#aemon x reader

𝐴𝑒𝑔𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑟

・Guarded, yet feels so much for you

・Without you knowing, he would make sure that guards are near you at all times

・Your protection comes first.

・Sometimes he takes the time to sneak away from everyone and talk to you.

・He gives you tokens of his affection; a flower, a book he heard you mention during a feast, but the biggest one he gives you is his own handkerchief.

・You carry it around with you, so you can smell it when no one is looking.

・Once he saw you. He never said anything, but he knew ... he understood. But somehow that made his yearning worse.

・The need is too strong at times, like you stole his heart. And yet, you hold it so flimsily.

𝑂𝑟𝑦𝑠

・A man who has bold feelings.

・And when he yearns, it is near explosive.

・Orys thinks about you all the time, and the only way to let out his pent up frustrations is to spar, to train, to ride his horse into the night.

・Sometimes he disappears in the woods for a few nights because his feelings are too strong. He needs to guard himself somehow...

・And you are completely oblivious. Thinking Orys as a gentleman, like any other?

・Because he is the King's Hand, and he knows court life. He wouldn't want you?

・Even when he flirts with you, there's something in the back of your mind telling you that he's just playing around; he doesn't mean it.

・How goddamn wrong you are.

・Because you are his world.

・And there is nothing he wouldn't do for you.

𝐴𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛

・Half-spoken confessions. Aemon's voice catches when he tries to talk about his feelings.

・He imagines touching you. His own hands twitch with the thought of having you close.

・To have your hand in his, so he could kiss your hand whenever he wanted.

・His love for you lives in his restraint. He yearns, yes, but he hides it

・He notices your smallest needs before you voice them, and though his words are few, his hands betray him

・Always guiding you gently, steady at your back, lingering a moment too long.

𝐵𝑎𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛

・Restless nights.

・Overheated in bed, he is constantly shifting this way and that. But nothing comes easy.

・All because it's YOU who he's thinking about.

・His hand clutches his chest, heartbeat pounding. He imagines what it would be like to have you here. Your form sleeping against his own.

・Dreams blur into memory; did you smile like that in truth, or only in sleep?

・His yearning makes him hyper aware of danger.

・But when he is near you, laughing and joking with your friends. Your laughter cuts through him like sunlight breaking after battle.

𝐴𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑘𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡

・This is a man whose yearning for you is much more obvious.

・Heart - struck, his eyes constantly find you in every room, searching for you

・He wants you in his arms, there would be safest for you

・He's the type of man to pick you flowers so you can wear them in your hair or behind your ear.

・This man blushes whenever you give him your full attention. He has no idea what to do. Well he knows what he wants to do...he wants to marry you, and keep you by his side for the rest of his life.

・Hence, his feelings run deep.

𝐶𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛

・Distance away from you feels physically hurtful.

・Whenever he walks near you, his hand lightly brushes your own. His heartbeat grows faster and faster

・Sitting near you, touching lightly, even picking up something you dropped; they all become relics to cling to.

・A room without you feels hollow.

・He lingers in doorways when you pass, as though the sight of you gives him breath...give him life.

But not yet. There was still time, and Aemon wanted to make the most of it. He peeked inside the cold marble interior and found it empty. Pleased with this discovery, he found two new candles, one purple and the other a blinding white. He lit them before bringing them to the likenesses of The Father and The Mother. Aemon placed one at the feet of each before closing his eyes and bowing his head. He prayed, grateful for the second chance that had been given and for his wife's opening her heart to him. Aemon silently thanked the Mother and Father for smiling down on his efforts to save his marriage. The air within the Sept was still and cold. The prince was confident he was being heard. Light of heart by the end of his devotions, he searched for another candle, a brilliant red one. He lit it and placed it at the feet of the Warrior. Aemon closed his eyes and prayed again for a successful hunt and for his arrows to fly true.  

The door was thrown open, and a gust of wind followed the intruder in. Aemon opened his eyes even as his hand went straight for the handle of his sword. He surpressed a sigh when he saw who the interloper was.  

"Noble kinsman!" Baelor cried in greeting. "Come to pray, I see!"

 "Good morrow, your grace." Aemon stood to attention and bowed his head. "Yes, I have come to pray. And to give thanks for favors granted."

"I have heard," the king replied as he searched for candles for his own use. "Your wife is returning to your side. But I hear she wishes to return to the old ways?"

"She merely wishes to pray to the Gods of her people," Aemon said. He turned to face the likeness of the Warrior again. He prayed even more and asked for the strength needed to deal with his cousin. "I see no harm in it." 

Baelor was less than pleased. "Meaningless idolatry, I call it. If I had my way, I would cut down those blasted trees and make the Northerners bend the knee before the Seven who are One. Alas, the council and your father and even my lady wife think differently."

With plans for her engagement, her sister’s coronation, and everything else, Elaena did not have time to speak to Aemon about a regency in Daena’s name. It was unnecessary, however. He was starting to see why his father was helping the queen with the claim. If Baelor remained king after Viserys surrendered to the Stranger, he would begin wars with the North and the Iron Born.

And it would be the entrails of Southron warriors decorating the hulls of Iron Born ships and the Weirwood trees of the North. Not garlands of winter roses and bones from whales that had been hunted. 

"The North will not bend the knee. Not now." Aemon reminded the king. "Our dragons are all dead, and the sun is setting on our once glorious dynasty. We cannot afford more wars. Let the North keep to their ways, and we to ours. The realm will thank our family for it." 

The king huffed in disappointment and shook his head. "You surprise me, kinsman." Baelor lit a candle for the Father and walked toward his carving, his bare feet making no sound as he padded over the smooth floor. "I took you for a pious, believing man."

"I am a pious, believing man," Aemon replied respectfully, choosing a different way to appeal to the king. "I simply refuse to be a foolish one. War with the North will end only in bloodshed and with our armies decimated. And you, as a believing king, must consider the cost to your subjects. Have a care for them, your grace. They are weary of war. The Seven will reward you greatly in the afterlife if you do."

Baelor smiled, a slow creeping smile that made Aemon feel ill. Still, his words took hold of the king. 

"Perhaps you are right," Baelor said, oblivious to Aemon's sigh of great relief. "I shall turn my eyes to the building of the Great Sept. Yes. That is what matters."

Another meaningless cost thrust upon our subjects, Aemon thought sadly. But at least he is no longer thinking of war. 

"Indeed," the prince agreed heartily instead. "That is what matters."

Baelor bowed his head to pray. Aemon, seeing his chance, made his way back out as silently as he could manage. He breathed more freely in the brisk air and turned his eyes to the pale streaks of dawn. He made haste and returned to his tower, passing the Godswood along the way. He had to speak to the servants before leaving. Changes had to be made before y/n came back with him. 

The prince stopped before the Weirwood tree when its leaves rustled softly with the wind. He brushed his fingers over his lips and still felt the imprint of his wife’s on his own.

Y/n's kisses had been soft and sinful. And yet, Aemon no longer found cause to hate the parts filled with sin. Kissing his wife felt as natural as breathing. Holding her felt natural. And touching her. Aemon turned his hands and gazed at his palms. There was nothing there, but he could still feel the warmth of his wife’s skin against his. He had felt her tremble. Heard her moan. Unraveled and gave himself to the wildness growing within him when she sighed his name. Had it not been for the festivities, he would have taken her back to their chambers and carried her to bed. If he had been like his brother, utterly reckless, he would have taken y/n right there beneath the shade of the Weirwood tree. He looked at the tree and the dappled light all around it. And remembered his dream.

It was the same dream he had since he first saw her swimming back at the Cerwyn Manse. Aemon chased y/n around ancient trees, oblivious to the bite in the air and the frost crunching beneath his feet. She would tease him, goad him, and laugh when he caught her. And he always, always captured her. She felt perfect and soft in his arms. He would kiss her until her laughter died and kiss her until she moaned. He would lay her down beneath the shade of a gnarled tree and drown in her warmth. 

"Aemon," she would whisper while he lost himself in her. Her hands would brush over his hair as he feasted on her lips. She would sigh softly again. The sound chased him to waking and the cold light of day. In his still sleep-like state, he expected to find y/n beside him. He did not, and disappointment spiraled through him, making him feel empty. 

He heard her laughter again. This time, it was not in his dreams. Y/n had come running when her youngest cousin decided to wander around the Godswood.  

"Marna!" She cried softly. "Get back here!" 

Marna wriggled free of her cousin’s clutches and raced down the pathway in a gale of laughter. She ran straight into Aemon and stopped.  

"Lift!" She ordered, and raised her arms, thinking he would take her onto his shoulders like he often did whenever he called over at the Cerwyn Manse.

"I believe you thought of exploring?" He grinned and crouched down to Marna’s level. His wife’s cousin had the look of the North. A lean, long face, thick brown hair, and pale gray eyes. They were softer and kinder now, but that could change soon enough. Life in the North tended to do that.  

"Yes, she did," y/n replied, her hands on her hips. "And she will be in trouble if she does not return. Go on," she urged when Uther came in search of his youngest sister. "Go back to your brother." 

Marna pouted and returned to her brother in a huff. Aemon broke out into a wider grin when the little girl grumbled the entire way. Y/n turned to him, a smile on her lips. Aemon did not give her time to speak. He slid his arms around her and kissed her lightly on the neck. Y/n was startled but slowly melted when he pressed his lips over hers. Her mouth tasted so sweet when she shuddered and parted it for his tongue, her hands grasping at his tunic. Voices were heard from outside Godswood. The prince finally drew back, albeit very reluctantly.  

"Six months wasted because of my hard-headedness," he murmured and stepped away. Someone else had walked into the Godswood. It was Viserys. He called Aemon and y/n over. The time had come for them to leave. "I should have kissed you long and deep on our wedding night; I should have kissed you every night and day. I should have loved you often and held you after. Will you forgive me?"  

"Perhaps," she replied shyly, her eyes twinkling. "If you went down to your knees and groveled. I always did love a good grovel." 

Aemon laughed and led her back to the outer yard to join the others.  

Several hours of hard riding later, the Kingswood came into view. Lord Commander Hardyng and the palace guard kept a careful eye as they led the royal family and their guests down winding paths lined with pine and birch and fir. The air was crisp and cold, even as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. The breath of rider and horse mingled while they rode down one beaten path after another until they reached a clearing near a clear pond.  

The field was filled with flowers and awash in a riot of color. Servants had ridden a day or two before and prepared the many tents that would be needed. Daena had ridden ahead as well, along with her sisters. They were standing by the entrance to the campsite, ready to greet their guests in Baelor's name. The smell of roasting meat hung in the air. It was just as well, as everyone was already tired from the ride, and more than one stomach growled. 

Several giant aurochs had been roasting since the morning. Kitchen boys basted them with honey and herbs while turning them on immense wooden spits. The meat crackled and split even as it cooked. Trestle tables and benches had been arranged amid the tents, and dishes piled high with olives, bread, cheese, and wild berries had been set out for anyone hungry.  

Aemon found a place beside Elaena and waited for y/n to join him. He smiled, kissed her hand when she sat beside him, and formally introduced her to his cousins.  

"We are putting the dragon skulls back," Eleana said. "My sister insists on them being treated with the respect they deserve. They will be arranged all around the throne room. My sister wants them that way on the day of her anointing." 

"Atop marble plinths and surrounded by hundreds of lit candles? It will be a most glorious sight, to be sure." 

"That is what we all hope for."

Conversation died while courses came and went. A hearty mushroom soup. Delicate little tarts filled with spinach and cheese. Roast fowl and vegetables. Fish caught fresh from a nearby river and cooked in lemon and herbs. Then came the course of meat. Aemon carved a generous portion for his wife, smiling while she ate with a hearty appetite. Servants walked around tables, filling cups with iced wine and ale and cold water. Minstrels sat to one side, strumming and singing, and filled the evening air with sweet melodies.  

It was wondrous, even as morning gave way to evenfall. The cares of the past were forgotten, even if it was for a short while. Aemon glanced at his wife, pleased to see her talking with the queen and her sisters.  

Such a pity, he thought, when he heard Daena eagerly talk about her plans for the future. Danny and y/n would have gotten along well had fate not intervened. 

By now, the city was well aware of the trial by combat. Jonnel and Edric fell to Lord Stane, just as many predicted. With the swing of a sword, y/n had become heiress to Winterfell and the future Lady of the North. She would have to leave after her sister visited King’s Landing and had her fill of the city. No one knew how much longer Cregan Stark had left in this world.  

There was shouting and boisterous laughter. Aegon was growing louder with each cup of wine he drank. From time to time, Aemon could see him teasing and getting bawdy with the serving girls. He felt grateful that Alys decided to stay back and keep Naerys company. The sight of her husband fondling the women around him would have wounded her deeply. Aegon grew even louder and drank even more than he ate. A serving girl walked past him. Aegon demanded a kiss. She readily obliged. Others were watching. Many were talking, their eyes not at all kind. Aemon rose, thinking his brother had gone too far. 

"Come sit with me, brother," he called softly. "We have not had time to talk together." 

"No," was all Aegon said before turning his attention back to the serving girl. Aemon went over to him and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Aegon turned and shoved him so hard that he fell onto his back.

"Some Dragonknight," Aegon spat, then guffawed when Aemon dusted himself off and stood up. "I can still best you, little brother, even when I am in my cups," he said, turning to face y/n. "I pity her for being wed to one such as you." 

Aemon bristled. He bit his tongue, thinking the blow to his pride would be worth it if it meant Aegon not making a complete spectacle of himself in front of the court.  

"I will take care to pass on your commiserations to her," he retorted sharply. "Now come, sit, and eat with father and myself." 

"I…" 

"You are disgracing yourself in front of the court." 

Aegon grumbled and shrugged. "Oh, very well then," he muttered. Aemon sighed in relief, pleased that his appeal to Aegon's vanity had succeeded. "I will sit and eat and behave myself." 

Viserys was watching his oldest with barely disguised contempt. He said nothing to Aegon but turned to whisper something to the Lord Commander. Servants stopped serving wine and ale to the prince after that. 

"Are you hurt, husband?" Y/n asked quietly. She reached over and dusted specks of grass and dirt out of Aemon’s hair.  

"Just a blow to my own pride," Aemon began. He searched for his brother and found him helping himself to the bread and meat. "I am well, I assure you." 

The rest of the evening drifted peacefully. Minstrels came and went, and the court fool walked around the tables making crude noises and singing sharp-witted songs that made everyone laugh, even the one at the receiving end of his mockery. Aegon finally stopped eating and fell asleep with his head on the table. Lord Commander Hardyng had him carried back to his tent.  

The moon had risen and hung high in the sky. Someone lit a bonfire to keep everyone warm. The feast went on. Servants carried trays laden with sweets: stewed fruits and pears soaked in wine and cakes covered in thick, sugary frosting. The queen walked around the tables, talking to courtiers and guests of the crown.  

She is improving, Aemon thought. Daena praised the Dornishmen for their realm’s defiance against the dragons, spoke to the YiTish ambassador about the customs of his people, entertained the children of several others, and made them laugh. She introduced her sisters to others before finally making her excuses and leaving. Aemon glanced at his wife. Her eyes had grown heavy, and she was the only one remaining from her family. Uther had gone to help his mother put the younger children to bed.  

And Aemon did not want the night to end. 

"Would you care for a late-night swim?" he suggested. "The river is just beyond those trees. I was told the water was calm today." 

Y/n agreed. "Pray give me a moment. I need to change and fetch a pelt." 

The lake was not that far, but Aemon left word with the Kingsguard so they would not be disturbed. Lord Commander Hardyng winked and said, "About time something happened," under his breath. Aemon went red in the face but took his words in good spirits. 

Y/n had gone ahead and was already in the water, clad in a simple cotton shift. Aemon stood in the shadows, content to watch. 

His wife was as comfortable in the water as in the saddle. She glided through the water without a care in the world, turning her face up and paddling. She wanted to gaze at the moon. Her shift drifted and spread out in the water. His eyes traveled over her body. The prince drank in every inch he saw, from the exposed flesh to the hair limned by moonlight, and found his wife to be the answer to every young knight's dream. And she was his, bound to him by oath. He went forth, not wanting to miss another moment.  

"This is not the first time I have found you like this," he declared, and walked onto a nearby tree that had fallen into the water after a great storm. "I am starting to think you are part mermaid, wife." 

Y/n laughed and swam over to him. "I am not part mermaid, to be sure. There is not a drop of Greyjoy blood in my family. Or perhaps there is, and no one knows of it." 

Aemon smiled and sat back on his haunches. The bark was stout and strong, and its leaves had already rotted away in the water.  

"Are you all right?" She asked again. "I was so worried when Aegon pushed you. I thought he was going to reach for his sword." 

"I am well," he replied, more than a little alarmed that he had not stopped to consider that his brother had a sword by his side. Aemon swore to never be so careless again. "My brother will forget everything come morning and complain of awful head pains to anyone who would listen." 

Y/n laughed again and swam further away. "Will you not join me?" she asked. "You did suggest we swim." 

Aemon smiled and stood up. "I did," he said, before slipping out of his boots and stripping off his clothes until his breeches were all that remained. "And I will join you." 

A mist slowly crept in over the water. They kept close to the fallen tree, paddling and laughing and splashing each other whenever they could. Silver moonlight mingled with the flickering golden light of little fireflies. The soft hum of insects and water lapping at the shore were the only sounds that carried with the breeze. Aemond drank deep on the magic of the night, and he found he could not keep his hands away from his wife. He kept touching her, and kissing her, and he found her lips to be as sweet as always. He would have done more had the mist not thickened. Y/n shivered. It was frightfully cold.  

"Come, wife," he said, wanting to take her back to their tent, where it was warm. "Our tent and a good night’s sleep awaits." 

The Feast of the Warrior, Aemon called it, was a day dedicated to the Warrior aspect of the Seven Who Are One. Battle-seasoned warriors would give thanks to him. Those who had lost loved ones to war would ask him to bring peace and comfort to those who were slain and to judge their souls favorably. Those who took orders as household guards and new knights and members of the Gold Cloaks would be anointed. Y/n smoothed the skirt of her dress. Gold and red were the colors of the day, and gold and red were the colors of her garments. Her skin prickled. When she turned to face her husband, she found him watching her. 

The look in his eyes gave her pause. It was the same look she caught sight of the evening she walked out of the water, and it was the same look she had been seeing every day after that. Every time Aemon called on her, his eyes would darken whenever he glanced at her. Sometimes, she found warmth in them. Other times, hunger. Other times, they would follow her every move. Y/n looked away before turning to Aemon again. His eyes had darkened even now. They seemed to travel the length of her, studying her intensely.

She flushed and went over her damask dress. The bodice clung to her, revealing as much as it concealed, and left her completely bare-shouldered. Dagged sleeves that nearly kissed the floor when she walked had been slashed down the side, exposing her arms. Y/n looked at her husband again, thinking the dress was too daring for a prayer service. It was the only red and gold dress she had; she did not consider having another dress made.

"Is this too revealing for the Sept, my lord?" she blurted out. 

"No," Aemon assured her. His voice was oddly hoarse and thick. "It is not. And you look glorious, truly."

Y/n managed a shy smile before turning to look out the window. There were red and gold pennants everywhere, dimly lit by nearby torches. Roads had been cleaned, and the tourney grounds made ready for the races that would come after the service. Everyone had been heading towards the nearest Sept. Some were warriors with salt and pepper hair. Others looked very young and were accompanied by proud families. Others still had no warrior with them. Their offerings had black ribbons fluttering in the wind. 

Widows, thought y/n. Fatherless children. Sisters, grieving for their brothers. Mothers and fathers and friends remembering someone who had fallen in battle.

A hand calloused and hardened by years of sword use rested over hers, startling her. 

"I... would like to be called husband," Aemon insisted, not unkindly. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Please." 

It confused her. Aemon had never asked such a thing of her before, even after he started addressing her as wife. He never asked her to call him husband, not when he called on her the day before, or the day before that. She kept her eyes trained on her lap, uncertain what to say. Aemon squeezed her hand again, as gently as before. She glanced up at him. There was tenderness in those beautiful eyes of his. And anticipation. He was waiting for an answer. 

"If it would please you," she mumbled after remembering her courtesies. "I will call you that."

His lips tugged at the corners. "It would please me to make you happy, wife." 

He turned to look out the window, his hand still over hers. Y/n's mind was a roil. Aemon had been more open with her. He confided in her about his parents, about the struggles they faced when their mother left them and returned to Lys. He listened to her when she talked of her home, and her family, asking countless questions about them all. He had been less formal with her and always sought out her company. He was not the cold man she thought she had married. Still, she kept her guard, wary of saying too much to him. 

The carriage lurched when they pulled to a stop. Y/n heard someone shout orders and the groan and clank of heavy chains; the portcullis was being drawn up. The horses whinnied and moved forward again. By the time they reached the Royal Sept, the sky was already lit with a faint tinge of golden yellow. Aemon got out first and offered his arm. Y/n let him help her out of the carriage and lead her across the middle bailey. The air was still and cold and fragrant with the scent of late summer blooms. Y/n would have stopped to admire the new buds of golden and crimson roses had the bells not chimed the hour. 

"Come," Aemon urged, "we must hurry."

She let him lead the way inside. Most of the court had already found their places. Aemon escorted her to a place by his father. Visery rose and moved to the side so y/n could sit at the end. 

The Sept was aglow with the light of dozens, if not hundreds, of red and yellow candles. A garland of red and golden roses had been draped around the neck of the Warrior. Y/n studied the likeness, the armor and plumed helm, the golden shield. The sculpture looked supple and almost lifelike. She could not help but admire the skill it took to draw such beauty out of cold marble.

"It took nearly a year to sculpt that," Viserys said. "Beautiful, is it not?"

"It is," y/n agreed, "and Aemon tells me the king has plans to commission the building of a larger Sept in the city?" 

Viserys moved over to her. Aemon went to speak to Lord Commander Hardyng and the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks. 

"He is," Viserys conceded gravely, "but such a scheme is years into the future. Pray how are your kin? Aemon tells me they all stay in a manse near Starlight Cove."

"They are well, my lord." Y/n glanced at Aemon. He was walking towards them, the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks in hand. "Although... they are not all that happy with the weather."

Viserys snorted, though not derisively. "I remember the North. Even the hottest summer day can be cold, but I hope they are comfortable. I also hope they will be staying until the coronation."

"Yes," y/n replied, smiling when she remembered her cousins talking about their new clothes and what they expected to happen. "They look forward to it, they tell me. The hunt too."

"Good, good. I..." Viserys was interrupted when Aemon reached them.

"My pardons, father," he said, "but I would like to introduce y/n to someone."

"Of course." Viserys rose with y/n. Aemon urged the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks forward.

"My lady," he said, "I would like you to meet Ser Brynden Flowers, the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks."

"My lord," Y/n smiled and held out her hand, as was the custom in the south. Brynden did not hesitate to take it and raise it to his lips. He flashed her a gap-toothed grin afterward.

"My lady," he said, standing straight. "Your husband has spoken a great deal of you. I trust you will be joining us after the service."

The feast in the Red Keep barracks to honor new recruits. The Royal family was expected to attend. 

"Of course," y/n replied. "Will you be joining the procession to the main square?"

"I fear I must," he said, flashing his grin again. "The commons will expect a show."

"Yes. The races," Viserys joined in. "I hear you put your name down as well."

All conversation died when the doors opened, and a Septon walked in, calling for their attention. "The king and queen will join us now," he said. "Please stand for the procession."

Brynden made his excuses and left. He had to be part of the procession. Everyone found their places and stood to attention.

First came two novice septas holding golden censers, swinging to and fro on chains. The air was soon filled with a fragrant haze. Then came the High Septon, garbed in robes of fine white silk and a magnificent crown of spun gold and crystal. A riot of color flashed and shimmered every time the crystal caught the light. Behind him was the Grand Maester, his ponderous chain of office clinking with every step he took. 

Next came the Lord Commander of the King's Guard. A simple pin of red and silver broke the chilling white of his raiment. Brynden followed, the gold of his cloak gleaming. After them came the princesses. Rhaena and Elaena had been paired off with two young lords. 

"Their intended husbands," Aemond leaned in and whispered. "Rhaena is with Edgar Redwyne, and Elaena is with Trystane Martell."

Young lord Edgar seemed pleased with his intended. And she with him. They would steal glances at each other before blushing and looking the other way. Trystane, on the other hand, was bolder. He would lean in and whisper something. Eleana would struggle to hide a snort. 

Last came the king and queen. Y/n could not imagine a more mismatched couple. Baelor was dressed in simple gray robes. He wore no crown and bore no ring of office. There was nothing about his person that was kingly or regal. Daena, on the other hand, was radiant. She was a vision in red silk slashed with cloth of gold. Gold and rubies glinted around her wrists and fingers and throat. Visenya's diadem gleamed amidst her hair. They moved right to the front, to the seats of high honor. After they took their places, the service began. 

Y/n tried to follow as much as she could. The service was beautiful; she could not deny that. Still, it all felt strange to her. These were not her gods. Her gods had no names and needed no statues. They were in the earth she walked on, in the very air she breathed, and she had to forsake them when she wed her husband. She sighed, her heart filling with sadness. Her skin prickled again. When she glanced up at her husband, she found him looking at her. Y/n smiled and turned her attention back to the High Septon. She listened while he led the prayers and offerings and when they gave thanks to the Warrior. Before long, she found herself outside the steps, waiting for her husband. Aemon said his farewells before joining her.

"What troubles you?" he said gently. 

Y/n merely shook her head. "Nothing, my lor..." She remembered what Aemon asked of her: not to address him as my lord. "Husband. I am just a little tired, that is all." 

Aemon studied her intently. "You can talk to me, wife," he said, looking around. He led her to the Godswood, where they could talk more freely. "I will not be angry." 

Y/n was uncertain and refused to speak, fearful of what he might say. Aemon led her to the shade of a Wierwood tree, one that was gifted to the Conqueror after the North bent the knee. 

"Talk to me." Aemon caressed her cheek with one hand and moved closer. He was so close that if he leaned in, he would kiss her. "Pull those walls of yours down and talk to me. Please."

Y/n sighed. She glanced at the wierwood tree, its white bark, and its blood-red leaves. They rustled when the wind blew through them. A voice called to her, one that was warm and familiar and distant. Her very soul was being pulled to it, to memories of her home, of running through ancient forests and snow crunching beneath her feet. She reached out and touched the bone-white bark with the flat of her palm. The tree groaned all on its own and she could have sworn the sweet scent of winter roses and pine and dark earth and cold wintery winds hung in the air. One breath. That was all she was given. One deep breath and the smell of home was gone, leaving nothing but an empty void behind. Tears came unbiased and y/n understood what it all meant. She was being told to remember she was of the North, and of the blood of the First Men.

"I want to keep to the old Gods," she replied even as her husband wiped her eyes. "Not to the Seven. I have tried husband. I really tried, but my soul will not accept them. I... I am sorry."

Aemon said nothing. Y/n thought she had angered him. The Godswood was eerily quiet. It felt as if a thousand eyes were watching them. Y/n wanted her husband to say something, anything. His silence was maddening. She wanted to shake him, to scream. Finally, he raised her hand to his lips.

"You can pray to the old gods, if that is your wish," he swore. "I just want you to be happy."

"Are you lying to me?" She asked, suddenly fearful. For all she knew, this could have been a ploy to keep her and the North bound to the crown. 

"I am not lying to you, my sweet wife," Aemon promised. "I never have. I hope I never will." 

Y/n looked at him. Aemon was watching and waiting. His gaze drifted to her lips. The leaves of nearby trees rustled again, and the world around them quietened. Y/n neither heard the waves roaring and crashing against the cliffs nor the cry of birds. She inhaled deeply, her lips slightly parting. Aemon closed his eyes and leaned in.

His kiss started out clumsy and hesitant before morphing into something soft and languid. Y/n felt, more than heard, his breath hitching. She sighed and melted, yielding to him slowly. Her hands brushed against the wisps of his hair. She felt the tips of his fingers on her cheeks. Y/n had hungered for this—a kiss that was sweet and worshipful, one that she had only ever experienced in her dreams, one that tasted nothing like duty. She shivered when Aemon moaned and slipped his arms around her waist. His hands brushed up her spine, his fingers trembling over her skin. She whimpered tremulously.

He pulled her even closer, as if coming undone by the sounds of her pleasure. He kissed along her jaw, the span of her throat. His tongue skimmed over the soft curve of her neck. Y/n slipped her arms around his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into his tunic. The hold around her waist tightened and stoked the fire growing in her belly. Fear rose within her, lashing at her like a new coil. Was this all just a dream? Was she going to open her eyes and find herself alone in a cold bed? Or was it real? Would Aemon pull away, claiming he did not wish to sin? She did not know what to do or even say, fearful of doing anything that could break the spell that wove itself around them. 

The next kiss put an end to worrying thoughts. Aemon’s mouth sought hers again with a kiss that was heated and consuming. His breath was ragged like he had been running hard and fast for hours. "My sweet wife," he whispered with each kiss. "My sweet, beautiful wife."

He did not stop. His kiss grew hungry and deep, his touch frantic and demanding. Y/n found herself being pulled along with him. When she opened her eyes she found him guiding her to the tower she once called home. Her blood heated. She whispered his name. He trembled and pressed against her, his hands delving into her hair.

It had to end. The spell that overcame them crumbled when nearby bells chimed the hour. Aemon pulled away slowly and reluctantly, his eyes clouded with the sweet haze of bliss. "We must go back," he whispered huskily. "Lest someone comes here and finds us."

They stayed there, composing themselves and setting themselves to rights before returning. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. If they had, they said nothing. 

The barracks feast was splendid. They broke their fast on freshly baked bread and honey cakes, tiny salted fish roasted to crackling, gammon steaks and bacon, and the choicest fruits of the season, with pitchers of milk and cold barley tea and water to wash it all down. Members of the Gold Cloaks picked up instruments, often breaking into singing. Elaena would shout out the names of bawdy songs. Trystane and Edgar tried to sing them, and failed. Most of them laughed, even Viserys. Baelor, utterly red in the face, rose and made his excuses. He would have said more had his uncle not given him a look of warning. The king returned to the Sept to pray. 

The rest of the day passed like a beautiful dream. Y/n joined the others to watch the procession to the main square. She went with the others to watch the races and a boxing match. Aemon had been thoughtful and attentive, rarely leaving her side. 

He did not kiss her again. They did not have enough time alone to do that. She felt his attention in other ways. His arm would go around her waist one moment, and his hand would rest against the small of her back the next. He would blush whenever she smiled at him. Sometimes, y/n would feel the callused pads of his fingers tracing lazy lines over the back of her hand whenever they sat. Her skin would soon warm. Aemon would reward her with a shy smile. 

That too, had to end. The day came to a close. Y/n did not mind. She had drunk deeply on the magic of the day. Aemon brought her home, sitting as close to her as possible in the carriage. There could be no private moments here either. The curtains were too sheer, and anyone who peered in could see. They talked instead, with y/n asking about Dorne, the war, and how her father fought.

"He was one of the bravest men I had ever met," Aemon said truthfully. "He saved Daeron's life once. My brother's more than once. He talked of your mother, of you, and of your sister. He even spoke highly of Uther. Your father was proud of all of you, you must know that."

Y/n felt a flush of pride. "Uther wants to join my grandfather's household guard. My aunt and uncle have said yes, but Uther said it was hard for them to do so."

"I cannot blame them," Aemon said. He reached over and curled his fingers in her hair. "War is an ugly and dreadful business," he confided. "The singers will wax poetic about gallant deeds and handsome warriors fighting bravely, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. You do not hear of the side that is less than poetic, the one where the air reeks of blood and worse, how even hardened men fall to the mud, crying for their mothers. Or how they all soil themselves before they die. The singers do not speak of those things in the songs."

It was his thousand-yard stare that gave her pause. Aemon was not seeing her. His gaze was fixed somewhere else, seeing something she could not. Y/n hesitantly reached up and cupped his cheek.

"Husband?" She whispered. "What do you see?"

Aemon sighed and shook his head, his gaze turning to her. "A distant battlefield, wife. My horse dying after taking a spear. Me roasting underneath my armor. Some Dornish lordling rushing at me, sword drawn, thinking he could finish me off with a single blow." He laughed bitterly, his purple eyes ablaze with anger. "He was wrong."

Y/n pulled her hand away, afraid. "I am so sorry."

Aemon glanced at her, the anger in his eyes dying instantly. He took her hands into his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Never fear me, wife. I will not hurt you."

Y/n nodded, sighing when he took her into his arms and kissed her chastely. 

The rest of the journey passed in blissful silence. Aemon did not talk after that. He preferred to hold y/n to him instead, and playing with her hair. They found the Manse silent upon their arrival. The others had gone to the beach for a picnic. Y/n invited Aemon to join them. 

"I fear I cannot," he replied, albeit reluctantly. "I must help Hardyng with preparations for the hunt. We need to have everything ready before we leave on the morrow."

The hunt. Y/n had all but forgotten about it. They would have to depart on the morrow as well. "Of course."

Aemon looked around. They were alone for the present. "I was hoping you could stay with me, in my tent. Not because I want to claim my rights as a husband... I... I just want to be near you."

Y/n was startled by the request. She felt dizzy. To share the same featherbed with Aemon all night because he wanted to, and not for the sake of duty. A flush crept into her cheeks. When she glanced at him, she found hope and fear warring in his eyes.

He wants me to say yes, she thought. He actually wants me to say yes.

The hunt would go on for three days, four at the most. There was no harm in it, no one could say anything against it. They were husband and wife, after all. 

"Yes," y/n replied, blushing when Aemon kissed her. "I will stay with you during the hunt."