#aemondweek25

Living in King’s Landing was the greatest thing that could happen to you, at least you’d think so when you were a teen. 

You ran in the gardens, played with the kittens that seemed to multiply like rats and run away from any guards that tried to catch them. You got pretty dresses by your father, and some in the most recent fashion style. Being princess Helaena’s lady-in-waiting was great too, as she used to give you her used jewels. 

While your father, Jasper Wylde, was busy being the master of laws, you always had the most fun. He was cold most days, he’d buy everything necessary to maintain your status as a proper lady. He was never a loving father. 

When you reached four and ten, near the year that prince Aegon and Princess Helaena married. In all honesty, it was surprising your father didn’t betrothe you to the highest bidder earlier. 

“Is this seat taken?”

You look up, to see prince Aemond. He was still a scrawny kid, yet he had been growing up very fast. It was a bit weird, seeing his baby face and his long legs, since you knew him since little. 

“No, my prince” you say softly. 

He looks a bit awkward, standing there with a cup of undrank wine in his hands, and you then notice what he was waiting for. 

“Of course you can sit”

Aemond thought you were gorgeous. 

Being one of the many Lord Wylde’s offspring around court, he thought of you as the most elegant. And around all the ladies, you were the prettiest, how you dressed and styled your hair, and the subtle jewels that you used. The way your dresses always fitted you just right, as if no one else could use even a remotely similar style. 

You were kind too, and before you would congratulate him in his training, back when he started. And he has always had this crush on you. 

He feels his cheeks redden, blushing as he sits by your side. He was still getting used to the eyepatch, and he hated showing any emotion around court. In general, he hated that. 

“Congratulations on your betrothal” His tone is flat, not really meaning it.

“Thank you, my prince” you say, looking at him. “Lord Bolton seems a good match” 

He hums, leaning back. He sees you seem not against it, and he hates it. Lord Bolton must be of your liking, even if he was very much older than you. Perhaps the same age as your father.

“He is not handsome” He says shrugging, trying to see if that disappoints you enough, to disgust you to break it off. Somehow. He isn’t sure how, but maybe it will do. 

“I have heard not” you say thinking wisely. “I have heard he is not cruel either. So I settle for that”

“I am not cruel either” he says a bit smugly. Trying to show off. “And… I am a prince, and I have the biggest dragon alive. Did you know?”

You look at him amused, as your lips turn into a smile. That’s good, he thinks. He has impressed you, right?

“Ah, yes, my prince” You agree with a smile. “I have heard. And I do know. It is very impressive, and you are a very handsome lad”

His chest puffs with pride, as he smirks softly. “Thank you, my lady”  he says quietly. He wants to make you interested in him, in seeing him less like a kid, and more like the man he is becoming. “It’s a shame you’re going away” he adds.

“Why so?”

“Well, you’ll live away” he tries to say nonchalantly. “And… you never got a chance to fly with Vhagar” 

He instantly feels the cringeness creep up to his guts, wanting to stand up and just walk away before he can keep saying stupid shit to impress you. 

“Oh” you say, a smile on your lips. “You have never invited me, prince Aemond”

“Well, I do… invite you now” he says, trying to salvage the situation.

“Thank you, but I might have to reject it”

“Why?” he asks softly. “I know that it is not exactly righteous for a maiden to be alone with a man, but…”

“That isn’t a worry, my prince. You’re still a kid” you assure him with a warm smile. “I am not as fond of heights as Targaryens are”

He feels somewhat embarrassed. He was not a kid. He was a prince now, a man. 

“I see” 

“Do not worry, my prince. I am sure any other lady would love the invitation”

When he looks up to see you, he knows that your smile indicates that you know about his feelings for you. How embarrassing! he thinks, as he looks away after a second. Was he so obvious?

“Well, I am inviting you” he murmurs embarrassed. “Because.. I like you”

You look at him, smiling in a more warm tone, the same way all the rest of his mother’s ladies in waiting did; as if he was a baby, cooing and fussing over him. 

“And I am a prince” he adds, trying to keep his dignity. “And anything that Lord Bolton could give you, I… I could double it. Ten times!” He corrects himself. “And I could give you jewels, and.. and dresses… And all the lemon cakes you’d like.”

“I am very flattered.” you assure him with a smile. “It is cute, I do thank you.”

“What's cute?”

“By no means, I am trying to embarrass you” you start softly. “But I am to be married, my prince, and I am a bit older than… What I mean is that your pure intentions should go to another lady, with whom you could learn how to truly love” You assure him with a smile. “I am older than you, even if it is only like one and a half year, and I do not see you that way. I won’t tell anyone, it will be our secret.”

He feels a bit relieved, at the same time heartbroken. He knew you would reject him, since it was very probable. Yet he still tried his last opportunity to try to court you, even in his clumsy way. 

Years later, was when you had met Prince Aemond once again. 

This time, you were widowed. Your lord Husband had died after falling ill to bed, and leaving you with two small boys, one of six years and the other of four. It had taken you a time to conceive, since your husband had only left three offspring, all male, it was likely he was mostly not producing enough seed. But still, you had your boys, and his eldest, from his first marriage, was the new Lord, and you his regent. 

To you, all of them were your kids, you tucked them all the same and were a loving mother to all.

To visit your father, you inevitably have to go to King’s Landing, and that’s when you see Aemond again.

Both of your boys had been seeing the sea from the gardens, then they decided to climb a tree you had once climbed when younger. And as you look up to them, you see him.

“My lady”

His voice is much more confident, almost purring as he walks confidently to you. He had his arms on his back, his lips in a small smirk. He was smug, and arrogant. 

He was grown too, no longer the kid you remembered him by. He was a cute kid, the times you had seen him around, and the little times you spoke. Now he was tall, taller than you, and handsome. Gods know that he was.

“Prince Aemond” you greet him with a soft, pleased smile. “Haven’t seen you in ages”

He nods, amused. He takes your hand and presses a kiss on it, his eye never leaving yours. 

“It is a pleasure, certainly” he says as he leaves your hand. He notices your black dress, meaning you’re still mourning the loss of your husband, which only brightens his heart and makes him smile wider. “Very sorry for your loss”

He said it in the same tone he had used when he congratulated you all those years back; a fake but polite sentence. He didn’t mean one bit of his words.

“Thank you, my prince”

You couldn’t stop looking at him. He carried himself with the arrogance of a Targaryen, and he had the looks. He grew sharper, handsome and hot. You look at him up and down, and you don’t even know if he notices.

You had been alone. Your husband had not been attentive to you in… years, maybe. Uninterested to have more kids, and simply coexisted with you. 

“I take those, are your kids?” 

You look up at the tree where he was watching, you see your boys in between the branches. “Yes, Richard and Alliser. They are six and four.”

Aemond looks at you “Oh, four? And he already climbs trees?”

“You’d be surprised at what a boy his age can do”

He smirks, humming as he sees the kids. They were not high, but having fun nonetheless.

“And you?”

“Hm?” Aemond asks as he looks at you.

“No kids?”

“No.” Response comes quick and then he adds “Not yet”

You didn’t know why you could not stop looking at him. You simply couldn’t. Where was the sweet kid you had left here? The one you, rightfully, rejected?

“It is very wonderful, I assure you” 

“Hm, yes. I think the same” he says softly. 

You both remain quiet, but you want to ask him a lot. He is grown now, and he seems to be your age, by the way he talks and walks. 

“Being a widow fits you, my lady”

You look at him, a bit confused “What makes you think so?”

“Never thought you were a good match with lord Bolton” he admits, not caring about appearances. “I’m glad you have your boys. And I am certainly glad you’re back here. Perhaps we shall have lots of other memories to make, hm?”

You remain speechless, as you try to say something. Call him out for his boldness, for being very much lewd in his words. You aren’t a maiden, you know what he implies with his words, and so does Aemond. 

But you realise… you do not care. You enjoy feeling desired by him now, the way he looks at you; not with the adoration of a kid, but with the passion of a man. 

“Perhaps we shall” You say smirking to him. “I look forward to it.”

“Oh, you won’t be disappointed. Not at all”

at first, it's subtle; a candle flame flickers brighter when you pass by, even though no draft should reach it. the laundry you left half-folded in the servants' quarters is folded when you return, and the ribbon you thought you'd lost appears on your pillow. when you walk alone down the long, darkened corridors, you sometimes feel a sudden warmth—brief and soft as a breathless sigh—brushing the back of your neck.

you tell yourself you're imagining things, that harrenhal has always managed to play cruel tricks on lonely girls. then one night, as the rain lashes against the high windows and thunder trembles through the stones, you wake to find the room heavy with presence. the air hums like a plucked string, and your candle, though long burned out, glows faintly blue.

and in the far corner—where shadow meets the ruined wall—you see him. tall, pale, draped in a ghost-light shimmer that outlines the hard planes of a face too beautiful and terrible for this world. a silver eye glows faintly, like moonlight through mist; the other is covered by a dark patch that seems to drink the light around it. his hair, long and pale as a comet's tail, stirs though there is no wind.

you cannot move. he does not speak, but something in your soul knows his name before your lips can shape it. prince aemond targaryen, rider of vhagar, kinslayer, ghost of the gods-forsaken lake below. but he does not look like a monster. no, not to you. his expression—when he does turn fully and looks upon you—is heartbreak itself.

when at last your voice returns, it is soft-spoken, barely a whisper. "are you real?" he tilts his head, and though no sound leaves his pale lips, his answer hums through your bones. i was.

you do not scream. instead, you rise slowly, the hem of your nightdress brushing the cold floor, and approach him with trembling, doe-like curiosity. his image wavers as you approach, like a reflection disturbed by ripples—but when your hand reaches out to him, you feel it; a chill that is not cruel, a cold that feels almost protective.

"i've seen you before," you murmur, voice soft and slightly breathless, realizing it even as you say it. "in my dreams."

the ghost's mouth curves faintly, sorrow carved into beauty. i have watched you, the voice in your mind admits, soft as fallen snow. you are kind—you tend to the wounded birds, you leave bread for the stray cats, and you speak to the walls as if they listen.

your throat tightens, your stomach twisting with nerves. "do they listen?"

i do.

from that night on, he never truly leaves you. you sense him everywhere—in the way the frost never touches your hands when you fetch water in the cold mornings, in how the candles burn longer when you pray, in the soft warmth that surrounds you when nightmares threaten. he does not haunt you as a specter might, with rattling chains or moans of rage. he simply exists near you, tethered by something older and deeper than reason.

when you walk the empty corridors, you whisper softly to him now, your invisible companion. "good evening, my lord," you say with a shy, almost secretive smile. "'tis a fair night for ghosts." sometimes you catch glimpses of him—reflected in a windowpane, standing at the edge of the courtyard in moonlight, watching you with devotion that borders on agony.

one night, you find yourself standing by the lake below the castle—the gods eye, vast and dark as night itself. the mist curls low, swallowing the reeds, and the air feels almost alive. you can feel him close. "why are you here?" you ask softly. "why do you stay?"

the voice that answers is a whisper of thunder. because i cannot leave you, little maid… your soul shines through this cursed place like dawn, and i have waited centuries for light such as yours….

your eyes fill with tears you do not understand, bottom lip wobbling. "you should rest," you tell him, your voice full of sorrow for this lonely soul. how can i? he murmurs, his deep, raspy voice echoing inside your mind, stepping closer until the chill of him grazes your skin. when the gods grant me a glimpse of the heavens each time you smile?

your heart aches—-for him, for the centuries he has spent alone, for the tenderness buried under all his ruin. you reach out again, and though your hand passes through his, you swear you feel a pulse—a flicker of life, stubborn and desperate to return.

from that moment, love grows like ivy—slowly, stubbornly, entwining life with death. you talk to him by the firelight, share stories of your childhood, whisper prayers for his peace. and sometimes, when you drift to sleep, you dream of him not as a ghost but as a man—whole, warm, real, holding you as though the world might end if he dares to let go.

in those dreams, his lips touch your forehead, reverent. one day, little maid, he vows, the gods will take pity… either i will live again, or you will cross the veil—and i will be waiting for you by the shore of the gods eye…

when you wake, the dawn glows faintly gold through the broken window. a single white lily rests on your pillow, still wet with little droplets of dew. and though the halls of harrenhal remain cold and haunted, you feel no fear… because somewhere between heaven and ruin, a prince's ghost keeps watch—his love for you burning quietly, a light in the endless dark.

ɪɪ. · ♰

the days grow longer, but harrenhal never warms. the sun might shine on the lake and scatter diamonds across its surface, but within those towering, twisted halls the air stays heavy with memory. yet even the stones seems gentler now, for wherever you walk, there's the quiet awareness of him—a presence lingering at your back like a hand just shy of touching.

you begin to speak to him more freely. when you rise before dawn to fetch water, you whisper a sweet good morning. when you sweep the hallways, you tell him about the latest gossip of the kitchens, your voice lilting with soft laughter. when you lie in bed, you whisper the things you dare not confess to any living soul—that you are lonely, that you dream of leaving, that you fear no one will remember your name when you're gone from the living.

and always, the air stirs in reply, soft as breath against the shell of your ear. i remember you, he says, sometimes in the hush between heartbeats. i will remember you for as long as the gods remember flame…

sometimes, you think you see him more clearly. in the reflection of a bucket of water, you catch his lean silhouette behind you, his silver hair glinting faintly like frost, the dark patch over one eye stark against pale, almost translucent skin.

once, when you walk through the great hall, a shadow passes beside you, and the faintest brush of cold grazes your fingertips—as if his hand reached for yours and couldn't quite manage to hold on.

the other servants start to notice you speaking softly to no one. they mutter when you pass, whispering of hauntings and madness, but you only smile. let them gossip. you know better, because the ghost that haunts you means you no harm.

still, he does not let you forget what he is. one evening, as you polish the silver in the great hall, a horrific storm breaks over the gods eye. lightning sears across the heavens, throwing the ruined towers into stark, skeletal light. the wind shrieks through the cracks of stones, and for a moment you swear you hear screaming—real, terrible screaming—from long ago.

you flinch, covering your ears. the air around you crackles with something fierce and ancient. then you see him, clearer than ever—standing in the center of the hall, tall and regal, drenched in ghost-light, his one eye blazing with cold fire.

the room bends around him, the air thick with power and sorrow and longing. startled, you drop the cloth. "aemond?" his voice comes not in your mind, but aloud this time, low and echoing, carrying centuries of torment. "i burned this place once. i killed and died and yet... i remain."

you approach carefully, your voice trembling. "you don't have to be angry anymore." then, he looks at you—really looks—and something in his fury softens. "you do not understand, sweet girl. the dead cannot forget what the living will not forgive." you reach for him, hands shaking and heart pounding. "then let me remember you kindly. if the world cannot forgive, then i will."

for a heartbeat, you think you see him smile. the storm outside falters. the candles flare, then steady. and suddenly, he is no longer distant, he is standing so close that his breathless cold seeps into your skin, yet it feels like warmth. his large hand hovers inches from your cheek, trembling in its ghostly half-form. "i should not linger near you," he murmurs. "you draw me back toward something i am not meant to ever feel again."

you lift your chin, doe eyes glistening with unshed tears. "and what is that?"

"hope." he says, looking down at you in awe, as though you've struck his non-beating heart back to life.

the word lingers between you like a fragile thread. from that night, something changes. he appears to you more often now—not just as a whisper, but as a figure half-formed from moonlight and shadow.

sometimes, when you pass a mirror, his reflection stands beside yours. when you sit by the fire, he kneels across from you, silent and ever so watchful. and one night, when the castle is still and the lake below glows with ghostly light, you dream again.

you are standing in a field that blooms beneath your feet, spring flowers pushing through rich, blackened soil. he is there, not as a ghost, but as a man—his skin warm, his hair gleaming like molten silver under the sun.

he reaches for you, and this time, when his hand finds yours, there is no cold, no distance, no death. only the steady thrum of his heart against your palm. "i have waited for you," he says softly. "through fire and ruin and centuries of silence."

when you wake, your pillow is wet with tears. a pale feather—fine and strange, tinged faintly silver—rests beside you. you hold it close, trembling, heart aching for something unknown.

the next morning, you go to the lake. the mists curl thick and white, hiding the horizon. you whisper his name into the fog, and the water shivers in answer.

aemond, aemond, aemond….

you feel him then—not beside you, but all around you. the trees sigh with his breath, the mist glows faintly with his presence. the air hums with devotion too deep for the living world to understand. "i'm not afraid," you say, voice breaking. "if i stay, will you stay with me?" the wind shifts, the faintest touch grazes your hair, a kiss of cold that feels like true love.

always.

and though the dead cannot weep, you think—just maybe—the ghost of prince aemond targaryen smiles. in harrenhal, where love has never known peace, your small, gentle soul becomes its first prayer in centuries. and somewhere between ruin and redemption, a ghost learns to hope again.

ɪɪɪ. · ♰

the moon hangs over harrenhal like a silver coin, suspended over the black mirror of the gods eye. the castle sleeps, though sleep feels too gentle a word for this place—it merely lies in uneasy silence, waiting for dawn that never truly warms its blackened stones.

you cannot sleep either. something inside you has begun to ache with a quiet, insistent pull—an ache that feels older than your own bones. you have lived with his ghost for many weeks now, long enough that the world of the living feels too dim beside the one you share with him. it begins when you hear your name being called—softly, as if the night itself exhales it, and then, the sweetest of endearments.

my love….

you rise, heart pounding, and wrap a thin cloak around your shoulders. the hallways are cold as you move through them, lit by the flicker of dying candles and torchlights. the air hums faintly, that strange, familiar warmth brushing the edge of your skin.

he is waiting for you at the great door that opens toward the lake. moonlight streams through him, painting him in hues of silver and shadow. his face looks more human than it ever has—his sharp beauty softened, his single eye sorrowful and bright.

"you called for me," you whisper, shy.

he inclines his head, the movement graceful, regal even in death. "you heard me."

"always," you breathe.

the air between you trembles. his gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment it feels as though the entire world holds its breath. "i should not have kept you for so long, sweet girl," he murmurs, his brow scrunching slightly as though in pain. "you belong to life, to warmth, to days i can no longer touch."

but his voice breaks on the last word, and the agony in it twists something deep inside you. "i do not belong anywhere," you whisper back. "not since you found me."

aemond steps closer, his form flickers faintly, and for the first time, you see how weary he looks—how the centuries have hollowed him, leaving only the shape of longing behind. "if i were a man again..." he begins, but the words crumble before they're whole.

"then you would have kissed me by now," you finish, your voice trembling. the ghost of a smile flickers across his lips. "little one," he breathes, his expression full of fondness, but you can still see the pain that makes his eye glisten, "you tempt a soul already damned."

and then he does it, slowly, reverently. his hand rises, pale and almost solid, and cups your cheek. the cold of him seeps into your skin, but it feels right, like starlight rather than frost. you lean forward, closing the distance that should not be closed.

when his lips touch yours, the world disappears. it is not warmth you feel, but light. a rush of memories, not your own—flight through the skies on dragonback, the roar of fire, the crash of steel, the fall into water, the endless dark that followed. his entire life—his fury, his loneliness, his love—surges through you in a heartbeat.

you taste salt, and smoke, and sorrow. and beneath it all, his whispered thought, i have waited so long. when you pull away, your breath catches in the cold air. "you are still here," you murmur, silently relieved that he remains with you.

"for now," his voice trembles. "but the dawn drives me away. i am bound to the lake, to the moment of my death. and soon, soon… even this shadow will fade."

you stare past him toward the black water glimmering beneath the moon. the lake calls to you—not cruelly, but tenderly, as though it has been whispering your name for years and only now dares to speak aloud. "what if i came to you?" you ask, your voice small and nervous.

he stills. "no."

you huff, frowning. "i am not afraid, aemond."

he immediately shakes his head, the silver strands of his hair drifting like smoke. "no, you do not understand what you would be giving up, my love… life, breath, sunlight—"

"all things that mean little without you," you say, pleading, trying to make him understand that life without him by your side is not a life you wish to live.

for a moment, there is only silence between you, broken only by the soft lapping of water against the shore. then he reaches for you again, his long, cool fingers trembling as they ghost against your throat, gently, worshiping. "if you cross the veil, there is no returning," he warns, voice firm yet tender all at once.

"i do not wish to return."

he closes his eye, and a tear—bright as molten silver—slides down his pale cheek before vanishing into mist. "then let it be by your choice, not mine," he whispers, his voice cracking slightly.

you walk together to the lake's edge. the wind has gone still, the world holding its breath. the water shimmers faintly, reflecting the stars as if it were a doorway to another sky. you take his hand—or rather, you place your hand where his would be—and smile softly. "i am ready."

he leans close, pressing his forehead to yours. his voice is low, broken. "then i will meet you in the depths, my heart…" you step into the lake, and the water is cold enough to steal your breath, yet it feels alive, pulsing with ancient magic.

the hem of your dress billows around you as you wade deeper—ankle, knee, waist, chest—until the moonlight above blurs. you take one last lungful of breath of the living world and let yourself fall.

the water closes over your head, and everything goes quiet—utterly, beautifully quiet. there is no pain, no fear. only a vast, weightless peace… and then, there is light.

you awaken on the lake's shore beneath a sky of soft silver dawn. the ruins of harrenhal stand in the distance, but they are whole again, radiant, no longer burned. flowers bloom where ash once lay, vibrant and beautiful, and the air hums with life that does not fade.

you stand barefoot in the grass, your white gown dry and gleaming with starlight. when you turn, he is there. not as a ghost, not as a shadow—but as aemond, whole, alive.

his skin warm, his hair shining like polished moonlight, his single violet eye alive and gleams with wonder. he looks at you as if seeing the sun for the first time. "you came," he whispers, stunned, his lips parting in awe of you. you smile, lighthearted. "i promised."

he reaches for you, and this time, his hands are solid, strong. when he pulls you into his arms, it feels like the world settling into its rightful shape. the lake gleams behind you, the sky bending low, and all the pain of both your lives melts away like morning mist.

he kisses you again and again, slowly, tenderly, as if to memorize the miracle of your being. each kiss tastes of moonlight, forgiveness, and true love. and when you pull apart, the horizon is no longer gray but gold, as if the gods themselves have opened the heavens to watch.

in this place beyond death, time ceases to wound. the castle stands unbroken, the fields bloom eternal. you and aemond walk its halls hand in hand, his laughter echoing softly against the stones that once mourned.

sometimes you still visit the water's edge. the living cannot see you, but sometimes, when the mist curls and the candles in the hall flicker, someone feels a warmth brush against them. a kindness, a whisper of something holy.

they say harrenhal is no longer cursed. they say it is watched over by two gentle spirits—one with silver hair and a sapphire eye, the other with soft hands and a heart too kind for this world. and in the quiet between life and legend, love reigns eternal.

© 𝑎𝑒𝑚𝑛𝑑. est, 2025.

It was well known that he wore the eyepatch mostly, to not scare off ladies at court and his very own nephews. He felt ashamed when growing up, his scar would be all red and stretched differently. So, he decided to wear an eyepatch very early on when at court. 

So when you, the lady he had been trying to court, asked him to take off his eyepatch, only for once, he had to agree with your pleading eyes. Aemond intended to show only you, and get it over with. It was not something that made him feel ashamed, if you were to be his wife. 

“Tomorrow, better” You had responded with a soft smile, looking at him as you held his hands sweetly. 

“Tomorrow?” He asked weakly. 

“Yes, you invited me to take a stroll in the gardens, so maybe you could… not wear it.” 

He hates how he agrees almost immediately. A bit ashamed, because he isn’t particularly looking forward to not wearing it; but he looks forward to being with you. And a bit scared that you would find him… ugly. 

So he waits, by the lemon tree. He looks at the garden, trying to appear as unchalant as he wishes he was inside, as he could hear the giggles of the ladies at court as if directed to him. How silly, to not wear an eyepatch because his lady told him so. 

His scar stings, but it might be merely mental. He was going mental, thinking of the stone where his missing eye is. It felt heavy, somehow, too dry. Sometimes he would have to use some of the lube that maester Orwyle did for him, so his skull won’t reject the foreign object. 

“My prince” A lively voice came from behind, and he immediately stood more straight, looking behind him. 

You wore a lovely blue dress, a silver chain on the waist as you wore lighter clothes on this hot day. Perhaps it was him, but seeing your hair free, only wearing a headband… It was a lovely sight. 

“My lady” He greets you, looking as you do a courtesy before him. 

He wastes no time in grabbing your hand, to press a small kiss in the way knights made with maidens. Aemond enjoyed the way he could do such open affection in public, and not be questioned. 

“You look very handsome” You say before he finishes kissing your hand. 

He feels shy, almost blushing after hearing your compliment. He knew you said so only to warm his heart, not because you meant it. Dropping slowly your hand, he tries not to let go immediately. 

“You look beautiful, my lady. I am more grateful to be granted with your presence” he says, not quite letting go yet.

You smile at his compliment, squeezing his hand as you don’t let go either. 

“Why don’t we start walking? You had promised to show me the new statues”

How could he say no to you? He felt utterly smitten at the sight of your sweet smile, and so he nodded, his mouth  widening on its own. He feels a bit silly, but as you wrap your arm around his, he doesn’t really care. 

“So, my prince, I think today is a lovely day for a walk” 

He is puzzled by your words, he could read any philosophical book or even translate old Valyrian texts. Understanding a lady’s words was not in his knowledge. 

“It is.” He says, watching you as you walk. 

“You know, I thought you would not show up”

He blinks, because he had the same thought. “Why so?”

“Well, ladies at court said that you never took off the eyepatch.” You explain. “I thought I had overstepped my request, asking you to remove it.”

He is silent for a bit as they walk, he does not know how to explain his feelings, his insecurities, how his missing eye was not something he was particularly ashamed of, but rather… a bit enraged. Reminded him of the rage, of the hatred in his heart. 

“It is not a particularly pretty sight for a lady”

“Maybe.” You say softly, looking up at him. “But it does not frighten me. It does not change how I perceive you”

“And how is that?”

“As a man, who I have grown very fond of. I was merely curious if you truly had a sapphire under the eyepatch”

You stop softly, and when he looks at you; he sees how you inspect the scar and the sapphire under it. He does not feel uncomfortable, or ashamed, instead he fixes his attention on your face.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“And the sapphire? Why a sapphire?”

“Symeon Star-Eyes. Do you know the legend?”

“I am afraid I do not”

“He’s from the Age of Heroes” Aemond starts softly, his hand moving to take a strand of hair out of your face. “He lost both his eyes in battle, and so he placed star sapphires in his eye sockets. I used to read it when I was a kid, so… I thought to do the same” 

You look at him, watching his expression as your aces were close. A kiss would not be proper, Aemond knows, but he would love to do so. By the way you look at him… He can guess you’d want the same.

“I think it fits you.” You say, watching his missing eye, unlike the rest did. He remembers his mother weeping, and barely watching his missing eye. You didn’t weep. “I really do. I just hope you wear the eyepatch less.”

The gem shines softly when the light hits his face, and makes his whole face lighten up. It is a pretty sight, and it definitely suits him. You only hope to see it more often, instead of him hiding it away. 

The next time you ask him not to wear his eyepatch is at princess Helaena’s nameday feast, the court was reunited as music played in happy notes that princess Helaena enjoyed. He came late; he couldn’t find the little gift he had for you, and searched in his chambers, since he doesn’t remember where he put it, and he hadn’t told any servants of the gift. 

Aemond was arms crossed, leaning against a pillar as he tried to locate you. He doesn’t see you around, he can see Helaena clapping along to the music as Jaehaerys and Jaehaera danced with each other, and Maelor was biting Aegon’s fingers off. His mother was talking with lord Tyrell, and Criston behind her. His father was already dozing off next to Helaena. 

“It’s a little thing I made for me”

He notices you, around other ladies of court. He can see your back, as the ladies of court were leaning to see your necklace. You wore a pretty light purple dress, very in tune with the fashion nowadays. 

“And whose is it?”

“A suitor I have”

“I thought that the prince was your suitor” 

“He is” You say, very much calm.

“And whose eye is this?”

“I told you; my suitor”

He tries to be nonchalant when approaching you after eavesdropping your conversation. He watches you, nothing quite unusual like he had imagined from the conversation. How weird. 

“My lady. I am not much of a dancer, but perhaps you will enjoy my company?” He asks you, a bit reverent, as if afraid you’d deny him and send him away. Instead, you nod softly as you drink wine. 

“All the chairs are taken, I must warn you”

“Standing is fine” he says leaning softly on the wall, next to you. He watches over you softly, as you see the crowd dance to the light hearted songs. 

“Didn’t know princess Helaena enjoyed these songs” you comment to him.

“My siblings are very… they will surprise you” He says, correcting himself from saying a bad thing in front of these people, because gossip in court… is like throwing a sheep into the wolf’s den. 

“Mhm” 

He moves his head slightly, to see the necklace on your neck. He can’t see it properly, but he soon understands what it is: a lover’s eye. He had seen it, and hated it, deemed it of such frivolity and foolishness, for smitten knights and maidens. 

“What is this?” He asks, standing straight and walking closer to you. He takes the heavy necklace with his hand to inspect it. “Some kind of love confession?”

You smile softly, nodding. “Ah, yes. From my lover”

He looks up to see your face. “Lover?”

“Yes”

“I thought I was courting you quite successfully”

“Indeed, my prince”

He’s no fool, but you always surprise him. 

“And I thought I made my intentions to wed you were clear”

“They were– They are” You say after a heartbeat. “You see; a Targaryen prince is courting me, but my heart belongs to a simple, mortal man, called Aemond. And, I wanted to let everybody see that I keep such an important part of him with me”

You infuriated him, as he feels his cheeks red; even the tip of his ears. It drives him mad with embarrassment, wanting to tell you to shush not to embarrass him; the other wants to kiss you and hold you close. 

“And these?” He asks, seeing the small sapphires decorated around the painting of his very own eye, decorating the piece. Gods, you were opulent sometimes. 

“What, think that I can’t afford some sapphires? They are not the same size as yours, but they are pretty.”

He gazes down to the necklace, his thumb caressing the painting of his supposed eye. It was not pretty much similar to his, but the light purple eye was there.  

“Next time, ask me to model for whoever painted this thing. I draw the line at having a lock of my hair” he says softly, in a light tone  “And I’ll give you a pair of sapphire jewelry, if you want it so bad.”

You smirk, watching him before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. You don’t move after it, instead you whisper.

“I’ll accept a ring. Made of a sapphire stone”

He smirks softly, and he turns his head to see your eyes with a smile.

“Then you’ll get it.”

As you move your chair a bit from the sun, trying not to burn your own skin, and as you fight for your life to move the umbrella so your chair has some shadow, you see him. 

The resort was big, but only a few people had actual membership. Did you? No, but your friend did, and you paid her to use it. And in the spaces that only members were allowed, you discovered him, the white haired dude, tall and always wearing those sunglasses. And the best of him: an arm tattoo.

You tried to decipher the ink, as it took part of his left shoulder and his bicep. Gods, he had nice biceps. It was well done, and it neatly fit his appearance. One day, as you were on the beach, enjoying the soft waves, he was close enough to you to see that it was actually a dragon tattoo, the ink curving and showing a detailed work. 

And the best wasn’t only that; but that he noticed you. 

You were alone, taking a vacation on your own, so you tried new things. And by that, it means you did almost every possible activity on the island and in the resort. The island was not as cool, since one day was enough to discover it all. So, enjoying the resort wasn’t so bad (plus how expensive it was, you damn sure will use everything)

And now, you wanted another drink. Maybe a piña colada? Or a mimosa. Oh, a mimosa would be good.

You put one of those sheer pool dresses over your bikini, and you take your things as you walk over the open bar near the pool. It was near sunset, and so it was more empty than in the morning. 

And life surely loves you, because as you wait for your order, you see this tattoo man coming up to you.

“Hey” 

You smile, looking at him and you move your sunglasses up to see him better; and you notice he wasn’t wearing his, strangely enough. You saw that he had purple eyes, with a scar on his left one. 

“Hey” you say, your lips turning slightly upwards. 

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, not at all”

He knew it was not taken. You knew he knew, because the place was almost empty, since the families went to the other pools (which were way cooler, you had to admit) and this was lowkey an adult-only space (though it seems more like an implicit rule)

“Can you get me the same as her?”

Nice. You think, as you drink your mimosa. Fuck it, you had promised to try new things, and you had the courage to be bold since you will never see this man again… you hope. 

You tell him your name, and he introduces himself: Aemond Targaryen. 

“Nice tattoo” You say softly then, sitting straighter and leaning closer “Can I see?”

“Sure” he says, and you don’t waste time to grab his bicep and inspect the ink on his skin.

You shamelessly lean closer, and you don’t even mind that your face is so close to his naked chest. Gods, you’d love to bury your face in all of his muscular body. He surely went to the gym, it was obvious as the sky was blue. And he was hot. In capital, big letters. Aemond Targaryen was HOT. 

“Nice biceps too” you add, smirking as you look at him.

You see the smug smirk his face shows, as he hums. If you were being bold, he was being shameless, checking you out with no shame at all. You saw how his eyes went to your tits. 

“Is it a dragon?”

“Yeah” He murmurs, his voice a bit hoarse. “You mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all” You say, as you watch how he takes a cigarette out and lights it up, the same time his mimosa arrives.  “Got a story behind it?”

“My family is very close to dragons” He explains, exhaling the smoke. “Even now” he adds, looking at you. 

“It is a nice tattoo” you say “Fits you well”

You drink your mimosa, but you are doing your best fuck me eyes to him, and he seems to catch on it. Still, he drags the moment.

“Thanks, darlin’.” He says, drinking his own mimosa before saying. “What about you? Came with family?”

“All by myself” you say to him with a smile, shamelessly flirting with him. “All alone”

Aemond hums, his smirk growing a bit as he smokes. He approves, you think. “So am I”

“What an eventful coincidence”

“Indeed” he agrees, and then “You busy now?”

You don’t exactly now how you end all naked in his room, getting fucked ruthlessly by him, but you are not complaining. His room was big, bigger than yours, and he wasted no time by kissing you and grabbing you in his arms towards the bed.

He kisses as if he had been hungry forever, devouring you as a man possessed as his hands were roaming in your back, holding you close to his chest. You were in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him back, keeping up with his passion.

Aemond was a catch, by how handsome he was, and even gentlemanly, since he held the door of the room open for you. And mostly, because of how hard he was, and you did not need to see his cock to know how big he was, and how much he wanted you.

“That tattoo is so fucking hot” You murmur against his mouth, as you take off the top of your bikini, quickly moving to take off the bottom as well. 

“Yeah? Tell me about fucking hot, baby… fuuuuck” He says, watching your body with lust and pure animalistic hunger. “Come here…” 

As he sits back in the pillow, in the neatly made bed, you see how he pulls off his swim trucks little by little, as his dick jumps out, hitting his own abdomen by how hard he was. It was a great dick, good size, trimmed and the tip was a bit reddish. 

“Let me suck it” you say quickly. 

“Go on” he says quietly, as he grabs the base of his cock, stroking it softly as you move your face to the same level of it. 

You never actually thought that sucking dick would be so delicious, as you wrap your hand above his, and take the tip in your mouth. And hearing Aemond groan in pleasure was worth everything. 

It’s more a delight he’s allowing you, and you lowkey now it, because you just see in his eyes how he wants to fuck you on the spot. And you want him to do so badly. 

“There you go” he murmurs, his other hand moving to the back of your head. “That’s all you wanted, hm?” Aemond’s voice is smooth, as he moves your head to thrust on his cock. 

He is merciful, as he doesn’t make you take him fully, only the tip, and it hits ever so slightly your gag reflex, but he doesn't push further. He coaxes you so sweetly. “That’s why you flirted with me, didn’t you? To have a taste of this cock?”

Even with your mouth full, you let out a soft noise of agreement. He did know how to dirty talk, as you feel your pussy on fire as he speaks to you, only spurring your arousal. 

Tasting the precum on your mouth, you look up to him, meeting his lusty eyes as you softly suck his cock, your head moving both on your own and with his pace. It was slow, and at the same time, more arousing than ever. 

“Enough” He says after a while, pushing your head away from his cock. 

You see it once again, leaking and full of your saliva. It was a delicious cock, you could cockwarm him with your mouth and not complain a bit. 

He pulls you to his lap, moving to kiss you once again. What a hot man he was, his hand on your neck as he eagerly kissed you. He was a great kisser, and it only served to fuel your arousal as much as sucking his cock did.

“You ready?”

“Yeah” you say against his mouth, as he practically accommodates you, telling you to grab the headpost of the bed, as he makes all the rest. 

You feel his hands on your hips, making himself a place between your legs as one hand goes to push himself into your pussy. 

“Ah, fuck..” you moan, making him groan as well. “Don’t stop”

“Shit, sweetheart” he growls. “Needy, needy girl”

You were soaked, which didn’t go unnoticed. It made him slide easier inside your cunt as your hands weakly moved to support yourself in the bed mattress. You were never great being on top, because as he starts thrusting up in your pussy, all of your body just feels limp. 

He is quick to thrust in you, moving his hips to meet yours and making you feel him so deep, it makes you roll your eyes.

“Fuck…” You moan, trying to keep yourself up. 

“I know, I know…” you feel his thumb on your pussy, blindly searching your clit and finding it quickly enough. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit” you murmur, giving yourself up and simply falling on his chest as he fucks you. Your arms simply give in to the pleasure, and you just allow him to ravish your cunt however he sees fit. Hells, he could do anything to you, and you would be on board. 

Aemond wraps his other arm on your waist, keeping you in place as he simply keeps fucking you as if you were his fuckdoll. You moan at the idea, feeling how the tip of his cock rubs inside you, the girth of him making you see stars behind your eyes. 

“It’s so big” you say incoherently, your hand moving to grip his bicep. “So, so big…”

“You love that dick, sweetheart?”

“Fuckin’ love it. I’m obsessed…”

You open your eyes, and are practically laying atop of his chest, and your head is at the same height as his dragon tattoo. The irony makes your lips curl, as the slick sounds of his cock pounding inside you in a relentless, practically animalistic way. 

Life is good, you think, you love mimosas, and getting fucked by a hot man with a tattoo.