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✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
How Simon Strong sleeps at night knowing Alys isn’t haunting his ass and stealing his sanity because he’s just some guy trying to eat duck and not commit war crimes
Synopsis: King Aemond Targaryen was simply bewitched, bothered, and bewildered the moment he met a mysterious enchantress in the Riverlands.
Warnings: Violence, Sexual Tension, Masturbation (m), Manipulation (f).
Word Count: 3,132
The castle had crumbled. Harrenhall had been humbled in the hands of King Aemond Targaryen. He marched into the castle, rubble rumbling with each step his Vhagar took. Heat emitting from each breath, his beast let out.
“Summon each Strong in this castle,” He roared to one of his men, their soot-stained faces hardened by the past yet lasting image of traitors burning and melting in dragon fire. How foolish they were to think that he would stand idly by as they desecrated his family’s name and claim. Now, they shall see the wrath of a trueborn Targaryen King.
King Aemond scanned his eye against the smoke and stones, the keep proving to be a pathetic shell of what it was before. Of course, he had never seen Harrenhal at its summit, yet he was often reminded of the fire that had consumed it time and time again.
Harrenhall was haunting, yet it gave him an odd sense of calm; it made him recall the late nights in his chambers, when his thoughts would consume his mind, and his eye would be intently fixed upon the tapestry that hung over his bed, depicting Harrenhall burning.
Screams of the Strong sounded out. His men dragged lords, ladies, and servants to the courtyard. Kicking, screaming, and pleading for their lives. Prince Aemond reined in the smirk that itched on his lips. His hand burned to swing his sword and see blood stain the dirt. It was only moments before the entire world was rid of the Strongs. It was only moments before King Aemond would finally claim the justice he was bereft of.
They kneeled before him in an orderly line, trembling, bowing, and begging for their lives. Their cries only furthered when the crisp sound of a blade being unsheathed echoed in the barren castle.
“Best say your prayers now. Pray that the seven are kind to traitors in the afterlife.” Prince Aemond steadily said, his voice strong and seething as he could no longer physically wait for justice and death. However, as he raised his sword, he paused and relished their cries.
“I shall be kind.” He suddenly said, “Pledge your fealty to me, and I shall spare you.”
There was a moment of silence among his prisoners, their teary eyes darting around in hesitation, but an old, stubby man with white hair was far too soft-looking to speak. “We would rather die in honour than live in–”
Prince Aemond sighed as a deafening cry left the other’s lips, witnesses to how the prince effortlessly wielded his sword and cut the aged man’s head. He flicked away the speck of blood that landed on his chin, his eye hungry for more, but the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention.
Another prisoner was being brought to him. However, she did not tremble like the others, nor did she resist as she neared her death. Prince Aemond was distracted for a moment. His hand hesitated as he moved to strike the other Strongs.
With each fallen body he left, the prince’s eye would glance towards you. He was rather curious why you made no plea for your life, nor did you flinch as flesh tore open and spilled crimson blood.
It was a grotesque scene, even some of the prince’s men recoiled at his cruelty… but not you. The prince was growing impatient to face you– he could no longer relish in the lives he took as he drove his sword carelessly and hastily.
You breathed in a deep breath. The smell of smoke and blood was revolting, yet you held composure as the King stood before you. A menacing look on his face, but you could clearly see curiosity in his lone eye and hatred in the blue sapphire that rested in his skull.
“Who are you?” He questioned, the cool blade of his sword resting under your chin. “The witch of Harrenhall, my prince.” A guard answered in your stead, but that was not appreciated by the prince as he threw a scathing look toward the guard who stood behind.
“I’ve heard of you– I hear you’ve kept my uncle company during his stay.” The prince remarked, gliding the tip of his sword against your skin, wanting to earn a reaction of fear in your mysterious eyes, yet you held onto your composure.
Prince Aemond eyed the bleak dress you wore; the dark colors blended well with the smoke. He glided his sword against your cheek, wanting to claim any reaction from you, yet you only kept your eyes steady at his.
“Any last words?” The prince asked as his patience wore thin. As intriguing as you were, there was a castle to be claimed and a war to be won.
“You have left Kingslanding defenseless– Daemon has taken hold.” You announced, certain it would be the last words you uttered, but the Prince Regent froze, a wave of shock overcoming his face before shielding it away. “Hold your tongue. I will not hear your lies.”
You scoffed, a teasing smile on your lips that unsettled the prince. “I tell no lies, my prince. I’ve seen it. As you marched here, Prince Daemon marched to Kingslanding– his gold cloaks opened the gates for him while you rained fire here. Your mother had even opened the gates for them.”
“She’s a witch, my prince.” You hear one of the soldiers claim, and the clamor of his comrades that agreed soon followed.
“You saw me march here?” The prince lowly asked. You nodded. “How? Where?”
“The winds whispered it to me. The fire flashed it before mine eyes. The Dowager Queen had beseeched you to come, has she not?”
Prince Aemond pursed his lips as he studied your gaze. Another flint of anger sparked within as he recalled his last moments with his mother. Her brown, pleading eyes were imploring him to fly to his death.
Your unwavering eyes compel him to believe it true. “Stand.” You did so without fear, even if the guard who stood behind pulled at your hair. The prince made you follow his steps as he retreated inside the castle– leaving the bodies of your kin lifless on the dirt ground as an offering for his dragon that loomed over the land.
He led you to the great hall. An undying fire roaring greatly in the hearth. The guard made you kneel once more, forcefully pushing you to the ground before the prince dismissed his company. “Tell me what you see.”
You returned your gaze to the prince’s eye, a sense of anticipation behind the lilac orb. He looked almost pleading as he stared you down. “Will you spare my life if I do?” You asked with a tilt of your head.
Aemond gritted his jaw as he saw a teasing smirk on your lips. Your mysterious eyes aglow with mischief and the light of the fire. If it were anyone else, he would have already struck them down. If it were anyone else, he would not have hesitated to take their lives. Yet, here he was. Already bewitched by the sorceress of Harrenhall. “Tell me what you see, and your life would be spared, but it would be mine.”
You breathed in deep and sighed. Perhaps his proposition was enough. At least enough for the moment.
“I see… I see your uncle underestimates you.” You spoke. Your eyes steady on the bright fire. “He thinks you shall return to Kingslanding… their dragons and men await yours.” You said, voice afar as you saw a vision of the older prince, whom you tormented in the past moons, sleeping soundly in his bed. What a shame he had left. You were insistent on knowing how mad you could have driven him.
“Not to mention the three men your half-sister had sent days before.”
“They are fools.” Aemond gritted.
“No more than the one who left the Capitol defenseless.” You could not help but utter.
The king froze at your remark. His steely eye stared blankly upon your face. He had the inkling to raise his sword and take your life, but to do so meant he was to lose your gifts and your company in the dreary and recently vacated castle.
“Hold your tongue, witch. Just because I spared your life does not mean you shall show impertinence to your king.” Aemond gritted out as he took hold of your face. His calloused hands harsh against your skin.
“But you are not king.” You stayed still as the prince raised his hand. “At least not truly.” You added, and his hand froze mid-air. “I see your brother wandering about the woods… with… with the clubfooted lord.” Your eyes returned to the fire– the same fire that made the eldest son of the deceased king deformed.
You returned your gaze to the prince. His lips parted as he slowly sank down on the dusted floor, his mesmerized eye shifting between you and the hearth. You could smell the scent of smoke, wood, and steel emitting from him as he lingered by your side.
“I will be king?” You almost laughed at how soft the prince’s voice was– how deep he yearned and hoped for the conqueror’s crown to rest on his brow. “Only if you play the game right, your highness.” Your eyes met the prince’s again. The harshness and cruelty in his orbs, for the moment, gave way to mischief and want.
The king was being haunted. Each night spent in the castle had turned into a haunting hunt as even his dreams were filled with mysterious eyes, pale sun-bereft skin, raven hair, and prophecies uttered through heavy breaths and moans.
In the mornings, when his duties and men demanded his attention, he caught himself growing distracted by the image of an enchantress that walked the halls of the castle he had claimed. He watched as your presence lingered and loomed over each and every room, his feet mindlessly carrying him to wherever you were or even summoning you to important matters as an adviser who could see things that his men could not.
You sat silently by the king’s side, his war council awry as they sought what was to be done next. A fortnight had barely passed, but you could already feel the trust the prince had bestowed upon you. You were meant to be his prisoner, yet he gave you much freedom under his reign. He did not care what hall you walked or room you occupied– if anything, you find him joining you.
You were of great use to him. Not only did you provide him with your visions, but you as well provided your assistance in healing his men with your concoctions and potions. However, as useful as you were to the war, you often found the prince wondering how much more use you could be.
Aemond had spared your life for a purpose, and even as you fulfilled the purpose he intended, it felt lacking, as there was much more the prince wished to know besides the visions you saw in the fire.
He wished to know the mysteries you hid behind your eyes. He wished to know the extent of the visions you saw and if all of them were true. He wished to know so much more than what you presented behind the enigma you cloaked yourself with. But most of all, he wished to know if you were haunted by the same dreams.
Prince Aemond tossed and turned in his bed. Lightning and thunder wreaked havoc outside, water seeping through the ceiling, but it was not enough for the prince to wake from his dream filled with mysterious eyes, milky skin, and long locks of hair that tangled with his.
The feel of your lips against his skin was burning. Your touch against his scar was soothing. The pain in his cock was tormenting. Through the haze of his dream, he watched as your lips moved as you spoke; your words were whispers that he tried hard to focus on. “Son… prince… king…”
Aemond was awoken, startled. His body was covered with a cold sweat, his ears rang with thunder, and his mind fought against the daze of his dreams. His hand mindlessly traveled south, grasping his hardened length. It was the fifth night that he had to sedate his bodily urges himself, and each night he was left spurned as the fire of lust within him refused to be extinguished.
He stroked his length with his teeth between his lips. His eye closed, and his mind stuck on the image of you kneeling before the fire and him. The prince breathed out a shaky breath as he felt himself tense as he recalled how he saw you earlier that morning.
The sun had barely risen, the grass was kissed with dew, and the castle was still sound asleep. Aemond found himself being led to the riverbanks without a purpose, only a persistent voice in his head that insisted. For a moment, he was clueless about what he was doing, but as he reached the river, he saw you clad in nothing but your soaked shift that clung tightly to your body.
He knew it was unbecoming of a king to watch as a maiden bathed, but he was bewitched; he could not tear his eye away from you. He could not forget the way the fabric clung to each mound and curve of your body. He wondered if you were as soft as you were in his dreams. He wondered if your lips tasted as sweet as they did in his sleep.
The prince let out a stifled groan as he felt that he was nearing his peak, but the sudden rattling of his door made his heart skip a beat. He paused, his hand still around his length as his eye caught a shadow hovering behind his bolted doors. “Who goes there?” he called, but no voice came.
He groaned in frustration, tugging harshly at his hardened length for one last time before covering himself with his trousers and nothing more. He took his sword in his hand, stance guarded as he entered the empty halls. The smell of rain was prominent, but not as prominent as the scent of herbs that pulled him to the East wing.
Aemond’s mind was still in a daze as the blood from his head had rushed down to his cock. He breathed heavily as he heard hums swirling along the halls, as well as the light of a hearth seeping through a door on his left.
He breathed in a deep breath before entering, expecting an intruder, but was faced with an enchantress.
“Trouble sleeping?” You asked mindlessly as you tended to your herbs, a pestle in your hand as you ground down the fragrant buds of lavender. You glanced at the prince, dressed only in his trousers, a prominent outline upon them, and you bit back your smirk. His eye was frantic, and his hair had grown rather unruly. The once pin-straight silver locks were now tousled, resembling his mother’s.
Aemond stayed silent. His eye studied his surroundings before being momentarily distracted by the open collar of your dress, which exposed your chest, glistening with a light sheen of sweat that glowed against the firelight. His eye stayed entranced upon the pendant that trembled with each of your movements.
“You haunt my dreams.” You hear the prince breathe out. His voice was strained and struggling. You hummed and poured hot water into a tankard that had various herbs that you had given to the king’s uncle during his stay. “Your mind is troubled. Here, drink.” You say as you handed him the cup.
You met his eye once more. The lilac gaze guarded and skeptical, but his hand still reached for yours and took the warm cup. “An elixir?” Aemond questioned as he took a whiff of the steaming liquid, unable to relent that the smell was tempting enough for him. “Tea.” You clarified.
Aemond hummed as he took a sip, his eye still steadily on each action you took. He rested his sword on your table, which overflowed with bundles of herbs and other tools.
“What is it you do in this castle?” King Aemond questioned. “I do what needs to be done.” You answered plainly, but one glance at the prince told you that your answer did not suffice.
“Who is your father?” He asked next. “A man.” You answered in turn.
“A witch, a Strong, and a bastard. I should have driven my sword to you first.” The king gritted out, but his breath caught in his throat as a smile overcame your lips. “Yet you say I haunt your dreams.” You said softly, a teasing tone on your tongue as your eyes glanced down to see the prominent outline protruding between the prince’s legs.
Aemond’s vision doubled and spun, yet he still finished every drop of the tea you gave. You sighed as you heard the clatter of your bowls and cup through the stormy night when the king began to lose his balance. “The castle drives men mad, my dear king… best keep your wits about you.”
You were no fool. A woman of your station had long known that power was not so easily given to one who could not even claim a name. Being born a bastard was your burden, but bewitching a blueblooded dragon king could be your salvation.
The visions that came from fire were clear. You may have been born as Rivers, but the currents shall change soon enough, just as soon as the king would be driven mad into your arms.
You had a clear plan. Slip a simple elixir into his wine, but the moment you had finished concocting your potion, the prince stumbled frantically into your workshop with a crazed look behind his tired eye. I dream of you. He had confessed. And that simple confession made you stagger.
It would seem your plans were of no need now. You had barely begun your game yet here he was, already at a loss. You were no fool. You knew fully well that he had watched you bathe. That his eyes lingered each time you passed the halls. That your name would leave his lips each night as he sought pleasure by himself.
He might think himself king, but you saw the truth in him. He was a mere boy who craved a warm, tender touch. A pretend king who craved reassurance that he had lacked since he was a babe. You smiled fondly to yourself at the thought. How easy it would be to have him in your palm. It was only a matter of days now.
