one eye aeyllsa

It's a very Aemond-centric fic, especially in the beginning.

They were an unlikely match, a bond forged out of duty and necessity. The princess, a young, timid, and shy mousy girl with wide eyes who barely spoke above a whisper. Her gentle nature made her seem almost fragile. In contrast, Aemond's cold exterior paid her little mind. He saw her as a little girl, naïve and sweet, with none knowledge of the loneliness and and coldness and horrors to which he'd faced as a boy.

He hated her for it. She was everything he was not and could never be. Her innocence, her softness—they were foreign concepts to him, relics of a world he could not afford to inhabit. Her heart and unwavering kindness stirred something within him, something he did not want to acknowledge and pushed away. It wasn’t just that she was different; it was that she was better, untouched by the cruelty that had long shaped his life.

And then there was Lucerys. Every time he looked at her, he saw the ghost of her brother, the boy who had cost him his eye and left him scarred in more ways than one. Her presence had only been a reminder of his pain, he thought. He resented her for it, for being the living embodiment of everything that had been taken from him. And for being the prettiest girl in all seven realms.

In the time of their marriage, it was one of silence and awkward glances. She kept to herself, moving quietly through the castle, her head always bowed, her words always few. Aemond was always distant, only coming to her as his duty, his gaze always hard. She was simply a symbol of his family’s desire for unity that he had never wanted. Her legitimacy and that of her brothers was a constant source of contempt, a wound that never seemed to heal.

But slowly as the days passed, something began to shift. It was so subtle that Aemond hardly noticed it—a fleeting glance, a moment of unexpected softness and caring in his wife's eyes. Spending time with him encouraged her to speak more, her voice still quiet but growing steadier, bolder. She had a quiet strength he had not seen at first, a resilience that defied her gentle nature. And slowly, against his will, he found himself drawn to her.

He began to see beyond his anger, beyond the bitter resentment that had long poisoned him. He saw the way her laughter could subconsciously make his lips curl up into a slight smiles as well. All throughout childhood to when they are of age, she'd always been kind to him, not out of weakness, but out of a strength that he had never known despite all his trainings with Ser Criston Cole.

Aemond began to soften. He became a man he could not recognize. He found himself seeking her out. Calling for her when he wanted to speak, taking walks in the garden, discussing and reading high Valaryian literature to her while she slept peacefully under his arm at night. He wanted to know her, to understand the way she saw the world. He watched her as she moved through the castle, her presence like a soothing balm to his wounded soul. In her, he saw something he had never known before—hope, forgiveness, the possibility of a life beyond the bitterness that had long consumed him.

His little wife had awakened something in Aemond that he had buried long ago. At times she made him chuckle, a sound that was as foreign to him as the feeling behind it. She taught him to smile, to care, to feel something other than anger or ambition. For the first time in his life, Aemond felt love—a deep, strong love that took him by surprise and filled him with a sense of purpose he had never known.

He came to cherish his wife, to love her with a fierceness that rivaled the fire of a dragon. She was his world, his anchor in the storm of his life, the one person who saw him not as a warrior or a prince, but as a man. In her arms, he found a solace he had never known, a peace that seemed almost impossible in the turbulent world around them.

But that was before the war, before the throne had tore them apart and almost turned everything to ash. Everything had changed with the death of King Viserys and Aegon's usurpation of the throne. The realm was plunged into chaos, and the fragile peace between them had shattered. Aemond had been torn between his loyalty to his house and his love for his wife, whose own loyalties were divided between her birth family and the one she'd married into. She had wanted to stand by his side, to be the wife he needed, but Lucerys's death had been a wound too deep to bear.

In the wake of Lucerys's death, Aemond grew ashamed and colder, his heart hardened by grief and anger. He'd become a man consumed by his desire for power. She had watched in despair as the man she loved transformed into a stranger. She could not understand whether the war had changed him or revealed who he truly was. Did he value the blood of kin and the Iron Throne more than the love they had shared, more than the promises he had made to her?

After the bloody confrontation with Aegon and Aemond's rise as prince regent, she'd reached her breaking point. Their arguments began, filled with words that cut like blades. Aemond demanded her loyalty, her presence at his side, but she could not abide the path he had chosen. In the dead of night, she had made her escape, fleeing to Dragonstone and faking her own death in the process. The castle had been thrown into turmoil, but eventually, she had been presumed dead, freeing her from the chains of her marriage.

In Dragonstone, she reunited with her family, seeking solace in her mother's embrace and her brothers' company. She grieved for Lucerys and for the life she had lost. But now, duty had called her back to King's Landing, to confront the man who had once been her husband. She sailed and entered the castle unnoticed, her heart heavy with the weight of what was to come.

Now, she stood before him in the great hall, the man she had once loved more than life itself.

Aemond's single eye was wide as he took her in. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Her gaze was steady, her resolve firm. She came here for a reason, though what would happen next was still uncertain. The past hung heavy between them, a tangled web of love and betrayal, of promises made and broken. She had come to face him, to see if anything of the man she had once loved remained. Or if he had been lost to her forever.

His jaw clenched at the sight of her, his eye narrowed ever slightly. He never expected to see her again.

Her name leaves his lips like a whisper. A prayer or curse. Even he wasn't quite sure which one it was. His hands fist at his sides. His mind was practically blank as he took in the sight of her standing there before him, alive and well. And beautiful.

The storm outside raged with a fury that mirrored the turmoil within him. Anger, betrayal, relief, desire, regret—all swirling in his heart as he took a step closer to her. The thunder rolls like a dragon’s roar, echoing the tempest of his soul.

His gaze never wavered from her's, his single eye searched desperately for answers, for an explanation, for her. A part of him longed to reach out, to touch her, pull her smaller frame into his arms and hold her so tight, to confirm that she was truly there. But his pride, the sharp sting of pain in his heart, kept his arms locked rigid at his sides.

A wry, bitter smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked at her, the storm outside seeming to echo the conflict that raged inside him. It’s a dark, twisted sort of humor, to find you here, alive and unbroken, after all this time.

“You’re alive…” he said, his mind struggling to comprehend the reality of her presence.

He studied her intently, taking in every detail, every flicker of movement. He remembered how clever she always were, how beneath that shy, mousy exterior there was a spark of fire-a sharpness that he had come to admire, even love. It was one of the things that drew him to her, one of the reasons he'd fallen so deeply. And now here she stands, perhaps to propose a threat or a challenge.

He couldn't help but be impressed, despite the bitterness that twisted in him.

“That’s my sweet girl," his voice dripped with sarcasm, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Always a few steps ahead.” The words he spoke were laced with both admiration and menace.

She removed her cloak and tossed it to the ground, no longer dressed in the fine, elegant gowns of forest green he had gifted her during their marriage. As a prince, he had always given her whatever she desired-the finest jewels and dresses, anything for his little princess. But now, she stood before him in a dark, flowing gown, subtly embellished with red and gold. In her hand, she held a dagger, one that was strikingly similar to the kind he always carried-and then he realized, it was one he had given her before the war. One that he told her if she were in any harm due to the state of their worlds, she could use it at any time.

She raised the blade and pointed it at him. "Do not mock me, husband," she said, her voice slightly shaken but underlined with a fierce strength.

"And who are you to give me orders?" he replied, his voice cool and controlled, masking the storm of emotions that churned beneath the surface.

“Don’t act so shocked. You gave it to me,” she countered, pushing the dagger closer to his neck, their close proximity forcing her to look up at him. She had to lift her arm to reach his throat, the blade millimeters from his skin.

Aemond’s gaze hardened as he felt the cold steel against his neck. The blade was dangerously close, a silent threat hanging between them.

"I gave it to you as a token of my love," he said through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "Not so you could turn it against me, wife."

“Is that what matters to you right now, Aemond?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity. “I, your wife, have shown up alive, and your life is in my hands this very moment—”

He scoffed and shook his head.

"Is that what you came here to do? Threaten me? Kill me?"

“If it comes down to it,” she said plainly. She could feel her heart hammer through her chest and he gazed down at her.

"Is that what you truly want, my love?" he asked, his voice betraying a trace of vulnerability.

She met his gaze steadily, her expression unreadable.

“You should be asking yourself that question, husband.”

Aemond's jaw clenched at her words, his gaze hardening as he struggled to contain the conflicting emotions swirling within him.

"What I want is you. I still want you," he said, his voice raw and filled with emotion. His large hand came up to caress her cheek, and the familiarity of his touch and scent put her in a trance-like state.

“What…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond’s expression softened momentarily as he looked at her, the mask of anger and indifference slipping away for a heartbeat. He cupped her small face in his hand, his eye taking in every detail, as if trying to make sure she was truly there, that this wasn’t a of dream.

"Come with me. Rule by my side. I will give you anything you want. I will give you peace." his other coming to hold hold her face. "Say you'll return to me as mine, and I will end this fight, one way or another."

He could feel the weakness in her stance, the way her knees buckled under the weight of emotions. He could see the internal conflict written all over her face, the battle between love and duty, hurt and need. And for a moment, he almost smiled, the thought of how easy it would be to disarm her, take control, and end this here and now. But then he looked into her eyes, saw the fire still burning deep within, and all he could think was mine.

Her mind drifted back to the night he'd practically begged her to stay, just before one of their many fights before she had "died." She closed her eyes at the thought, trying to ground herself. When she opened them again, she faced his intense gaze, feeling his breath on her skin.

"I cannot," she whispered.

Aemond could see she was no longer the sweet, innocent girl he had once known. A devilish smirk flashed across his face as he grabbed the dagger from her hand, moving her fumbling arms aside and pressing the blade against her neck.

Aemond's smirk widened as he took control of the situation in a matter of seconds. The cold steel against her skin only made his triumph grow. He saw the realization in her eyes, the knowledge that she was now completely at his mercy.

"And why not, my sweet little wife?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

“My mother is to be on that throne. Not Aegon, not you,” she said, her voice shaking, breathing heavily after the struggle.

Aemond laughed in response, his grip on her tightening just a fraction as he pressed the dagger a little harder against her skin. He could feel the fear and anger coursing through her, the determination and loyalty to Rhaenyra and her cause.

“So the little lamb has grown some spine. I should have expected this,” he sneered.

"Aemond, you will relinquish the throne. You will answer for your deeds. And you will accept Rhaenyra as your rightful queen!" she demanded.

Aemond’s expression darkened as she kept speaking, his grip on her bruising now.

“I will do nothing of the sort. This is my rightful claim, and I will defend it with my last breath. And as for you, wife, you will do as I say.”

“I am dead across the seas. I am no longer your wife, husband. Not to the gods, not to the kingdom,” she said, pushing him off and grabbing the sword hanging from his hip. With a grunt, she backed up, pointing the sword at him.

For a moment, he stood there, dumbfounded, watching her with a mix of anger and confusion.

“And you... you are no husband of mine,” she said, looking up at him as she held the sword.

Aemond’s expression darkened at her words, the anger in his eye growing even stronger. His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer to her, his hand moving to the pommel of his sword.

“Is that so, wife? You dare deny me after everything I have given you? Everything I have done for you?”

“Don’t be a fool, uncle,” she scoffed, looking up at him defiantly.

At her words, Aemond’s jaw clenched, his anger reaching its boiling point. He grabbed a sword from a nearby display and swiftly moved toward her, his eye narrowing dangerously.

He raised his blade, the sound of metal clashing against metal filling the castle as the sparring began. But this was far from a lighthearted exercise or a practice session with the master-at-arms. This was a fierce and intense fight between two people who were once deeply connected, now standing on opposite sides of a war.

She grunted with every blow he landed, finding it increasingly difficult to keep pace and dodge in the right directions.

Aemond could see the strain in her movements, her breath growing heavier with each passing second. Sensing her fatigue, he pressed forward, his attacks becoming fiercer and faster, fully aware that he held the advantage.

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Aemond taunted, his voice dripping with mockery as his blade rained down on hers with relentless force.

"Until one of us is dead-" her breath hitching as his sword came perilously close, tearing through the fabric of her gown.

Aemond’s eye narrowed at the sight of the exposed skin, a flicker of something unreadable flashed in his gaze. For a moment, he hesitated, the grip on the sword faltering. It was all the opening she needed. She lunged, her sword darting forward like a striking snake. Their blades met with a deafening clang, the hall echoing with the sound of steel on steel.

They moved like dancers in a twisted, deadly waltz, their bodies weaving in and out, each step charged with intensity. It reminded her of the dances they had shared at feasts and name day celebrations, their wedding. Though this was a far cry from those days of laughter and light. Her stamina was weakened, her defenses crumbled under his onslaught. Aemond pressed his advantage, forcing her back, his strikes pushing her closer to the cold stone wall.

She stumbled on the hem of her gown, falling back, her sword slipping from her grasp and clattering to the floor. She lay there for a moment, disoriented, gasping for breath, her heart pounding. Aemond’s gaze darkened, his eye raking over her as she lay vulnerable before him, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

The sight of her at his mercy, helpless and breathless, only stirred something deeper within him. His expression was dark, hungry, the storm within him matching the tempest outside. He stood over her, his breath ragged, a predator savoring his victory.

Aemond watched as she struggled on the cold stone floor, her fingers clawing desperately toward the fallen sword. He moved swiftly, kicking the weapon away, sending it clattering into the shadows. Towering above her, his blade hovered just above her throat, its steel glinting in the dim light of the hall. His gaze was sharp, eye burning with a mix of fury and a strange, bitter affection.

"You've always been so stubborn," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "So determined to defy me, no matter the cost." He stared down at her, the sword steady in his grip, though his heart was in turmoil. A war raged within him, torn between punishing her defiance and the painful pull of his love.

"Then end it," she hissed, her voice breaking with a mixture of anger and desperation.

Aemond’s jaw clenched at her words. He had expected many things tonight, but not this—the raw defiance, the fearless demand for her own death. His grip tightened on the sword, his knuckles white as he gazed down at her, confusion and rage boiling beneath his calm exterior.

"Do it!" she screamed, her eyes wild, her chest heaving with emotion. "Kill me, Aemond! If that's what you want, then kill me!"

For a moment, Aemond faltered. Her voice, filled with both fury and pain, cut through him like a knife. He remembered that fire in her eyes, a blaze that had once drawn him in, that had burned so brightly even on the night of their wedding, when she had looked at him with a mixture of fear and fierce resolve.

"You would rather die than stand by my side?" he asked, his voice a low, trembling whisper. "After everything we shared, everything we were?"

"I would rather die a traitor to your false king and remain loyal to my blood than live as your prisoner," she spat, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. "I could never stand beside you. Not after what you’ve done… not after—"

"You would forsake all we had?" Aemond’s voice was a dangerous whisper, trembling with barely contained emotion. “Forsake me, just to see me dead? Is that what you truly desire?”

"Would I rather die than watch you spill more innocent blood for a throne that is not yours?" she shouted, her voice sharp and unyielding. "Yes, Aemond, I would!"

Aemond’s eye narrowed, his face twisting with a mix of anger and hurt. Her words struck deep, each one a dagger to his heart. His grip tightened on the sword, the blade wavering as he grappled with the storm of emotions within him, torn between the fury of betrayal and the agony of lost love.

For a moment, the weight of his own rage and grief threatened to overwhelm him, and he hesitated, the sword trembling in his hand as he looked down at her, his breath ragged, his soul torn between vengeance and longing.

"As for what we had, I have said my piece," she spat, her voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. "I told you what would happen the last time you saw me. You should not be shocked. Do you take my words lightly? You broke everything, Aemond. You. My trust—the promises you made. Our love. My family. When I was gone… when I was 'dead'... did you shed a single tear for me, husband? Did you? In that moment, was it worth it? Was it all worth it?" Her voice cracked, the pain of her memories washing over her like a wave. "And here I find you, carrying on with your duties as if I meant nothing. I know where your true loyalties lie."

Aemond's expression darkened, her words slicing through him like a blade. He knew she was right. He had shattered everything between them, chosen power over love, ambition over loyalty. But knowing this did not make it any easier to bear. His guilt and pain swirled in his eye like a tempest, a storm of emotions he could barely contain.

She stared into his one good eye, searching for any sign of the man she once knew, waiting for him to press the blade to her neck and end it all. Yet he did not move.

Aemond’s jaw clenched, her bitter truths cutting deep into his soul. Words failed him. A fierce battle raged within—a primal urge to reclaim what was his, to prove his strength and control, clashing with a buried, forgotten part of him that still loved her, that wanted nothing more than to keep her safe.

"Kill me," she cried, tears welling up and threatening to spill over. She wept for herself, for her treacherous husband, for her brothers and mother, for all that had been lost in the war. But still, Aemond did not move.

Aemond’s hand shook as he looked down at her, the sight of her tears tearing his heart to pieces. He stood frozen, paralyzed by the maelstrom of his own emotions, caught between his desire to grant her wish and his desperate need to protect her.

Then, slowly, he pulled his sword back, sliding it into its sheath.

"W-what… what are you doing?" she stammered, confusion and anger mixing in her voice.

Aemond didn’t answer. Instead, he dropped to his knees before her, his eye dark and holding pain and guilt. He reached out, as if seeking a lifeline in the tempest of his soul.

Aemond's voice was rough and broken, the words barely escaping his throat, choked with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You need to go. If anyone finds you here, they will kill you."

"What-I do not understand!" she exclaimed as he hauled her to her feet.

"You don't understand? You don't understand? You just asked me to kill you, and now you don't understand? Are you mad?"

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice uncertain, unsure of what had just transpired, unsure of what he meant—of what this meant.

Aemond clenched his jaw, wanting to pull her into his arms, to protect her from everything, to keep her safe. Yet, there was a part of him that wanted to destroy, to tear apart everything and everyone that had caused her pain.

"What do you not understand?" His voice cracked, the words filled with a raw intensity.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, holding that hopeful and innocent gaze that she use to give him. Something inside him broke. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin, his grip almost painful in its urgency. "Yes, you sweet little fool."

"Aemond," she whispered, his name a breathless prayer of disbelief. She could feel the gravity of the moment, knowing this would change everything.

He stared down at her. His voice was raw and filled with remorse, his guilt palpable. "I have failed you, wife. My selfishness overpowered my love for you. I owe you a debt I fear I can never repay."

Her brow furrowed, her eyes brimming with tears. He guided her toward the darkened halls, pushing her gently toward a hidden passage.

"Aemond," she whispered again, the name heavy with sorrow and disbelief, like a fragile plea.

Aemond's heart clenched at the sound of his name on her lips, a mixture of sadness and disbelief that pierced him to his very core. He halted in the shadowy passageway, pulling her closer, his hand tenderly brushing away a tear that rolled down her cheek.

"I... I-" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

"Shush," he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb caressed her cheek, catching another tear that slipped from her eyes.

They stood frozen in the dim light of the old passage, the only illumination a flickering torch above. Nothing existed in that moment but them, the world beyond fading away.

Aemond's gaze roamed over her face, absorbing every detail in the muted light. The sadness and turmoil in her expression made his chest tighten painfully. He drew her closer, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him. His hand cradled her face, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over her bottom lip.

"Do I have your word?" she asked, her voice no longer that of a princess to a prince, but of a wife to her husband. She sought his promise not for her family, not for the Blacks, but for herself.

Aemond's eyes narrowed as he gazed down at her, his hand still cupping her face, his other arm firm around her waist. "You have my word," he said, his voice unwavering, the words carrying the weight of an oath sworn before the gods.

He felt the gravity of her farewell in her gaze, the sadness and love in her eyes cutting him deeper than any blade. Tightening his hold, his arms encircled her with a possessive strength, as if by sheer force he could keep her safe, keep her by his side.

"You have to go," he whispered, his voice rough and hoarse with emotion.

She lifts herself up, pulling on the back of his neck, bringing his lips down to meet hers. The kiss is soft, yet fierce with emotion. He can feel the wetness of her tears against his mouth, mingling with the salty taste of his own.

The sensation of her lips against his sends a jolt through Aemond, a shock of electricity that nearly leaves him breathless. His arms tighten around her, pulling her closer, his hand threading through her hair as he tilts her head back to deepen the kiss. There’s a desperation to his touch, a frantic need to hold on to her, to memorize the taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his, as if this moment might be their last.

He breathes her in, feeling her sob into the kiss, her breath shuddering against his lips. It feels as though he's drowning in her, in the scent of her hair, in the softness of her skin beneath his hands. He wants to lose himself in her, to take her and keep her with him forever, his little princess.

Aemond feels a storm raging inside him, a whirlwind of emotions that he can't contain. Desire and desperation mix with a raw, possessive hunger, a need to claim her, to make her his again. His hands roam over her body, pressing her back against the cold stone wall behind them. His kisses grow rougher, more insistent, a fierce expression of everything he’s feeling—anger, fear, longing, and that lingering, aching love.

He traps her between the wall and his body, his hands moving over her as if trying to imprint the memory of her into his very skin. He kisses her with a fervor that borders on madness, desperate to hold on to her, to keep her from slipping away again. Every touch, every kiss, is a promise, a plea, and a confession of the depth of his feeling for her.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

smut in part II