#day 03

Taking a deep, calming breath, Steve pushes his way through the crowded store, eyes roaming over shelves in search of something Robin might find funny.

It’s their little tradition; they never give each other anything useful. A funny mug, a weird painting they saw at the flea market, those are the kind of Christmas presents they give to each other. And, usually, Steve gives the matter a lot of thought before buying anything. He loves spending hours looking for things that are completely useless, but that he just knows Robin will adore because she is a dork and adores every odd trinket Steve gives her every year.

But this year he’s in a hurry. Thanks to his father, and Nancy, and the shitstorm that Steve’s life has become, he can’t even take his time and enjoy the process of buying a silly present for his freaking best friend because his life is a mess, and Steve is a mess, and he needs to buy this fucking present today because Robin’s leaving town the following morning to spend the Holidays with her family so Steve needs to give her the present tonight, and he’s crying.

Fucking hell, he’s crying in the store like a fucking idiot. What is wrong with him?

“Hey, are you okay?” A quiet voice comes from right beside him, cutting off his spiraling thoughts and followed by a soft touch to his shoulder that makes Steve startle a little.

He turns, hand coming up to grab the front of his jacket as Steve’s eyes land on the kind stranger. And suddenly Steve is spiraling all over again because the stranger is hot, and he’s looking at Steve with concern all over his handsome face, and Steve can only imagine the pitiful image he must make right now, with his puffy eyes and runny nose.

“I’m fine,” Steve mutters. He wipes his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. “I’m okay.”

The man doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed right now.”

“Hm, last minute shopping can be stressful, I’ll give you that.”

Steve chuckles. It’s stronger than him. This situation is so absurd, how did he even end up here in the first place?

“Yeah,” Steve concedes. “It really can.”

And that’s when he sees it; the man is holding a horrible Peppa Pig lamp. The pink monstrosity is so badly crafted that they managed to make the pig cross-eyed, and what should be a friendly smile looks more like a grimace than anything else.

It’s horrendous.

It’s exactly what Steve is looking for.

“Where did you find that?” he asks, pointing to the horrible lamp in the guy’s hands.

The man is taken aback by the question. “What, this thing? It was hidden behind a stack of coloring books in the other aisle. Why?”

“Did you see if there’s another one?”

“Dude, it was hidden behind other stuff. I’m pretty sure it’s the only one.”

Steve can’t help the pang of disappointment that crushes his heart. At the same time, he can’t say he’s surprised. Nothing’s been working out in his life lately. Of course he’d find the perfect gift for Robin just for someone else to get to it first. It’s fitting, honestly.

“Do you want this one?” the man asks.

Steve’s eyes widen. “What?”

“The lamp. You can have it if you want. I don’t mind.”

“I don—I mean, I want it. But what about you?”

The guy shrugs. “I was gonna give it to my uncle as a joke. I can find something else.”

Steve hesitates. He bites his lip, his hands fiddling nervously with the hem of his jacket.

The man is having none of it.

“Come on, take it,” he says just as he deposits the ugly lap in Steve’s arms. “It’s okay.”

“Uhn, thank you. You just saved my life.”

“By giving you an ugly lamp?”

The grin that takes over his face is the first genuine smile Steve has given someone in the past three weeks. “Yes, by giving me an ugly lamp.”

The man smiles back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

They share a glance for a moment longer before the man gives Steve a small salute and turns to leave.

“Wait!” Steve calls, and the guy turns again to face him. “I didn’t get your name.”

Brown eyes dance with mirth as the man says, “It’s Eddie.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve. I hope you enjoy your Peppa Pig lamp.”

“I’m Steve,” he says, hugging the weird lamp against his chest. “Merry Christmas, Eddie. And thanks again.”

Dick had called him back for some extra firepower in the latest case, and if he hadn't owed him one Jason would be back with you in a heartbeat. "Get anything?" he grunts to Tim, who's fingers are typing strings of code into the keyboard.

"Not yet," he hums, the younger man's face twitching with annoyance as the firewall warning flashes across the screen again.

"Give it time, Jay. we don't want to let them know we're onto them." comes Dick, who’s leaning against a railing and still fully suited up from his earlier patrol. "I've checked all through The Cauldron and Southside, no trace of them there. Penguin must have closed up shop around Cobblepot Steel when he started working with his new friend. Going through great lengths to gatekeep his new buddy from us." he hums.

"Well I want to get this meet and greet over with," Jason grumbles, crossing his arms while he scuffs his boots impatiently.

"Bee in your bonnet, Red?" Dick calls and Jason scoffs.

"You put it there. You wanted me to help take 'em down while the Bat is out of town with Superscout, but you don't even know where they are. I've spent a full night just waiting for boy genius here to get a lock."

Dick puts his hands up in mock surrender. "We'll be done soon, promise. Then you can go home to your sweetheart. Hey, you can even say you came back early just to see them. I'm helping you get brownie points." he grins, nimbly dodging the hand Jason had swung out to slap the back of his head. "Where are they anyways? Their place?"

"Safehouse." Jason grunts back. "Staying at mine while I'm helping you lot. Old Gotham, near the GCPD. Besides, I told them to mark down I'd be back tonight on the calendar anyways."

Dick whistles. "Didn't think you had a place that close to the cops."

Jason just shrugs. "They're not after me, and if they were it would be somewhere they wouldn't look. Plus it's a nice distance from you all." he grumbles.

Dick pushes off the wall coming to lean over a monitor near Tim. "Well if our mystery person is teaming up with Penguin, and he isn't interested in the drug business, what is he here for?" he hums, eyes focused on the map of Gotham that Tim has pulled up. He taps the screen after a second, zooming in. "Here. Dixon Docks. We haven't checked here yet. Penguin used to smuggle through here, but it also became a bit of a meet up spot. He might have gone back to old ground."

"Yeah, but Penguin shifted his focus into drug running. Bruce put him under pretty heavy surveillance, managed to shut down a lot of his operations for a while. You really think he'd be that stupid to start trying to smuggle firearms again?" Tim piped up.

"Maybe. But Maybe its not firearms. This spot used to be a mob meeting spot. He never visited the operation personally unless-"

"Unless he wanted to order a hit." Jason cut off his older counterpart, voice becoming modulated as he fixed his mask to his face. "Seems there's a chance his new play pal is a hitman."

"For who though?" Tim asks.

"Maybe the hit isn't one Penguin is ordering. maybe the Penguin's selling info." Dick calls, testing his in earpiece before giving Jason a nod. "Me and Hood are going in to take a look. Track our location and keep the cameras on."

Tim nods while Jason and Dick head for the bikes, mounting each of their respective vehicles.

"Finally something to do." Jason groans, stretching his arms above his head before catching the cocky grin from Dick speeding past him. "Show-off." he murmurs, his own engine roaring to life as he follows suit.

They had cleared the dock pretty easily, Dick's hunch being correct. Between the two of them the middlemen and thugs were strewn across the floor of the warehouse, and Tim had already called the GCPD to come pick them up for the arrest. "No sign of our flightless friend." Jason grumbled, stepping over an unconscious thug.

"Nor our new mystery visitor." Dick concludes, tucking his escrima under his arm as he goes through the stack of papers at the makeshift desk tucked behind some shipping containers. Jason has known the eldest robin enough to know when he was worried, and the tight way he now held his body was a clear sign. "You find something?" he asks, boots thudding as the come to stand beside him.

"You think Oz was beginning to catch on?" Dick asks quietly, turning the page to show Jason the blurry CCTV photo of Bruce, a crude cowl and ears drawn over the image in sharpie.

"Shit," Jason breathed, taking some of the papers from Dick and beginning to flick through it. "This is all of us." He confirms, worry beginning to gnaw at his bones. There were photos of Tim leaving the city library and entering the Wayne Tower. Photos of Dick back in Bludhaven in a police uniform, photos of him at galas. Photos of Damian at school and meeting with Alfred. The more he flipped through them the more his heart dropped. There was a photo for nearly every 'apprentice' of Batman, surrounded by question marks.

"Whoever is joining the dots isn't fully convinced of it themselves." he murmurs, blood freezing as he sees a photo of himself there. A photo with you on his arm next to him. Dick comes to peer over at it, cursing under his breath.

"Hood, don't panic-" he tries to soothe, but Jason is already pushing past him to tear at more of the documents on the desk. He rifles through the papers, the sound of approaching sirens and Nightwing's urging to leave the scene deafened by the ringing in his ears. In his tightly clenched hands there was a leger, with a list of addresses. In the middle, was his address. The address he had given you, highlighted in yellow.

"We need to go." Dick urges, hurrying him to mount his bike. Jason jaw clenches, and he shoves the piece of paper into his brothers’ hands.

"Yeah. We do." he grits out, but he hopes Dick can't hear the sheer fear held behind his teeth. His bike speeds off, roaring through the side street they came on as he reroutes for Old Gotham. Dick looks down, eyes wandering over the red written date next to the highlighted address, tonight date. "Jesus," he breathes out, quickly following behind his brother before he does something reckless.

Jason doesn't think that he'd ever driven that fast since he'd been on the run from Bruce, throwing the bike into park so violently outside his apartment that the tires burnt as they squealed. Dick wasn't too far behind him, calling out for him to wait in between talking to Tim on the other end of his earpiece. His heart is thudding in his ears, hands feeling cold as he scales the stairs to the fourth floor, knocking on the door rapidly. He didn't care he was in his full suit. He could make some bullshit excuse if you were fine, claiming some noise disturbance or the wrong door.

But if he wasn't?

Then someone was going to fear the fact he was already suited up.

"I told you to wait, Hood-" Dick snaps at him, slightly out of breath from having to run behind him. Jason doesn't listen, shoulder slamming into the door when you don't come to answer.

"Don't you have the key?" Nightwing hisses to him.

"Left it in my civvies." he grunts, stumbling slightly as the door gives way. "I wasn't really expecting to…" he trails off, bile rising in his throat and blood draining from his face. Dick pushes in next to him, still scolding. "You can't just go in like this-" he cuts himself off, catching sight of what Jason was burning into his brain. "Oh no, Jay..." he whispers, but Jason is already moving to your side.

His hands come to your head, softly cradling it in his large palms. Two fingers come to press against your neck, his breathing evening out as he finds a weak pulse. "They're still kicking." He grunts out, other hand coming to cradle the back of your head. He closes his eyes trying to scrub the image of you lying there in the living room, sprawled on the carpet surrounded by the shards of the broken window and white rug drinking your blood.

Your eyes flicker weakly and you make a faint cry when he presses down on the wound by your ribs, a sound that tears him up inside. "Shhh," he tries to say softly, but the modulator makes it robotic, stripping the emotion from it. "I gotta put pressure on it. Did you see who did it?" he asks. He can faintly hear Dick calling for Robin on the end of the commlink, calling for paramedics to come to his address.

He hates how warm his hands feel, gloves heating up as if they were stealing the life force from out of you. Blood is flecked across your lips from the spray, faintly mumbling the words, "didn’t see them."

He nods along. "That’s okay, that’s okay." he murmurs, but he wasn't sure who he was telling that to.

"Red Hood…" you groan out, hand coming the grip his wrist as he pushes firmer on the bullet wound. Your fingers are bloody, smearing the crimson across his suit. "You gotta…you gotta find my boyfriend," you cough weakly. "They were here for him. He’s just…he's just a librarian…" your eyes tear up, throat swelling with the weight of your words. "He was just coming back tonight…oh god…you have to find him… what if they-" you sob, causing your face to scrunch up at the pain that ripples through your body. "I wanna…I wanna see him."

Jason's heart is tearing into pieces as Dick kneels to your other side, hands coming to your non-wounded side as he preps the area, Tim faintly heard giving instructions on how to stabilise you until the paramedics arrive. Jason shakes his head, fighting back tears. Despite the side glance he gets from Nightwing, he pulls one hand up to his face, feeling for the latch under his jaw to release his mask.

When he pulls it away his eyes are red, tears already built in the corners. His lips have a tremble that hasn't been felt since he was in the single digits on the streets, and his hairline is beaded with sweat from worry. He offers you a weak smile, unable to stop the shooting pain that wracks his mind watching the hazy confusion on your face.

"Jay?" you whisper, the word more mouth than sound. He nods reluctantly.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Oh god, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He dreamt of the day that he could tell you his identity, of his real profession. He imagined all the best scenarios of you accepting him, of letting him spin you around the kitchen when he picked you up by the waist like he did so often. Of telling you while you both read together on the couch, your legs pulled across his lap. He never imagined the bad scenarios. He pushed those to the back of his mind. But as you reached up with bloodstained fingers, dragging the sticky red across his cheek in that oh so familiar motion, he knew right then that this was the worst situation imaginable.

He lets his tears wash the red from your fingers, trying to blink them out of his eyes so he could focus on saving you.

"Hold on, sweetheart." he murmured weakly, desperately praying for the wailing of the siren to reach his ears.

He had always said how much he loved red, loved you in the colour. Loved you in his colour.

“No, no!” The words rush out, you can’t let him be suspicious. “Everything’s fine. I’m just…I really missed you.” That wasn’t a lie, but Kaeya knew you were trying to soften him up just so he’d show you some mercy. Two can play that game.

He sets his drink down and uses his now free hand to slide your chair closer to his. You feel the wooden legs bump into each other, but are too distracted by his proximity to worry about anything else. Kaeya’s hand on your thigh moves to your waist, lovingly making sure you can’t run away. His other hand comes to your shoulder, fingers dancing along the curve to your neck.

“I missed you.” He murmurs in a tone he reserves for you in private. “The way you’re so bad at lying to me…the way your nose scrunches when–” He makes a face and turns to the side for a moment. 

“Sorry…” He says, blinking slowly as he turns back. “Just…feeling a bit tipsy.”

You feel guilty for the way you cheer in your head. Your plan tonight was to get him drunk, and get him to talk. Not about his life, no, to see how he really felt about you. As silly as it sounds, you needed reassurance, and what better than the drunken truth?

“Oh!” You utter too fast, coughing in your fist. “I mean…oh. You wanna stop and go home?” You pretend to be worried, leaning in to rest your hand on his arm.

He leans into your touch, hand leaving your waist to cover yours. He looks peaceful in a way you’ve never seen him. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, seeing how he instinctively reaches for you, even drunk.

“No. I’m good to keep drinking with you, baby.” He says in such a way that has your face feeling hot.

You’re so distracted you don’t notice the bard sneaking over from his table and snatching your wine. 

“Ugh! This is mediocre at best!” Venti cries, already wasted. “Diluc! Another!” The red haired stoic man looks up with a glare that could kill. He fills the largest tankard he has and slides it down the bar to shut him up. His gaze eventually falls to your table, where Kaeya has now shifted even closer, arms wrapped around your middle, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Do you need me to knock him out?” He offers, coming to stand by your table.

Worried he might actually follow through you shake your head quickly, hands covering Kaeya’s head just in case.

“No! He’s just drunk.” You explain and Diluc turns to Kaeya with a suspicious frown.

“...Drunk? He never gets drunk.” He says, like it’s the unchanging truth and Kaeya could never be this light weight. He glances at the ale still in the tankard. “He didn’t even–”

Kaeya sits up, coming to stand right in front of Diluc. His hands clasp him on the shoulders, making Diluc tense.

“My dear…brother.” He says. You can hear the way his voice lowers, but you don’t see the way his eyes narrow at Diluc. A silent way of saying, ‘Shut it.’

Diluc scoffs, pushes his hand away and leaves without saying anything. Kaeya turns to you with a loopy smirk, pushing into your personal space like it had his name on it and tucks his face into your neck.

“Let’s go home. I don’t like when we’re interrupted.” He hums, lips moving against your skin. 

He tilts his head against your shoulder and you’re in disbelief how flustered he has you even drunk. You nod dumbly, standing up with him and helping him out of the tavern.

He stumbles next to you, stuck to your side like a magnet. You weren’t sure how to act with this side of him, normally he was the one making you a lovesick idiot, but here he was, making your cheeks warm with the way he couldn’t let go of you.

He tries to fight you off when you attempt to get him in his bed. The night was nearly gone, the stars were fading and your plan seemed like nothing compared to right now. You didn’t even want to interrogate him as you felt you got your answer. His hands find yours in the mess of sheets and he pulls you into the bed, limbs winding around you to lock you in. You look at his face as he looks back at you, and you see it. The sparkle in his eyes.

“Kaeya...can I ask you something?” You whisper, tilting your head up when he brings it closer to his chest.

“Mm…is this a proposal?” His mouth twitches in an almost smirk.

You huff, of course drunk Kaeya was still a tease.

“No. Just…” You sigh, turning away from him, laying on your back. He doesn’t let you get far, instead pulling himself closer to your side. “Do you love me? Like really love me?”

He’s quiet and you worry you’ve messed up. That right now you’re about to get your feelings hurt by the drunk truth. The real truth.

But then, he sits up on his arms, hovering his face over yours. He watches your expression for a minute, before leaning down to kiss you. It’s not like his usual teasing pecks, or the longer kisses where he bites your lip, ends it too soon. No, he waits for you, lips pressing against yours gently, with loving care. He pulls away after a while and it still feels too short. He gazes down at you, with a small smile.

“I love you truly and deeply. I will love you–not for as long as time, but longer. You don’t know what you do to me. I am as devoted to you as I am to Khaenri’ah.” You bite your lip to control your emotions. He’s drunk, he won’t remember this, but you will. It was all the reassurance you could need for life. You hum, not trusting your words. Nothing you could say in this moment would be fitting. Nothing could match his devotion right now. 

He lays back down and when you look over, he seems to be falling asleep. Eyes closed, breath slowing. You sigh to yourself. Of course you wanted to hear him say it sober, but the memory of his words tonight would keep you sane for much longer. You settle down next to him and close your eyes.

You begin to fall asleep and feel movement next to you. Kaeya hovers once more, watching you begin to doze off. He has a smug look as he leans back down next to your ear, breath fanning the side of your face. “Next time, sweetheart. Just tell me what you wanna hear, yeah? You don’t have to make me drink to wanna tell you the truth.”

You realized from a very young age you were bound to marry one of your brothers or nephews.’Targaryens have queer customs’, your mother would say, but it didn’t seem like she’d mind it at all. Even though she would take you to the sept constantly and there the people would say it was a terrible sin to lay with one’s blood, she had betrothed your eldest brother to Helaena. 

Your father would tell tales about his grandparents, the King Jahaerys and the Good Queen Alyssane. How they knew Targaryens were closer to gods than they were to man, which was why only your bloodline remained as dragonlords. The doctrine of exceptionalism. It all seemed a little unhumble to you, and you knew gods, whether Valyrian gods, old gods or the Seven, had a way to punish mortals who flew too close to the Sun. 

Despite it being strange to you, you loved the stories. You loved the songs about old tales, the epicness of it all. Queen Rhaenys and your great-grandmother Alyssane were your favorites. Oh, how lovely would it be to see Meraxes flying in the skies next to Balerion and Vhagar. Balerion was your father’s dragon, and Vhagar was claimed by your brother. It seemed cruel that fate had taken Meraxes before you could ever ride her. 

The King Viserys would kid he had a Visenya and a Rhaenys in his offspring. Your eldest sister, the heir to the throne, had Visenya’s warrior ways, and her husband was the wielder of the very own Dark Sister. You, on the other hand, were much alike the Conqueror’s other wife, all would say. In the same fashion as the late Queen, you loved dancing, poetry and, above all, you loved flying. 

You bonded with the dragon Silverwing as a young woman, later than your siblings had. The feeling of the she-dragon's scales beneath your hands as you mounted her for the very first time was worth all the years of wait. You knew that if you couldn’t pursue Meraxes, the dragon that was meant for you, reserved to you by fate, was the one of Queen Alyssane’s.

The brother closest to you in age, Prince Daeron, had his own dragon, but he was much too small to fly on when you claimed Silverwing, and he was already halfway across Westeros with your mother’s family. That was why you took the skies with Vhagar and her rider. 

Another story you commonly loved was your grandparents, Princess Alyssa and Baelon, the Brave. It seemed Alyssane knew they were bound to each other, so she refused to marry Alyssa, the oldest living daughter of age, to Aemon, the eldest son. Instead, as your father told, she married Alyssa to Baelon, who were the love of each other's lives. 

Hearing about your grandparents was the first time you thought that, perhaps, marrying one of your brothers wouldn’t be awful, or even Jacaerys Velaryon. 

The wedding ceremony for Aegon and Helaena happened when you were a young woman, just entering the age to be betrothed. You knew the expectations were high, above all because of the disputes regarding Rhaenyra’s claim and her children’s legitimacy. 

Honestly, you thought, all of this would have ended if Aegon was married to Rhaenyra, despite the age difference, or Jacaerys to Helaena. However, there was too much pride and ego involved. 

When it came to your pride and ego, you knew that as a Targaryen princess, your wishes mattered to everyone, except for your family. Your father would marry you to whom he saw fit, and your mother would make sure it was a match able to strengthen Aegon’s silent claim. You had a preference, though. With the story of your grandparents in mind, you had your own Baelon.

From the first moment you took the skies together, you knew you were meant to take on life together. He was no Aegon the Conqueror, it was true, but he was your match in more ways than one. 

You were set to be married on the fortnight following your sixteenth name day, but the death of your father changed everything. The horrible deaths of your nephews, the terrible aftermaths of battle, the sheer horror of your family destroying itself from the insides. There was no more poetry, no more songs, no more flying. 

On the fall of a night, you were on the balcony, overlooking Blackwater Bay. You thought that, maybe, if you tried, you could see all the way up to Dragonstone. Maybe, if your sister, almost two decades your senior, looked from her chambers, she could try to see you too. Perhaps, you could make peace, if not for all, for the two of you. 

He walked in quietly behind you, in the same wild but quiet fashion as always. His presence made himself known to you before any sound, and you let him get close enough before acknowledging him. 

“I often imagine what life looked like for our family. Rhaenys and Aegon, for instance. Sometimes, I like to wonder”, you started, voice barely above a whisper, “when our ancestors stood on the balconies of the Red Keep, as we now stand”, you finally turned around, meeting his eyes — one purple, one sapphire, “did they see this line where the sky meets the sea in the same way as we see?”

He was quiet, his one eye passing through your face, down your neck, to your almost sheer purple nightgown, all the way down to your bare feet. You wish you could tell what was happening in his brain. Your brother looked up to your uncle, the Rogue Prince, but you wished he could see the virtues in your father: the curiosity, the longing for beauty, for art. He had it in him, but it wasn’t cultivated. It broke your heart, and it revolted you. 

“Aren’t you cold?”, he asked, and you scoffed. 

“Nyke hae olvie hen nykeā zaldrīzes hae ao, jorrāelagon lēkia (I am as much of a dragon as you, dear brother)”, you straightened your back, and turned again to gaze at the bay and the city.

“Nyke emagon daor doubt, issa mandia (I have no doubt, my sister)”, you could hear the smile in his voice as he replied. You rolled your eyes, not letting the memories flood through you.

He had been your first for everything — your first fight, your first flight, your first kiss, and everything else. 

The tantrum your mother would have thrown had she found out about this years ago… But now, after the babe Jahaerys’ death and Helaena’s exhaustion, you doubt she would care if you appeared with child, as long as the wedding was set to a proper date. 

His right hand raised and rested on your hip, and you felt his body approach yours as he took a step closer. You could feel his breath on your ear, and you slowly closed your eyes.

The thing with fire is that, when not properly controlled by a force equal or bigger than itself, it becomes all consuming. You and Aemond were much like fire — multiplying, growing, and, even if by accident, destroying your surroundings. You had never expected this fire to harm you, but now, you realized just how much fire was a force of nature not to be tamed by any man or woman, regardless of their lineage. You, a Targaryen, would die if a fire brought down your surroundings, just as any commoner.

Aemond’s hand started caressing your hips, and in the silence of the night, high on the Red Keep, away from any prying eyes, you let your head fall to his shoulder. He wasted no time in starting kissing your neck, as his free flew up to your breast. It was natural how your hands reached back to his shoulder length hair, and you let out a soft moan. His kisses found their way near your hear, and he whispered. 

“Hemtubis, nyke jāhor sagon leaving syt Rook's Rest isse naejot rhaenagon rūsīr Ser Criston. Nyke syt nykeā jikagon-pryjagon. (Tomorrow, I will be leaving for Rook's Rest in secrecy to meet with Ser Criston... I hoped for a proper send-off)”. 

You stopped. 

Much like dragons, there was an inexplicable beauty in fire, but it is also fearsome.You hoped Aemond had learned that by now, after the pointless war in your family, but you realized he hadn’t.

You turned in his arms, as he held your hips. He looked amused, tranquil. You, on the other hand, had a frown you knew resembled your mother’s. 

“Aemond”. 

“Sister”.

You laughed lightly. “Surely you do not think of me as a common whore you can call upon when you desire”.

“Of course not, jorrāelagon (dear)”, his hand raised to move a strain of hair from your face, but you moved, stubbornly, to avoid the caress. His head tilted to the side, an amused look on his face. “Are you not to be my wife?”

“I am not yours for anything”, the response was quick, instinctive. By now, he should know you were not a lady for his bedding, but his alike, his sister, a Targaryen princess. Maybe not a warrior as he and your brother, the King, would have liked, but a dragonrider nonetheless.

He seemed all the more entertained by your reply. His hand once more tried to touch your hair, but you slapped it away. Aemond had always been quick to anger and slow to forgiveness, and you knew it. You knew he would take it as a challenge when you fought him, which was why his aggressiveness did not surprise or scare you. He used one hand to pin your wrists together, and the other to grasp at your gown at the height of your waist. You tried to kick him, without any use of your actual strength, and he simply used the size and force of his body to push you against the balcony. 

Heights never scared you, you were a dragonrider and a fearless princess from the blood of Old Valyria. Aemond, however, scared you in this moment, because you knew that no matter how much he loved you, his temper would always be his one true reliable characteristic. For a second you imagined he would let his hand go, and let you fall all the way to the patios beneath. 

His one eye darkened, and his breath was quick. Against your chest, you felt his rise and fall almost rhythmically. He could drop you or throw you, but you would still choose him, you realized. And what a terrible tragedy that was. 

Your realization must have softened your features, for Aemond’s own face calmed. He could destroy you, ruin you, and you’d let him. Your soul was intertwined with his, for better or worse, whether you willed it or no. Walking in this horrible pattern willingly, constantly putting yourself in the way of his temper, denying yourself… Was it self-destructive behavior, as the men with skinny arms in Old Town would say? Perhaps. What a small price to pay this terror was, a price you were willing to pay to be alongside your twin flame. 

The small of your back was still pressed on the balcony when Aemond kissed you, wet and fast. He let go of your pulses, and your hands immediately held to his shoulders for dear life. Was it fear he’d drop you? Was it desire? 

Both.

Aemond passed one hand beneath your legs, and the other supporting your back. He picked you up like it was nothing. One of your hands caressed his neck, and the other laid quietly on his chest.

That fire from a few minutes before had grown, like fire always does. It became a fuel for the desire you had for each other. Walking inside, into your chambers, Aemond threw you on your bed as gently as he knew how. His expression was hungry, and he would have devoured you if he could. 

You moved and sat on the bed as he stood in front of you, eye level with his crotch. You wanted to devour him, too, and there was no better time than the present. With one hand you began to unlace his pants, and with the other you pushed his dress shirt up. You hadn’t realized he was wearing his combat clothes. He was probably training all day. 

He took the hint and took his shirt off, his gaze never leaving you. When his pants dropped to the ground with a quiet sound, he made no move to remove it, or his boots. You couldn’t care less, as his manhood presented itself already fully upward and hard, leaking from the top. His tip was probably one of your favorite parts, because it was always so sensitive, which was exactly why you didn’t start there. 

One hand on his bum and the other making up and down movements on his shaft, you looked into his eye with your best sweet and helpless look. It was one of the things Aemond loved the most about you: that you were his younger, fragile little sister, bound to him, given to him by the Gods to fulfill the Valyrian tradition and his destiny. His member twitched, and he threw his head back when you finally licked a stripe from the base all the way to the tip. 

There you were, bobbing your head up and down, using your tongue to move when you reached the tip of your brother’s beautiful cock. You felt yourself wet, in need of release too, so you took your hand from Aemond’s body to your own, using it to feel your breasts beneath the nightgown. 

This did not go unnoticed by Aemond. Nothing went unnoticed by Aemond. 

“How could I be so selfish, hāedar (sister)?”, he removed himself from your mouth, taking a step back from the back and making you whimper from the loss of contact. 

His face, lit by the moonlight, was the most beautiful of all sights. You were sure you had seen other men, even other Princes, who were charming, but there was no one who could be this alluring. 

How could someone so beautiful be so destructive?

You began to let your body fall back in the bed as Aemond straddled you. By the look on his face, you knew this would be fast and rough. It didn’t scare you. Should it? Should the consequences of it scare you? 

A little princeling with violet eyes and white hair, running through the Keep. The memory of Jaehaerys was painful, but what troubled you most was if this little boy of yours would be a Targaryen or a Waters. 

Still, you let Aemond climb to the top of you, pulling your gown up to your waist, revealing a part of your body that he, and he alone, was familiar with. He pushed the nightgown all the way up, taking it off and leaving you bare, as naked as the day you were born beneath him. 

Very rarely would he take you in this position. Sometimes, he would have you on your hands and knees, face away from him. Most times, he liked to have you ride him, going as far as making jokes that you were mounting the fiercest of Targaryen dragons, and he would hide his face in your breasts. But tonight, his eyes were looking into yours the whole time. 

He entered you quickly, with one deep thrust. Your cunt was ready for him, and he knew it would be; having him in your mouth had this effect on you, always left you throbbing and ready.

As his body would enter yours with force and then leave, making you see stars with the movement of his hips, you raised your legs and intertwined them around his waist. He grabbed both your hands again, this time holding them close to your breasts, which allowed his body to rise in a delicious angle. 

You both had done this enough times to know to be quiet. It was hard keeping the moans in, and you let out little sighs and made a painful expression as he became sloppier. 

Your hips had a life of its own, moving with Aemond’s, trying to get him as deep as possible while also obtained friction. Your brother realized this very quickly, and he let go of your hands to prop himself on his knees and put both your legs on his shoulder. One hand of his went straight to that place where your bodies met, and he began to pressure and circle the one spot he knew would make you feel as good as you were making him feel. 

Warm, wet, welcoming, That was all Aemond wanted. 

Your moans became louder, and you took one hand to your mouth and the other to his chest. You let your nails make a red line down to his stomach, and it wouldn’t be a problem, considering all the training he endured these past days. You were close to screaming when you were about to finish, and Aemond could tell. Your walls began clenching around him, and your juices were rolling down to your bum, making a mess of the linen sheets. 

He let his body fall close to yours and kissed you passionately as you came, muffing out the sounds and making you feel oh, so loved. 

Too bad it only lasted a second. 

“Nyke jāhor mazverdagon ao issa ābrazȳrys, nyke jāhor tepagon ao issa riñar, mandia. ȳdra daor worry. Ao jāhor sagon dāria, se olvie Targārien hen ry queens pār Rhaenys. (I will make you my wife, I will give you my children, sister. Don't worry. You will be Queen, the most Targaryen of all Queens since Rhaenys).”, he murmured in your ear. This thought of his, this pursue of greatness and the Targaryen tradition… This would be his downfall. 

He kept thrusting, completely ignoring you, chasing his release. You laid there, unmoving, thinking about what he had just said. You could never be the Queen Rhaenys, because you could never be Queen. Aegon was married to Helaena, Daemon was married to Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra had five sons, and none of your kin would let go of their claims. 

You felt the warmness of Aemond’s release inside you, and he bit down hard on your neck as he came. 

He could use your body for his own pleasure, it didn’t bother you. He pleased you as he did it, so there was nothing the matter for you. But he couldn’t use your kinship to justify whatever horrors he planned or wished to commit. 

His body left yours, falling with a thud on the bed. He was sweaty, but he smelled like home. What a bizarre thought of yours, that someone’s sweat was comfortable. You turned onto your side to face him, laying on his back with his eyes closed. Would he dare to spend the night? Could he stay for another minute, even, considering this plan on Rook’s Rest? 

“Lēkia (Brother)”, you called him, who opened his eyes slowly and murmured “hm?”. “This war we are fighting with our sister… I have a feeling this will be irreparable for our House. It’s self-destruction, it’s terror. It’s unnecessary”. 

He was quiet, and coolness was always more concerning on Aemond than explosions of rage. 

“Ao issi se jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson, mandia. Nyke jāhor daor emagon aōha bartos dīnagon se egros kesrio syt hen īlva kepa's refusal naejot brōzi se drēje prince. (You are the love of my life, sister. I will not have your head put the sword because of our father's refusal to name the correct heir)”, he simply said. He was peaceful, which was all the more concerning. 

“You are destroying yourself, Aemond”, you shaked your head, turning your back to him as he sat on the bed, clearly preparing to leave you once more. “Ao jāhor daor botagon bisa vīlībāzma. (You will not survive this war)”, your heart broke as you spoke what you knew to be the truth. 

Helaena could be a prophetess, Aegon could be King, Daeron could be as daring as he wished. You and Aemond had your fates intertwined, and he seemed ready to let it all burn, destroying himself, you and whatever lifes you hoped to have.

“Mirre hen īlva jāhor (None of us will)”, Aemond, now fully dressed, replied. 

You raised your gaze to meet his. In this darkness, he was still beautiful. There was a part of you, however, that wondered if this was already a memory. Aemond was leaving now, with only hope and faith guarding his return. 

Looking back on that night, many moons later, you knew what he meant with that last comment, right before he left. He thought the people would not survive, but the Targaryen name would. What Aemond didn’t realize is that the destruction was generalized, and it took from all of you, innocent or no, destined for greatness or no, all the same.