared to comprehend such.

“A price of blood, I fear.”

You nod. Casting a glance to the clouds that begin to wipe out the blue that painted bright skies, you speak:

“What’s there to come, cousin? What have the Gods spoken?”

Putting aside her embroidery, Helaena slides to your side. Then she gently takes your hand and holds it quickly, showing in her way her fondness to you.

“If you are inclined to follow your heart, patience you must nurture for a hard path lies forward to us all.”

You have nothing else to say, baffled by these prophetic words. Nonetheless, if Helaena is resigned to whatever destiny she sees, you opt to trust in her and take the heels of such advice. After all, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve.

*

“Do you dance, cousin?”, this day you and him are set at Dragonstones to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen, who died in childbirth.

Aemond took you for a walk around the sands, misliking the whole ceremony. Now, as wind blows a cold breeze, he notices your red curls are made a mess, a victim of weather; a view of wilderness he most appreciates.

“Not if I can help”, says he with a serene countenance.

“Not even if one’s partner is… tolerable?”

“You trick me to your will, cousin”, and here he takes hold of your hand. And makes you twirl. “Are you pleased to remove my pride?”

“You cannot fault me for your own doings, Aemond”, and you wink at him before getting to start a race.

The prince rolls his eyes, but maybe acknowledges some truth in your word. As he starts to get after you, though, Aemond spots a large creature not too far from where both of you are.

For a moment he stops what he’s doing. For a moment, only a flying living old dragon could take his eyes off you.

Vhagar calls him, he knows.

But when you turn your head with your inviting smile, Aemond patiently leaves a new idea for later. Perhaps nothing is too dull in Dragonstone, after all.

An event that might drag both of you to a tragedy droll is set to happen, and who could foretell the consequences of an inconsequent choice?

***

• II

Old stones in old piles come to your eyes as the first rays in the morning come through the window glass and wake you up. You stare at that familiar wall, a witness of time, once the keeper of your safety… and now turned into golden cages.

You turn at your side of bed. It is a large, wooden made, very cozy indeed. But the warmth of your line blankets annoys you and you toss them aside. Impatience rises in your chest and before you know, your eyes are tearing up again.

I should have gotten used to it by now.

But can one easily accept the task of moving forward after getting to feel loved in the way professed by bards? You could still remember his laughters, his secret smile… the long days spent at library, sharing a lecture or when you opted to discuss about eastern old philosophy right at the dinner table, earning a quizzical glance of your royal aunt and an amused one of your regal uncle.

You miss his scent. You miss how unexpectedly he could be when pursuing your fingers and intertwining with his.

Years have gone by. You are not that mischievous, lively child anymore. You are now a damsel, whose prospective future is put on hold.

“Oh Aemond”, you move barefoot towards the window and opens it, suffocating, eager for some fresh air. As you do, you come across the sight of green hills and small villages not too far from the castle you spent your early childhood. No sign of clouds, nor even of… dragons.

One more day. Even now, your unending hopes are crushed. Again.

“You cannot forget your promise”, you whisper angrily in gritted teeth as if he’s somewhere unseen. “You told me you’d have my heart until you died, that you’d make me your wife. But you are very much alive! Oh, can the Gods be this cruel?”

When you close your eyes, you can still remember the last day you met. He had lost his eye and the two of you escaped to the sands where stars were the only witnesses of such daring move.

“Will you still be my wife after all of this happened?”

“I will”, you assured him firmly, your warm hand holding tightly his cold one. “How dare you consider I would ever leave you?”

Aemond chuckled. The sound of it was miserable to you. Could he be blamed for it, though? You comprehended him more than he’d know.

“I must say I have grown suspicious. Besides, an one eyed prince is not a charming prospective as a husband.”

“I object”, and here you force him to look at you, holding his chin gently with your right hand. “I will never forgive myself for not being there when those foolish, stupid kids did that to you. I would gladly take my heart out as proof of my unending loyalty to you.”

Aemond blushed. A weak, crimson shade of pink painted his pale cheeks. You didn’t know his thoughts, how could you? But they were about you and you alone.

“I could never doubt you, my lady Y/Nickname. Apologies if I misled you to believe so. I just… felt so unworthy of your affection.” Before he could hold his tongue, words were spitted out. “Do you love me?”

You too blushed underneath moonlight. You were frightened, but more so that he’d not correspond you. Even so, despite the uncertainty you felt, you risked speaking the truth.

“I do. I… love you, Aemond.”

Aemond blushed deeper, looking away for a moment. Then he turned at you, open mouthed, ready to give you his heart too… when a scowl was heard:

“Well well, it appears we found two besotted younglings prompted to do something only two besotted imprudent younglings intend to do.”

Uncle Daemon’s remark was enough to make one part of the other. Despite the mockery in his tone, used to impede either of you to notice he was in fact with Rhaenyra throughout the day, his words left its mark.

Ever since that day, though, you haven’t seen Aemond again.

*

Aemond stares at the moon, dancing alone in her majesty nightly reign. No stars are seen, no clouds are there to omit her from the mundane sight.

A cold breeze blows his silver locks, messing with his hair. The prince pays no mind to it. Today it is not about the looks nor about the power he is hungry to possess.

Having dismounted Vhagar, and already aware that many troubles lay ahead of him as soon as he walks through that door, Aemond’s thoughts that evening go towards you.

“I wish I told her I loved her”, he confided his whore. “Every night I dream of her face, her y/c eyes and red locks staring at me. Her sweet demeanor haunts me. Like a prey that has outwitted the hunter.”

“Is it how you perceive the object of your true affections, my prince? A prey that has not fallen the web of your traps?”

He remembers looking at the older woman quite offended.

“I said no such a thing. She is… unreachable now. Literally so, even in my dreams. Y/N is the embodiment of purity, whose virtues are endless. No words can do justice to the goodness she possesses.” He paused, melancholic somewhat. “It is just, methinks, that she’s out of my grasp now.”

“Have you considered writing for her?”, the maternal tone he never heard in his own mother seemed to smooth his broken heart at that moment, only to cover the pain these words gave him. “She never knew you loved her too. You have a dragon, Aemond. What’s there to stop you from purchasing her?”

“Duties.” Aemond’s embargoed voice broke out of his masked pride. “Duties are the death of love.”

Whatever happened in the past should remain so. As Aemond crosses the grand door and takes the stairs to get to the Council meeting, though, he cannot conceive that he failed you. For he never wrote to you again—despite all of these promises…

“There is my brother! Loyal like a hound”, Aegon’s voice is enough to make Aemond sweep away the agony he’s been through the day. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.”

Aemond opts not to answer. He takes his seat and leaves the talking for the council. The Dowager Queen gives him a look, an inquiry one, but the prince avoids it.

“Well”, Otto finally begins the Council. “Apparently, Rhaenyra has not been sufficiently encouraged to make peace, so war it is.”

Aemond doesn’t like to remember that he’s partially the reason why conflict has turned inevitable. He’s still daunted by that monstrous image of Vhagar devouring the Velaryon boy.

He didn’t mean it. But what are intentions when it comes to war?

Perhaps it’s for the best that you’ve been taken away from me, Y/N.

Aemond never asked why you disappeared, but there was no need to. The Queen’s brother thought wise that you continued your education in Oldtown—perhaps more moved by Otto Hightower’s counsel, who was genuinely worried over you concerning the bluntness in Rhaenyra’s children—especially after what had happened to Aemond.

He reasonably accepted it, but he also resented it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t accept your absence. It makes no sense to him why you were withdrawn… and after what he’s done, anger and guilt consume him still.

Despite the angst in his thoughts, this is no time to self scourge. Aemond promptly participates in the council of war, listening to all and making acceptable suggestions here and there.

“Diplomacy failed”, says the prince before the king. “To war we must wage.”

The first steps to conquer allies and strength old alliances are thus shaped. Later, without Aemond’s acknowledgment, the idea to fortify Houses Targaryen & Hightower through marriage is returned.

“Perhaps we should have Daeron to bring Lady Y/N”, Otto contemplates.

“Is she going to be safe here?”, says Alicent, genuinely concerned. “If she comes over and falls in the enemies’s hands, Gwayne is not going to forgive me for this.”

“Gwayne knows what’s best for our family’s interest. Y/N is too precious to fall simply into Rhaenyra’s side. I’ll make sure of that.”

As the wheel turns, destiny is designed.

***

• III

Aemond is vibrating this day. He’s managed to collect great victories in the battles ahead all thanks to the strategies he traces with Aegon. Due to Rhaenyra’s incapacity of playing the game of thrones, both brothers seem to finally see eye to eye.

“It is for the best that we work together on this”, Aegon tells Aemond one of these days. “No one wants a safer realm than I do. I know you may judge me unfit for the throne I never wanted, but Aemond… we are family. May our differences be set aside for the sake of our cause.”

War is not a merely word drawn out of bards pens to mark the deeds of men and save for posterity their names. This is not about glory, but a conflict built over anguished, vicious souls, plagued by ambitious.

War is not fought alone, this Aemond knew it well. Aegon has his reasons to fear his younger brother, but he cannot be alone in such a time. They are already doomed for fighting a kin.

“Your cause is mine, Your Grace”, says Aemond, leaving his ambitions aside for the sake of the misadjusted family he’s born into. “To suggest otherwise is a treacherous, incommendable thought.”

“Good”, Aegon cannot conceal his relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

How odd it is to find peace in times of war.

Yet can it be called peace when Aemond is far from it? Plagued by old demons, he is in constant struggle to firm his steps. He cannot trust in anyone of his family, despite affirming his loyalty to Aegon.

But what else is there to be done? He has a role to play and this is no time to getaway of it.

*

Whilst the Seven Kingdoms bleed and burn, you remain safe at Old Town. Occupying yourself with books, embroidery and music have proved to be good to for your mind.

Indeed, Old Town is safe for you in many ways. You could still manage to take philosophy to your bed late night, you could still read how many books you want. You upheld many privileges being the son of Ser Gwayne.

You could dance merrily with Lord Daeron, but he reminded you often of Lord Aemond. And by the end of every night, you are forced to tell that he never loved you for he never bothered to write you.

We are at war, you tell yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best.

So you accept this is your fate. Maybe to remain unmarried, which is good—your library is still the safe haven you can go to, for you charmed the maesters there and no one can forbid you to touch untouchable books.

But is knowledge a good medication for a broken heart? You are yet to know.

“Daughter of mine”, your father’s voice startle you; for he is not expected. “I knew I’d find you reading at the gardens again. At times I think you have too much of the Tyrells in you”, says Ser Gwayne, alluding to his wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell, your mother.

You greet him like the devoted daughter that you are.

“What is there for me to do? Men sharp their blades and I sharp my brain.”

Ser Gwayne is proud for the intelligence you have developed. Had you been a son, he’d not been concerned over the matters of his succession.

“If only your brothers had the same concern. But your grandsire knows your worth is too high to be wasted around here.”

Your heart races, your mind accelerates, but your face remains unreadable.

“What is it you mean, dear papa?”

“What I mean is that you are going back to King’s Landing. Your mother protested against it, for you are our only daughter and these are perilous times to be sent to the capital”, by the way he sighs, you know Ser Gwayne agrees with his wife. “However, your grandsire has better plans for his favourite granddaughter. He wants to marry you off to Lord Aemond Targaryen. I don’t think the old man will rest until he tangles both houses into one same blood.”

He chuckles and you force yourself to join him in laughters. However, deep inside you feel weak, unwell even. How can this be? To marry him… the object of your childish desires, the man whom you opened your heart to…and yet never received any token in return.

“Is this certain? What’s with the rush?”, you hope you are disguising well your own atonement.

“It is, it’s been agreed at last. The late king lamented profoundly when you left the court, but in all honesty… I think you deserved better than a prince like Aemond”, and here your father pauses. “You must be aware of who he’s become. The war has started because of him.”

It is as if he’s expecting you to dissuade him of the idea, perhaps he wishes you to. You look away, finding an excuse to gaze at the flowers that colour the gardens.

True, you are more than aware of what he’s become. Some courtiers mock him, calling him a monstrous green in allusion of the Queen’s party against Rhaenyra’s, which is black. You have the sad news confirmed, albeit reluctantly, from Daeron’s mouth.

But this is not who he is, surely. He is proud, arrogant even, shielded in himself. Traits that you’ve become familiar with in girlhood. Traits that have not been righteous directed, turning him porcelain skin to iron.

Your reason conceives he’s not suited for the sensible woman you’ve grown to. Daeron would be a better fit and perhaps your father hopes you to admit that.

To Ser Gawayne’a sore disappointment, you’ve made up your mind. Your affection has deeper roots than he’d know, and it is firmly planted in you that all else cannot find place in your heart.

“I am not here to change anyone, my father. I take him as who he is.”

“Very well”, the lord sighs. “You’ll be sent with Lord Daeron, your cousin. He’ll fly with you to the capital in Tessarion.”

“I am not afraid of dragons, father.” You smile and lean to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“If you are happy, then I am bound by honour to concede it to you, my daughter.”

The bells of liberty finally begin to ring.

***

• IV

Aemond has recently returned after smashing Rhaenys and Meleys. Victory is at last on his side and the prospectives are better. He’s been having an eye at Harrenhal though and he’s about to set his way there when he’s been summoned by his mother.

How strange. We’ve been barely speaking to. What, in Gods name, does she want?

What happens next is certainly getting out of his senses.

“Son”, she welcomes you with Helaena by his side. His sister is smiling in her own way,

Either something good is about to happen or I am about to fall on a trap. It is unusual to find contentment in Hel’s face.

“Mother”, he nods his head, keeping his guard high. “You summoned me.”

“I did. You may think I have forgotten that my son is to be wedded, but I have not.”

Aemond is discomforted. A dangerous topic that he learned to despise ever since you departed. But he keeps his expression neutral.

“I have no inclination to be married whatsoever.”

“I believe you may change your mind”, to his surprise it is Helaena who speaks. “We are bringing her back, Aemond.”

A shiver crosses his spine.

No. This cannot be.

“Her?”, he plays cynical.

“Yes. Lady Y/N is coming with your brother. It’s time for you to settle down, my dear child.”

Aemond feels a fuel of anger and resentment. Mostly because years separated you two, but the powerlessness of taking you back, to let you go.

Despite the confusion, nothing betrays his composed mask.

“I wasn’t consulted about this.”

“No one is hardly consulted where marriages are concerned”, Alicent laughs away. “Besides, I thought you liked her.”

Aemond doesn’t answer.

“Well, she’s coming soon. You better not disappoint.”

*

But he’s been anxious. Restless. No news of war can take his mind off you. He could have written about you, but his insecurities took the best of him.

When you departed, there was no warning. Neither was consulted about the matter, apparently. And yet…

A sound of dragon breaks the silence of the night. Aemond knows this is Daeron’s. And you are coming too. The prince leaves the yard and moves to the dragon’s pit.

He realizes a little too late that the whole family is there to welcome you. The prince opts to stay in the shadows, watching from a safe distance.

His good eye is mesmerized by how handsome you’ve grown into. Your hair is as red as he remembers; your curls, just as wild, a victim of wind. But you have curves now; your breasts are full and large, your hips giving a positive indicator of your fertility.

Your face… is just as divine as it was in his boyhood days. Your traces softened, and your lips still easily spread in a gentle smile.

You haven’t changed a thing, dear Y/N.

Aemond, troubled by the reminiscences of what has never been dissipated as he had hoped, quickly leaves. But for how long will he be able to avoid you?

*

You conceal the disappointment for not seeing him there to welcome you. But what could you expect when you two parted without saying goodbye?

“He’s coming soon”, Helaena tells you assuringly. “No need to worry, my cousin.”

“Oh, I am not worried. Not at all”, you smile as convincingly as possible.

But it’s difficult to keep your composure when he’s not present to attend the feast given on your behalf. The sound of music does not entertain your ears—it is as if Old Town’s tune was merrier. Or perhaps it all feels cold because he’s not there.

However, a distraction comes in the person of Daeron, to whom you’ve grown close in the days spent back home.

“Shall we dance, cousin? What a waste of beauty to stay here, away of the light.”

You chuckle lightly as you cede him your hand.

“Why, your flatter me with your poetic soul, Daeron. Let us dance then like the last time.”

In this moment, you don’t see him coming discreetly to take his place by his side. You miss his stare, his longing gaze following your steps. And yet… when you do meet his eyes, you take every control you have to act in a nonchalant manner.

Oh Aemond. How come years have gone by and you affect me so?

He’s now a handsome lad. Handsomer indeed than you’ve pictured him. Taller and serious, using an eyepatch to uncover the eye that was taken from him in that unfair circumstance you remember.

It feels impossible to reach out for you. Oh, Aemond. Please do not lock me outside.

Music ends after what it seems an eternity. There is no need to Daeron lead you back to your seat for this is a task Aemond takes himself.

“Lady Y/N Hightower”, the prince greets you formally and it hurts you to detect cold in his voice. You swallow back the tears and you remember to curtsy.

“My lord Prince”.

Aemond offers you his hand and he can tell that he affected you, perhaps not in the same way he wanted, for you hesitate before taking it. Cold and warm mix, like last time.

“May I lead you out of this spectacle?”

“If the king permits…”

“I do not think he cares.”

Silence hangs. You nod your head, afraid of bursting into tears right before the crowd. Perhaps your father has been right in protecting you. Who is this man you are now betrothed to?

For a while, undetected, the pair leaves the salon. It’s late by now and by this hour wine has had its effects. Somewhere close to yard is where Aemond stops walking. When you turn at him, he’s no longer cold.

“You left me, Y/N.”

Oh. Here it is. The subtle accusation. But it’s better than nothing, you tell yourself.

“I wasn’t told I would depart to Old Town, Aemond. I did not give my consent to it, but we both know how little power, if we have any at all, do we possess to command our destiny.”

Aemond avoids your gaze for a moment and you recollect his fragilities. You dare to shorten the distance and hold his hand. To your surprise, he does not shy away as your fingers lace.

“Do you honestly believe I left you because I wanted to? After all I told you?”

“What else could I have thought, Y/N?”

“You could have asked. You could have said anything.” And there they are: the puddle of water. “You never wrote me in these years!”

Aemond closes his eye, breathing heavily. Despite you trying to let go of his hand, he keeps holding yours firmly. Only then, you see pain in his eye when he opens it again.

“I was miserable when you left me alone in this world.”

“As if!”, you hiss. “You never cared for me!”

You turn away from him, instantly regretting for this decision to come up and try again. You’d think he’d leave you, but Aemond is no quitter.

“I love you, Y/N”, he pulls you against him one more time, this time closer than before. “I was stolen the chance to tell you that I love you! I fucking loved you! I could not find a replacement for the nest you made in my heart, nor could fix the hole you left in me!”

“Then why”, you sob, “didn’t you write?”

“Because”, he pauses, and here he lifts your chin after wiping away your tears, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of never being sufficiently enough for you. Hence why I figured that a better match was found to you. I thought…”, the prince chokes for a moment, struggling to hold back his own tears. “I thought you’d not love me anymore after I lost my eye.”

You cup his cheeks and make sure this time he looks at you.

“How dare you to nurture this thought? I have loved you since the first day I put my feet on this soil. I have known not other sentiment but the deepest shades of affection from the day you comforted me. I… I would never take anyone but Aemond Targaryen as my husband.”

A small smile tugs at his lips.

“I am unlovable, dear Y/N. Haven’t you heard what I’ve done?”

“No one is unlovable. I am not here to fix your wrongs, Aemond. I am here to help you make your rights.”

“You’re not leaving now.”

This is not a question. You smile.

“No. I am staying.”

Saying so, he leans forward and locks his lips with yours. You breathe in, dive into it.

He’s finally yours and you are finally his.

***

• V

You’d not think, nor Aemond, that the Gods amused themselves by testing the veracity of what one felt for the other. That the love surpassed years and obstacles is, some would say, an indication of divine favor.

But this is not what troubles your or his mind. When his lips are against yours, when his hands are locked with yours, when your legs are wrapped around his waist, when he is pleasing you… oh these past ghosts are long exorcized.

“I adore you”, he whispers against your ear, kissing your neck as he caresses your left breast. “Fuck, I am yours, eternally yours, Y/N.”

You moan loudly, singing out his name. Your hand is now against his hair, using the other to crave your nails into his skin, getting a groan out of his lips.

“My husband”, you bite his bottom lip. “I love you. Oh Gods! I cannot believe this is not a dream.”

“Not at all”, he smiles at you. “It’s you and me throughout time, dove.”

“No more whoring I pray”, you tease him, aware of his encounters with the woman of the brothel.

“I thought you knew that already. Never more.”

And saying so he dives into your neck, there staying until his eager mouth slips to your chest.

The synchronicity is so good that doesn’t take much time before you and him reach climax together.

“Mm, stay here”, you lock him with your legs. “Do not remove it out of me.”

Aemond laughs quietly as you smile, gently touching his face and his sapphire eye.

“Naughty uh?”

“We must compensate for the time wasted”, you tease him.

As he lies his head next to your shoulder, thus cuddling against you, you take the time to hold him tight, unwilling to break the spell. However, Aemond knows the inevitable must be said.

“We must discuss something, beloved. I am expected to take Harrenhal.”

Although you know this could not be postponed, you avoid his gaze and keep quiet for the moment. But Aemond knows you, and he sees the struggle in keeping yourself composed, the anxiety coming to your countenance.

He lifts his face and caresses your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“I told you I’ll love you until the day I die and I have no intention to leave you a widow so soon.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but you understand you’ll face experienced warriors in there…”, and despite the efforts, fear comes to the speech.

“It may take a while, but I’ll beat those fools. I must do it for my brother’s sake.”

“Very well”, you know there is nothing you can do before his stubbornness… and his loyalty to the green cause.

“Y/N…”, he looks anxious now and you are surprised to find it in his features. “I cannot wage wars knowing you didn’t give me your blessing.”

You break to a soft smile, turning to his side and stroking his long face and hair.

“I consent, my husband. But do not dare to leave me alone in this world.”

“Never.”

To assure you he means it, he kisses you passionately. Not too soon after that, you and him burn the bed with the awake of long repressed desires one feels for the other.

***

• Epilogue

With the green victory uncontested, peace remains at long last. Despite the bad fame, Harrenhal is your new home and you are its new lady.

Whatever opposition you might find when your husband came to pick you up with Vhagar, none was left to resist the new residents.

Throughout the long reign of Aegon II the Wise and Good Queen Helaena, you provided Aemond a bunch of children to turn this gloomy castle into a merry and lousy household. These are:

1. Aerys and Rhaella, a pair of twins, who would keep the Targaryen tradition.

2. Rhaegar, raised in Oldtown—would marry a cousin Tyrell.

3. Visenya, many years later married to Maegor, third son of King Aegon & Queen Helaena.

4. Daena, would be married to Lord Brynden Tully of the Riverlands.

5. Baelor, would be raised as a squire at the capital and turned out to marry another child of Aegon & Helaena, a daughter they had named Alyssa. A coincidence of the fate? Who knew?

6. Maekar, later sent to become a Maester at the Citadel.

7. Aegon, later made lord of Summerhall. He’d take as wife his younger sister.

8. Alysanne, probably your favourite daughter—she’d grow to marry the brother she loved best, the lively and chivalric prince Aegon.

• Stage One: To Be a Toddler.

You are actually a merry child. One so vivid and full of joy, prompted to mischief. Unusually early, you like to go after your father. In one of these days, you are brought to Vhagar.

“Always restless, my dear Y/N”, says he when lifting you up and holding you on his arms. Aemond smiles in his own way at you, his lingering good eye admiring your chubby faces and wondering how could he have made a child so pure. When you smile back, he melts down completely. “One wonders why.”

“Vhagar”, you say lazily, still smiling.

Aemond chuckles quietly. He ruffles your long silver hair, lingering in his touch on your cheek and pinching it lightly.

“Vhagar, really? You really liked that old hag, didn’t you?”

The one eyed prince does not think there is a more adorable sound than when you burst into childish giggles.

“I love Vhagar. Daddy, she’s so big and… and…”, you grown, hating to forget the word you’ve learned recently.

Seeing how much you aim to please him, Aemond is patient.

“It’s a word uncle Aegon taught me!”, you try to justify yourself.

Aemond’s smile is quickly wiped out of his face. He furrows his eyebrows.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You need not to beg, papa. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The prince chuckles, but you can tell he’s worried by the look on his face.

“Come now, what did dear uncle Aegon teach you, Y/N?”

“Weeeeell…”

“Y/N…”

You know you should not test longer. Aemond really hopes there is nothing to be anxious about, though.

“He said Vhagar is gross!”, you quickly put both of your chubby hands over your mouth and your eyes go wide. There’s a mix of amusement, mischief and concern altogether as you wait for some snap.

But Aemond is rarely snippy with you. The prince laughs quietly instead, his shoulders relaxing.

“If she is gross, why do you like her?”

Suddenly the prince remembers Helaena, when she loved bugs and other… bugs at a young age. The memory makes him smile fondly.

“Because she is legendary”, you explain as-a-matter-of-factly. “Besides, gross is not necessarily a bad thing. Can we fly now daddy? Pleeeeeease?”

He’s starstruck by your precocious wit. As he agrees to do what you requested, he remembers nostalgically how you came to this world.

***

Helaena always followed Aemond when they were younglings. Somehow the taste for books and studies set the two of them even closer. Before Aemond lost an eye, he came to discover that his dear sister had visions of some kind.

“It is a trait that comes from our ancestors. Magic comes with a price”, she told him then.

“What can I do to relief your burden, Helaena?”

It was when she touched his hand for the very first time. Aemond could recollect how right it felt when their fingers intertwined, hands awkwardly moulded. Sentiments that escaped the common scope looked obvious.

“Your friendship is sufficient, my dear Aem.”

But in due time it proved to be insufficient. Helaena was welcomed in Aemond’s chambers when she had nightmares. These consolations led to discoveries… which resulted in an early pregnancy.

Helaena was no more than six and ten summers; Aemond, five and ten, when you were conceived. Quickly, they married.

And just as quickly they moved to Summerhall.

***

When Aemond takes you to fly Vhagar, the one eyed prince notices you’ve been quiet. He takes a quick look wondering if you’ve fallen asleep, but he’s surprised by how attentive you are.

Y/N has inherited some of me, I see it now. Laena likes to say Y/N has her beauty, but my iron.

As he smiles at the recollection, Aemond asks you:

“What is my dear daughter thinking of?”

“I want to reclaim my dragon, daddy.”

Aemond sighs. Again, he is remembered of Helaena’s vision.

It came actually two months after you were born. His wife was struggling to sleep and this was a sign she was disturbed by something.

“What is it, my love? What is troubling you?”

“I cannot be sure what it is”, she sounded anguished as she took his hand and Aemond tried to remain calm. Helaena had to take her time when visions shook her. “Y/N carries the spirit of our house. She will not be like any other. I cannot be sure what it is. But she must be let to follow her path and reclaim a dragon herself.”

“I assumed she’d sleep with an egg”, it was all Aemond could tell.

“No.”

“You make it sound bad.”

“I do not wish to make her a queen, Aemond. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

“A queen?”

But seeing Helaena would say nothing more, Aemond calmed his restlessness and held her close. He knew she needed him by her side, not any of his inquiries.

“We will do the best we can do to raise our little princess. I promise you.”

She looked up at him and smiled.

“I love you, Aemond Targaryen. I could have not chosen a better man to be the father of my children.”

And that was also the day she conceived their second child, a boy nine moons later born, named Maegor.

Back to the moment, Aemond clears his throat and says:

“All in due time, daughter. You must bear patience. Methinks Vhagar would be jealous if she knew you want a dragon for yourself.”

It’s enough to take your mind off the matter. And as if to confirm Aemond’s remark, the old dragon turns her head and gives you a look. You swear she buffed too.

“Oh no, Vhagar! Don’t be jealous! I love you and you’ll always be my favourite!”

That strangely seemed to calm the old hag and Aemond looks pleased it all ended well.

*

Helaena is welcoming her sister Rhaenyra and her family when she spots you running around the castle with six year old Jacaerys. The oldest son of Aegon and his wife is the heir to King Viserys’s throne after Aegon’s own rise to the throne. He is a handsome and very smart young man who seems to have taken a like of you.

“You stare at them”, muses Aemond, who silently puts himself beside his wife. He knows when these visions come and go. But not only that, he is acutely aware how welcoming the whole family party—which will soon be joined by the king and the queen—can be too much for her. “Is there something I should worry about?”

“No”, Helaena gives Aemond a small, but confident smile. She touches his arm discreetly, not too firm nor too weak. It’s a good vision, he understands. “He will make her happy.”

Aemond doesn’t like the idea of seeing you married too soon. Noticing this, she chuckles.

“My husband, you do not expect me to believe that Y/N is going to be a toddler for all her life, do you?”

He sighs, but does not answer. His good eye holds back a shadow of sadness as he sees you running after the curly haired Jacaerys.

***

• Stage Two: To Be A Child.

You have just recently celebrated your ninth name day. Aemond is keeping an eye on you as you are at the beach with a small group of friends, all of whom are your cousins: Jacaerys, Lucerys, Visenya and Baela. They are all talking about dragons.

A topic that, Aemond knows, can be somewhat sensitive to you—and this gives him some shivers. He remembers how his own cousins, Rhaegar and Baelor, sons of Lord Daemon and Lady Laena, mocked him because he didn’t reclaim any dragon. It costed him an eye. And he prayed nothing the same would occur to you.

Aemond is trying not to look very anxious when it’s Helaena who comes for his aid. She had excused from her sister’s adorable company to join her husband’s abrupt exile under the excuse of watching over the children.

But she knows what really troubles him.

“She is not like you. And they are not like them.”

Aemond limits to side eye at his wife.

“Is she…?”

“No.”

“But then…”

Helaena sighs.

“She is your daughter, she has some stubborn traits that you are to blame for”, she smiles. “Give them a chance. They are the next generation.”

“You let her too loose”.

“And you hold her too tight. This is not the way. Believe me, my dear. She will be fine.”

*

A third child came and suddenly your family is one of three. After Maekar, a boy named Jaehaerys has joined Summerhall.

“You must give me a companion, mama”, you pout. Today you are having an embroidery lesson with her. “It is not very fair when Maegor has a companion and I don’t.”

Helaena gives you a loving glance.

“Our family is growing big indeed.” And then she looks fondly at your father.

When you follow her gaze, you smile to yourself. You do sigh over at how devoted Helaena and Aemond are to each other.

This afternoon, Aemond is spending some time with his boys. Maegor being the oldest is trying to show off his best traits to his father, who doesn’t hesitate in appreciating his efforts.

Since it is raining outside, the family gathering is occurring just as fine until Maegor comes to tease you.

“Did you know, dear sister, that my dragon egg has hatched?”

Aemond is rocking baby Jaehaerys when he notices Maegor is not around.

“What about it?”, you pretend to find sewing interesting.

“It’s beautiful, really. It has blue scales.” And then the inevitable happens. “Soon it will grow and I’ll fly with it next to Vhagar. You’ll be left behind and no one will remember you.”

“SHUT UP, YOU STUPID FOOL!”

And to a general surprise, you stand up and slap his face hard. Aemond quickly comes at you, partially shocked—and secretly amused, since he’s been watching the scene from afar—but you escape everyone’s possible snort in tears.

“Maegor”, Helaena sighs as she tends her crying boy. “You shouldn’t have teased your sister.”

Aemond and his wife exchange looks. It’s very fitting that he, after reluctantly giving away his baby to a maid, goes to you.

Unsurprisingly, you are found pacing towards the yard. But something stops you from going out, despite the riot that so violently came upon your chest: it is the sound of those steps you are so familiar with.

“Now now dear Y/Nickname. What has come to fall upon my little princess?”

You run to your father, who is on his knees expecting you to do so. Whenever you felt distressed by something, this was how he welcomed you. Indeed it is a safe haven for you and Aemond knows it.

He sees so much in you and part of him blames himself for sharing this old wound with you.

This shouldn’t be it, Y/N. You’ll never know how I lament this to be it.

“Sing me that song, please.”

Aemond smiles at you. It’s a secret he shares with you. Whilst indeed Daeron is the one more apt to this function, once upon a time Aemond discovered that, thanks to you, singing old poems calmed your fears.

Whatever it takes to make my princess safe.

Choosing a song named Ode to Visenya, here father and daughter forget that time is passing and with it, all that childhood means… at the same time that he proves to be a better father than his own ever were where his infancy was concerned.

After a moment, you two are outdoors, at the yard, watching rain fall.

“You shouldn’t have slapped your brother, Y/N.”

You swear Aemond is smiling, but you don’t take your chances to bet on it.

“I cannot say I regret standing up for me. If I do not do so, then who will?”

So much like her father. Aemond looks at you, a hint of pride in his good eye making you smile and lean against him.

“Regardless, child. You are a princess, you must know when it is time to wage wars.”

“Does this mean I can be taught sword lessons when I grow up?”

Aemond looks at you for a moment. He should ask his wife first, but how can he deny you anything? His first child, his only daughter.

“Will you behave?”

“Yes, I promise! I promise I shall not slap the thwart…”

“He’s still your brother, Y/N”, Aemond scowls at you.

“Sorry. But I promise, yes.”

“Then I will teach you myself.”

Aemond swears he’s never seen such a bright face before. The light in your eyes almost makes this iron prince get to tears.

“I love you, daddy.” You say as you hug him tight.

….

“I love you too, my dear girl.”

*

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you are coming to tell me you are teaching our only girl to practice with sword”, says Helaena in such a casual tone that Aemond believes there should be an accusation where in truth there is none.

“And are you?”

With the children asleep, the two are settling their own nest. Aemond is thankful for this moment, where privacy is finally unbroken.

“She is a princess, Aemond”, Helaena gives her husband an amused glance, as if she knows things he doesn’t. “Mother would be horrified if she knew.”

“Thankfully, she is too occupied with her business in King’s Landing to be meddling in how we raise our children”, says Aemond, still somewhat resented that his mother is as absent now as she was before.

Helaena comes by his side and gently touches his face, making him look at her. As she does so, the princess removes his eyepatch and leans to kiss his forehead.

“She loves us in her own way”, then she melts in his embrace.

Aemond presses a kiss over her forehead, holding her tight. They stay like this for a while until the prince asks:

“What will be of our dear Y/N?”

Helaena looks up at him with amusement glinting in her lilac gaze. She smiles when she points it out:

“Y/N is really your favourite, isn’t she? Please be careful about it, or our sons will be jealous. Well, her future is not something that will get us preoccupied.”

That night, Aemond Targaryen slept a lot better.

*

You are visiting your aunt Rhaenyra and your uncle at Dragonstone again when you are told that there is a red dragon located at the dragon’s pit.

“Really?”, you ask Jacaerys. “How’d you know?”

“Father says that the old dragons like it there better. It’s like home for them, which makes sense considering their history.”

“Hum”, you say.

“You’re not considering going there, are you? No one has tamed Vermithor for decades since King Jaehaerys died”, Jacaerys gives you a concerned look.

But you do not give away your bold side just yet. You smile and dismiss his concerns by assuring him that you won’t do such a thing. In the meantime you two are speaking, here we follow to the adults conversation.

Sitting in the higher table are Rhaenyra and her husband, as well as Aemond and Helaena. They are expecting to welcome King Viserys and Queen Helaena with their youngest son Daeron in the next day.

“I have news to share”, says a mischievous Rhaenyra after a while.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t drank your wine, dear sister”, Helaena giggles quietly. “One wonders why.”

“Good Gods”, Aemond raises his eyebrows at Aegon. “Who knew this would come too far?”

“You ruined the news like always, Aemond”, says Aegon, amused. “But in truth.. aye, few would say an arranging as this would blossom to something good and provide to be a right decision.”

“Talk about it. How many children came of it?”, Aemond could not help himself, chuckling as he is elbowed by his wife.

“Aemond”, she snaps at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Hardly mean, sister”, interferes Rhaenyra amused. “The children are good. And speaking of them…”

“Jacaerys is very fond of Y/N”, muses Aegon. “We’d think he and Visenya were pairing well, but Visenya prefers Lucerys whilst Baela has rather been good friends with Maegor.”

Aemond notices how Helaena suddenly appears more pompous. This time he’s the one who quietens. Marriage is not his expertise field and as he notices the group of children playing, he cannot foresee them married. Or maybe he’s just being protective.

Indeed as it seems, Maegor and Baela are getting along just fine: the former reads and the latter listens. A sight that actually leaves a good impression on Aemond, who had his own doubts about Maegor’s interest in studies.

He keeps an eye at the maid who’s holding baby Jaehaerys before noticing you, Visenya, Jacaerys and Lucerys discussing… dragons. Again. This time Aemond narrows his eyes, waiting for some strange burst or abrupt humor swift. He side smirks to himself at your composed self, but in fact the prince detects some familiar determination that honestly…. He isn’t sure if he wants to find out the reason behind it.

“Aemond”, Helaena summons him impatiently. “The children are doing good, thank you. May you be more considerate in this matter? What do you think?”

Murmuring an apology, Aemond doesn’t shy away of what he’s asked of. But Helaena knows the difficulty in doing so. However, the princess is certain that a merry path is underway. All they must do now is sow the seeds.

In the meantime their future is planned, you are found playing with your cousins.

“I have a dream of flying with Silverwing to Winterfell”, says Jaehaerys. “Much like our forefathers did.”

“You’ve claimed Silverwing?”, you cannot help admiring. “How bold!”

“I was not allowed to mount Vermithor for a strange reason. But alas Silverwing is such a good girl”, Jaehaerys smiles warmly.

“Silverwing was matched to Vermithor”, Visenya meddled, somewhat maliciously.

You cast her cousin a long gaze, but opt to remain quiet. Seeing you don’t buy the bait, or at least it is what Visenya assumes, topics are changed. But little they know what you are to do this evening.

*

“Y/N looks restless”, Aemond muses as he lies next to Helaena.

The princess is mute for a moment. She turns to face her husband.

“It is her moment, Aemond.”

“She is claiming her dragon”, but the prince doesn’t take it well. It’s up to Helaena to tell him what she has seen your future so far.

“Look, there is something you must know about Y/N…”

*

You walk barefoot the moment your feet reach the sand. Under moonlight you opt to trace your steps to Vermithor cave through an unknown—or rather an unusual—path that few are familiar with.

It’s risky. You know. Part of you wonders if this is right, but if Jacaerys has claimed Silverwing… You blush. Pairing the dragons together has only been done once and it was done so by your great-grandparents Jaehaerys I & Alysanne.

But you want to prove your parents that you are not delicate as they see you. In the end… you want to be seen as bold as your cousins, as Targaryen as any of them.

Here you are. Holding a torch to light your way, you enter unprotected through it. The great red-ish winged being opens its eyes and stares at you, distrusted.

A loud groan echoes through the cave, and the sound may as well be mistaken to an earthquake. But you do not quake in fear, despite looking paralyzed as the large old dragon comes at you as if you are ready to be burnt.

It’s when death comes so close that you lift your chin and tell Vermithor:

“I am my father’s daughter and I will claim you, Vermithor.”

The dragon spits fire as if to defy you. You escape barely of losing your life, but you proceed—even if your body shakes and your conscience questions your audacity.

“LIKYRI, VERMITHOR! DOHAERAS!”

A little girl. Nine moons and counting. Giving such a command to a dragon almost as old as time. It could end very bad.

But it does not. Vermithor doesn’t spit fire. It bows towards you.

And you smile proudly.

“Like my father. We are in this together, Vermithor.”

As poets later say, like father like daughter.

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

*

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

*

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

*

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

*

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

***

• You used to get it in your fishnets. Now you only get it in your night dress. Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness. Landed in a very common crisis…

As you wait to fly to Dragonstone from King’s Landing airport, you still wonder why you are doing this to yourself. To accept Aegon’s invitation to his marriage to Miss Rhaella Velaryon, his cousin, feels like a complete exhibition of some lack of self esteem.

You think you’ve gotten over him, that you overcame the wounds of this relationship, but this doesn’t sound accurate, no. What you did in practice was stopping getting yourself drunk and going to parties where you felt like a sidekick character just to please him. Part of you admits that his breaking up with you did some good to you. You quit alcohol and started to lead a healthier lifestyle.

But now here you are. Waiting for the moment where you’ll hear a voice in the airport to call the passengers of the flight 321 (how original, you think) to get to their seats. And soon you will fly to see your ex-boyfriend marrying someone else.

As you wonder whether Aegon was really a good boyfriend, you don’t spot a taller, serious, cranky-faced man coming to your side. He is wearing a dark leather jacket and simple clothes, very appropriate for a two hours flight. The man is chewing a gun and is also in a nonchalant posture that annoys you for no reason.

“Would you please stop doing that?”

The silver haired man looks at you, somewhat puzzled by what you tell him.

“Excuse me, what?”

“You know. That.”

“What’s “that”?”

“The arrogant attitude as if you are standing there, contemplating many ways to bother people with your handsomeness.”

He could not help but laugh at your disastrous attempt of flirting. As you realize what you said, you get annoyed at yourself for your lack of social skills.

“If that is your way to compliment me, I appreciate it”, he chuckles. “But I don’t think this is the right way to get to someone.”

“Oh please.”

It comes out wrong, so wrong but you haven’t done this business for ages. Now that it occurs you as you contemplate the amusement behind this stranger man’s smirk, you notice he possesses lilac eyes.

A trait that only a certain family has.

Oh shit.

“You are a Targaryen”, you remark.

He looks rather bored at your observation.

“Indeed it looks so.”

“This means… you are going to the same flight as I? To Dragonstone?”

It then occurs you both an awkward perception.

“You are his brother, Aemond.”

“You cannot be…”, Aemond looks shocked. “Who…?”

“Y/N”, you sigh awkwardly. “His ex girlfriend.”

“Fuck”, is all he can say.

Thankfully the call for the flight interrupts this situation, but it appears that you are not meant to stay away of each for so long.

***

Aemond wishes he is somewhere else, but here he is, next to his brother’s ex girlfriend. You’ve got to be kidding me…

He watches as you struggle to open the bottle of water, wondering whether he should interfere since you haven’t asked for help.

Then, opting to ignore this awkwardness between you and him, he says:

“Need some assistance there?”

You shoot him a disdainful look, but what for? A few seconds later, you say:

“…Maybe.”

He chuckles, taking it and easily opening it before giving it to you. After a while, Aemond, too involved to let go of his curiosity, asks you:

“Why are you going to his marriage?”

Accepting that these two hours may be longer than planned, you sink in your seat, but take the thread offered.

“I need to put a closure in this.”

“He’s going to marry someone else who isn’t you. Shouldn’t this be a closure enough?”

You blush at his complete reasonable remark, unable to convince yourself otherwise.

“He invited me out of politeness and by the same reason I accepted it.”

“When someone does so out of politeness, my dear, it’s because it’s expected that you don’t take it.”

You tilt your head and Aemond seems to notice how nice is your y/c hair. He can certainly see how Aegon fell for you, though he’s not going to admit it.

“Oh please. What would you know about matters of etiquette being that arrogant, Mr Know-It-All?”

“Little wonder why Aegon broke up with you. This is a title far more appropriate to you, smart ass.”

And there you have it. For another hour and half you and him do not speak.

***

• Everything's in order in a black hole. Nothing seems as pretty as the past, though. That Bloody Mary's lacking a Tabasco. Remember when you used to be a rascal?

To you and Aemond’s dismay, your hotel room is next to his. Which means he’s going to be your room neighbor.

“Your heavy sigh is enough to let your distaste known, thank you very much”, you grumble, trying to avoid that unwelcoming sentiment of being unwanted.

“I did not say a word, barely so I sighed”, Aemond protests. “Goodness me, woman, not everything is about you.”

That being said, he walks impatiently through the door and you do likewise. But destiny is not over with you yet.

*

Aemond wishes you’d dress badly, to the point where your supposed beauty is omitted and he could have a reason to mock you. But his eyes linger at the dark, short dress you wear, noticing your well shaped curves… though stopping himself to lust after you even if your y/c hair is loose in cascade and your make up highlights the color of your eyes.

“Do I look weird?”, you ask, forgetting to disguise your broken pride.

“No, not at all”, Aemond answers you, surprised by what he is inquired. “Why’d you think so?”

“Because you are staring.”

Tonight, your former brother-in-law is looking rather attractive to you. He had got ridden of his long hair, having it cut short; he is wearing a nice polo white shirt and jeans that make him look fancy.

And you could not help yourself a surprising naughty thought at what would be like to ride him.

A thought you promptly dismiss, of course.

“Am I?”, he clears his throat. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to. You are actually…”

Before he can say “beautiful”, to your disappointment he’s distracted by the presence of Aemond’s nephews. Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, brothers of the bride.

“Nice to see you, Aemond”, so greets Jacaerys, and you swear you detect some irony behind his gallant words.

“The same, nephew. Looking strong I see”, Aemond smirks, wiping out the smug of the other’s face.

“I think”, you decide to intrude before this could end unwell for both parties, “that you should follow me in pursuing wine, Aemond. Good evening boys.”

As you lead the way out of trouble, Aemond raises his eyebrows at you.

“Really now, Y/N?”

“Yup. Aegon may be a rascal, but you have no reason to be either.”

Easily convinced by you, he pours some wine in his glass before taking a distant seat at the restaurant. Aegon is busy entertaining guests, and it’s when you spot Alicent arm-in-arm with a dark haired woman.

“That is her girlfriend”, you hear Aemond say when seeing where your curious eyes are wandering to. “My mother’s a lesbian. She had a huge crush on her stepdaughter and former childhood friend, Rhaenyra, my sister. But they never made it because Rhaenyra likes men.”

“Oh”, you blink. “I didn’t know that.”

“Aegon didn’t tell you the gossips of the family?”, Aemond muses sarcastically, placing a hand on his heart, feigning to be offended.

“I’m afraid he was too busy partying”, you say rather uncomfortable, taking the wine to your lips as you savor the sour taste of it. “This wine isn’t Dornish.”

“It’s not”, he agrees.

• Oh the boy's a slag. The best you ever had is just a memory and those dreams weren't as daft as they seem, my love when you dream them up.…..

Again silence hangs in between the two of you before Aemond gives you a look, studying you for a moment.

“He wasn’t a good boyfriend to you, was he?”, so he inquires after a while.

“No, he wasn’t. But I give him credit for trying.”

Aemond chuckles quietly.

“Kudos for doing the least.”

You smile at him. Perhaps Aemond isn’t as dull nor arrogant as you formerly judged.

“It appears I must engage in socially acceptable behavior”, says Aemond then. “To greet my brother and new sister-in-law and repeat expected speeches.”

“Expected only because you correspond to these expectations”, you nudge his sides.

“And do I have another choice on the matter?”, he scoffs.

“No one forced you to come, so don’t get at me for it.”

Somehow it surprises you both that these teasings do not end up in a clash of words. Aemond actually chuckles before conceding reason to you.

“That is very true. But I am a dutiful man, Y/N.”

Saying so, he moves away to greet his brother at last. You watch him go, already missing his company and the warmth of his presence.

The funny part about all of this is that, when looking at Aegon, you don’t actually miss him. And when looking at his bride, you feel rather oddly comfortable in getting at them to congratulate for the merry occasion.

Past is past, after all, and the aching of this ugly truth doesn’t seem to ache any longer.

***

• Flicking through a little book of sex tips, remember when the boys were all electric? Now when she's told she's gonna get it, I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it. Clinging 'til I'm getting sentimental, said she wasn't going but she went still likes her gentlemen to not be gentle…

Aemond watches as you meet your former boyfriend with his now bride-to-be. Judging by your face and your body language, all goes well. However, there is still that expected discomfort as you greet them.

So attentive is he that he doesn’t see Helaena coming. She leans by his side, amused by what is going on right under her nose.

“She said she wasn’t going, but she went still.”

Aemond turns his eyes to his favourite sibling.

“How’d you know that?”

“We remained friends, Aem. Y/N is a really good person, Egg didn’t deserve her.”

“When does he deserve any relationship he’s in?”, Aemond snorts, partly playful, partly meaningful.

Helaena smirks.

“Don’t be mean, Aem. They look genuinely happy now, which is good. I never thought I’d see him settling down one day.”

Her brother doesn’t answer, eyes still glued in the odd trio. Miss Rhaella is very comfortable in her shoes. But of course she is, she has captured his heart. At what cost, though?

“How come they broke up?”

Helaena scoffs at him.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you don’t know the reason why they are not together for some years.” And then she adds, after poking his sides. “Do I detect an interest in you, Aemond Targaryen?”

“Laena, darling. Often the wise in our family, don’t play the dumb now.” Aemond rolls his eyes. “I could never nurture any interest of the kind in my brother’s ex. Y/N is particularly irritating.”

And that is the last part you hear.

***

He doesn’t know why, but this prince who takes pride in never falling in love with anyone, nor ever chasing after a woman, is going after you.

You too cannot conceive the reason his words hurt you, but it takes little to comprehend that you’ve been vulnerable with this odd circumstance you spontaneously dragged yourself into.

“Y/N”, he holds you by your elbow, forcing you to look at him. “Didn’t mean to say what I said.”

You shrug your shoulders off.

“In the end you have a point, though. What kind of ex goes willingly to a wedding where she was only invited out of politeness? Besides, have you seen the embarrassed look in your mother’s face? She wasn’t expecting me there”, you scoff.

Aemond smiles at you, and you don’t like how it makes you feel—as if there’s hope in the horizon.

“I don’t think this is the case. She was probably expecting a scene. Not from you, of course, but most likely that Rhaella would be unnecessarily loud. Or even Aegon. Who knows? But definitely not you.”

That being said, walls are knocked down. It all settles for now.

“Well, you know what? I think I need some wine.”

“I take it”, so says Aemond. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has”.

And you smile at each other.

***

The next day both of you are found in the same bed, except nothing really happened in the night before. You realize how nice it was to just cuddle him, that his scent was much fitter to yours… than Aegon’s. Such thought embarrasses you when you get back at your senses.

You panic internally and try to disassociate of his arms, albeit unwillingly. It’s when he opens his eyes.

Aemond too is shocked when promptly observing how one got tangled with the other… without necessarily having the need of taking each other’s clothes off. This perception sort of annoys him, though.

“Where do you think you’re going?”, he asks in a voice that gives you shivers. “It’s fucking early.”

“I best find my way back to my room”, you say, hoping not to sound too awkward.

“Mm”, but of course he cannot take it for himself. “Last night was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was”, you give him a soft smile, but something about your eyes makes Aemond smile at himself. “I just don’t think prudent if we are caught. People can talk.”

“Let them talk”, he gently pulls you back and you effortlessly fall into his arms again. “I think we could go for a horseback riding today before lunch.”

You smile at yourself. Aemond spots it and he smiles too.

“We could. Though I’m afraid I don’t do horseback riding.”

“I could teach you.”

“Do I detect malice in your speech, Aemond Targaryen?”

For the first time in many moons, this bad boy is genuinely brought to laughters.

“It really didn’t occur me at all, but if you’re up to it…”

You punch his arm playfully. But for a while you two just stay like this, lying in bed, sharing laughters as if you have been the best of friends.

***

“I hate how I feel like an adolescent again. I thought I’ve done this already. Countless times”, you remark.

It’s nine in the morning and you two are dressed like going to a picnic, not a fancy breakfast to celebrate the union of the families Targaryen & Velaryon. Maybe it’s not of either interest to participate it. Besides, the landscape is far more inviting than dealing with posh relatives.

The hotel is surrounded by nature. Large trees are spotted above a green hill, surrounded by lakes and some wild animals that every now and then stop by. Not far from it, is this large, crimson white house rent by the Targaryens to celebrate the marriage of Aegon and Rhaella. The said event will happen only the next day since the couple are very fond of celebration.

Uninterested in these endless festivities, you and Aemond are heading to the top of the hill carrying with nothing other than wine and bread, perhaps some fruits too.

"And here we are", says Aemond, surprisingly in a good mood.

You two sit on the grass and its your former brother-in-law who opens the wine bottle. You two share it as it is, with no need to use glasses for the purpose of savouring the red, warm liquid.

"It is a shame we haven't been acquainted properly", you muse after a while. From where you two are, you could still spot Mrs Hightower and her lover receiving the guests alongside Mrs Velaryon, who, you seem to notice, is accompanied by a dark, curled haired man who doesn't strike you as Mr Velaryon.

"Eh, I was a little busy when you were with my brother", and when following your curious gaze, Aemond smirks and adds: "That is Mr. Strong, by the way."

"Busy? With whom?", you tilt your head, eyes now locked with his purple ones. "I feel as if I'm missing something here."

Aemond cackles before lying on the grass. As he's on his elbows, you hate how your eyes scan his frame, taking notice of his body, his part-opened legs under an old pair of jeans and a random comfortable shirt that shows some of his well build muscles.

Fuck.

You lean to grasp a few grapes before suddenly finding interest in the cloudless skies.

"Well, that is Harwin Strong", says Aemond, ignoring the first part of the question you asked him. "He is my sister's lover."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Where were you when our family messed up?"

"I have no idea, maybe we were busy breaking up", you shrug your shoulders.

Now you miss the long gaze Aemond casts at you. He notices your shapely legs, well reinforced by your blue velvet shorts. A mischievous thought occurs him at the thought of removing these shorts. Containing a sigh, but not holding back such sinful thoughts, he notices you have nice, firm breasts just by the stare he gives your blouse.

Desire seems unbearable. Useless to fight against, but he stops the urge. He must. For his sake.

"You deserve someone better."

And your gaze meets his.

"My brother was unworthy of you", and he, a careful, wayward man, is drawn to you.

You, likewise, are inclined to get closer to him. Is it too early to get drunk and do things you might regret? Where is conscience when you need it?

"And who is worthy of me? You?"

Aemond side smirks at you. You two are so close to bound in deeper waters.... when someone else comes in to ruin all, of course.

It's Alys Rivers, his ex-girlfriend.

***

•You’re falling about. You took a left off Last Laugh Lane. You were just sounding it out. No you're not coming back again.

You are quick to leave the scene. Tired to be someone else’s sidekick character, you know it’s the time to part and be the protagonist of your own.

It’s been too much humiliation. First to put a closure with a man who is marrying someone else. Second… to be able to fall for his brother in a matter of, what, a day and HALF?

You realize no one is missing you anyway. So you are leaving before ceremony even begins.

As for Aemond, it’s all going worse than planned. He wishes you’d have more time to spend together. But, in honesty, he doesn’t blame you for parting like this.

He never mentioned that he and Alys were not entirely… what word could capitalize it? Untogether? Does this word even exist?

Regardless. He’s taken by a strange urge of going after you.

“…you’re not even listening to me!”, the protestations of his now ex girlfriend are annoying him.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”, he responds rather coolly. “You’ve left me in balance for a while and now you think you can take me back? I don’t think so. Farewell, darling Alys.”

Saying so, he’s not wasting his time. These are crazy days, one might judge, where long relationships end unexpectedly and short ones may begin out of the blue.

Or perhaps not so out of the blue…

***

You are about to get in the cab when Aemond gets to you.

“Hey”, and once again he holds your wrist, thus making you looking at him. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay here”, you sigh dramatically. “You have unfinished business with Alys. I mean, been there, done that. Not really in the mood to rerun this movie.”

“No, this is untrue. Fuck, you are the most interesting girl I’ve met and look at me playing the fool here. Always the indecisive and vindictive, I want something new.”

Aemond doesn’t know where this urge comes from, but, unlike his brother, he is not willingly to let go of you so easily.

“And when this new goes away”, you counter argue him. “What then?”

“I am not leaving you. I am not Aegon”, he says rather anxiously. “Allow me to get to know you better, Y/N. We are going through this shit together.”

You tilt your head, but as if to shush any remaining doubts, like the adolescent he never was, Aemond pulls you against him and finally kisses your red lips.

***

It’s the wedding day. You are elegantly dressed in a pink gown that reinforces your curves and shows some collarbone. Your y/c hair is tied in a braid Helaena’d done it and you are wearing a pair of emeralds over your skin.

But you lose your breath when you see him, elegantly dressed in a black suit with a green tie. His hair purposely messed, he’s every inch the sobriquet he proudly wears.

Bad boy prince.

When his gaze meets yours, both of you know this day will be no good to either of you.

“Ready to be my partner?”

Have you got colour in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?

Aemond finds difficulty to settle after years waging war. There is peace after a decade fighting his sister and her partisans. They are all nothing but names now, recorded in the maesters books.

To placate his restless energy, the prince has, in many ways, followed in his bitter enemy’s footsteps—getting himself lands in the Free Cities, he found himself a new life style as well as a new wife.

But because he’s now the Hand of the King, in opposite to Daeron’s career in Citadel, his life style was left behind. For now.

You, however, settled easily with this new routine. Harrenhal is your home and this is the household you must fill your wifely duties. Initially, you found a rival for your husband’s affection—his former mistress, a woman named Alys Rivers, did not let easily go the path to Aemond’a heart—which complicated your smooth transition from the life of a free damsel who loved the seas to a noblewoman, wife of a bad reputed prince.

Despite the initial scandal such a match evoked, you and Aemond overcame the early disapprovals until the dowager queen accepted you as her daughter-in-law in a relationship that grew fondly in due time.

As you spend the afternoon reading a love story between a knight and his damsel in distress, which in some shades reminds yours, you are found missing your husband dearly.

Aemond has been gone to Free Cities to knock a local rebellion and negotiate peace terms with the involved, applying the law, before going back. And he misses you too.

When he lands with Vhagar, he hurries to you—although the prince needs to clean himself first. Only then he comes at you.

Aemond finds you busy with your lecture at their bedchambers, so concentrated that you don’t spot him, leaning against the wall, watching you with a side smirk on his lips.

Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week…

His good eye is set on you like a hunter when it’s about to get its prey. Your y/c hair is loose behind your back, your eyes are focused in the lines you read but he wonders what is the theme that makes you furrow your eyebrows. Your lips are partially open and Aemond easily sees his own clashing against yours in a long fervent kiss. But the man is patient.

The gown you dress is the first he gifted you, in the days of your courtship. Aemond is pleased to see you still keep it in your wardrobe. The gown shows some cleavage and shoulders, reinforcing your firm full breasts.

When staring at your heavy breathing, his own chest goes slowly up and down. His eyes devour your skin through the clothing, still keeping in his thought the moment your nipples go hard under his eager tongue.

When remembering how much you enjoy it, how you always sang louder the moment he took his time to suck each breast, a heat troubles his inner balance. His manhood gets lightly unbearable.

It’s time to move.

How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I've found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee…

Aemond recollects the first time he saw you. Finding a way to survive in Essos, your brother had plans to send you to serve Rh’llor whilst you considered piracy. You’ve always loved the sea, and there you’d content yourself when your path crossed his.

You knew nothing of his past, and yet you took him in. When love flourished, it took not much time.

Moved by this agony of spending too much of his time away from you, he wants you again. Using shadows on his favor, he is about to surprise you.

Aemond kneels behind you. Still focused in the reading, you do not notice he’s behind your chair. The prince is lightly amused at how this novel has stolen you from him.

“My lady, I am no poet, no bard, no man versed in the court of love, but I’d think by now you were missing me.”

Quickly, you stand, turning at him with joy. It’s been five years since he espoused you and the same joy is there whenever he comes back to your arms.

“I missed you, my husband! How could it not be? Oh Aemond, it’s been so long!”

He experiments that peaceful bliss he never thought he’d feel the moment his lips are welcomed by yours. It starts as a slow, passionate kiss, only then to be parted by you.

“I should have prepared our chambers to receive you better”, you say, ready to fetch a servant when he pulls you right in front of him.

“Why, I wanted to surprise my lady”, he smirks, resting his chin over your shoulder as his hands begin to pace around your waist. “You still have the gown I gifted you during our courtship.”

“Yes, I do”, you blush lightly, not expecting him to notice it.

“Looking gorgeous as always”, he whispers hotly in your ear, giving you goosebumps.

“Aemond…”, you smirk, wondering what’s to come. “I have some news to tell you.”

“Then tell me”, so he says as his tongue begins to draw lines from your earlobe to your jawline and neck, tightening the grip of your waist.

You try to focus, but when he gets to your neck, your leg automatically begin to rub in another and you giggle softly.

“Y-Your brother…”, you almost forget how to breathe the moment he rests a hand over your belly, moving up to your breast.

“Yes?”, he bites your neck softly, missing to feel your firm breast over his hand, but not taking it long now… not yet. “You were saying?”

You try to release yourself off his grip, about to get on fire, but Aemond is very domineering today. The hand on your back is now over your neck, holding it possessively. The way you like it.

“He is throwing a feast and a tournament…”, you get speechless the moment his lips are back at your neck and his right hand starts to lift the skirts of your gown.

“And…”, he smirks, encouraging you to speak as he defies you not to succumb easily into his teasings.

“And… Aemond!”, you hiss impatiently when feeling his hand on your thigh.

Aemond takes a seat and makes you sit on his lap. There is a fire that is about to burn you…and you want to get burnt. But you know it’ll be on his terms.

“Tell me, or I will stop.”

He smirks devilishly as you pout.

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways (Sad to see you go) Sort of hoping that you'd stay. (Baby we both know) That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day…

“The tournament is on…” you barely speak as he begins to tease you through your undergarments. Using his thumb to draw circles over it, you whimper, partially impatient.

“On?”

He pauses, amused as you frown at him.

“Either you tell me or I’ll stop, my dear. The punishment for ignoring me…” Aemond chuckles as you pout again.

“…on the next week”, and he resumes the touching, working his hands within you. “He wants to…. Oh, Aemond!… to celebrate his tenth year he is on the I-I-Iron Throne!”

Aemond chuckles to himself as you try to keep your composure the moment two fingers are inserted in your womanhood. He feels how soaked you are, enjoying the sounds you make as he stimulates you.

“Mm. What else?”, he asks in your ear, using his free hand to unlace your gown, aroused by your reactions.

“He wants you…”, and here you let out a poorly muffled cry the moment he increases his pace. “…to take part of the feast and… and be his champion! Oh bloody seven hells!”

As you throw your head back, the gown, now loose, begins to fall. Aemond stares at your denuded chest, biting his own bottom lip as your nipples are hardened under his lustful gaze.

“His champion?”, he helps you to straighten on his knee, despite the trouble to ignore the aching in his manhood.

“On the tournament!”, you moan indecently loud the moment he cups one boob with his free hand.

Aemond smirks at you. Oh how he loves these games he plays with you. He is a victor each time.

“Hmm. I shall consider the invitation”, he leaves more bruises in your skin, before whispering unspeakable things to your ear that makes you hot enough to burst into his hand.

And when he licks each finger before you, you almost go insane.

“Aemond!”, you turn at him, finally free of his grasp. You remove the gown off your body, rubbing yourself to his manhood as you settle your hips properly over his, hands eagerly removing his own clothing.

“Oh I haven’t finished with you yet, woman”, he groans as he lifts you and pulls you gently against the window. As you remain on your back to him, he kisses your neck and down to your back, before fingering you again.

“Lords, Aemond!”

And to your delightful surprise, his lips soon take place where his fingers have been. Now you settle the reins and gladly ride his face.

Crawling back to you… Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do. Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new. Now I've thought it through, crawling back to you…

But once again in bed he has you under his command again. Crawling over your body, he prepares to set his pace.

“I’ve been burning too long alone to let these flames go unescaped”, he whispers, touching himself right before you, until he leaves it to tease your entrance.

Aemond likes seeing you subduing to him. Even more when fire is indeed burning in such a level that makes you bed. And nothing arouses him more than seeing a prideful lady be turned into a beggar in… bed.

This is how he spreads your legs gently and, leaning his body to be closer to yours, the prince slowly thrusts in you.

“Have I been punished enough?”, you moan sensually, legs wrapped around his waist.

“Perhaps”, he smiles at you.

Only when your gazes meet, he softens.

“I’ve missed you”, and his lust is replaced by the genuine affection that has mirrored in your eyes. “A lot.”

“As have I”, you admit in short breath. “Very much, my rogue prince.”

Aemond smiles down at you, kissing your lips as your body and his finally move as one.

Simmer down and pucker up. I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you. I don't know if you feel the same as I do but we could be together… If you wanted to.

Later, you feel his wide eyed gaze at you. With no patch to cover his bad eye, he is the way you like him to: himself, nude and crude.

“I am pleased to find your heart shut for me alone”, you muse after a moment spent in warming silence.

“How so?”

He turns at you, on his elbow. Aemond strokes your face gently, doing the same then to your hair.

“Are you still daunted by these insecurities?”

“At times I am. I fear to lose your affection”, you admit. “But this only happens when I’m sensitive.”

“You do not need to excuse yourself for me when I’m open like this before you, wife”, he presses a kiss over your forehead. “I admit I have my own demons to haunt. There are nights I wish I had not… survived.”

“How so, my love,”, you turn at him and he sees fear in your eyes.

“I wish I had not been the cause why such a war disrupted. There is no good in dwelling in the past, but if I must be open with my lady, then my remorse must be shared with you. This is what pains me in times where restlessness knocks me out. Not an old mistress.”

“I’m sorry for this”, you feel ashamed for the confession, but Aemond looks in peace with it.

“Don’t be. We are husband and wife, love. We are in this together. I love you and it’s your love that helps me with going through difficult times.”