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Chapter Text

King’s landing was…not what you’d expected. Coren had told you about it, of course, about the heat and the noise and the smell, but hearing about it and living it were two entirely different things, and there were things he couldn’t have prepared you for. He hadn’t told you about how even at night it never got properly cold, for example, or about how the air tasted metallic instead of salty. He hadn’t thought to mention that absolutely no one at court was wearing royal blue this summer, or that your hair was expected to be braided, but still down practically all the time. And he hadn’t told you about how lonely it could be being this far south. Even in the small, sad little Godswood you felt like people were watching you, whispering to themselves about the Northern Girl In The Blue Dress With Her Hair Up who clearly didn’t belong.

But that was the point, you reminded yourself for the millionth time, you were supposed to stand out. When the decision had been made to send you and Daerra here it was specifically so you could draw attention to yourselves and become beacons for potential allies. You touched the silver necklace you’d been wearing since your arrival, making sure the merman sigil of your house was visible for anyone who might be watching you.

The Manderlys were rich, powerful, influential in the North. Your house commanded a massive army, you generally followed the faith of the seven, which made you appealing to southerners, and you were neutral. More important than anything else, house Manderly was neutral on the topic of succession.

“Will you stop worrying?” Your friend, and fellow conspirator, Daerra Velaryon teased, linking her arm through yours as you strolled through the gardens, “Daerion said we had nothing to worry about.”

“Daerion could be wrong,” you pointed out, “in fact, he very often is wrong. Remember when we were nine and he swore he’d seen a child of the forest, so we followed him into the woods and-”

“Yes, thank you,” she interrupted, “the nightmares are quite enough of a reminder of that encounter.” She squeezed your arm, “He’s not wrong about this, though. People are angry, all we need to do is-”

“Look pretty, make good matches and not pick a side,” you finished.

“And drink, host lavish parties and waste our youth on foolhardy pursuits,” she smiled, “honestly, of the jobs, we got the best ones.”

“Kerran’s is easier.”

Daerra roller her pretty royal purple eyes, “Kerran is 15. He’s an honorary member of the council at best and you know it. And you can tell him I said that, he’s your brother after all.”

“Aw, Dae, you’ll break his little heart,” you teased.

“And he’ll be wiser for it.”

You took a moment to study your friend. She was beautiful, the way all Velaryons were, striking with her white curls, deep purple eyes and dark skin, but there was something extra to Daerra, a softness and lightness. Looking at her, one couldn't help but feel lucky to be in her presence. She exuded a welcoming and sparkling energy, just perfect for the task at hand.

You knew how you looked when paired together like this; her the very picture of Valyrian greatness and regality, you, the embodiment of Westerosi beauty. Your friendship was as much a visual statement of your political leanings as it was a honeytrap for noblemen. Two young, single, wealthy women with matching silver pendants and brothers who were primed to take over some of the most influential areas of trade in the realm. Who wouldn’t try their luck, right?

There were a few of them there, watching from balconies or walking through the gardens themselves. Not close enough to be a bother, but making no attempt to hide their interest. You made an effort to smile at ones you knew may be beneficial; a Tyrell here, a Manning or Buckwell there, anyone not wearing green or black. They were few and far between.

“When Daerion comes back, we’ll have a better idea of what our options are,” Daerra said comfortingly, noticing the tense line of your mouth, “don’t give up just yet.”

“We’re already too late,” you whispered, as a man and woman in green stepped past you, “this place is like a powder keg. We should have come months ago.”

“You know why we couldn’t.” Daerra said shortly.

You stopped walking, your cheeks burning with shame as you turned to her, “Daerra I’m so sorry. Of course we couldn’t have. Lord Vaemond was-I didn’t mean to suggest-”

“I know, love,” she assured you with a sad smile, “my father’s death was…unexpected, but life goes on.”

“Dae, if you can’t be here-”

“I can be here,” she interrupted, with the forced joviality of someone not quite sure of what they’re saying, “it’s-I can be here.”

You gave her arm what you hoped was a comforting squeeze and, together, you continued your walk. For a long while you talked about nothing of importance; home, your brothers, fond memories you’d shared throughout the years. It was nice. One of the best parts of being in King’s Landing was getting to spend time with Daerra again. You’d been a ward of the Velaryons for a few years when you were a child but, after your mother passed away, you’d been summoned home. It was….jarring, to say the least, but you’d adjusted, and just when being in the North had started to feel more normal than breathing, you’d left for King’s Landing. You seemed doomed to be perpetually out of place. Too southern for the North. Too northern for the South. Talking with Daerra helped though. She knew you. She felt like home, even if the Red Keep didn’t.

It had been your idea to bring the Velaryons into the Silver Council, long before it was even a proper scheme, when your brothers, sister and you were just planning between the four of you how to handle the almost inevitable civil war that was brewing. Between the Hightowers blind ambition and blatant mistrust of anyone who wasn’t them and the Targaryens’ impulsivity, quick tempers and literal fire breathing dragons, no one seemed to be contemplating the cost to the realm. Your family saw fields burning, White Harbor a smoldering ruin, your people scattered, scorched and broken, over a chair so far south that none of them would likely ever even see the King or Queen in person. The destruction Aegon the Conqueror had wrought with just 3 dragons was legendary. What the Blacks and Greens could do with eight or nine was unimaginable. The cost was simply too high, and everyone knew better than to expect the Greens and the Blacks to care much on their own. No, they would need to be convinced to care, and so the Silver Council was born.

Seven young nobles from powerful but unaligned houses with unbreakable ties of friendship to one another, whose sole goal was to form similar bonds between the Blacks and Greens, bonds strong enough to make them hesitate before blindly wiping their enemies (and whatever town, city, village or community happened to be nearby) from existence. Well, that was plan A) anyway.

Plan B) was…more pessimistic, but also more realistic. If war couldn’t be avoided, the Silver Council needed to make sure whatever did come was brief. This was no easy task. They needed to amass enough support around them that, when war broke out, they could make a quick decision on who to support and overwhelm the opposition so completely that any continued resistance would be futile. This meant alliances, and alliances meant…well, both Coren and Daerion had unmarried sisters.

It was a last ditch effort, a hope to keep as many of your people alive as you could through the bitter and bloody confrontation that was to come. More than likely you’d fail, but at least you’d have failed together, and you’d die knowing you at least tried to make a difference. The core members of the group were the four Manderlys; Coren, Camylla, Kerran and you; the twins, Daerra and Daerion Velaryon; and Kevan Reyne of Castamere. Both Coren and Daerion had recently inherited their fathers’ titles. Coren had married a Tully, Camylla had married a Beesbury, Kevan was engaged to a Buckler and even young Kerran had a promising match with a Frey. As far as marriage alliances went, you, Daerion and Daerra were all that was left, and it was up to you to marry well, strategically, and quickly. King Viserys wasn’t on death's door by any means, but it was clear his health was failing. By the time he died and the Hightowers challenged Rhaenyra’s succession, the Silver Council needed to be ready.

Daerra was a natural at putting people at ease, Daerion was charming, bold and endlessly interesting and you had a knack for building trust. Together, you were the perfect team to work on plan A) and, if that failed, all three of you were beauties with large inheritances and impeccable pedigrees. You could be the linchpins for plan B).

You were telling Daerra a funny story about Coren and an unbroken stallion when she nudged your ribs in warning. Your head shot up just in time to see two white haired men walking your way and, instinctively, you both sunk into deep curtseys.

“My ladies,” Prince Aegon greeted, with a lazy bow and a knowing smirk, “might I say, you’re both looking as lovely as ever this morning.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Daerra smiled, turning her effervescent smile up a notch.

“Truly, you’re too kind, your grace,” you echoed.

Prince Aegon Targaryen was a beautiful man. The gentle waves of his white hair framed big, mauve eyes, high cheekbones and a pleasant forehead. He was lean and well muscled. He walked with an easy, loping gait, as though he had nowhere of importance to be. His face seemed built for smiling. With all that said, he put your teeth on edge. Technically, Aegon was the man at court you were supposed to be focussing your attention on. He was young, powerful, unmarried and unmistakably a Green. Whispers suggested that King Viserys wanted him wed, and preferably to someone neutral, someone outside the usual crop of court familiars, who could help endear the royal family to the people again after a decade of near endless scandal. And who could possibly be better for that task, the Silvers had asked themselves than a Manderly? It couldn’t be Daerra, they’d agreed. After what had happened with Vaemond, there would be too much talk, so it had to be you. The court in general seemed to agree. Rumors had been flying about an upcoming proposal almost since the day you arrived and, judging by how often Aegon seemed to seek you out, he seemed amenable to the idea. His beauty felt like a mask though, behind which lay a never ending cavern of selfishness, cruelty and excess and, when his eyes traced your body, as they always did, you fought back the urge to shiver.

At the sound of your voice, the other man shifted, as though shrugging off a coat, and you felt the familiar bubble of embarrassment and anger start to spark in the pit of your stomach. Aemond Targaryen was, truly, nothing like his brother. Where Aegon was all soft edges and warm, lazy grins, Aemond was angles and clean, efficient movements when he bowed. His hair was pin straight, long, and never unkempt. His clothing was always neat, never over or under-dressed, never too attention grabbing, but still clearly expensive. In the month that you’d been here, you had never seen him smile, or laugh, unless it was cruelly and at someone else’s expense. Where his brother was clearly attempting charm, Aemond seemed to be actively avoiding it, as he always did when you were around.

“You’re both looking well,” you commented, shooting Aemond a look from the corner of your eye, “I hear the hunt was a success.”

Aegon smiled more broadly, and you knew you’d said the right thing, “That it was! Yes, the lads and I had quite the time of it. Your brother, in particular, did well for himself, Lady Daerra.”

“That’s good to hear,” she replied, “he was always more of a fisherman back home.”

Aemond muttered something under his breath, looking around with poorly disguised irritation. He was beautiful, you admitted to yourself with some disappointment. Maybe even more so than Aegon. Something about Aemond’s face made you want to look at him, even when he was so clearly invested in not looking at you.

“He mentioned that you were a particularly fine horserider, Lady Y/N,” Aegon explained, turning his attention to you, “said you’d taught him all he knew while you were a ward on Driftmark.”

You giggled, though it sounded fake even to your ears, “Lord Daerion is too kind, he was already very capable when we met.”

“She lies to save my twin’s pride, your highness,” Daerra insisted, “Lady Y/N is truly the best horseman I’ve ever seen. Any skill either my brother or I have on a horse must be attributed to her.”

Aemond scoffed, and you felt your skin grow hot. There wasn’t much you took excessive pride in, but your skill in the saddle was one of them, and to be scoffed at, like a child, felt like a personal slight.

“Well now I simply must hear more,” Aegon said with barely restrained delight, “might we accompany you ladies on your walk? It would give us time to hear all about your talent for…riding.” Aegon asked, more for show than anything else. He was a prince, you couldn’t really refuse.

Your embarrassment grew. If it were anyone else, you would make some snarky comment, but even the dumbest fool in King’s Landing knew that Aegon was unpredictable. He was as likely to have you beaten as to laugh, so best to err on the side of caution.

“Aegon.” Aemond sighed, tiredly.

“I’m sorry, your grace,” you said to him, more snappily than you’d meant to, “are we keeping you from something?”

Aemond’s good eye focussed on you for the first time during the exchange. For the briefest moment you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The intensity of his gaze was frightening. He simply observed you, seemingly shocked that you dared to address him, then his violet eye narrowed and he looked away, breaking the spell.

“No, Lady Y/N,” he eventually said, when the silence was about to stretch too long, “of course not.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine, like a hundred spiders scattering along your vertebrae. It wasn’t harsh, and brittle, the way you felt it ought to be. Instead it was smooth and sharp, like a blade, or like the crack of a riding crop against a wooden pole. On anyone else it would be pleasant, but on Aemond it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Aemond was steadfastly avoiding your eye again, staring straight ahead and out towards the horizon like he knew it would irritate you. At first, that might sound unbearably arrogant but, knowing Aemond, that was very likely his motivation.

For some reason, from the moment you’d stepped foot in the castle and been presented to King Viserys, Aemond had disliked you, or at least had been endlessly annoyed with your existence. He was civil, when he had to be. He bowed, gave tight lipped responses to direct questions, even sat across from you once at dinner, but he had never actually independently spoken to you. Around you, sure. About you, definitely, and usually mockingly, but never directly to you. At least not without consistent prodding. It bugged you more than it should have, really. But, in your defense, you were nice.

At every opportunity you were friendly and welcoming and intelligent. You were well learned, well traveled, witty. You asked good questions and listened with interest and you never put anyone down if you could help it. In general, people enjoyed being around you. They found you charming, that’s why you’d been sent to this damn place!

And yet, there was Aemond, hating you on sight for reasons you had yet to discern.

“You must ignore my brother,” Aegon replied, “he’s never been the most, how should I say this?” he pondered, “He’s never been the most socially competent. It would do him some good to spend some time in the company of two such charming and accomplished ladies as yourselves. In fact, he would be delighted to, isn’t that right, Aemond?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave his brother a sarcastic, tight lipped smile, “If you say so, brother.”

Aegon beamed and clapped his hands together once, “Then it’s settled. Lady Y/N, if I may,” He offered you his arm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond sigh, again and so, feeling unjustifiably slighted, you plastered on your brightest smile and took the prince’s arm, determined to refocus on your task.

“Thank you, my prince, you honor me,” you answered with a mischievous smile, letting your voice dip lower as you wrapped your wrist around Aegon’s bicep and gave it a gentle squeeze.

The way his breath caught in his throat and his eyes dropped to your lips told you you’d been successful in your flirtation. It was a tad bolder than you generally liked to be, especially around Aegon, but you got a kick out of how much it clearly irritated his brother. Aemond, for his part, looked as though he would rather have been literally anywhere else but, like the dutiful second he was, he offered his arm to Daerra and fell into step beside you.

You walked together for some time, exchanging pleasantries, asking after one anothers’ families. Daerra made you and Aegon laugh with stories of fishing mishaps and sailboat comedies, Aegon gave heavily embellished accounts of his exploits on the hunt, you explained how you’d grown into such a fine horseman and Aemond, as predicted, said almost nothing. It would have been lovely if not for Aegon’s ever present suggestive commentary and barely disguised stares at your chest on your one side, and Aemond’s constant, silent presence on your other.

The only moment of discomfort came when you stumbled on a loose cobblestone and, as you prepared to hit the ground, found yourself supported by a pair of strong, firm arms. Aemond flushed red almost immediately, placing you back on your feet with some half muttered warning to watch your step. It was so quick that, if it wasn’t for the way your skin tingled, you would have been forgiven for thinking it had never happened. Instead, you simply thanked him for his help, and then continued on your walk, trying to push the moment out of your mind.

Soon enough, a messenger came for the princes, summoning them to the Yard for training.

“Thank the Gods,” you swore you heard Aemond whisper, even as Aegon pouted like a child.

“You should go, my prince,” you said, squeezing his arm again, “Lady Daerra and I will be around should you wish to call on us again, later.”

He sighed, but seemed mollified by your hand still tucked into his arm, “Right you are, my lady. I suppose I shall be seeing you both at dinner, then?”

Aemond’s head shot back towards his brother like an arrow, something like panic in his pale eye.

“Uh-I don’t believe so, your highness,” Daerra answered, “we didn’t receive an invitation of any kind.”

“Aeg, think this through-” Aemond warned, but Aegon ignored him and stayed focussed on Daerra.

“Nonsense, of course you’ll come. I’ll send a page to fetch the two of you and Daerion when it’s time. You’ll be my personal guests. You’ll love it, the whole family will be there.”

“The whole family?” You repeated, with a hint of fear.

Aaegon looked down at you, perplexed, “Yes, of course, the whole family, my dear, I just said that. Anyway, we’ll see you then. Dress nicely, there’ll be dancing I’m sure.”

You and Daerra stuttered out your thanks, curtseying again as the princes took their leave of you. As they left, you could hear Aemond muttering furiously at his brother. You looked up just in time to catch the moment where he looked back at you, holding your gaze for a moment, before dragging Aegon away.

Just then, the familiar figure of Daerion Velaryon appeared beside you.

“What did I miss?” He asked, looking between the retreating figures of the princes and you and his sister, standing there in bewilderment.

“I think-” Daerra started, her voice fading off.

“I think we just got invited to a royal banquet.” You finished.

Daerion raised his eyebrows in shock, “Wow, shit.” he said in awe.

“Shit.” you and Daerra agreed.

Chapter Text

From the outside, Aemon Targaryen looked like he was sulking. He wasn’t, or at least he wasn’t trying to, but he knew how it looked, which only made him even more frustrated. He was fidgeting, snapping at people, drowning himself in endless cups of sweet wine and generally just being incredibly anti-social. So, yeah, he looked like he was sulking. In reality, he was fighting back a truly embarrassing combination of anticipation, anxiety and panic. Aegon had sent his personal page to fetch you and the Velaryons just a few minutes ago, and Aemond couldn’t relax knowing that you were on your way.

There was something about you that made him…unsettled. Actually, it wasn’t something, everything about you seemed to irk him. Your voice, your simpering little giggles, your stupid dresses, the way you wore your hair. He couldn’t stand the way you threw your head back when you laughed, or the way you looked up at Aegon through your eyelashes and smiled that secret, tantalizing little smile. It made Aemond’s blood boil every time you called his brother “my prince”, or squeezed his arm, or laughed at his jokes like they weren’t physically painful to listen to. And your face, ugh. From the moment you’d arrived in King’s Landing, Aemond had been forced to endure seeing you around every corner and hearing about you from every man, woman and child he came across. If you’d been ugly it might have bugged him less, but you weren’t. You were beautiful in a way Aemond hadn’t been prepared for and, really, that was the crux of it. He hadn’t been ready.

If he had known you were coming tonight he may have-I don’t know-faked an illness, or planned a patrol, or gone out on a long flight on Vhagar. Seven hells, if he’d known you were coming to King’s Landing he could have fled to the North, or hopped on the first boat to Essos, or at least formulated a plan of some kind to mitigate the damage you were doing to his peace of mind. Of course, no one else had an issue with you.

Noooo, everyone loved Lady Y/N Manderly. Even Aegon!

Especially, Aegon.

Aemond felt a familiar flick of irritation as he remembered the painstaking stroll through the garden Aegon had trapped him in. He took a deep swig of wine, remembering how you’d fallen and he’d moved to catch you. It was odd. He felt…shaken by what had happened. Every time he thought about the moment, how he’d moved without thinking, how it had been instinctive and instantaneous, it was like he could still feel the weight of you in his arms. No amount of training had managed to help him move past it, particularly the wave of relief he’d felt when he placed you gently back on your feet, and the look on Aegon’s face, the knowing, mocking little smile, like he’d just won a prize or solved a puzzle. It was a look Aemond was all too familiar with, and it never boded well.

“Penny for your thoughts, brother?” Helaena asked, appearing at his side like a ghost.

“Hmm?” Aemond replied, snapping back to the present, “Nothing, sweet one. I’m just-” he let his voice trail off.

Helaena frowned, “Is it the fact that our sister and her children are still here?”

Aemond scoffed, casting a disgusted glance at his nephews where they stood on the other side of the banquet room. Jace and Luke seemed, as always, annoyingly happy and at ease. On any other night, that would have been enough to set Aemond on edge. It said a lot that he was far too preoccupied with his hatred of you to even notice them.

“No, no, it’s not them.” he answered honestly.

“Is it Aegon?” Helaena pressed, “He does seem worryingly happy tonight.”

Aemond chuckled, “He does, doesn’t he?”

“Mermaids and seahorses bathed in silver, bathed in fire. Blood on stones, blood on silk. The beast bears the burden.” she muttered to herself, twisting her hands at her sides.

Aemond wrapped an arm around Helaena and gave her a tight squeeze, just trying to ground her in her body and bring her back to the present. She’d been saying that for days now and, whatever it meant, it clearly upset her. Even to Aemond, the prophecy had a sinister ring to it.

“He wants to marry Lady Y/N, doesn’t he?” Helaena asked, when the moment had passed.

Aemond sighed, “It seems that way, yes. They both seem…very interested in that match.”

“He won’t,” she responded, “dragons and dragons. Mermaids must learn to fall before they learn to fly.”

“If you say so, sweet one,” Aemond smiled.

“It’s a shame,” she continued, “if they got married things might…” she paused, “maybe it could have ended differently.”

“Nothing’s ending, sweet.”

Helaena smiled up at him sadly, leaning into his side for a brief hug, “Everything’s ending. I’m just the only one who sees it.”

They lapsed into silence, with Aemond pondering her words and trying to parse out meaning, and Helaena trying, and failing, to covertly catch Jacaerys’ eye. Aemond sighed, but ignored it, already too exhausted by his own nerves to warn his sister against fraternizing with Rhaenyra’s children for the hundredth time.

Where the fuck was that page anyway? Aaemond wondered. It wasn’t far from the banquet hall to your chambers, not that Aemond knew where your chambers were exactly. Alright, sure, he knew which one you were staying in, but only because he’d walked Helaena passed them once or twice and she’d mentioned it. The point was, you should have arrived by now. More likely than not you were stalling, wasting everyone’s time fiddling with your intricate updos and strangely cut gowns and jewels, unconcerned about your impact on others, as always. Selfish, vapid thing that you were, surely you knew they were all waiting to eat? Waiting for you to grace them with your strange northern presence and charm his family with your…your..you-ness.

Aemond snorted and forced his thoughts away, watching as Aegon whispered something into a serving girl’s ear, one eye trained on the door. Clearly he wasn’t the only one waiting.

“Doesn’t he see what she’s doing?” Aemond said, without thinking, gesturing at Aegon with his cup, “Is he really stupid enough to think she actually-” he paused, feeling Helaena’s eyes boring into his skin, “she wants to be queen! Doesn’t he see that?”

“And, we’re talking about….?” Helaena asked.

“Lady Y/N!” he explained impatiently, gesturing at Aegon again, “he invited her to this dinner to impress her because he thinks she’s impressed by him and not his association with the throne. Doesn’t he get that?”

Helaena suppressed a smile, “Of course he doesn’t, he’s Aegon,” she replied, “and even if he did, why would that matter?”

Aemond shrugged, annoyed, “Because!”

“Because why?” she pressed, clearly smirking now.

“Because she doesn’t actually like him.”

Helaena shrugged, “She might do. People find Aegon charming, you know? Handsome too.”

“She doesn’t.” Aemond answered without hesitation.

“And how can you be sure of that?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a look, “You’re asking me how I know something? You?”

Helaena nodded expectantly and Aemond sighed, draining his cup to give himself some time to come up with a reasonable answer. The truth was, he had no idea how he knew you despised his brother. He had no idea how he knew any of the things he knew about you. He just sort of, did. When he thought about it, all he could come up with was a sort of gut feeling that, if you loved Aegon, he would know. He’d be able to sense it in the way you walked, or talked or, I don’t know, breathed which, of course, sounded insane so he couldn’t just tell Helaena that.

“She just doesn’t,” he eventually said, “she can’t.”

Helaena watched him for a moment longer, making Aemond shift his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably.

“If you say so, brother. You know her a great deal better than I do.”

He gave her an incredulous look, his chest tightening with some unfamiliar feeling of dread, “I don’t know her, Helaena. We just-I mean we’ve-I’ve barely spoken to the woman.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Interesting. You don’t know her, but you do know for certain that she doesn’t-in fact that she can’t-love our brother?”

“Yes, exactly,” Aemond agreed, feeling the knot in his chest loosen.

Helaena sighed, “Oh, Aemond, you’re so-” she shook her head, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before breezing off to greet the Velaryons, leaving Aemond alone with his thoughts again.

He looked around the room, taking notice as he always did, of the number of guards, points of exit and entry and every possible defensible position. It was a sort of ritual of his, it calmed his nerves and sharpened his mind no matter where he was or what else was happening. Aemond wasn’t anticipating violence, of course, but he was always ready. Always prepared, just in case…

The memory of a sharp pain and a wave of darkness crashing over him echoed in his mind, but he pushed it away and went back to counting the number of weapons he could see. It was a beautifully set up dining room, grander than his mother would usually plan for just the family, but it was always like this when Rhaenyra and Daemon were in the city, let alone when the entire family arrived. Candles glittered on every available surface, the cutlery gleamed, there was a roaring fire keeping the room nice and warm, the wine was strong and plentiful and there was a band preparing to serenade the collection of royals at his mother’s first signal. It was almost cozy, almost welcoming, if only the guests would make an attempt at enjoying themselves.

Aemond knew he was one of the main obstacles to that. His nephews were having fun with Baella and Rhaena, joking and laughing amongst themselves, pouring wine as though they weren’t completely out of their depth. His sisters were talking to their father by the fireplace and, besides a smidge of awkwardness, they seemed to be getting along well. Daemon and Rhaenys were talking from their seats at the table. His grandfather was deep in discussion with his mother, who’s eyes kept flickering to Rhaenyra with a combination of suspicion and something he couldn’t identify, and Aegon would enjoy himself in a morgue so long as there was wine. So, really, Aemond was the only one actively not engaging in the revelry in some way or another. He wanted to, he always wanted to but-

Just then, the doors swung open and the missing page stepped inside, taking a deep breath as he prepared to announce;

“The Lady Daerra and Lord Daerion Velaryon, and the Lady Y/N Manderly,”

He took a deep bow, gesturing behind him to where you and your friends were standing, huddled together like birds. Aemond schooled his features into what he hoped was casual and relaxed disinterest, watching as his good for nothing brother jumped to his feet, nearly falling over himself to welcome you in.

Pathetic, he thought, as Aegon bent to kiss your hand. As if Aegon weren’t enough of a fool already.

He kept his eye trained firmly on his brother. He would not look at you. He would not. King Viserys joined Aegon, welcoming the three of you and waving away your deep curtseys and apologies for the imposition.

“Nonsense,” his voice boomed, with a good natured smile, “the more the merrier! It’s always exciting to have young people around, you know? You have such fascinating points of view.”

Aemond heard you laugh and say something self deprecating in return, and the urge to look nearly won out. Instead, he focussed on the Velaryons, who were looking at Rhaenys and Rhaenyra with uncertainty, as though they might object to the twins’ presence. They were a handsome pair, he noted, tall and slim with delicate features and perfectly cultivated style. Daerra was the darker of the two, with thick white curls and eyes so deep purple they looked almost the color of eggplant, while Daerion was slightly fairer, kept his hair shaved short and had lighter eyes, closer to plum. Valyrian, through and through, they looked right at home amongst the gaggle of Targaryens and true born Velaryons, which just made the outliers look even more out of place, outliers like-

His traitorous eye flicked to you for just a moment, but it was enough. Just like before, he felt the swell of something prickly and uncomfortable in his chest, setting his teeth on edge. Your gown was exquisite, even in its strangeness. All green, blue and silver brocade with black detailing. The suggestion of scales along your bodice, the hint of a trident on your sleeves, tasteful and subtle and-

Mesmerizing. You looked mesmerizing.

Your hair was pinned to the back of your head with a pearl net, with only one solitary lock hanging over your shoulder, catching the light and drawing attention to your slender neck and exposed collarbones. Your make-up was subtle, your jewelry effortlessly in balance with your gown but still opulent enough to denote your family’s wealth. Aemond was suddenly painfully aware of his own, fairly simple outfit. He also realized, with a start, that he wasn’t breathing, and his lungs were screaming for air. As he let out the breath he was holding, he must have made some noise, because your Y/C/E flicked to his, freezing him in his tracks, before you looked away, with the aura of someone who was definitively unimpressed.

Seven Hells, how did you do that? How could you make him feel so small with just a look?

By now, everyone was coming over to say their greetings and Aemond knew he had to do the same. It would be improper to stay in his corner, no matter how badly he might want to, so he pushed himself off the wall, affected an unbothered air, and tried to stroll over as though he hadn’t been dreading this moment all day.

“My lady, my lord,” he greeted, giving Daerion a brief bow and bending to kiss Daerra’s hand.

“Your highness,” they greeted in unison.

Steeling himself, as though preparing for battle, Aemond turned to you, “My lady.”

“Your highness,” you greeted with another curtsey, extending your hand for him to take, “thank you for having us tonight.”

Damn you, he thought to himself, damn you and your politeness. His heart was thumping in his chest, like he’d just run a race, and he could feel his blood flooding with adrenaline. The prickly feeling in his chest intensified as you watched one another, both searching for a sign of weakness to give them an upper hand. Aemond couldn’t help but feel, with a measure of embarrassment as he looked into your eyes, that he may not be the clear front runner in this particular match up.

He bowed his head graciously, partially as an excuse to break eye contact, and took your hand in his, fighting the urge to run as far away from this whole night as he possibly could. Even so, a small part of his brain registered that your hands were rougher than he might have expected, as though there were callouses. He wondered if his own hands felt similar.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all ours,” he replied, bending to press his lips to your knuckles, as was customary.

It felt like a bolt of lightning, when he kissed your skin and, again, his instinct was to turn and flee. His cheeks felt hot, burning hot like coals under his skin. Something was wrong with you, he reasoned. It had to be. Why else would he be so…out of sorts?

He maintained the contact for the shortest possible time, dropping your hand quickly and standing up straight. As he did, he caught sight of you and was momentarily struck by the look on your face. It was subtle, but he could see it nonetheless, after all he was used to that look on peoples’ faces; you were afraid. And that shouldn’t hurt, should it? That shouldn’t make his stomach fill with lead, but it did anyway, so he stepped back and made his face a mask, like he’d done so many times before.

No one noticed the moment except Aegon, who gave his brother that cruel little smile that made Aemond’s stomach pinch, and conversation resumed while Aemond tried to keep himself from spiraling into panic. Rhaenys hugged you, Rhaenyra and Alicent both grasped your hands and asked after your family, Jace engaged Daerion in conversation about sailing, Daerra was asking Helaena about something that made her smile and everyone forgot about Aemond. Soon enough, Viserys was ushering everyone to their seats and, still trapped in his own moment of panic, Aemond missed Aegon’s hand as it slipped along the table, switching seating organizations around without anyone noticing.

“Would you look at that?” Aegon announced with faux frivolity, “Aemond, you’re here by Lady Y/N and me! What fun this’ll be.”

Aemond shot his brother a poisonous look, but he couldn’t do anything but nod, taking his place beside you as Aegon pulled out your chair and took his own seat across from his brother. Aemond sent a silent prayer to the gods for strength, and for forgiveness for the vengeance he would enact against his meddling son of a bitch of a brother at the earliest proper opportunity.

But for now, he simply tried to think of something to say. He thought for so long that, before he knew it, the starters had been served, finished, and taken away without him even registering it. Your presence so close to his side was like a trumpet in his head, scattering his thoughts and keeping him from truly relaxing. It didn’t help that, while he was in a silent hell, you were doing what you did best and charming every person in even vaguely close proximity to you.

Aemond noticed, without meaning to, that Jacaerys Velaryon was particularly charmed, leaning forward to listen as you spoke, asking you endless questions about the North and laughing uproariously at every joke you made. Aegon noticed too, and was compensating the way he always did, by making snide remarks that Jace simply ignored, and gradually getting drunker and drunker. After Jace commented on the uniqueness of your gown, something in Aegon seemed to snap, and his eyes turned again to one of his favorite punching bags, Aemond.

“Yes, lady Y/N does make a striking impression tonight, does she not, brother?” He asked Aemond directly, “Is that why you’ve become so mute? Struck dumb by a pretty girl, hm?”

“Aegon, stop-” Helaena attempted, but it was in vain.

The nearby chatter died down, and Aemond could practically feel the embarrassment pouring off of you in waves. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat that formed when he thought about how uncomfortable his presence made you, seeing that flicker of fear in your face appear again and again in his mind, but he pressed on, forcing a smile.

“It must be that, brother,” he allowed, relieved when his voice came out clear and unphased, “or perhaps, after all these years with you and my nephew here, I’ve accepted that I simply can’t get a word in edgeways, even if I try.”

Aegon’s triumphant smile soured, but Aemond couldn’t even take the time to enjoy it because, at the same moment, he heard a new sound, laughter. The tension had broken, and Aemond breathed an inward sigh of relief, returning to his supper with a sense of accomplishment.

Aegon leaned forward, “So you don’t think lady Y/N is lovely then?” he asked more quietly this time.

You stiffened again, “My prince-”

“Hush,” Aegon snapped, “I’m talking to my dearest baby brother. Hm, Aemond? Do you think her ugly?”

“No,” He replied quickly and firmly, feeling a rush of anger at his brother’s seeming lack of care for your comfort.

He didn’t like you much, but that didn’t mean you deserved to be subjected to Aegon’s games. No one deserved that, especially when Aegon had forced you to come here in the first place.

He turned to you with what he hoped was a comforting smile, “You do look lovely, lady Y/N,” he admitted, “Truly. I apologize if I have been impolite.”

You shook your head quickly, but Aemond swore he saw a hint of water in your eyes, and knew by the flush on your cheeks and chest that you were still mortified.

“It’s no bother, your highness,” you assured him, “no bother at all.” You returned to your food but then looked up suddenly again, “And thank you, for the compliment. You look very dashing yourself.”

Now it was Aemond’s turn to flush, but he managed to thank you for your kind words without too much strain.

“Everyone here looks so lovely,” you continued, raising your voice enough to include the whole table in your conversation, “though I wonder how you manage it with all this heat.”

“It’s the silk,” Rhaenyra explained, “we simply must get you-”

“Yes my dressmaker would be”

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose-”

“It’s no imposition, really-”

And, just like that, the conversation moved on. Only something had shifted. Aemond was being left alone again, but now it felt less like being trapped in hell beside a pit viper and more like you’d thrown a blanket over his head, giving him permission to hide from the world while you deflected attention and allowed him to catch his breath.

It was nice. Almost.

The night passed and, slowly, Aemond began to enjoy himself. It helped that you left your seat at the earliest opportunity and had spent several songs dancing with Daerra and Helaena, occasionally breaking to allow Jace and Aegon to puff up their chests and beg for a dance or two. With you gone, Aemond could finally just enjoy his night, chatting with his mother and grandfather, comparing training regimens with Daerion and swapping out the dry wine his mother had selected with his preference, a much sweeter Dornish blend that had the added side effect of getting him drunk much faster.

It was a little bit like magic, the effect you and your friends had on his family. Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior. People who had been staunch enemies for Aemond’s whole life made casual small talk, Aegon laughed with Jace about something, which hadn’t happened since they were boys. Even his mother seemed to feel the effect, complimenting Rhaenyra on her gown without a hint of sarcasm. Had it not been you, Aemond would have been impressed. Instead, he drank and tried to figure out your motivations.

Soon enough, Helaena had convinced him to dance, and so he asked Rhaena to join him on the floor, then Baela, then Daerra. Even his mother got the chance to dance with him. The more he drank though, the more aware he was of you. Everytime he thought he’d forgotten, or escaped your grating, prickly presence, he’d hear a snippet of your laugh, or catch a glimpse of your hair as Daemon spun you around and his stomach would sink.

Whatever momentary truce there had been between you seemed to be over, as you didn’t so much as shoot a glance at him until the early hours of the morning, when the party had died down and Aemond had to drag his half conscious brother off the wall, where he had seemingly tried to trap you, and hand him off to one of his serving men. You crinkled up your nose in disgust as Aegon had to pause to throw up, the sound echoing off the stone walls as he was carted off to dry out in his chambers.

“Idiot,” Aemond muttered, without meaning to.

You giggled, but it wasn’t the giggle Aemond was used to hearing from you. This one was a little deeper, a little softer, a tired sound that didn’t set his teeth on edge the way it should have. He looked at you sharply, and you blushed, covering your hand with your mouth as you realized that you had just laughed at a prince of the realm.

“Your highness I am so sorry, I-”

The fear in your voice made Aemond sad, but it also just made him feel tired, and he waved off your apology.

“Don’t be, he is an idiot.” he assured you.

“I’m sure he’s just drunk,” you offered kindly.

Aemond shook his head, sighing again as Aegon’s slurred singing voice bounced off the pillars,“I think we both know that isn’t true.”

You pursed your lips, but said nothing, not that Aemond could really blame you. He wanted to though, just because.

“I believe that signals the end of this particular party,” Aemond said, looking around as the band packed up and the adults started herding younger children off towards bed.

He had no idea why he was still talking to you. He could just leave, after all, but he found he didn’t want to. Not just yet anyway.

You nodded, your perfect updo markedly less perfect after a night of drinking and being spun around like a top.

“Did you have fun, my lady?” He asked, again wondering why on earth he was even bothering

“I did, highness,” you responded sincerely, “did you?”

“I did, actually.”

The corners of your mouth lifted, as though you might smile, but you didn’t.

“You sound surprised.”

Aemond acknowledged that with a sheepish grin, “I am surprised. I usually don't.”

You raised your eyebrows with surprise, but something in the way your posture shifted told him you were pleased.

You lapsed into silence as you watched the party get packed up around you, but it wasn’t painful, or tense, or filled with suppressed loathing. It was comfortable. opened his mouth and then closed it again, feeling the need to say something, but still uncertain of himself. You noticed and frowned slightly, an expression which Aemond found oddly endearing, possibly because he’d never seen you do it before.

“My lord?” you asked expectantly.

He thought back through the night, taking his time to formulate the right words, “I apologize for my brother,” he eventually said, “he can be-”

You nodded, “I understand.”

But you don’t, he wanted to say. You don’t know what he’s like, what he’s capable of. He might seem charming now, but that’s only because he wants something from you, and he only-

He shook his head slightly to clear it. Clearly, the wine was getting to him. Daerra called out to you, swaying on her feet as her brother half held her up, and beckoning you over, apparently ready to leave. He felt, rather than saw, you shoot him an appraising look, worrying at your lip slightly.

“Thank you, for what you said before,” you said quietly, “I appreciated it.”

“It was only the truth,” he replied, matching your volume, “Goodnight, lady Y/N,” he said, bowing deeply, “I hope you sleep well.”

He took your hand again, feeling the prickles of heat in his chest and face, the shot of lightning when his lips brushed your knuckles, but this time the panic didn’t instantaneously rise to meet it. Not as swiftly as it had before.

“And to you,” you responded, with a curtsey, “sweet dreams.”

You turned and walked over to your friends without looking back, slinging an arm around Daerra’s waist and disappearing down the halls like the strange flock of birds you were. Aemond lingered, but only for a moment, and then followed his brother, jogging to catch up with the serving boy as he helped Aegon to his room.

“There ‘e is,” Aegon slurred, “dinint I tell ya’ he’d come? Hmm? I told you, I-”

“That you did, my lord,” the long-suffering servant boy responded as he helped Aemond plop Aegon onto his bed.

“Aeeeeemooooond,” Aegon sang, “Aeeeeemond, were you mooning after my girl? Mmm?”

Aemond rolled his eye, lifting his brother’s vomit stained shirt off him and tossing it on the floor, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, brother.”

“Yes you dooooooo,” Aegon insisted as Aemond pried his shoes from his feet, “you like her,” he nodded, “yup, yup, yup, you do.”

Aemond scoffed, “I swear to you, that could not be further from the truth. I practically despise the woman.” he replied, which felt like a lie, but wasn’t.

He realized, a moment too late, looking at his brother’s smug face, that Aegon had successfully baited him into admitting that he was talking about you, which was annoying, but he brushed it off. He wasn’t mooning after you.

Aegon shrugged, “Dossn matter t’ me,” he admitted, “even if you did like her, I’ll marry her anyway. Just because.”

Anger swelled up in Aemond’s chest. Not over you, of course, never over you, It was over his brother’s arrogance, his complete refusal to simply do his duty and follow orders. Aemond was a troublemaker, but when it came to the important moments, he always did as he was bid. He understood the burdens, he took his role seriously, and here was Aegon, lording himself over Aemond again, just like he always did.

“You’ll marry whomever mother and father tell you to marry,” he countered, “and you won’t complain about it, because it’s your duty.”

Aegon shot him a knowing look, even through his drunken haze, “Is that what you’d do, Aemy?”

Aemond’s cheeks flushed, “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

“What?” Aegon laughed, “It’s a nickname! C’mon, Aem, answer the question. If mother and father betrothed you to, oh I don’t know,” he said, with faux joviality, “someone you practically despised for example, like Y/N, would y’ do ya damn duty then? Hmm?”

Aaaaand there you were again, creeping into ordinary conversations purely to piss him off. What was happening? You’d been in King’s Landing for, what, a month and somehow huge sections of Aemond’s life were already being flipped upside down and messed around by your presence.

NeverthelessAemond paused, really picturing a life with a woman who either hated or feared him, but who had also purposely deflected attention away from him at dinner. He felt the weight of your body in his arms again, the brush of his lips against your knuckles weighed up against the pit of stones in his chest when you’d looked at him and been afraid. When he thought about you now, there was just confusion. Who were you, really? The manipulative social climber who stroked his brother’s inflated ego, the girl who’d set every single member of his family at ease? Both, somehow? Or maybe, some entirely other person, the girl with the tired laugh and the messed up hair who had stood with him in comfortable silence just moments ago? He swallowed hard.

“You know me,” he answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “good old Aemond, always doing what he’s told.”

Aegon smirked, his eyes drooping shut with exhaustion, “Good ol’Aemond, always doin what he’s-”

He was asleep before he finished the sentence. Aemond stood, brushed himself off and left Aegon’s rooms without another word.

“Good old Aemond, always doing what he’s told, fuck, what a joke.” he muttered to himself.

He needed Vhagar. He needed to get out of this castle, now.

Chapter Text

Life in King’s Landing after the dinner party was both unrecognizable and completely unchanged. From the outside days passed much the same as they always had, you woke, bathed, dressed, ate and mingled; but your company was markedly different.

Now, when you had tea with Daerra in the mornings, you were joined by Princess Helaena. Daerion trained alongside princes and learned strategy from generals and captains. You were greeted by the King and Queen in the corridors, and invitations to dinners, parties, balls and other social events arrived at your door almost every other day. In one night you and your friends had gone from vaguely interesting, but unexceptional outsiders to the ultimate up and coming insiders. These days when people watched you, it wasn’t with brazen curiosity, but envy and wonder. You still wore your hair up most days, but the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra had made good on their word and their dressmakers had furnished you with a bevy of new, lightweight gowns that made the summer heat more manageable. Aegon called on you almost every day, as did Jace. Daerra was making connections with lords from the Crownlands. Daerion was getting close with his cousin, Baela.

It was what you’d wanted. It was what the Silver Council needed, and yet-

You swallowed hard, worrying at your lip as you stared blankly at the manuscript in your lap. Word had it that Aegon had hurt a serving girl, badly, and the Queen had covered it up. She’d dismissed the girl with a month’s pay and sent her back to wherever it was she had come from. Aegon had not been punished. Court was rife with gossip at the best of times, but this one had the ring of truth to it.

Your own girl, Lila, had confessed it to you just that morning, when you’d asked about the dark circles under her eyes and the quiver in her hands. She’d all but begged you not to send her to his chambers with messages for him, explaining that she was betrothed and feared for her family’s survival if her virtue came into question and her fiance abandoned her. The look on her face when she’d confessed was what had stayed with you most though, like you would simply throw her to that beast of a boy for telling you the truth, like a man throws scraps from his table to the waiting hounds. She was afraid of you. No one had ever been afraid of you before. Envious, yes. Lustful and leering, more times than you could count, but afraid? No, you had never tasted that bitter drink before. But of course she was afraid, you’d realized in the hours since the encounter, after you’d run out of tears and had become slightly numb, as far as the court was concerned, you and Aegon were all but courting one another. To this poor girl’s mind, she wasn’t telling another woman the truth about a vile act undertaken by a sadistic piece of shit, she was accusing your beau, a man who you may have loved and a literal prince, of something horrendous. His own mother had covered up his crimes, why would Lila expect his potential wife to behave any differently?

Was this what was in your future was set to look like? Fearing your husband in private and turning a blind eye to his depravities in public? Would you be expected to threaten and pay off his victims? Would the court simply ignore any evidence and look the other way when you inevitably became one of them? And it wasn’t just Aegon. People whispered about noblemen bringing whores into their marriage beds, beating their wives and children with impunity all because they were allies with the Hightowers and none dared defy the Queen and the Hand.

Around every corner there was fraud and cruelty and sedition, and right now you just wanted to go home. This court was like a pit of vipers dripping poison on one another, every second you spent within its walls yielded new threats and fresh horrors, but in a way this is what you’d signed up for. You were here because you were better suited to this sort of life than your brothers would be. Kerran was a child with a child’s perspective on the world but a man’s appetite for battle and Coren was a man, with a man’s pride and an older brother’s dedication to his sisters.

You could just write to him, a voice in your head whispered, tell him Aegon isn’t the man you’d all hoped. Beg him to bring you home, you know he would.

And you did know that. One letter from you and Coren Manderly would be on his way to personally summon you home, and likely to curse out and assault the prince who had drunkenly pinned you to a wall, which would be disastrous. Even if you lied, Coren would sense the falsehoods in your words and know the truth of them, he always did, and your brother was many things, but cowardly was not one of them. He would not fear Aegon, or the Queen, or the wrath of house Hightower. He would not make peace and be diplomatic and come up with some valid reason to summon his youngest sister home. No, if you wrote to Coren and told him that you were afraid, why you were afraid, his fury would drive him to openly declare for Rhaenyra. The Silver Council would all be forced to either side with your house or expel you from the council while they continued on with the plan alone. Kevan would side with your brother, as he always had, but Daerra and Daerion might not, and you couldn’t bear to be on opposite sides of the war from your closest friends.

The sad fact was, as of right now, the Greens were a safer choice than the Blacks. They had the capital, the Hightowers’ wealth, the Crown’s own coffers and seemingly years of preparation on their side. Rhaenyra had her dragons, her name and her birthright, all weighed up against her scandals and her sex. Everything in you screamed that Aegon was unsuited to be king, that Rhaenyra was kinder, wiser and more suited in her sleep than Aegon would ever be, but none of that would matter if she couldn’t gather the support she needed.

So the only choice was to continue to move forward as planned. You sighed, pressing your fingers into the space above your eyebrow, where you could feel a headache brewing. You’d had this debate with yourself more times now than you could count and always the answer was the same. You’d made your decision, you could not falter now and your life was worth less than the realm’s stability. So, you walked the gardens with Aegon and Jace, had tea with Helaena, greeted the royals, wore the gowns and went to the parties, and waited for days like today, where you could slip away into one of the many cavernous libraries for a few hours and simply read.

You’d found an enclave in one of the upper floors of this particular library with a comfortable chair right by a window and had quickly made it your safe haven. You often ran into other nobles in the library, but very rarely did anyone venture up to the upper floors, so you could usually rely on being left alone, at least for a little while. The book you’d chosen today was a massive historical manuscript detailing the wars of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, and the chaos that broke out after his passing. You knew the story, of course, but this manuscript had the most stunningly detailed maps and illustrations littered throughout the pages. You loved tracing your fingers along the depictions of the wall, the riverlands, the lands of Old Valyria, all the wonderful places you’d never had the chance to go yet, but your favorite were the portraits of the people and the dragons.

Ser Warrick Manderly’s illustration had your brother, Coren’s, stern brow, and Kerran’s distinctive nose. You could see the ghost of your mother in Alyianne Celtigar. The images of Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar were so detailed and colorful that they almost looked alive, like they might leap from the pages and reclaim their place in the skies. And then there were the portraits of the Targaryens themselves. They were all stunning, of course, even in ink, and so clearly the forebears of the people you’d met that it was almost unbelievable. Rhaenyra was the spitting image of Visenya, Princess Rhaenys looked just like the late Princess Rhaena, you could see the descendant of Maegor’s cruel eyes in Aegon II, and Aemond-

You flicked back to your favorite page, the page where Aegon I was depicted, leaning over his war table, with Visenya by his side and Rhaenys across from them. You couldn’t explain why exactly you saw Aemond in his most famous ancestor. It might have been something in the way Aegon held himself, or the way his hair fell over his shoulder, or the look of steely determination in Aegon’s eyes as he looked over his map, planning his conquest.

You’d seen that look in Aemond’s eye more than once, when Jace or Aegon brought you to watch them train. Both princes were good warriors for sure but Aemond was…remarkable. It was hard not to notice his grace, skill and incredible speed. Every move he made was calculated, but executed with perfect calm, like it was the easiest thing in the world. When Aemond trained, or sparred, he seemed so comfortable. It made you long to saddle your horse and just go. He made violence an art, and it made your blood feel like it was boiling.

A sound drew your attention out of the book and, before you even saw the figure, you knew who it was. Your body always registered his presence before your mind did, like a sixth sense alerting you to possible danger. Not that Aemond Targaryen had ever actually hurt you, of course. If anything, since the party, he seemed to be making more of an effort.

Right now he had his back to you, searching through a nearby bookshelf with a look of concern on his handsome face. You watched him for a moment, pleased with yourself for being silent enough to be completely missed by the usually alert Aemond.

He was muttering to himself in High Valyrian as he searched the depths of the bookshelf, “Skoriot iksis ziry? nyke gīmigon ziry iksos kesīr mirri skoriot…”

“Are you looking for something?” You interrupted.

“Ah!” Aemond shrieked, thumping his head hard on the wood of the shelf in his haste and cursing as he turned around to face you, “Seven hells!”

You couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in your chest, but you pressed your hand over your mouth anyway to try and stifle the sound. It was just too funny watching this tall, well muscled, usually so immaculately put together man, flush bright red and trip over himself. And it felt good to laugh, you admitted to yourself. You’d spent most of the day sick with grief and fear and a few hours in uncomfortable numbness, so any relief felt like a gift. For a second, Aemond just stared at you in shock, but soon enough his face softened and he pulled himself back together, the ghost of a smile sitting on the corner of his lips.

“I’m so-I’m sorry, your highness,” you said through laughter, tears pooling in your eyes, “forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No apology necessary, Lady Y/N,” he assured you, “I-uh-I ought to have taken better stock of my surroundings. I’ll leave you to your reading.”

He turned to leave, but you called out to stop him.

“No, you were searching for something,” you insisted, “maybe I can help you find it.”

Why exactly you were doing this was a complete mystery to you. Even if your relationship with Aemond was slightly less tumultuous, you were in no way friends. Most days, Aemond still seemed painfully annoyed by your existence, he was just less vocal about it. And it wasn’t as though you liked Aemond, you really really didn’t. But you were self aware enough to know that most of your distaste for him was more about your pride being bruised than anything else. Maybe it was the laugh, you reasoned. Maybe that one accidental moment of joy when you’d most needed it made you want to help him too. Or maybe, a different voice in your head offered, maybe you were simply frightened of being alone.

Aemond shifted on his feet, thinking about your proposal for a moment, “I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” he eventually said.

You smiled and tried your best to look earnest, “Truly, it’s no imposition. What are you looking for?”

“There’s a historical text detailing Aegon’s conquest,” he explained, “it’s large with gold clasps and detailing. It was written by Maester Lewyn.”

You laughed again, slamming the book on your lap closed so that the prince could see the gold lettering.

“Well, that explains that,” Aemond said with a small smile.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Genuine smiles from Aemond were painfully rare, but they transformed his face from something harsh and formidable to something warm that made you want to make him smile again. It was foolish, and you knew better than to actually try, but still, it made you feel inordinately proud to have done it at least once.

“Here,” you said, standing and offering it to him.

Aemond’s eye widened, “No, you were busy with it.”

“I’ve already seen what I was looking for,” you assured him, “please, take it.”

He hesitated for a moment, but eventually reached out and took the book, being careful not to touch your hands as he did.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He turned away again, as though about to leave but, with a sigh, as though he were already regretting his decision, turned back, “Are you…well, my lady?” he asked, as though the question pained him to ask.

Fuck. You opened and closed your mouth, feeling a spike of panic as you tried to find an answer that explained your red and puffy eyes without being too close to the truth. You were a decent enough liar, but something about Aemond made you feel so off balance and out of place that you couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t simply the fact that you were terrified of his brother and wanted to go home. Luckily, you were saved from answering when Aemond sighed, bowing his head in apparent shame.

“You must have heard about Aegon,” he said sadly.

Your heart leapt, “Yes, I did actually. I-”

“You have to understand,” Aemond interrupted, eyes trained at the floor, “Aegon is a prince. What happened was awful, and I understand why you in particular may have feelings about it, but he has impulses that he must act on.”

Silence stretched while you tried to process Aemond’s words. It was like your head was underwater. You could see his mouth moving, and you could hear his voice, but the meaning was distorted and garbled. Your stomach felt like it was filled with lead and snow. You hadn’t expected much from Aemond Targaryen but this? This half assed justification, Aegon’s needs, his impulses, you’d heard it a thousand times and you were beyond sick of it. What about the serving girl’s needs? What about her impulses? What about yours? What about Daerra’s? Rhaenyra’s?

And suddenly you weren’t shocked, you were furious. All the numbness and fear turned in on itself and, since it had to be directed somewhere, Aemond was in your line of fire. Some part of you had thought Aemond was different. He’d rescued you the night of the party. He’d saved you from embarrassment, he’d seemed almost decent, but in the end he was just like all the rest of them. Something must have registered in your face because Aemond frowned, instinctively taking half a step back.

“He has impulses?” You asked, your voice dripping with venom, “How dare you? How dare you?”

You could feel your fists shaking at your sides, the furious tears of anger pricking the corner of your eyes and you directed it all at Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond’s face flushed, but his eye hardened, “No one was permanently harmed, the injured parties were well compensated. Aegon cannot be held to the same standard as a normal man he’s-”

“A prince, yes I’m aware,” you interrupted, “the blood of the dragon and whatnot. I had thought better of you, your highness. I thought you a man of honor. I see now, I was mistaken. Good day.”

And without another word, you fled, suddenly so angry that you couldn’t stand to listen to another word out of Aemond’s mouth. You practically ran from the library, moving swiftly through the halls and not stopping until you slammed the door to your room shut behind you. You grabbed a pillow off your bed and screamed into it until your throat was aching and sore, and the ice cold fury in your blood had dulled to a persistent rolling anger. You had been a fool to think Aemond was anything like Aegon I, you thought to yourself, you’d been a fool to think any one of them was anything but a brute. It was a mistake you were determined to never make again.

If you’d waited maybe a second longer, you would have seen the genuine distress in Aemond’s face, the way he’d raised a hand, as if to reach for you before you stormed off. Maybe the look on his face would have given you pause, but you hadn’t waited, and so you saw nothing but the inside of your chambers, leaving Aemond to puzzle out the sudden shift in your demeanor alone.

He swore loudly, throwing the book down on the seat you’d vacated and running a hand over his face. He’d never seen you angry like that, not once. He’d meant to comfort you, to help you understand, but he’d clearly just made the whole situation worse.

And it had been going so well, a pathetic whining little voice in head supplied. For once, he’d managed to not say anything cutting or dismissive, you’d smiled at him! He’d smiled back!

“Doru-borto,” he muttered, “stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you say that?”

He remembered the shock at hearing your voice, the embarrassment that was quickly extinguished by the soothing balm that was your laugh. He remembered how it had felt like liquid sunlight, filling his body with unexpected warmth. For a moment he’d thought that there was a chance for you to become…friends? Friendly? Fuck, at this point he would settle for civil. He pressed his fingers to his sternum, where he could feel the familiar hot, prickly knot of excitement and panic pulsating and tried to breath through the rush of shame.

What the fuck happened?

Aemond closed his eyes, picturing the flicker of shock on your face again, the way your eyes had gone from hopeful and bright to cold and dead, like he’d just drained the life right out of you. Somehow, that was worse than when you’d been afraid. So much worse.

He’d been trying so hard to not aggravate the situation between you two. It hadn’t been easy, especially since Aegon seemed intent on bringing you to watch him train every other morning, throwing Aemond off his game and shooting him knowing looks every time his form faltered. He could feel your eyes on him, like the weight of a heavy cloak and he wanted, desperately, for you to be impressed. He couldn’t understand why he wanted that, exactly, but he knew it had something to do with proving himself. Like maybe, if he could get you to think he was important, or acknowledge him as an equal, he could toss off this chip on his shoulder and just be for once. The sunlight crept slowly along the floor as the minutes ticked on, drawing his eyes to your empty chair.

Aemond sighed and picked up his book, mentally kissing that idea goodbye as he turned his back on your secret spot and left the library. As he walked through the castle, Aemond walked through the events of the day over and over again, trying to figure out what he’d missed, how he could have avoided this outcome. Some part of his brain made a note of the chilly, almost fearful atmosphere of the court. All around he could hear people whispering, glancing around covertly and sneaking around like mice. Rumors were commonplace at court, but something about the looks he was getting felt particularly sinister. He tried to put it out of his mind, striding as confidently as he could into his sister’s dayroom.

Helaena was embroidering something with more legs than Aemond liked but, at the sound of his footsteps, she looked up and smiled.

“Brother! What a lovely surprise,” she said with a genuinely warm smile, “the ocean rises and swallows the sun. Mermaids and dragons twist beneath the black.”

“If you say so, sweet one,” he replied with a sigh, collapsing onto the chaise lounge beside her and lying down, “I think I made an ass of myself.”

Helaena shrugged, “Most likely.”

“Hey!” he protested weakly.

“What?” Helaena giggled, “It’s probably true, you do have a talent for saying just the wrong thing at just the wrong time, brother.”

Aemond sighed, but accepted the barb without protest. As usual, Helaena was right.

“So,” she continued, eyes focussed intently on her stitching, “what have you done now?”

Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose, “I ran into Lady Y/N in the library-”

“Ah, I see. You’re definitely in the wrong.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” he protested.

“Yes, but you’re almost always in the wrong when it comes to Y/N,” Helaena explained, scrunching up her nose in distaste, “You’re so mean to her.”

Aemond wanted to scream, “I don’t mean to be, everything I say just comes out wrong.”

She nodded, reaching over to give his arm a comforting squeeze, “Go on then, what have you done now?”

He sighed, “So, like I said, I ran into her reading in the library. She had a book I was looking for, she offered it to me, I took it and then I was going to leave before I said something wrong.”

“Buuut?”

“But,” Aemond continued, “she looked sad. Her eyes were all puffy and swollen, so I figured it must have to do with Aegon and that…thing he did last night, so I tried to make her feel better.”

Aemond knew he’d made a mistake when Helaena put her embroidery down and focussed all her attention on him.

“What exactly did you say?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap expectantly.

Aemond swallowed hard, but explained the conversation to his sister as clearly as possible. At first glance, Princess Helaena didn’t appear to have much of a reaction, but Aemond knew her well enough to recognize the slight tension in her brow and the way she set her jaw. He had royally fucked up.

When he’d finished, Helaena took a few moments to collect her scattered thoughts.

“You defended our brother’s assault of a young woman,” she began, “but saying it was alright because he’s a prince?”

Aemond shot up like an arrow, his heart skipping several beats as his stomach dropped to his feet. Gods above, he was going to be sick.

“Excuse me? No! No no no, I-what?” he said, frantically, “He killed a horse! He rode it too hard racing in Flea Bottom and it collapsed! What?”

Helaena recoiled slightly, “Aemond, Aegon attacked a serving girl. The whole court is talking about it.”

The nausea rose up in his chest again, visceral and cloying. He saw the look on your face, the deadness in your eyes, heard you berate him for his dishonor. Gods, no. No, no, no it all made sense. He was Aegon’s brother, to hear him side with him must have been…

“Helaena I would never,” he swore, reaching forward to touch his sister’s hand, “please tell me you know I would never.”

She pressed her lips together, but gave him a small, sad smile, “Men support one another’s cruelty all the time, Aem.”

“But I would-”

“I know you wouldn’t, brother, but only because I know your heart better than most,” she continued, “to Lady Y/N, you’re just another man writing off a woman’s abuse as collateral damage for a powerful friend.” She looked down at her needlework, “Everyone says they’re to be married, of course she’s frightened. I would be frightened too.”

Now Aemond felt well and truly ashamed of himself, but under the fear was something else, something far more familiar to him than he would have hoped; rage. He took Helaena’s hand again, giving it a comforting squeeze as the fire of his fury flared to life.

“Sweet one,” he encouraged gently, “tell me what happened with Aegon, please.”

And she did. Seven hells, she did.

The next thing Aemond knew, he was in the hallway on his way to Aegon’s solarium. The fire in his belly had rapidly grown to a raging inferno and the only thing he could think about was the way his sister’s voice had broken, the pain in your voice, the fear in every serving girl’s eyes. Aegon, Aegon, Aegon. Everything always came back to fucking, Aegon. He was a plague, a blight on the family, an arrogant, selfish, good for nothing piece of shit who-

He threw the doors open, spotted his brother lounging on a chair and grabbed him by the shirt. Aegon yelped and tried to free himself, but Aemond simply walked him back and slammed him against the nearest wall, taking a sick sense of satisfaction from the crack Aegon’s head made against the stone. In that moment, he was more dragon than man, all fire and fury and desire for blood, for freedom, for vengeance.

“You think you’re a big man then, Aeg?” He taunted, leaning in close and bearing down on his brother, “You feel good throwing your weight around? Hurting innocent women because they’re there? Try it on me.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Aegon shouted, pushing, hopelessly against Aemond’s grip.

Aemond slammed him back against the wall again, and Aegon cried out in pain.

“Try it on me, big brother. Come on, show me what a big man you are,” Aemond was practically yelling now.

He threw Aegon on the ground and kicked at his stomach, hard. Not hard enough to maim him, but hard enough to make sure he felt it in the morning.

“She was 15, Aegon!” he yelled, aiming another kick at his brother’s groin, “You call yourself a man, you fucking coward. You son of a bitch! I should-”

Plated metal arms wretched Aemond away, still shouting profanities at Aegon, who was curled up in the fetal position, moaning. Ser Criston Cole and Ser Eryk placed Aemond down, and only then did he notice his mother, seated in the chair opposite from where Aegon had been, looking frankly murderous as she observed her second son.

“Ser Criston, please take Aegon to the Maester,” Alicent said with faux calm, her eyes trained on Aemond.

He stared his mother down, letting the residual rage make him braver than he would have been otherwise. She knew. She knew what Aegon was and yet still she bent over backwards to defend and protect him. She had two other children, good children, children who would never even think to behave as Aegon had, but that had never mattered. Aemond and Helaena were to listen and obey, that was all. If Alicent said to jump, Aemond asked, how high? If she told him to smile, he would grin until his cheeks ached and, if she told him to look out for his brother, he would dedicate his life to training so that anyone who wished Aegon harm would have to go through him first. Good little Aemond, always doing as he was told. Mommy’s brave soldier, sold to the service of a man so cruel it made Aemond’s teeth ache.

Alicent cocked her head to the side, “Would you like to explain what that was about?”

Aemond snorted, pacing back and forth like a caged lion, “You know what it was about, mother.”

She leaned back in her seat with a sigh, fingering the large seven pointed star pendant she wore around her neck, “You heard about the girl.”

“You’re damn right I heard about the girl,” Aemond snarled, “how could you let him get away with this? He’s shamed himself, he’s shamed this family, he’s committed an affront to the gods!”

“Aegon is young-”

“He’s older than I am and I would never debase myself with cruelty such as that,” Aemond countered, “never.”

Alicent pursed her lips, “You are not your brother,” she said, “and he is not you. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t protect my children from all dangers, even ones they create themselves?”

Aemond recoiled and let out a burst of laughter, “What danger, mother? What threat does a 15 year-old girl pose to a prince? Aegon is the danger.”

She shook her head in denial, “Aegon can be managed.”

“Is that right? And how do you plan to manage him when he shames, or Gods forbid, attacks his wife, and Lord Coren Manderly marches his armies down south in defense of her honor, hm?” Aemond countered, “What will you do when his depravities stray beyond serving girls and prostitutes who you can pay off?”

“Coren Manderly? What do the Manderlys have to do with any of this?” Alicent asked, “Has that girl been pouring poison in your ear and turning you against your brother?”

Aemond rolled his eye, perpetually exhausted by his mother’s talent for making enemies of friends and turning shadows into monsters.

“Everyone at court sees her with him, mother,” Aemond pointed out, “he drags her around the castle every damn day. Let’s not pretend you haven’t thought of the benefits that would come with having house Manderly on our side. If Aegon can’t behave properly, it doesn’t just reflect badly on him, he might push her away too. Everyone sees it.”

She narrowed her eyes, “The court, or you?”

“I’m sorry?”

Alicent leaned forward, “Does everybody see this, or do you see this?” she repeated, “I won’t have some upstart from the north drive a wedge between you and your brother, Aemond. If you can’t handle your feelings, I’ll do it for you. I won’t allow a show like what happened here to happen again.”

Aemond recoiled, “Some upstart? Mother, Aegon did this! Any discord between us is because of his actions, his behavior.”

“And your reaction has nothing to do with your feelings for Lady Y/N?”

“What feelings??” He shouted with another incredulous laugh, “What feelings, mother? She’s a woman, just like any other woman at court. I have no specific feelings towards her.”

Alicent pursed her lips again, “Do not lie to me, Aemond.”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, “why is it that you cannot simply accept that I refuse to protect a rapist, regardless of his relation to me?”

“Because that’s not how I raised you!” she shouted back, standing and pointing her finger in his face, “I raised you to defend this family no matter what. No matter the charge, no matter the risks, you stand and you defend us, am I understood?”

Aemond hated himself for the part of him that flinched and froze under his mother’s lazer like gaze. The child who wanted to cry and apologize quickly to avoid her wrath. He was a man grown now, and he refused to cower.

Even so, he dipped his head in submission, “yes, mother.”

Alicent breathed deeply, dropping her hand from in front of his face to take his hand in hers instead. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles, the way she had when he was young, and Aemond felt a swell of loss for the simpler days of his childhood, back when the worst thing any of them had ever done was claim a 180 year-old dragon.

“My sweet boy,” Alicent cooed, “you have such a big heart. I hate to see you in pain like this.”

“I’m not in pain, mother,” he replied, comforting her the way he always had, before he could even realize what he was doing.

“Good,” she said with a small smile, “then go apologize to your brother. Make amends.”

Aemond bit down on the back of his jaw, but nodded once, to appease his mother and get out of that room as fast as he possibly could. Alicent patted his cheek and then dismissed him, letting Aemond slip through the doors and back out into the castle.

It was almost evening now, and the air was cool and soothing on his flushed skin. He moved quickly and confidently through the crowds (larger than they should have been, he noted), and made his way to the first open courtyard he could find, taking deep gasps of fresh air. With each breath he tried to imagine the anger seeping out of his body, like steam, leaving only a gentle calmness in its wake. It was a trick his father had taught him when he was a child. Viserys had called it soothing the beast, and bragged about teaching his own brother, Daemon, it when he was only 7. The cold, the memory and the breathing all combined slowly, and soon enough, the iron bands around Aemond’s lungs seemed to give out, and he could breathe freely again.

He couldn’t quite believe how this day had turned out, and he still felt sick at the thought of his conversation with you. His mother was right about one thing, he had to make amends, just not to Aegon. So he set off in the direction of your rooms, rehearsing an apology in his head as he went, thinking through each turn of phrase to ensure he didn’t just make the whole situation worse. He caught sight of you slipping into a stairwell near your rooms and felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach, though this time his anxiety seemed warranted.

As always, his mind involuntarily took notice of how beautiful you were. The silk of your new gown clung to your body and flowed like water. The light from the rapidly setting sun made your skin look like it was lit from within, and caressed your hair, turning it into molten beauty.

“My lady,” he called, “a moment, please.”

You froze and it physically hurt Aemond to see the tension creep into your body.

You turned your head slightly, but didn’t meet his gaze, “I’m needed elsewhere, your grace” you said, your voice flat and dead.

Aemond pressed his lips together, searching for the words he’d practiced and finding nothing. You waited for a moment, then sighed and turned to continue on your way. The thought of you walking away, of you leaving with this terrible impression of him still in your mind spurred Aemond on, and he said the first thing he could think of.

“I was talking about the horse!”

You stopped and turned to face him, a look of genuine confusion on your face, “I’m sorry?”

“Earlier, in the library,” he explained sheepishly, “I didn’t know about-I was referring to a horse that Aegon had borrowed from the stables and ridden to death.”

You opened your mouth to respond then closed it again, cocking your head to the side. Aemond watched, with relief, as some of the defensiveness seeped from your body, and a flicker of your usual light returned to your eyes.

“Oh,” you eventually said.

“I thought that would grieve you, because I remember you telling us how fond you had always been of horses, and of riding. I thought you must have heard from someone. I didn’t-” he continued, words spilling out of his mouth like water from a tap now that he’d started. He stepped towards you, hands slightly raised, as though he were approaching a frightened animal, “Lady Y/N I had no idea about what Aegon had done. I assure you, had I known, that conversation would have gone very differently.”

You looked down, and Aemond took the opportunity to study your face. Your forehead, the curve of your brow, the soft flesh of your cheeks and the fulness of your lips, they were all perfectly in balance. He wondered, idly, if your hair was as soft as it looked, or if your skin would feel like satin under his fingertips, before he caught himself and looked away, blushing deep red.

“You-” you started, “You believed I was sad because of a horse?”

He nodded, “I now understand how completely inappropriate my comments were, I’m truly sorry.”

You nodded but, after a moment of silence, pressed your hand over your mouth and began to laugh, truly laugh. Just like before, in the library, the sound filled Aemond’s body with light. There was something so achingly beautiful about your laugh, it made him feel wrong for even just hearing it, like he had not yet earned the privilege. You laughed until tears streamed down your face and you had to clutch your stomach.

“I’m sorry, my lord, you must think me quite mad,” you eventually said, wiping your eyes with your fingers.

Aemond shook his head, “Quite the opposite, my lady.”

You smiled at him, even if it was a little sad, “The funny thing is, on any other day I would have been crying over a dead horse. You would have been entirely correct in your assumption, but today just wasn’t like any other day.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed.

You stood together in somewhat comfortable silence for a while, until you had collected yourself.

“In that case, I apologize for insulting your honor,” you eventually said.

Aemond waved you away, “Never apologize to anyone for calling out injustice. If you hadn’t reacted the way you did, I might never have learned the truth.”

Your eyes softened and Aemond felt, quite bizarrely, as though he’d passed some sort of test.

“Is that an order, my lord?” You joked.

He smiled and let out a huff of laughter, “In this instance, yes Lady Y/N, it is.”

“Well, in that case I will do my utmost,” you promised with a deep curtsey, “if you’ll excuse me, your highness, I actually do have to go.”

“Oh, of course,” he agreed but, as you started to leave, he couldn’t stop himself from calling out, “I would never defend that, Lady Y/N, I hope you-he may be my brother, but I hope you know that.”

The answer he got was just a smile, but it was so soft and sweet that it made Aemond feel as though his legs were likely to give out beneath him. His heart stuttered, his breath caught and all of a sudden, he was a child again, looking at a beautiful woman for the first time. There was another long beat of silence.

“My brothers are arriving,” you said, “my sister and a friend arrive tomorrow. Would you like to join me in greeting them?”

It was a clear olive branch, and it was almost embarrassing how quickly Aemond agreed, falling into step beside you as you walked through the halls towards the entry yard. As you walked, you told Aemond stories about your brothers, nothing too personal, just letting you know who they were and what he ought to keep in mind when meeting them. He listened intently but, in the back of his mind, he could hear warning bells going off. At that moment, he knew that he had lied to his mother, that he’d been lying to himself for months. Finally, he knew what his brother, sister and mother had all known first; in all those moments he’d spent thinking of you, avoiding your company, searching for you in a crowd, he had not hated or disliked you at all.

He’d been falling in love with you.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Alicent never really considered herself a Targaryen. She was one. By law she was Queen Alicent Targaryen, first of her name, blah blah blah blah, but in her heart, and in the eyes of the realm, she would always remain Alicent Hightower. Her children were undoubtedly the blood of the dragon so she stood out like a sore thumb amongst the flood of white hair, purple eyed men and women. Always alone, always different, part of the family but never fully accepted.

Except by Aemond. Her second son, her golden dragon who had won the loyalty of the world’s oldest and most formidable beast as a boy. Her dependable, beautiful, loyal son who had always done exactly what was expected of him, who had protected his siblings and defended his family and kept himself above suspicion and scandal. Ever since he was a child, Aemond had been Alicent’s relief. He had listened to her every fear, comforted her when her heart had broken again, and again, and again. He was the embodiment of her every dream.

And now, he was in love.

No, Alicent reminded herself, fighting down the wave of panic that rose up in her chest at the very thought of it. No, he was not in love, he was merely…distracted. It was normal for a man his age to have urges, to pine over women and feel as though they might die without their kiss. Alright, so it had never been part of Aemond’s character to be frivolous or hasty, if anything, Alicent knew him to be a painfully deep thinker, but that didn’t mean it was love. Or, at least, not true love.

Alicent repeated that to herself like a mantra, he’s not in love, he’s not in love, he’s not in love. She wasn’t stupid, she knew Aemond was bound to fall in love one day and marry and start a family of his own, just not yet. Not while the fate of Alicent and her children was so precariously dangling on the edge of civil war, not when Viserys was creeping towards death and Rhaenyra was so much more the image of a ruler than her own son, Aegon. Not when Alicent knew that she would soon need Vhagar, and the fearsome loyalty of her rider, more than ever.

Beyond that, there was a part of Alicent that simply was not ready to let her favorite son go. He had been her safe haven for so long now that the idea of him devoting himself to someone besides her was unsettling. Especially since Aemond seemed to only have the capacity to love completely, or not at all. If he fell in love with you, would there be room for his mother? Would she have to content herself with playing the supporting role in her own son’s life? Could Alicent have nothing for herself?

No, she refused to lose Aemond.

She remembered the look on Aemond’s face when he slammed Aegon against the wall, how he’d needed to be pulled off of his brother as Aegon curled up on the floor and moaned. She had never seen him turn on Aegon like that before, not after any of Aegon’s cruel jabs, not even after the pig incident. It was terrifying. Not because Alicent hadn’t understood Aemond’s anger, or because she was unfamiliar with his rage, but because she had assumed it would always be hers to wield. Call her naive, but Alicent had never considered that Aemond might unleash his dragon’s fury of his own accord, and certainly not against his own blood. This division was a large driver in her current predicament.

Y/N Manderly. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. More specifically, a well-known, well-respected, beloved name that came with vast amounts of wealth and ties to the armies of the north, all wrapped up in a pretty little package, with a sweet smile and a gentle voice, that had quite clearly bewitched both of her sons. Had you been anyone else, you would have been an absolute dream for the Hightowers. The Manderlys had historically supported Princess Rhaenys’ claim to the throne and, by most estimates, they were likely to transfer that support to Rhaenyra upon Viserys’ death. Adding to this, reports stated that in recent years the north had been growing restless and disenfranchised by Targaryen rule. They had been relentlessly taxed and governed by lords who very rarely ever set foot in the north, with very little development, for the entirety of Viserys’ reign. In theory, if Alicent could marry you to one of her sons, she would kill two birds with one stone. The Manderlys would never go against Alicent’s children if you were married to one of them, and the northmen would gain a poster woman for northern loyalty. You could be the first truly northern queen of Westeros.

There was only one problem, Alicent didn’t trust you. There was something about you that was far too wilful for Alicent’s taste, because it placed you outside of her control. You were just as likely to turn her sons against the greens as you were to strengthen their loyalty. She could not be entirely certain of your support. For this reason alone, you could not marry Aegon.

Alright, then Aemond, one might think, but that was a dead end too. Beyond being Alicent’s personal safe haven, it was imperative that Aemond was available to be married if, and when, Aegon’s cause was most in need of support. The right alliance, at the right time could mean the difference between victory and defeat, and Aemond was Alicent’s ace in the hole. Aemond had also proven that he had a rebellious streak, and that his loyalty to his brother was wearing thin. Being Aemond’s wife would not protect you from Aegon’s lust, and Aemond would never allow any harm to come to you, especially from his brother. This meant that, were Alicent to marry him to you, she knew there was a real chance that you would drive a wedge between her sons.

So no, you could not be allowed to be engaged to her children, but neither could you be allowed to marry Jacaerys. All that wealth and power could not fall into Rhaenyra’s hands, or the hands of her sympathizers, so there was only one option; she had to keep you in King’s Landing, but never allow a proposal to anyone of worth. She would frustrate your courtships with Westerosi men as best as she could, keep you unattached for as long as possible and then, before your brother stormed into the keep to demand an explanation, marry you off to some harmless widower far away from the action.

Alicent sighed, pleased with her solution. It was distasteful, but necessary, a worthwhile sacrifice in service of her cause. Aegon still had to be dealt with. His lack of a wife was beginning to cause chaos amongst the nobles, with more and more families sending their daughters to the capital in the hopes of catching the young prince’s eye. More beautiful women meant more temptation for her wayward son, and that couldn’t be allowed. Luckily, Alicent had a plan for that as well, a plan that had the added effect of tying Aemond so tightly to their cause that no one woman could ever come between them. She watched Aemond train for a moment longer, feeling a deep sense of relief at finally being able to move past this little wrinkle in her plan.

Aemond would be distraught for a while, of course, but what did it matter in the long run? After all, it’s not like he was in love.

—

Kevan Reyne was in love with Coren Manderly. He had to be, Aemond reasoned to himself as he watched the young man inspect the training weapons for something to match his style, it was the only reasonable explanation. Kevan was the same age as Coren, they’d played together as children when Kevan was a ward of the Manderlys. Even as men grown, Kevan had accompanied Coren to the capital for no reason Aemond could identify, save the pleasure of Coren’s company. Then there was the fact that, despite being nearly 25, handsome, accomplished and wealthy, Kevan Reyne was still unattached. Yes, there was an engagement to a Buckler girl named Emma, but by all accounts the two had never met, the wedding did not seem to be forthcoming and Kevan had not elected to visit his bride-to-be on any of his, fairly frequent, travels across the realm.

No, Kevan’s only true purpose seemed to be accompanying your brother everywhere he went, and making as many people laugh along the way as possible. For a second Aemond considered asking you directly, but quickly thought better of it. Your friendship (if that’s what it was), was still in its infancy, and questioning one of your oldest and most trusted friends’ sexual preferences seemed like a fairly certain way to ensure it died an early death.

“Everything alright, your highness?” your younger brother, Kerran, asked, appearing at Aemond’s side like a ghost.

Aemond fought the urge to curse in shock, and managed to retain his composure, despite Kerran’s penchant for sneaking up on him in total silence. He briefly caught a glimpse of his mother as she disappeared back into the castle, feeling a slight tingle of unease in his chest as he did. Things had been odd since the fight with Aegon. Not odd enough to be noticed from the outside, of course, but to Aemond, who had grown up on subtext and hidden tension, the shift was clear. He shifted his focus back to Kerran, and tried to smile genuinely.

“Of course, just wondering whether Lord Reyne over there was choosing a weapon or flirting with them,” he responded, raising his voice slightly, so Kevan could hear.

“Some of us don’t need to flirt,” Kevan called back, without turning, “our skill gives us the pick of the lot.”

Kerran rolled his eyes with an easy fondness, “Girls, girls, you’re both devastatingly good with a sword,” he teased.

“Careful, Kerr,” Kevan said with a wink, “Prince One-Eye here could have you beheaded for such disrespect.”

Aemond let out a sharp bark of laughter, “I wouldn’t waste the executioner’s time with the likes of you,” he teased back, “I would simply feed the both of you to my dragon. Vhagar is in need of a good snack.”

Kevan tossed his head back and laughed. It was strange to Aemond how quick all your friends were to tease and joke, all without any underlying cruelty whatsoever. You all seemed to genuinely like one another. That might not have seemed like a radical concept to most, after all you were friends, but to Aemond it was a strange new world, one he was not quite comfortable in yet. Everytime you interacted with one another he searched for the telltale signs of hidden resentments, upcoming betrayals or deep envies, but he found nothing but deep fondness, and a level of trust he had not known was possible outside of the bonds of blood. When you teased one another, it was out of love, not a desire to hurt or belittle and, to Aemond’s surprise, not one of your friends seemed to mind including him in the fun.

He remembered how terrified he had been when meeting your brothers, how convinced he was that Coren would take one look at him and decide that he was entirely undeserving of being around you, but he hadn’t. The arriving party of nobles had welcomed him into your little group of friends with only the briefest hesitancy, and that was to be expected. Kerran had been far too excited about meeting a prince to care about rank, but the others were older and wiser, and took their time testing to see Aemond’s reactions before they really let loose. Now, three weeks later, that hesitancy was long gone.

“I would slice my way out of her stomach and emerge as a dragon slayer,” Kevan asserted with a flourish.

“No way!” Kerran laughed.

Aemond rolled his eye, but he was still smiling, “Alright, dragonslayer. Come on, pick your blade.”

Kevan sighed, seeming genuinely grieved, “No time, I’m afraid. Young Fish and I have places to be, maidens to save, adventures to have-”

“And dragons to slay!” Kerran finished.

“And dragons to slay,” Kevan agreed with a laugh, before meeting Aemond’s eye again, “we’re meeting the others in the woods, you’re welcome to join if you’d like, my prince.”

Aemond shuffled on his feet, still unused to being invited to places by people his own age.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” he said.

“No imposition!” Kerran assured, bumping Aemond’s arm with his shoulders, “The more the merrier, right, Kev?”

“That’s right, Young Fish.” He agreed, “Why don’t you go grab the food basket we had prepared, and whatever wine you can find, and I’ll meet you by the gates?”

Kerran gave a semi mocking bow, “As you wish, my liege,” he smiled at Aemond, “I hope you’ll join us, your highness.” he said, before bounding off.

There was a moment of long, comfortable silence as they watched Kerran’s form disappear back into the castle, Aemond’s mind already drifting off to thoughts of you. The past few weeks had been good for Aemond and you, mostly. By ingraining himself in your friend group, Aemond had managed to spend more time with you. He’d learned that you were much funnier when not around his brother, and that you enjoyed the kinds of casual displays of affection with your friends that made him ache with envy.

Kevan gave Aemond a sidelong look, “He’s right, you know, you are welcome to join us. Y/N will be there.”

Heat crept slowly up Aemond’s neck, but he tried not to react, “Well, if you’re sure.”

“Aah, splendid!” Kevan replied, thumping Aemond on the back, “We’ll have a wonderful time. Y/N will be so pleased.”

“I don’t-” Aemond started, “it’s not because-”

He couldn’t move past the feeling of unease in his chest. Aemond knew his mother was planning something, probably something involving you, an expensive wedding gown and vows said before the Septon that could never be undone. He imagined you on Aegon’s arm, his new wife, with dark bruises under your eyes and your stomach swelling with Aegon’s child. The thought alone made Aemond sick.

Second son. Second son. Second son. Second son. Second choice.

“Don’t worry,” Kevan interrupted with a mischievous smile, “I-uh-” he paused, “I won’t tell Y/N that her presence…matters, to you.”

It was a small concession that spoke volumes and Aemond wondered, not for the first time, if he walked around with a sign on his back telling every damn person he came into contact with his every thought and feeling.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Kevan hummed a response, then sighed and said, “Well, let’s get to it, princeling. We’re losing daylight.”

—

The sun was heavenly and you leaned back, soaking it up as you and Daerra dipped your feet in the river. It was a lovely little clearing, close enough to the path that you could still hear Daerion and Coren faux bickering over the best way to start a fire, but far enough that you felt like you had some privacy.

“I think I understand why you like the woods now,” Daerra sighed, kicking her feet through the cold water, “this. Is. Heaven.”

You chuckled, staring up at the sunlight through the canopy of leaves, “Anything is heaven compared to that cesspit.”

Daerra laughed, “You’re cranky.”

You sat up and gave her an incredulous look, your hair hanging free over your shoulders, “I’ve had my hair up every day for ages. Do you have any idea how much my head hurts? You’d be cranky too.”

“No one makes you do that, you know?” she smiled.

You flopped back down, relishing in the freedom of being out of the city, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.”

“It does feel as though we’ve been at court for ten thousand years,” Daerra conceded with a sigh, “I miss the sea.”

“Maybe we should stop by the harbor on the way home,” you suggested.

“Ha! You called the Keep home,” Daerrs teased, nudging you fondly, “but no, it’s not the same. I miss the deep sea, where you can’t see anything for miles and miles and it’s just you, your crew and the boat.”

You scrunched up your nose, “That sounds absolutely terrifying, if I’m honest.”

“It is,” she admitted, “but that’s half the fun.”

You hummed your agreement and lapsed back into a comfortable, safe silence. Since your brothers and Kevan had arrived in King’s Landing, stopping by briefly to handle some business for the Council, you’d been more homesick than ever. Being surrounded with the people you loved and trusted most in the world offered a sharp contrast with the dreary falseness and propriety of court, and it had been wearing on you trying to pretend otherwise. You loved your brothers, truly you did, but being together again made you ache for home, and for your sister, and for days so long passed that they hardly warranted mentioning.

Coren must have noticed the change in you, because he seemed more intent than ever on knowing how you were. No matter how many times you assured him that nothing was wrong, he would simply raise his eyebrows at you and sigh. His investigation culminated this morning in him rousing you from your bed in the early hours and insisting that you and Daerra accompany him on an adventure. It had been so long, he explained, since you’d just relaxed and enjoyed yourself that your brother, in all his infinite wisdom, had decided a day trip was in order.

“I miss the rain,” you said eventually.

“It rains in King’s Landing.” Daerra reminded you.

“Not like it does in the North,” you insisted, “and I miss trees.”

“We’re literally in trees right now!” she laughed.

“It’s not the same!” You insisted, swatting at her teasingly, “Gods above, I can’t wait to go home.”

Daerra hummed her agreement and then said, with a hint of sadness, “If we ever go home.”

You sat up and shot her a look, “Don’t joke like that.”

“It isn’t a joke, though,” she replied, “if we’re to be married, our husbands will decide where we live. Maybe they’ll want to keep us close and, if they never go to White Harbour, or to Driftmark…”

“Then we’ll be stuck,” you agreed with horror, “oh, Daerra I’d never thought of it that way.”

She reached for you and you clasped your hands in hers, both silently grieving the positions you found yourselves in, so utterly powerless over your own destinies. You didn’t even remember what the weather had been like on your last day at home, whether it had been raining or shining, if there had been wind.

“If you marry Aegon, and you become Queen then perhaps you’ll go on royal tours,” Daerra suggested half-heartedly.

You felt your stomach plummet into your feet, “But that would mean Aegon was King,” you replied, “and I can’t imagine a worse potential ruler ever existed. Or a worse potential husband at that.”

Daerra nodded, “At least he has pretty siblings.”

You smiled sadly, “And dragons, the dragons are pretty magnificent.”

“Do you think Princess Rhaenyra would have you killed if you were Aegon’s wife and she took the throne?” Daerra asked, with the tone of voice of someone asking about the weather.

You considered the question. It was a morbid thought, for certain, but a realistic one as well. The forces you were dancing with were powerful and wild, and those that played at making history did not care about the lives lost in service of the game. It was The Great Game, and every person was expendable when eternal life through legacy was at stake.

“Possibly,” you eventually answered, with a shrug, “if I were her, I might. I’m less of a risk than Aegon is, but some would still call me the rightful Queen. I suppose it would depend on whether or not I’d had any children who could bring a claim against her.”

Daerra thought about this for a second, but seemed to accept your answer.

“Well, if she does, I’ll poison her for you,” she teased, giving your hands a gentle squeeze, “the same goes for Aegon as well.”

It wasn’t funny, but it was still a declaration of love, in its own way, from one of the most marvelous and brilliant people you knew, someone who you were likely to lose forever in the coming months. After all, if your husband couldn’t be counted on to allow you to visit home, what hope was there that he would let you see your friend? For a moment you let yourself imagine the lives you and Daerra might have lived if you had been born men rather than women, and felt the familiar wash of bitter resentment fill your mouth at the unfairness of it all.

“You’ll do no such thing,” you scolded gently, with a forced smile, “you’ll be good and loyal subjects.”

You lapsed into silence again and you let your mind drift to thoughts of marriage and duty, of white haired children with dragons in their cribs and a husband who hurt women for fun, and of never seeing your home again, or feeling the afternoon rains as they bucketed down from the sky.

“I suppose you could marry Jace,” Daerra said eventually, breaking the spell, “or one of those Lannister boys if you prefer blondes.”

“Ugh, I think I despise marriage,” you lamented, earning a laugh from Daerra. You heard hoofbeats in the distance and you sighed, “Finally, I’m starving.”

“Is someone with them?” she asked.

You shrugged, watching the horses approach quickly.

“Fear not, fair maidens,” Kevan called dramatically, out of breath from riding hard, “Cease your weeping, your lord is here, and I bring sustenance.”

“My hero,” you cheered with a faux sigh of relief, flopping back down onto your back.

“And you brought company,” Daerra commented.

“Ah, well, I can’t be expected to withstand your devastating feminine wiles alone, can I, Dae? Prince Aemond is my backup.”

Aemond! You shot up, finally catching a glimpse of stark blonde hair and the familiar cut of prince Aemond’s broad shoulders and forest green tunic. He met your gaze and your stomach did the strange half leap, half drop it always did when he was around these days. There was a brief silence, broken by Kevan.

“Daerra, would you be a dear and help Ker and I set up this glorious bounty?”

“Of course,” she agreed, a little too cheerfully, letting Kevan pull her up and usher her back towards the main clearing with only a teasing look back at you for comfort.

You cursed her loudly in your head, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment start to creep up your neck as you scrambled to your feet and began to curtsey. Aemond waved the gesture away and you stood upright again, now feeling foolish as well as blindsided.

When you’d impulsively invited Aemond to join you, all those weeks ago, you hadn’t truly expected him to agree, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to strike up a friendship with your brothers and begin integrating himself into your every day. It was nice, in a way. He was clever and witty, and gaining his patronage was the exact sort of thing you had originally come to the capital to do. But, selfishly, his presence always made you feel…well, you could never really put words to how exactly it made you feel. Hot, maybe? Like your skin was being zapped by a million tiny bolts of lightning? Whatever it was, it made your mouth go all dry and sent your heart racing through your chest like a stallion.

As you stood, you felt your hair move and realized, with a start, that it was still down. You swore loudly and reached for where you’d discarded your pearl net. The prince made a sort of choking sound that may have been a laugh, but you ignored him, trying to keep a hold of the net and braid your hair at once, which was no easy task.

“I’m sorry for the surprise, my Lady,” Aemond said, a hint of humor still in his voice, “I should have thought to send word ahead.”

“No, no, it’s no problem, your grace,” you assured, your voice tinged with suppressed panic, “I just-uh-I don’t generally-if I had known-”

Your fingers were fumbling with the braids and you had never felt more aware of the way your skin felt on your body than you were now, straining to look composed and elegant in front of Aemond. He always made it so difficult, you whined to yourself, with his-his-

Everything! He was always so calm and put together, never a hair out of place or so much as a quiver in his hands. Comparatively, you were like a tornado, whirling through every interaction and causing a mess everywhere you went. Besides anyone else, you were the embodiment of poise and grace. Next to Aemond, you felt as though you were exposed as a fraud.

You felt, rather than saw, him step towards you, “Here, let me,” he offered.

“Excuse m-”

You were cut off by the feeling of Aemond’s fingers in your hair, so gentle that it made your breath catch and you instinctively stilled. He waited for a moment but, when no objection came (because you had momentarily forgotten how to speak), he made a pleased sound, and got to work. Without another word, Aemond began to twist your hair into formation with a practiced and easy precision. It was intimate, and wonderful, and you were so petrified of breaking the spell that you were simply frozen in place. You could feel him behind you, tall and strong, and so close that, if you turned, you would have been able to study the details of his face that you’d always longed to see. Like the pale, almost invisible spray of freckles you’d glimpsed once across his nose, or the faint dimples that sometimes appeared at the corners of his mouth. His breath shook slightly as he worked, likely from the long ride from the castle, and you hoped your own breathing didn’t betray the way your body was reacting to the closeness. You had no excuse. It felt impossible that this was happening, some rational part of your mind argued. Prince Aemond was so careful never to overstep boundaries, always toying with lines but never crossing them with anyone, over anything. He couldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t be doing this.

Every so often his nails scraped against your scalp, and the sensation was so undeniably pleasurable that it made you shiver. Every time this happened, Aemond would pause and wait for you to recover, as though he thought he may have pulled too hard, before continuing, and you would fight to keep your breath coming in long, steady streams. Idly, you wondered if he could feel the heat of your body radiating onto him like a furnace.

“How do you-?” You started, your voice trailing into nothingness as his fingers glanced over the nape of your neck.

Aemond apologized softly, before answering the question you hadn’t yet been able to ask, “I used to braid my sister’s hair when I was a boy,” he explained, “and my own once I decided to grow it. At first it was purely for function, but I got rather good at the more complicated styles.”

“Your sister, Princess Rhaenyra?” you asked.

Aemond’s fingers stopped for a second, before continuing.

“No, Helaena,” he corrected, “Rhaenyra and I were…we were not close in my youth.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” You attempted, “she is a great deal older than you.”

Aemond hummed his agreement. His fingers ceased their combing and you felt the prick of pins as he began attaching your pearl hair net over the intricately braided bun he’d created.

“I truly am very sorry for startling you, my lady,” he eventually said, softly, “though, if you’ll excuse my boldness, it may have been more of a shock for me than for you.”

You snorted and almost instantly regretted it.

“And why is that, may I ask?” you replied, trying to shoot him a look without jerking your head too much.

“In all honesty, I had started to believe you were wearing a wig,” he teased, “not just me either, lots of people think so. Granted it’s because I told them that but, really, months in the Red Keep and not once had I seen your hair down. No one will believe me when I tell them.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, pressing a hand over your mouth as you did. The tension shattered and you felt the nerves start to seep out of your body, leaving only the unexpected pleasure in its place. Aemond scolded you for moving too much as he worked and you apologized, standing as frozen as a statue until he declared himself finished. You reached up and felt the mass of perfectly balanced braids, marveling at the complexity of the style and admitting to yourself, begrudgingly, that your own attempts paled in comparison.

Aemond had a proud look on his face as he watched you inspect his handiwork, clearly very aware that he’d left you in his metaphorical dust as far as hairstyles went. You took the opportunity to study his face and, despite your efforts not to, couldn’t stop yourself from comparing him to his brother. You had seen Aegon look proud, but there was always an edge to it, a cruelty, like he was reveling in his superiority. With Aemond, there was only happiness, a slight smile that made his face feel open and welcoming, and a glint in that beautiful violet eye. It made you breathless. He made you breathless, whatever that might mean.

For what felt like a long while you simply looked at one another, Aemond studying your face with seemingly the same hungry interest you imagined was in your own eye as you attempted, not for the first time, to puzzle one another out. This was a sort of game you played with one another these days, toying with the very edges of what could be deemed proper and seeing who could be the most shameless in their curiosity.

You broke first.

“Should we go find the others then? I imagine you must be hungry after your ride.” you suggested.

Aemond seemed momentarily disappointed, which made something in your chest pinch painfully.

He pulled himself together, offering you his arm, and you took it without a second’s hesitation, marveling at how quickly your opinion of him had changed. A few weeks ago you would have flinched at Aemond’s touch and rebelled against anything but the most cursory of glances. Now, you sought him out. You were even beginning to be able to tell where his mind was, what he was thinking and feeling based on the way he held himself.

You tried not to think too much about what he might be able to see about you.

As you made the short walk back to the others, you made idle small talk about the goings on at court, and your plans for the evening. Aemond always listened so intently that it almost made you blush, like he was studying for a test on everything you’d ever said or would say. Before you’d assumed it was an example of him being judgemental, but you’d grown to realize that this was just the way he was. When he spoke, he commanded attention, but when he listened, he listened.

“Ah, there you are,” Coren called cheerfully, from his place on a throne-like stump, “I was beginning to worry you’d stolen her away, your highness.”

Heat flooded into your cheeks and you shot your brother an annoyed look, which he pretended not to notice.

“Prince Aemond was helping me with my hair,” you explained, twisting your head so that your friends could see the braids, “isn’t it lovely?”

Everyone ooh’d and aah’d with an appropriate amount of awe as you settled down on the blankets and pillows that Coren and Daerion had set out on the grass. You lay back against Daerra’s legs, resting your head against her knees and using her shins as a backrest. She, in turn, was leaning on her brother, creating a lazy domino effect that the three of you had been falling into since you were young. It was comfortable and familiar, and you felt a little silly doing it in front of Aemond, but you tried not to let it show. Kerran sat by your feet, and Kevan had assumed his usual position, just centimeters out of Coren’s reach. Aemond folded himself down gracefully, leaning back on his right arm, so that his chest was facing the group at large, looking to all the world like a lifelong member of this otherwise exclusive little friend group.

Food was brought out and conversation, and wine flowed freely. Your brothers bounced off one another like they always had, Coren playing the role of Stern But Fair older brother to Kerran’s Excitable and Energetic younger brother. Kevan riled them both up, pitting them against one another light heartedly, and laughed fondly when Coren grew frustrated, which inevitably made Coren flush and soften. You watched them with a sort of sweet, detached sadness and ached for home again.

“My lady?” you heard someone ask.

You snapped out of your daydream and met Aemond’s eye. His brow was furrowed in concern, and you tried to smile, even if it felt a little shallow.

“Are you well?” he asked again, softly.

You nodded, “I am,” you assured, “just…happy.”

“Aww, Y/N/N,” Kerran cooed, “did you miss us?”

“Hush,” you teased, with a fond laugh, thumping his arm hard, “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

In your peripheral vision, you could see Aemond mouthing the word at Daerion with a smile, and you rolled your eyes to hide your embarrassment.

“Not you too,” you lamented, “it’s awful. Kerran, look what you’ve done!”

“I regret nothing!”

“No, no it’s not bad,” Aemond assured you, through laughter, “trust, I’ve heard far worse.”

“Do tell,” Daerra insisted, “we’re aficionados of terrible pet names here.”

“This one called me Fish Guts for 4 years straight,” Daerion said by means of example.

“Kevan still calls me Young Fish,” Kerran complained.

Kevan smiled, “And I will continue to do so until you’re old and gray, Young Fish. It’s my right as the self-proclaimed Lord of All Menace-ry.”

You watched Aemond watch the exchange with bright, childlike enjoyment. It was always exciting seeing him like this, momentarily unaware of himself and, as a result, completely open and unguarded. It made him seem younger, closer to his actual age than he normally seemed.

“Well then, your highness?” You asked, “Anything worse to add?”

He scrunched up his nose, something you’d never seen him do before, and laughed, “Nothing quite as bad as Fish Guts, no, but my brother called me Aemy when we were boys.”

Your friends laughed, but it wasn’t cruel and they groaned sympathetically.

“Aemy?” You asked, “Alright, I must admit, that’s not great.”

“I think we have an Aunt called Aemy,” Coren reminded you.

“Oh my word, we do!” You remembered.

“Wonderful,” Aemond said ruefully, “just what every young man wants to hear.”

“I apologize, my prince,” Coren smiled, clapping him on the shoulder, “if it helps, we will never call you Aemy.”

“Don’t you make promises for me, Coren.” Kevan scolded before turning back to Aemond, “I might call you Aemy once or twice.” he admitted with a wink.

Aemod gasped, “Have you already forgotten our discussion from this morning, Lord Reyne? The keepers will have just given Vhagar her lunch, but I’m sure she’ll be able to make space for one skinny traitor.”

“Spooky,” Kevan replied, “I like my chances.”

“I don’t,” you cut in, “my gold is on Vhagar. Actually,” you turned to Aemond and leaned in conspiratorially, “can I pay you to feed him to Vhagar? I would give anything for a moment’s peace.”

Aemond’s smile softened and he followed your lead, leaning in, “For you, Lady Y/N, I’ll do it free of charge.”

Heat crept up your throat and your heart leapt, “My hero.”

Tension, the pleasant kind, crackled between you as Aemond’s smile took on a slightly sharper edge and his gaze flickered momentarily to your lips. It was so brief that you thought you may have imagined it, but you reveled in it nonetheless.

“I thought I was your hero,” Kevan pointed out, breaking the spell and snapping you back to reality.

“You were,” you agreed, leaning back to meet Kevan’s eye, “but, if you’ll remember, I’ve just contracted to have you fed to Vhagar, so I’m in the market for a new one.”

Kevan laughed and nudged Aemond’s shoulder, “Women these days,” he joked, “here I thought you were like a sister to me. What have I done to earn this cruelty?”

You shrugged, “I’m just a bit bored really.”

Kevan shook his head, clutching his heart theatrically, “Ah! The pain! I’m heart-broken, however will I survive this slight?”

You giggled and felt Aemond’s gaze jump back to you at the sound.

“My prince, how ought a poor, noble soul such as I respond to such a statement? Your servants are in need of your wisdom.” Kevan said, still faux swooning.

You met Aemon’s eye and gave him a soft smile as your blood thrummed with nerves beneath your skin. The sunlight made Aemond’s hair look like liquid light and threw the sharp lines of his face into contrast, like he was a painting hanging in a gallery.

“Not my area of expertise, I’m afraid,” Aemond replied, his eye still on you for a moment longer as he leaned back, “perhaps you should ask my brother. He’s the more…knowledgeable one when it comes to love.”

“Then you’re a lucky man,” Kevan sighed, “to not yet have been touched by love’s keen sting.”

“Oh my word, Kev, shut up!” Daerra laughed.

“TWICE!” Kevan shouted, “Twice I have been betrayed! How could you-”

“You menace-”

“The both of you are so annoying I-”

And the conversation moved on, following familiar patterns and fond rivers of shared memories. Daerra sat up to properly engage in another playful debate with Kevan, leading you to scooch closer to Aemond in order to give her more room. You felt his presence painfully intensely, but tried to play it off as best as you could.

“Are they involved?” Aemond asked, softly, gesturing between Daerra and Kevan.

You gave him a shocked look, “No! Oh Gods above, no! No, absolutely not.” you laughed, “They’re just…they think it’s funny to flirt with one another because, really, they’re the two least compatible people in the realm.”

“Oh,” Aemond mouthed, still seeming slightly confused, “and you and Kevan? Are you-?”

“NO!” You laughed again, “Nooooo! No, that’s disgusting!”

“Why would that be disgusting?” Aemond asked, laughing gently along with you, “He’s handsome, he’s rich-”

“Are you hoping to court him then, your grace?”

Aemond’s face colored deep red, and he smiled sheepishly, “No, I’m merely saying, you all seem so close. I wondered why none of you simply chose to marry one another, rather than going through all the motions with strangers.”

You wrinkled up your nose, “Courting Kev or Darry would be like courting my brother,” you explained thoughtlessly, before remembering that you were currently talking to a Targaryen, “not that there’s anything wrong with-”

“With courting your brother?” Aemond finished, with a knowing grin, “Don’t worry, Lady Y/N, I’m not unaware of how controversial some of my family’s traditions are.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “I’m sorry, I was being thoughtless.”

“It’s quite alright.” he assured you. You lapsed into silence as you listened to the newest meaningless debate, before Aemond suddenly continued, “Helaena and I aren’t involved, if you were wondering.”

“Oh, I wasn’t.” you said.

“Oh.”

Silence washed over you both again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You were proud of the fact that you could say, with relative confidence, that Aemond was currently trying to put a thought into words. There was a way he held his mouth when he did this, as though he were testing how each word might feel on his tongue as he strung them together, that made you want to know every failed combination.

“Are you homesick?” He eventually asked, meeting your eye before clarifying, “Earlier, you said you were happy, but you looked aggrieved.”

You worried at the inside of your cheek and sighed, feeling a little exposed by the accuracy of Aemond’s guess.

“I am a bit,” you admitted, “King’s Landing is interesting, in its own way, but I miss Storm’s End.”

“Are you going to leave when your brothers do?”

You shook your head, “No. I must stay and make a match for myself amongst the men of court,” you explained, with an exaggerated sigh, “So I’m afraid that you’ll not be rid of me for a while yet.”

It was meant to be a joke, but the genuinely fond look on Aemond’s face took the humor right out of the situation and, again, left you feeling breathless.

“I wouldn’t wish to be,” he said sincerely. There was a pause where you felt as though every word you’d ever known had left your mind, “since we’re finally getting along,” he continued, “Helaena and Aegon wouldn’t wish to see you gone from us.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling a rush of disappointment and dread well up in your chest, as mentions of Aegon always created.

“You’re a very good brother to them,” you replied, “they must be very grateful.”

Aemond seemed unsure, tilting his head to the side, “Thank you, my lady. I appreciate that.”

—

He’d said something wrong, shit. Aemond felt you pull away and cursed himself for his own tactlessness. You were watching Kerran throw grapes at Coren, who was in turn too focussed on his conversation with Kevan to notice, and you were smiling but Aemond could see that some of the joy had seeped out of your eyes. But you hadn’t moved, you were still almost pressed to his side, your arms only centimeters away from one another. He felt like his heart was going to beat straight out of his throat. You were close enough that Aemond could smell your perfume and see the individual strands of hair that were short enough to escape your braids and were curling around your ears. He thought back to the feel of his fingers in your hair, the silky strands that he’d wound around his fingers into the intricate patterns he hadn’t created since he was young, and his heart pinched. He’d never fought so hard not to touch someone, not to lean in and rest his head on your shoulder or on your lap. Would you pull away if he did? He wondered. Would you look at him with disgust, or would you melt into him, like you had before? Would you smile and look at him fondly if he asked you to braid his hair too, just to feel your fingers against his skin?

He felt eyes on him and tore his gaze away from you just in time to watch Daerra raise her eyebrows with a knowing look. There was the hint of a small, knowing smile in the corners of her mouth that made Aemond feel like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Are we going to this dinner tonight, friends?” Coren asked, looking around at the group as a whole, “Or should I send word that we’ve all been struck with the plague?”

“I wasn’t aware that we had a choice,” Daerion pointed out.

“Technically you always have a choice, unless my father sends the invitations, of course,” Aemond replied.

“I hear the Queen is announcing something tonight,” Daerra said conspiratorially.

Aemond felt you tense beside him and he fought the urge to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you close, even as his own stomach sunk into his feet.

“Heard from where?” Kevan asked, “I swear, Dae, you ought to be the master of whispers with all the things you hear.”

Daerra shrugged, but her eyes were glinting with mischief, “Some of the serving girls say they’ve heard the Queen and the Hand deep in discussion these past few nights. Aegon’s name came up more than once.”

You made a noise that sounded like a mix between a squeak and a groan, too soft for anyone but Aemond to hear.

“Well then we have to go,” Coren announced, seemingly unaware of his sister’s distress, “anything that affects our dear prince affects us all, right Y/N?”

Aemond liked Coren, he did, but right then he wanted nothing more than to punch his teeth in. Not only because any mention of you and Aegon together brought out a tangle of emotions that made him want to scream, but because you seemed more and more uncomfortable as the moments went on. He wanted to see that tension in you disappear. He wanted to see you smile, in that moment, he wanted it more than anything and so, impulsively, he leaned in to whisper in your ear;

“Maybe you should wear your hair down. Put to bed those nasty wig rumors that have been flying around.”

It worked. You giggled, and Aemond felt himself smile instinctively in response.

“The rumors you started, you mean?” You whispered back, twisting your head to look at him and-

Oh no. Oh no this was a mistake. Your face was so close to Aemond’s now, closer than it had ever been, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t think, it was like his brain had tripped and fallen, and all he could do was look at you. Gods, had there ever been a more beautiful sight than this? He wondered to himself.

How had he ever thought that he despised you? How could he ever have wanted you gone? Aemond felt as though he might die if you ever left him. Seven hells, he might die if you just looked away. The slow descent into love was now a freefall. Aemond had been holding onto his sanity for dear life but now he couldn’t find the will to do anything but just accept it. His eye flicked to your lips and, not for the first time, felt the overwhelming urge to just kiss you. He’d never really understood what Aegon meant when he talked about wanting and desire before, but Gods above he understood now.

“Your highness?” you asked, somewhat breathlessly.

He snapped out of it, his cheeks warm and his lungs feeling tight and painful in his chest.

“Aemond,” he corrected softly, desperate to hear you say it, “please, just call me Aemond.”

You opened your mouth but, before you could say anything, Daerra and Kevan’s voices shattered the private moment, and you both looked away.

“Well then we need to leave now!” Daerra said, reaching a hand out to you “Y/N, come on.”

“I-” you started, looking back at Aemond for a second apologetically, “coming!”

You let her pull you up, brushing grass off your skirt as Daerra dragged you back to the horses, talking incessantly and leaving Aemond behind with only the occasional glance.

“And you, your grace?” Kevan asked gently, “We’ll wait for you if you…need a moment.”

Aemond looked up at Kevan, feeling like the world had crumbled beneath his feet, or like you’d taken it with you when you walked away, leaving him falling into an endless pit of nothingness.

“I-uh,” he started, clearing his throat, “I’ll catch up with you.”

Second son. Second son. Second son. Second choice. Second choice. Second choice. The voice in his head whispered in time with his pounding heart.

He needed a moment. He needed a million moments. He needed a lifetime worth of moments, and he needed them with you.

—

He wanted you. That’s all you had been able to think for hours now as you fumbled with the delicate embroidery on your gown. Aemond Targaryen wanted you. You felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner, but there was no denying the burning, aching look in his eye, no mistaking it for something else. He’d looked at you in the woods and you’d seen him, you’d seen him want to touch you, want to kiss you and hold you and-

You shook your head to clear it, apologizing to your handmaiden as she adjusted the hair accessories she’s been placing. You couldn’t keep letting your mind slip like that. Everytime you did you felt like a fire had been lit in the pit of your stomach. But you couldn’t forget the way he’d looked. What was worse was that you knew there was nothing you had seen in him that wasn’t reflected just as strongly in you.

“Are you ready?” Daerra called from her adjoining room, “We can’t be late.”

“I’m ready,” You called back, hating the way your voice shook as you watched yourself in the mirror.

You gown was a deep royal blue with silver stitching and detailing. The fabric was expensive and luxurious, and you knew it made you look phenomenal. Your hair was down for once and you weren’t even pretending that it wasn’t because of Aemond. Your handmaid had pinned sections back and away from your face with delicate clips that looked like butterflies, and overall the effect was a pleasant one. On any other day you would be preening with pride at your reflection, but now all you could think about was blonde hair and violet eyes, and who exactly you were hoping to impress tonight.

“Are you alright?” Daerra asked, stepping into your room, her brow creased with concern.

You shook your head, your body filling slowly with an acute and painful combination of dread and panic. This was not the plan. This was not the plan. You were courting his brother for the Mother’s sake!

Daerra stepped closer to you, now definitely worried, “What’s happened?”

“I can’t marry Aegon,” you said simply, “I can’t Daerra, I can’t do it.”

“Oh, lovely,” Daerra said sympathetically, taking your hands in hers, “we don’t know that that’s what this is about.”

“What else could it be about?” you lamented, “Daerra he’s a beast!”

“He is,” she agreed, genuinely grieved for you, “come, let’s stay here. We’ll tell everyone that we’re ill and stuff ourselves on sweetmeats and candied fruit.”

You let out a breathless laugh, more out of nerves than anything else, but gave her hands a squeeze anyway.

“No, we should you,” you insisted, “we may seem rude if we pull out with so little warning.”

Daerra nodded, still looking concerned, “If it helps at all, you look beautiful, lovely.”

“So do you,” you agreed, giving her a watery smile. You took a deep breath in, trying to calm the roiling, twisting, growling monster in your chest, “Off we go then.”

Daerra gave your hand one last squeeze, “Off we go then.”

Chapter Text

Aemond felt like he was in hell watching you talk and laugh with his mother’s guests. He kept waiting for the right moment to walk over, or pull you aside or-

He sighed. Or do nothing, apparently, since, in the hours since he’d last seen you in the woods, he’d come up with absolutely no workable ideas for what he should do next. What did one say to the woman one loved? What did one do? How was he supposed to just stand by and watch as his brother took the one thing he knew he wanted?

To make the whole situation worse, Aemond was fairly sure you were avoiding him. There had been a moment when you’d first arrived, on Coren’s arm, to present yourselves to the Queen. You’d met his eye and he’d been sure that you were relieved. Just for one moment, one fleeting moment, there had been no one else in the room, just Aemond and you. You.

You.

You’d worn your hair down. Was that for him? It had to be, right? Surely, that had to mean you felt something, that he meant something to you? He wanted to ask. He wanted to see the look in your eye, the shy smile at the corner of your mouth. He wanted to slide his hand into your hair and pull you close so that he could kiss that little grin right off your face. He wanted you to sigh into his mouth and whisper his name and tell him you’re his and-

Seven hells, he was losing his mind.

Aegon had a hand resting on the side of your neck as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. You were smiling at him in that simpering way that used to make Aemond want to rip his hair out, but now he could see the strain. It made something furious and proud in his chest flare to life, knowing that he could make you smile for real if only he was the oldest son. If he were free to do as he pleased, like Aegon was, Aemond would spend all day making you laugh, or listening to you talk or, hell, just sitting with you as you read. He certainly wouldn’t be standing on the opposite side of the room watching another man put his hands on you like you were his property, even if that man was his brother.

Aemond tore his gaze away from you and Aegon and forced himself to focus on something-anything else. His gaze landed on Helaena, sitting at the table making discreet glances at Jace, and Jace who was making discreet glances back. Everytime their eyes met they would blush and look away. It was sweet. Aemond worried at the inside of his cheek, trying to check the instinct to bash Jace’s head in for even daring to think about his sister. After all, Aemond was honest enough to acknowledge that Jace was twice the man Aegon had ever been and, outside of Aemond himself, was the only person in their family who seemed genuinely delighted by Helaena and who seemed to recognize her wisdom and value. If Helaena was to marry anyone, he conceded, Jace would not be an awful option.

Love seemed to be in the air, Aemond thought to himself, ruefully, as he moved his gaze to Kevan Reyne who was purposely avoiding looking at Coren Manderly. A few weeks ago, the fact that Kevan was intentionally avoiding Coren would have gone unnoticed by Aemond but, for reasons that were now obvious, he had studied and absorbed every drop of knowledge about you and your friends hat he could find.

Once again, Aemond couldn’t help but wonder how he had been so oblivious to his affections for so long. Looking back, he had been curious about you since the day you’d met. He’d thought about you almost every day since. He knew that you preferred sweet wines over dry, tea cakes over marzipan squares, the colour blue over the colour orange. He knew your horse’s name was Jasper and that you’d raised him by hand, and that you were petrified of the deep sea, but loved thunderstorms. He knew how you held your mouth when you were tired, or happy, or nervous and, now, he knew what it felt like to wind your hair around his fingers. He knew more about you than he knew about some people he’d known all his life and yet it was still not enough.

His traitorous eye found you again, and the tension in his chest loosened to see you talking happily with his sister, Rhaenyra, with Aegon nowhere in sight. Aemond let himself just watch you for a moment, feeling the creature in his chest purr with pleasure as his eye traced down your body, reveling in the way the candlelight glinted off your clips and made you glitter like a jewel. His mind imagined, again, what it would be like to simply walk over and kiss you in front of the entire court, consequences be damned.

As though you could hear his thoughts, you turned and caught his eye. Aemond felt his cheeks flush, and his breath caught in his throat. He held your gaze. You didn’t look away.

Second son. Second son. Second son. One part of his mind whispered.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Another part supplied.

Again, as though you knew what he was thinking, Aemond watched as heat crept up your skin, but the corners of your mouth tilted up, as though you wanted to smile, and your eyes were soft. Rhaenyra said something Aemond couldn’t hear and you looked away, breaking the contact and leaving Aemond breathless and wanting.

Wanting. Wanting. Wanting. Always wanting, never having. Always losing, never claiming.

The whispers and rumors that Aemond had caught snippets of throughout the night played on a loop in his mind. Princess Rhaenyra was making a play to have you wed Jacaerys. You were in a clandestine relationship with your sister’s husband. A prince of Essos was on his way to propose to you. You were secretly a lesbian. You were the next queen. You were a saint. You were a Tyrant. The Queen was announcing Aegon’s engagement to you. The King himself had approved of the match.

Aegon. It always came back to you and Aegon.

Perhaps, if Aegon had been uninterested in you, Aemond would resign himself to the match. After all, if you married his brother, you would always be near. He could take the white and dedicate his life to keeping you safe. Over time, he could prove his love to you. He could call you sister by day and whisper your name through the darkness by night. He could walk with you in the corridors, and dance with you at balls, and no one would be able to say a damn thing about it, because you were his brother’s wife. Aemond wasn’t too proud to be your secret, so long as you were his in some way. Aegon would drink and whore and make an ass of himself, but while he did that, Aemond could have you and his brother wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

But that wasn’t the case. Aegon wanted to marry you. He thought you were beautiful and sweet and adoring. He sought out your company and craved your approval and, most importantly, he knew Aemond wanted you every bit as much as he did. That meant that, if you were married, Aegon would make tormenting Aemond with his marriage to you his life’s mission. You would never be out of his sight. Aegon would lavish you with love, attention and gifts. He would keep you pregnant as often as possible and lord you around court, his perfect, beautiful wife, who loved him dearly and would never belong to anyone other than him. And perhaps you would love Aegon. Maybe he would make you happy but, Aemond thought selfishly, he could make you happier. He would give anything to make you happier than Aegon ever could.

His mother and grandfather whispering softly to one another caught Aemond’s eye, and his stomach twisted. If his mother could hear his thoughts, she would rake him over the coals. It wasn’t his place to want anything at all. His duty was to serve his brother, to be his biggest champion, his most loyal defender and his sword and shield against any and all enemies. Especially now that his father’s health had deteriorated so far that he’d all but withdrawn from public life. He knew his role was to be supporting this match. It was the right move for Aegon’s claim to the throne. If he was a good brother, he would be singing Aegon’s praises to Coren, encouraging him to accept the engagement and reminding him of the benefits of having his sister under his family’s protection.

But, by the Gods, he couldn’t. He couldn’t want you to love Aegon when everything in his body screamed out for you to love him, to want him.

Not that it mattered. He had no say in the matter, it could all be over in a matter of moments. Impulsively, he reached for a flagon of wine and filled his cup to the brim, downing it in one gulp. If he had to continue to be a spectator in his own life, he might as well be drunk for it.

—

Unbeknownst to Aemond, he had an admirer of sorts, studying him from across the room with a sympathetic look of concern as he drank. If anyone knew how Aemond was feeling right now, it was Kevan Reyne. Second sons with hearts that lived outside of their bodies, never quite in the right place at the right time. It was a bitter, bitter poison to drink.

Daerra Velaryon followed his gaze and made a knowing sound, “Five gold dragons says he breaks before dinner is served and bolts for the door.”

“Cut him some slack, Dae,” he responded, “he’s having a rough night.”

“Bet Y/N’s night is significantly rougher,” she countered, “considering she might be getting told that she’s engaged in front of the whole city.”

Kevan gave her a look, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, “I know, I just worry for her, that’s all. These Targaryens…” she shook her head, “they use people like toys and then discard them when they’re done, and the Hightowers are no better. I don’t like her being caught up in all this.”

Kevan watched as Aemond tried, and failed, to not watch you as you made the social rounds. It was honestly painful how familiar it felt, watching him pine and ache and torment himself while the person he wanted was mere meters away, completely oblivious to his silent devotion.

“I don’t like it either,” he said honestly, “but she says she has it under control,” she reminded Daerra comfortingly, “and Coren would ever let anything happen to her, you know that.”

Daerra nodded, worrying at her bottom lip, “Coren won’t be around forever. What can he do from White Harbour if Aegon and Aemond decide to simply rip her in half and share the bloody pieces, hm?”

“Seven hells, Dae, don’t hold back,” Kevan shot back with a nervous laugh, “good Gods.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I’m not certain that you didn’t mean exactly what you just said,” Kevan acknowledged, “one of these boys does ride the largest dragon in the realm. The other is Aegon, so…”

“Exactly!”

“But,” he continued, “like I said, Y/N said that she knows what she’s doing. We have to trust her. She’s gotten us this far.”

“Y/N is my best friend, I care about her safety more than I care about some half baked plan we came up with in a drawing room half a world away,” she insisted, dropping her voice to a furious whisper, “we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into when we agreed to this, Kevan. No. Idea.”

Something about her tone sparked Kevan’s interest and he tore his eyes away from Aemond to focus on her instead. To his surprise, there was real fear in her eyes, deep fear, the kind he simply did not associate with Daerra Velaryon. She had always been the most fearless of their friends. In fact, he could ever even remember seeing her afraid.

“Dae,” he started seriously, dropping his voice to match hers, “what do you know that I don’t?”

She met his eye nervously, then looked away, picking at her nails the way she always did when she was nervous.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Daerra..” he pushed.

Daerra pursed her lips, “Only one thing’s for sure…but I swore I wouldn’t say. She doesn’t want Coren to know. The rest is just…rumors. Awful rumors.”

“She doesn’t want-” Kevan replied, “Daerra, what do you know?”

She shook her head, “You’ll tell Coren.”

He rolled his eyes, “In case you haven’t noticed, Coren and I aren't exactly on speaking terms.”

Even saying his name made Kevan feel like he was choking on ash and bitter wine, and he tried to wash out the taste with another sip of sweet mead. He tried to keep his face neutral and unbothered, but he could feel Daerra’s eyes on him, dark and beautiful and all too knowing for his liking.

“For now,” she acknowledged, “but we all know that won’t last.”

“He’s married.”

“And you’re engaged,” she countered, “either way, no matter your feelings, if you felt Y/N was in trouble, can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t run straight to Coren?”

It was an excellent point. An unbeatable point.

“Is she in trouble?” he said in place of an answer.

“That’s yet to be seen,” she said softly, mostly to herself, “I have to verify some things, speak to some friends and see-” she breathed, “see if things are as dire as they seem.”

He looked out at you, feeling the prick of fraternal concern in his chest as he watched you talk to the Lannisters. They were always too familiar with you, touching your forearms and calling you pet names that you despised. Since his childhood, you’d been the closest thing to a sister he’d ever had. You’d played together in the courtyard of Storm’s End, he’d held your hand when your mother died and every day for weeks after she’d been laid to rest. You’d been his first kiss when he was 13 years old, and you’d sworn not to tell a living soul when he’d broken down and admitted that he thought he was gay. You’d kept your word, and he’d kept your confidence ever since. When his brother had been killed in a tourney accident, you had held him while he sobbed and then got him cleaned up before his father had arrived to summon him home to Castamere. You were his family, the idea of you being in danger made his blood boil.

A flash of white hair caught his eye, and there was Aemond Targaryen, flashing warning glances at the Lannisters from across the room that were so potent that they physically recoiled.

Surely Aemond wasn’t a threat? He was rough around the edges, sure, and maybe a little thoughtless at times, but Kevan had seen the way he’d looked at you in the woods. He’d seen the moment when Aemond realized that he was free-falling through open air and into hopeless, painful devotion, and he’d made the journey back to King’s Landing with him, pretending not to know exactly what Aemond was going through.

No, he believed that Aemond wanted what was best for you. His brother on the other hand, Kevan couldn’t account for. He wanted to make his way over to you, pull you aside and get you to tell him where your head was at.

Not for the first time in recent months, Kevan longed for Coren. He wanted to know if Coren knew what was happening tonight, if he knew anything about the Queen, or Aegon, or what might have been worrying Daerra. If they could just talk, he was sure they could figure out how to keep everyone safe, they always had before. Hells, if he could just talk to Coren about anything Kevan might be able to think more clearly. But he couldn’t give in, not now.

As though he could feel Kevan’s thoughts, Coren looked back at him, his dark eyes glimmering with that sweet, familiar sadness. Hating him would’ve been so much easier if he wasn’t so godsdamned beautiful, or if he didn’t know Kevan’s heart and mind so damn well!

“Kevan, please can we-”

The sound of a spoon clinking against a glass goblet silenced the chatter in the banquet room and, just like that, dinner was announced, and Kevan had an excuse to duck around his oldest friend and rush to his seat without a word. As he sat, he watched the blood leach from your face and, even though he couldn’t be sure, he would have bet money on your hands being clenched at your sides to keep them from shaking. Kevan looked around at the faces of the royals, trying to see if he could piece together any information about what was happening.

The Queen looked smug, like the cat who’d gotten the cream. The Hand, Otto Hightower, was inscrutable. Aegon looked clueless and bored, as usual. The princess, Helaena, was muttering to herself, her brow furrowed with what looked like distress. Prince Jacaerys was shooting looks at her, clearly concerned, and Aemond was biting down on the back of his jaw, his hand clenched into a fist beside his plate as he stared blankly ahead, barely touching his food.

As food was brought out conversation trickled back into the hall and the strange tension went unnoticed. Kevan tried to maintain a jovial air as he ate, talked, networked and dug for information. Most people in King’s Landing hadn’t seen a Reyne out in public since Stepphas’ passing, and were now eager to get to know Kevan, the new heir. He tried not to snap when people compared him to his brother, regardless of how flattering or humbling those comparisons might have been. They were still preferable to the heartfelt, sincere statements of grief and love for Stepphas that always made Kevan feel like his heart was going to shatter into a billion little pieces. Either way, every man and woman in his immediate area seemed intent on reminding Kevan of exactly how shocking his rise to prominence had been, and how large the shoes he was filling really were.

When they weren’t nosing around in Kevan’s business, other juicy court tidbits were traded like marbles between children, and Kevan used the opportunity to gauge the mood in the Crownlands.

“Did you hear about Princess Rhaenyra’s newest-”

“My friend swears that the Hightowers are making a play to become the wardens of the South.”

“That Aegon is a beast, as I’ve heard.”

“I saw him at the fighting pits in Flea Bottom, entangled with some prostitute who looked worryingly young…”

“And the King is nowhere to be found, of course-”

“But then I told him, what’s stopping the Hightowers from simply ruling themselves? Viserys is basically just a rumor at this point anyway.”

“And with crop yields being what they are, the Tyrells are concerned that prices are going to just skyrocket.”

“My father warned me. Nothing good will come from this division, that’s what he said.”

“Hopefully marriage settles the prince down-but marriage to who?”

“Who would have him?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“-Baratheon.”

“-Greyjoy?”

“Not a Frey.”

“Y/N Manderly, I heard.”

The depth of the rumors was overwhelming, but most seemed in agreement that you were the Hightowers’ best bet in securing the North’s support. Many felt that any other match would simply be foolish, especially since Rhaenyra’s sons were rumored to have matches with Baela and Rhaena Velaryon in the works. Underneath the neutral, unremarkable comments, Kevan felt real anger, a growing sense of dissatisfaction with the Queen and the Hand’s antics, which had seen the Hightowers and Lannisters profit for well over a decade, while every other noble family in the realm was overlooked time and time again for positions and alliances they otherwise might have had a right to. With relations with Pentos and Lys evermore tense, the nobles were sick of being ruled by people with no interest in engaging with them before sending their men to die in the stepstones, or in border skirmishes with Dorne. A marriage between Aegon II and you would show a willingness on the part of the royal family to grow, to change with the times and open themselves to new relationships. It might be the last such opportunity they got.

By the time Kevan had managed to fend off the most prying court gossips it was time for dessert, and he could feel the anticipation of the crowd rising. He made some subtle offers to those he felt could be most relied upon to support the Silver Council’s cause, winked at some old friends and then leaned back, ready to take his cues from you and Coren. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

The Queen stood, her deep green high necked gown and large seven pointed star necklace helping her give off an air of modest piety that was offset by the triumphant look in her eye. She raised her glass.

“A toast,” she declared, silencing the room, “to our future, and the future of the realm.”

Everyone dutifully mirrored her movements, Kevan noted, even Aemond, who was watching you so sadly that it made Kevan’s heart ache, and you, who’s goblet shook slightly with nerves. Coren had one arm subtly wrapped around your shoulders, giving you something to anchor yourself with and Kevan was struck, again, by how deeply you Manderlys loved one another, how little he himself had been loved, and how he still longed for it, like a starving man longs for food. He forced his gaze back to the head table.

This was it. If Alicent announced Aegon’s intention to formally pursue you, the Silvers would officially take the green, taking their formidable strength and support with them. The die would be cast, the coin flipped, there would be no turning back.

This was the moment.

“We have overcome many trials these past years,” the Queen continued, “and, though my husband could not be with us here tonight, I speak with his voice when I state our dedication to preserving the strength and integrity of our great country,” she paused, looking around the room like a conquering hero. The tension built, eyes flickered to you, some with excitement, some with envy, but only one pair looked on with pure anguish.

“and for that reason,” Alicent continued, taking a pause, “I am pleased to announce that the King and I have decided to engage our children, the prince Aegon and princess Helaena, to be wed.”

Gasps, hastily covered up by hands or handkerchiefs, a few soft curses and awed sounds of surprise could be heard throughout the echoing hall.

Oh. Well, that was unexpected.

Kevan’s gaze shot to you and Coren, waiting to see what the response would be. This was a humiliation, for sure. Even though nothing was official, every person in court had seen you with Aegon almost daily. He’d brought you flowers, walked with you through the gardens and brought you to watch him train and study. You’d been integrated into his social circles, his brother had trained with yours. Other suitors had been warned off pursuing you for fear of earning the prince’s wrath. For all intents and purposes you had been courting for months, and successfully so at that. After all, Coren and Kerran had made the trek down to King’s Landing from White Harbor. For the Queen to pass you over for her own daughter, implying that Aegon had been simply stringing you on for his own amusement was…

Well, the look on Coren Manderly’s face said it was an unforgivable slight on you and your house. His face was stormy and dark, his jaw set with the kind of quiet fury only Coren and his sister Camylla had ever been able to perfect. It sent a shiver down Kevan’s spine and he knew, without having to check in, that the Hightowers had likely just made a powerful enemy. Coren wouldn’t forget this. It may not be enough for him to throw his weight behind Rhaenyra, but it was a mark against the Greens that would be hard to ignore. Kevan made a mental note to have a Targaryen banner made when he arrived home.

You, on the other hand, seemed more stunned than anything else. Your jaw had dropped but, when you realized you were being stared at, you quickly snapped it shut, instead forcing a smile while your brain tried to process what had just happened.

“To the prince and princess,” Queen Alicent finished.

“To the prince and princess.” Everyone echoed.

Kevan watched as you downed your glass, quickly filling it up and downing it again. Coren met his eye, and Kevan responded by raising his eyebrows, their earlier conflict squashed as they tipped their glasses to one another with a silent agreement to discuss strategy at the earliest opportunity. And, with that, Kevan turned to the nobles sitting at his table and plastered on an easy, charming smile, ready to gather information, stoke the fire and win allies to his cause.

The Silvers were back in the game, and they were determined to win.

—

Aemond was dizzy with relief and dizzy with confusion. What? What? Helaena and…Helaena!

Dragons and dragons. She’d been right.

He looked to his sister, touching her forearm gently. She was staring into her cup with a blank expression on her face, not a hint of sadness or excitement to be seen, seemingly completely blind to the world. His mother was whispering furiously into Aegon’s ear as Aegon stared forward with a similar blank, stunned look on his face. Aemond felt like he’d just resurfaced after a little too long underwater. The sounds of the banquet were louder, the colors brighter, hells, Aemond felt like the air itself was sweeter as he breathed it into his lungs. But the world he’d resurfaced to was not the same as the one he’d left. He could sense the chaos in the crowd, feel the ripples of hopelessness and confusion as it rippled through his siblings, nephews and cousins and, under it all, the distinct flavor of his mother’s influence. Her grip on Aegon’s hand was like a vice, most likely reminding him to take this news with grace and not make a scene in front of the entire court.

“Helaena,” Aemond whispered again, “sweet one, please say something.”

“Rivers of blood spool into rivers of gold. Blood in the dirt, blood on the stones.” she replied, “Dragons and dragons. Dragons of gold and dragons of blood.”

Aemond sighed, lacing his fingers with hers and giving her hand a soft squeeze, “Helaena, do you need me to get you out of here for a while? Help you clear your head?”

She looked up, focussing on him for a moment, “It’s alright, Aemond,” she assured him sadly, “this was how it always happened. This is how it had to happen.”

“Hel-”

“I’m alright,” she interrupted, squeezing his hand in return, “I-you’ll see someday, Aemond. There was no other way.”

Music began to play, the sound of violins slowly drowning out the steadily building rumble of discussion and, clearly at Alicent’s urging, Aegon stood and offered his hand to Helaena, asking her to dance in the stiffest, most monotone voice Aemond had ever heard from him. Helaena agreed and, in a heartbeat, Aegon had whisked her away, leaving Aemond alone in his seat with nothing to distract him from the absolute mess of emotions battling for dominance in his head.

The creature in his chest was growling and pacing again, itching to whoop and cheer with excitement and bellow with rage all at once, not helped by the truly impressive amount of wine he’d consumed. Helaena was engaged to Aegon. You had been publicly passed over and humiliated in front of the entire court.

His protectiveness was at war with his relief, the deep sense that his mother had just made a terrible mistake was directly at odds with the painful pleasure he felt knowing that you were not engaged to his brother.

You were not engaged. He had more time, he didn’t have to lose you.

It took less than a minute for him to locate you in the crowd, his heart pinching with affection as he watched you and Coren talking to one another quietly to the side of the dancefloor. Were you alright? How did you feel about the turn of events? Were you as conflicted as he was? He searched your face and body for some evidence of the answers, but he came up with nothing. Aemond stood and began making his way towards you slowly, careful not to be noticed by anyone who might have a vested interest in the realm’s second son. Before he got close enough to do anything but note the wide eyed, slightly crazed look on your eye, you slipped away. Aemond followed, his tipsy mind too desperate to see you to even consider letting you vanish into the darkness.

He followed you as you fled through the open doors and out into the castle, moving towards the nearest courtyard with a determination that had Aemond concerned. His mind was foggy with wine, but he registered how good the night air felt on his skin. Eventually you reached the courtyard but, rather than stepping out into the night, you stopped. The moon shone off your hair and you tilted your head up towards the sky. Your back was to Aemond and you were breathing heavily with your hand pressed to the base of your throat. Aemond opened his mouth to speak and then considered, for a moment, that he may have made a mistake in following you out here.

Perhaps you wanted a moment alone. Perhaps, he considered with a painful jolt, perhaps you were truly heartbroken. Maybe he’d been wrong about your feelings for Aegon. In which case, the brother of the man who’d just publicly passed you over for his sister might not be the person you most wanted to see. And yet, he couldn’t seem to make himself leave.

Maybe it was the wine, or the feeling of the cool air on his face. Maybe it was just how beautiful you looked. Regardless, Aemond couldn’t turn away.

“My lady?” He said softly, stepping towards you.

Your shoulders were shaking. Fuck. Fuck, you were crying. Aemond felt his chest constrict with panic.

“Lady Y/N are you-” he continued, more insistently now.

You turned to face him, your eyes watering with suppressed tears as you….laughed? You were laughing! Aemond let out an inward sigh of relief. Your shaking shoulders were from holding in your giggles and, when you saw him standing there with his mouth open like a fish out of water, you doubled over, laughing even harder.

Mother above, the way your laugh filled him up was like nectar, or a balm on the frayed edges of his heart. It was his favorite sound. No sound on earth had ever sounded sweeter than your laugh. Not one.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.

“Your highness,” you said breathlessly, “I’m so-I’m sorry I just-Gods above-” you trailed off, still laughing.

“Aemond,” he corrected without thinking.

You wiped your eyes, “I’m sorry?” you asked, with an absent smile.

He stepped closer, feeling the pull of you like a magnet.

“I seem to remember asking that you call me Aemond, my lady,” he said, his voice smoother and less shattered than it had any right to be.

Your smile faltered and he watched you remember the moment in the woods. He watched you become aware of him, the way you always seemed so perfectly aware of him, and yet you didn’t pull away. You held his gaze, and the dragon in his chest roared with pride when your eyes flicked to his lips, just for a second. There was a fragile tension in the air, a peace that could fracture at any second and send you back into the banquet hall and the watching eyes of his family, but Aemond wasn’t going to let it. The wine made him foolish, and reckless, but it also made him brave and he wanted to revel in the freedom that came with that bravery. He wanted to know what it tasted like to simply be with you. No consequences, no fear, no mess of responsibilities and obligations, just a man and a woman, sizing one another up, toeing the line until it cracked.

God above, he needed that line to crack.

“I assume you’re not too distraught over my brother’s engagement, then?” He asked, leading lightly against the stone wall.

You turned to face him fully, mirroring his posture, a small, amused smile dancing at the corners of your mouth. You were altogether too close to be proper, Aemond noted with a shiver of anticipation, and you knew it. Anyone seeing you would have no choice but to assume something illicit was happening. You could have stepped back, you could have broken the connection, but you hadn’t. He wanted to be even closer.

“That’s quite an assumption to make,” you countered, “I’m not certain I understand your implication, your grace.”

“Aemond.” He corrected you, again. You pressed your lips together, but said nothing else, a glimmer of defiance in your eye. Aemond leaned forward slightly, dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’m implying that you do not much mind my brother’s wedding plans no longer being any of your concern.” He explained, “I’m implying that, perhaps, you did not want to marry my brother.”

You shivered, whether from the cold or from his closeness he couldn’t be sure.

“That is-” you breathed out, “quite the implication, your highness.”

“Aemond,” he said, “is it?”

You nodded, your eyes slipping down to his lips again, this time for a beat longer, “Slanderous, even.”

“Slanderous?” He smiled, “My apologies then, my lady.”

You smiled back, heat creeping into your skin when Aemond didn’t pull away. Aemond waited, feeling his heart thundering in his throat. The moonlight hit your face like artwork, bathing you in a pale, silver light that made you look as though you were glowing. Your head was tilted to the side slightly as you examined him, something dark flickering in your eyes that made him tingle with excitement, as though his body was preparing for battle. He couldn’t have looked away from you even if he wanted to and, again, he was struck with the deep sense that he might die if you ever looked at anyone else this way.

“Apology accepted, your grace.” you said, teasingly.

Aemond took a half step forward, rolling his eye teasingly, “You don’t follow orders often, do you, my lady?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Are you giving me an order?” you asked, still not moving away.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Aemond’s mind screamed. Touch me. Touch me. Touch me.

Want me.

He self-preservation wanted you to move back. The tension was too thick, his head was too filled with thoughts of you to consider his actions. He was vulnerable and open. There was no hiding the predator in his chest as it tried to claw its way out of his skin and swallow you whole. He felt like a God, or like a fly in the palm of your hand. He was terrified, but he’d never felt more alive. He wanted more. Everything you would give him, everything you were willing to allow, he would take, gladly. He would rip the heart out of his chest and present it to you on a golden plate for you to eat if you would let him lick the blood off your fingers when you were done.

Was this what love was supposed to feel like? How did anyone survive this?

He smiled, shaking his head, “No, my lady, I’m not. However, I’ll admit, my earlier implication may have been more of an…aspiration.”

He watched you process his words for any sign of discomfort, or even shock, half desperate for you to stop him in his tracks and send him on his way. None presented themselves. If anything, he felt the atmosphere between you shift towards the dangerous and tantalizing.

“I’m sure I don’t understand, your grace,” you lied.

He smiled softly. Fine, he would bare himself to you even more if it would keep your eyes on him for a moment longer.

He hummed, leaning just a fraction closer and preening with pride when your breath caught in your throat and your eyes instantly jumped to his lips. He could smell the perfume in your hair and the sweet wine on your breath. It made his blood sing.

“I’m saying, my lady,” he said, his voice barely audible so that you had to lean in to catch his words, “that I did not want you to marry my brother. I am relieved to know that I will never have to call you ‘sister’, or watch you on Aegon’s arm.”

“Because you hate me?” you asked equally softly, your eyes still hovering on his lips.

Pull back! His mind shouted. Pull back, blame the drink! Apologise profusely! Beg your forgiveness, run to the dragonpit, mount Vhagar and put as much distance between him and you as he possibly could!

Love me. Love me. Love me.

He shook his head, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I never hated you, Y/N,” he admitted, “not for a moment.”

“Then why?”

Last chance, the voice in his mind supplied.

“Because he would have hurt you,” Aemond said simply, “and then I would have killed him, and I have no desire to see myself become a kinslayer.”

Your eyes met his and he saw the shock ripple through you. The tension shuddered under the weight of his confession.

“Aemond,” you whispered, in a tone he couldn’t quite recognize.

It was like a sledgehammer slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his chest and leaving him breathless. Forget laughter, that was the most glorious sound ever created, his name on your tongue.

Without thinking he leant forward, capturing your lips with his own before he could think to stop himself. You gasped into his kiss and, for an agonizing second, Aemond thought he had just made the worst mistake of his life. But then you sighed and melted into Aemond, kissing him back, and the moment shattered. Aemond groaned, pressing you up against the stone wall and sliding his hand up to cup your face, every nerve in his body so alive with pleasure that he ached with the intensity of it. You tasted like the world’s best Dornish red, and the feeling of stepping back onto solid ground after hours on dragonback. Your lips were soft and firm, and closer to the seven heavens than Aemond had any right to be, and he sighed your name like a prayer, wanting nothing more than to live in this moment until he was old and gray

Your hands grasped the fabric of his tunic as you deepened the kiss, sending a rush of pure ecstasy through the few parts of Aemond’s brain that were still functioning. His free hand gripped your waist, crushing your body against his and letting out a shaky breath when you simply arched further into him. Gods above, it was like you’d been made for him, some part of his mind registered. His hands fit your waist perfectly, and the curve of your body slotted against his like puzzle pieces. He could have kissed you for a thousand years. Let winter come. Let a hundred winters come, and then a hundred summers, and a hundred winters again. Aemond would not be parted from your lips, not for a second.

“Aemond,” you whispered, breathless and shaking when you eventually broke apart.

“Fuck, the way it sounds,” he practically whined, resting his forehead against yours as your chests heaved in unison, “darling, you’re killing me.”

Your answering laugh was shattered and blissful, and Aemond wanted to swallow the sound whole.

“You practically begged me to say it,” you pointed out, sliding a hand up and into his hair, as though you were afraid he might try and pull away.

He groaned at the feeling of your fingernails scraping against his scalp, sighing with pleasure when you laughed softly. Aemond pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw, his skin still tingling with desire and his blood pounding in his temples.

“Oh, Y/N,” he said, his voice still shaky with need, “you haven’t even begun to hear me beg.”

You shivered, “Are you drunk, my prince?”

He pressed another kiss to your jaw, then one to your neck which made you shiver again, “Can we go back to Aemond, please?” he asked, still pressing kisses to your neck.

He could almost feel you roll your eyes but, when he lightly sucked at the skin where your neck met your shoulder, you bit back a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh and tugged on his hair, making him groan.

“Are you drunk, Aemond?” You repeated, significantly more breathlessly this time.

Aemond straightened up, resting his forehead against yours again and letting his eyes close, “Maybe, are you drunk, Y/N?” he asked, opening his eye in time to see you nod in response.

He sighed and was about to respond when a noise grabbed your attention. Footsteps, what sounded like three pairs, were echoing on the flagstones. You looked at one another in panic, springing apart so fast it made Aemond’s head spin. He took one look at your flushed cheeks and kiss stained lips and knew he must look equally, if not more, wrecked. He couldn’t let anyone see him with you in this state, your reputation would be ruined.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cursed, “shit.”

He kissed you again, still absurdly proud of the way your body gave way to his.

“Meet me tomorrow?” He whispered with more than a hint of pleading, “I’ll send word for you so we can…”

You nodded, “Now go! Hide!”

“Bossy thing, aren’t you?”

“Aemond!” You whined as the footsteps grew closer.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he promised, “but you’ll come tomorrow? Swear it.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, “I swear, now go!”

Aemond smiled, his whole body filling with warmth, “As you wish, my lady.”

And he took off into the courtyard, ducking down and into a row of bushes just in time to hear you loudly greeting the Lord and Lady Bar Emmon, who promptly offered you their sympathies on the botched match with Aegon, and introduced you to their own son, Joffrey. A man's voice that Aemond didn’t recognize responded, offering to walk you back to the banquet. Your reply was too soft to make out, but he heard you leave with them, presumably to be delivered safely back to the festivities. Aemond waited for a while longer, until he was certain no one was around, before leaving the safety of his hideout and making his own way back towards the royal chambers.

His mind was racing a million miles an hour and, already the weight of his actions was starting to bear down on him but, whenever doubt threatened to drown him completely, he remembered the sound of his name coming from your lips, and the way you’d sighed into him, like he was bringing you back to life, and the darkness receded.

Love me. Love me. Love me.

You might not yet, Aemond reasoned, but he would make you. He would find a way to make you his, no matter what it took.

Chapter Text

You feel the air between you shift as he presses you to the wall, his lips chasing yours hungrily and Gods above, how have you not noticed how tall he is before this? You’ve never been the most petite woman in the world but he makes you feel small as he cups your face in his hand and sighs your name into your mouth like a secret. He grasps your waist hard, sending shocks of pleasure through your body as you arch into him and pull his body closer.

You’ve never felt this shaky and undone before, but you chase it, chase him. All propriety is abandoned as you give yourself over to pure, unrestrained desire. The world doesn’t exist, or if it does it doesn’t matter. What could matter if not Aemond? What could you want except this moment? This beautiful, unexpected, stolen moment that dwarfs every fear, every humiliation, every second you’d wasted on someone who wasn’t Aemond Targaryen.

You want more.

“Swear it?” he makes you promise, his voice wrecked with barely suppressed desire, almost pleading with you as footsteps come closer and closer and your heart threatens to burst from your chest.

STAY, your heart screams, even as you swear to him. You’d swear anything, promise everything. Whatever he wants. Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.

“My lady?” you handlady, Lila asked, “My lady are you well?”

You snapped out of it, heat flushing into your cheeks when you realized that you’d slipped into memory again. You wondered if Lila could see your illicit thoughts broadcast on your face like a sign, and tried to school your features into casual neutrality.

“Apologies, Lila,” you responded with a small smile, “yes I’m alright just…tired, I guess.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together and giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as she poured your tea. She pitied you, you realized with a start. She thought you were moping over Aegon, or the public humiliation you’d suffered the night before. The thought made you want to laugh incredulously and you had to bite down on your tongue to keep the sound from slipping out and giving away the extent to which your mind was reeling. Gods, you wished you cared about what had happened with Aegon. You should care, you reasoned, it had been a massive slight on your family. Coren had been furious. He’d called a meeting of the Silver Council for this evening to discuss the way forward, you should be strategizing for that.

But you weren’t. You were sitting on the little couch in your rooms, sipping tea and waiting on word from a man who may, or may not, be sending for you, like a fool. What if he didn’t remember? A voice in your head whispered. He said he’d been drunk, it was reasonable to assume he was sleeping off a hangover with not a single thought of you disturbing his peace. Or what if he did remember and just didn’t care? Another voice supplied. Men did that sort of thing, didn’t they? And Aemond was no ordinary man, he was a prince. Was it so unbelievable that you may have just been played? A means to an end? A brief but intense obsession that had burnt itself out in the light of the day?

Aemond. You rolled the word around in your mouth like a marble, relishing the way it sounded and imagining that you could still taste its owner on your lips.

You remembered the way he’d looked at you, like you were salvation. Like he might shatter if you didn’t reciprocate his desire. You heard, in your mind, the way his voice had shaken, felt how he’d held you close, like your body was precious.

Were those the attributes of someone who didn’t care? If so, it was the most convincing performance you’d ever seen. Nevertheless, as time crept forward, you could feel the anxiety bubbling in your chest like a pot boiling over coals. Was he coming? Was he coming? Was he coming? Was he coming? You couldn't read because the words just swam about on the page. You couldn’t embroider because your hands couldn’t stop shaking. You couldn’t play chess, because you had no one to play against and you couldn’t go and search out Daerra because she would take one look at you and know something was up. So, all you could do was sit and wait. And wait. And wait.

And wait.

Until a sharp rap echoed against the door. Your head shot up, and Lila quickly rushed over to the door, opening it a crack and whispering to the person too softly for you to hear.

“My lady?” she said.

“Yes?” you responded quickly.

She gave you a look, “There’s a man here for you. He wants you to accompany him somewhere.”

“A man?”

She nodded and handed you an envelope, “He said to give you this.”

You tore open the letter, your heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour as you scanned the brief message, written in black ink in large, looping handwriting that made something in your chest pinch tight.

Trust me, please.

I’m waiting for you.

Yours, Aemy

The knot in your chest loosened and you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. You examined yourself in the mirror, fiddling with your hair and dress to ensure you were happy with the way you looked.

“Lila, my cloak please.” you called, “I’m going out.”

“Are you certain, my lady?” she asked, her voice colored by worry, “Should I tell your brother?”

You touched her forearm and gave her a comforting smile, “I’m alright, Lila, truly. Please, don’t tell anyone. I’m-” you paused, “I’m meeting someone, not Aegon, but someone.”

She nodded, clearly not surprised, “Someone you can trust?”

You sighed, “I hope so.”

Lila wrapped a nondescript black cloak over your shoulders, pulling the hood up and arranging it to cover your face from the view of strangers. You whispered your thanks and slipped out of the door. The man on the other side gave you a small smile and wordlessly beckoned you to follow him. The route he led you down was convoluted and hard to track, using paths you’d never walked before until they deposited you outside of the castle’s walls. A carriage was waiting for you just outside the gate and, with only a moment’s hesitation, you clambered inside, making sure to not let your hood slip from your head and keeping your letter from Aemond clutched tight in your hand.

It wasn’t until the carriage started moving that you realised how truly stupid you were being. You had never seen Aemond’s handwriting before, you had no idea that this was from him. Anyone could have written that letter up as bait to lead you into some sort of trap, and here you were, falling for it. You were in a carriage going gods know where, with no one who really ought to know where you were any the wiser. You could be killed, or kidnapped and it would just be as if you’d vanished into thin air. You should have told Lila, or Daerra or someone. Had you really put yourself at risk like this over a nickname? Any number of people might have known that name from Aemond’s childhood. Stupid. Time passed and the men who drove the carriage gave you no indication of the progress of your journey. You tried to calm your breathing, focussing on the beauty of the city rather than the precariousness of your own position.

Where were you going? You peered out of the window, wondering if you ought to simply open the door and leap from the carriage while you still could, but the Keep was already a fair distance away and you’d never been down in the city alone before. There was no way you’d find your way back. You twisted your head around to see where you were going and your heart leapt into your throat and you gasped with excitement.

The dragon pit!

You’d never been inside before, but the building itself had always called to you like a homing beacon. Here lies the last remnants of Old Valyria, it seemed to whisper. Here lies magic and adventure, the likes of which mortals have no understanding. You were still cursing your own stupidity, of course, but now there was also a shiver of anticipation. Surely, no matter what happened, you were in for an adventure if it started here, in this most exclusive of all places.

Eventually the carriage rumbled to a stop and the door swung open, revealing the man who had walked you from your room. You took his hand, realizing that you really didn’t have another option and stepped down onto the cobblestone floor.

“If you’ll follow me, my lady,” he said.

You started with shock. Up until this point, the man had not said so much as a word to you, so you took the change as a good sign and nodded, allowing him to guide you into the large, imposing structure. It was even more imposing once you were inside, all dark stone and intricate carvings but, rather than leading you into the center, your guide led you down a level and deposited you in a side room with maps plastered on the walls and stacks of books scattered on every available surface. He gave you a deep bow and then vanished, leaving you utterly alone.

You removed your hood and took a moment to examine the room carefully. It was larger than you’d at first imagined and strangely homey, with comfortable chairs around the central table, a small cot pressed against the far wall and blankets thrown haphazardly on the mattress. You could see that, on some of the maps, sections had been hand drawn or annotated in the same elegant, looping script from your letter. It soothed your frayed nerves a bit, and you inspected the maps more closely.

You felt the air shift behind you, sending that familiar tingle of excitement through your body. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and you sighed, tilting your head to the side as Aemond pressed his lips to your temples. The comfort was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Every ounce of anxiety left you in a rush and you fought back the urge to just melt into Aemond’s arms.

“You came,” he said, his voice tinged with palpable relief, “I was worried.”

You let the momentary rush of comfort pass, and you remembered the mess of entanglements that came with this…relationship? Affair? What were you even doing here?

“So was I,” you admitted, extracting yourself delicately and turning to face him, “I wasn’t sure it was you, at first.”

Aemond smiled sheepishly, stepping towards you and tracing your body with his eye. He looked more casual than you’d ever seen him before, with no tunic covering his shirt, the sleeves of which he’d pushed up past his elbows, and his hair hanging loose around his shoulders. He was looking down at you with such deep fondness, his violet eye bright with unguarded excitement as his gaze flicked between your eyes and your lips. He was so stunning that it made you breathless and there was something dangerous about looking at him like this, completely alone and knowing how his lips tasted.

“I realized the nickname was a bit of a long shot,” he replied, “but I was hoping that you would trust me, my lady.” his smile was teasing as he leaned his head down closer to you, “And it seems that you did.”

“It seems that way, yes,” you replied, trying to avoid getting burned under the heat of his gaze.

He studied your face, “What are you thinking, Y/N?”

You looked down and he cupped your face with his hand, tilting your head up so that you were forced to meet his eye. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as your head and your heart went to war over what you wanted. You were alone. You were alone with Aemond. You had just snuck out the Red Keep with a total stranger, taken a mysterious carriage to an unknown location in the city and been led underground and abandoned by your guide on the off chance that you might be doing it for Aemond. Your eyes pricked and you blinked away the frustrated tears, which made Aemond frown with concern.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, running a thumb along your cheek softly, “hey, talk to me, darling. Have I offended you in some way? Are you hurt? What can I-?”

You shook your head, cutting him off and simply replied, “This would be so much easier if you weren’t so beautiful.”

His skin flushed at the compliment and Aemond smiled, almost shyly, as he ducked his head down and pressed his lips to yours. It was quick, almost nervous, as though he wasn’t sure how you would react, but it was enough to reignite that spark in your belly that made you crave more. You willed him to press you up against the wall and just kiss you stupid, but he didn’t.

“What would be easier?” he prompted, “Rejecting me?”

“Wanting you,” you corrected.

He looked undone by that, like you’d pulled the earth out from under his feet. The sound he made, a needy, desperate sound that seemed to wretch its way from his very soul, made you feel like you were on fire.

“You want me?” He asked, something very much like hope dancing in his eye, “Truly, it’s not just in my head?”

You wanted to laugh. You would have, if you weren’t so twisted up and flustered that you thought your heart might burst in your chest.

“You were right,” you answered, “I never wanted to marry Aegon. Not for a second.”

“You wanted me?”

“I didn’t realize at first,” you replied honestly, “I didn’t want to want you.”

“Y/N, I-” he started, with that sweet note of pleading that made you feel as though your blood had been replaced with liquid desire, “kiss me, please.”

Suddenly you didn't care where you were. You could have been in a crowded room, or alone at the end of the world and you would have reacted just the same. You leaned in and captured his lips with your own. It was like the floodgates had opened, like your permission was what he’d been waiting for. Just like before, your eagerness spurred Aemond on and he wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer, closer, closer, as though he couldn’t get enough. He kissed you softly, lazily, like he had all the time in the world to make you melt and swoon and fall into him. You should have pulled away, but you couldn’t. You craved his touch too desperately to do anything but follow his lead, letting him nudge your lips open with his own and winding your arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your lips like a prayer, “so, so, so beautiful.”

No matter how gentle he was with you, you could feel Aemond’s body responding in time with yours. He was so strong, so firm and present and it made you want to test him, push and push until he shivered and broke and fell apart, like you felt you were. Instinctively you bit down on his bottom lip and felt the rush of triumph when Aemond’s restraint seemed to snap. He dropped the hand from your face and gripped your hips hard, pulling you against him so that you could feel every inch of his body as he chased your kiss hungrily. There was nothing lazy about his embrace now. Now he was desperate and forceful, a barely contained mess of need and want and desire, and you were right there with him. You felt like your skin was too hot, or maybe that was his. The lines between where you started and where he ended were almost painful and you wanted nothing more than to make them disappear. You’d never wanted this sort of closeness before, this intimacy that was equal parts pleasure and pain, victory and desperation.

Just when you thought it might become too much, Aemond pulled away forcibly, taking a full step and a half away from you and pressing a hand to his lips. He gripped the table behind him so hard that his knuckles were white and you simply watched one another, breathless and dark eyed, in mutual awe of the beasts you had turned one another into.

“Are you alright? Did I-” you started, “did I do something wrong?”

Aemond’s answering laugh was incredulous and sharp and it made you shiver.

“No, no you’re perfect,” he assured, “too perfect. I just-fuck-I need a moment, otherwise I might do something I’ll regret.”

You looked over at the messy, well lived in bed in the corner of the room.

“We might do something we regret,” you corrected.

Aemond followed your gaze and laughed again, running a hand over his face and readjusting his eyepatch. You noticed, without meaning to, that the skin around his scar looked red, as though it was irritated. You wanted to reach out and pull the patch off so that you could run your fingers over the flushed skin and soothe the redness.

“You can’t say things like that, Y/N, you’re going to encourage my bad behavior,” he said. It would have been a joke if he didn’t look so strained, as though he were physically holding himself back from just pulling you back to him.

You touched the base of your throat, feeling the hum of your heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“And what of my bad behavior?” you countered, “If anyone knew I was here…”

Aemond nodded, breathing deeply, seemingly unable to stop himself from tracing the line of your body with his eye.

“I swear, I only brought you here so that we could talk without interruption,” he said, meeting your gaze with full and open sincerity, “Just talk. I would never-I’m not my brother, my lady.”

“I know,” you replied softly. There was a long pause where you both simply caught your breath, with you looking around before saying, “what is this place, anyway?” in an attempt to cut through the charged tension.

Aemond cleared his throat, following your gaze around the room, “This is my sanctuary,” he explained, “I’ve been coming here since I was a child. It’s where I used to hide out while my siblings and nephews trained with their dragons.”

It made perfect sense. You could picture a young Aemond here so clearly, standing on chairs to pin maps to the walls and sneaking in books from the library to read while his peers learned to fly. It painted a picture of someone who was used to being left behind, who had practice carving out safety from a world that was often hostile. Your heart broke a little bit, but you wondered what it must have taken for Aemond to bring you here, to open up this part of himself to a pair of eyes who’s reaction he couldn’t anticipate. When you looked at him and found him watching you intently, you saw the lonely child who had built this place, not the man who he’d later become.

“But then you claimed Vhagar?” you said.

Some of the tension in Aemond’s shoulders loosened and the ghost of a smile showed up in the corner of his mouth, “But then I claimed Vhagar and she was far too large to be housed here. So she stays in the hills and this became a sort of safe house for when I return home from long flights late, or simply don’t want to go back to the castle.”

He was trying not to be conspicuous, but you could feel his eye on you as you looked around, like a comforting blanket around your shoulders.

“You’ll have to tell me that story some day,” you continued, “about how you claimed the oldest dragon in the world.”

Aemond made a noncommittal sound and you remembered, with a jolt, that that would have been right around when he lost his eye. He looked away, reaching up to adjust his eyepatch, where he could feel it chafing against the soft skin of his under eye. You stepped forward and reached up and touched the patch, freezing Aemond in place. He watched the way your brow creased with concern as you traced his scar and the band of his eyepatch.

“Does it hurt?” you asked sincerely.

“The eye?”

“The patch,” you specified.

“Oh,” he replied softly, “occasionally, I suppose.”

“Then why wear it?” you asked.

He shrugged, “What’s beneath it has been known to make others uncomfortable. It seems the lesser of two evils to simply cover it up.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to imagine what kind of wound Aemond would have to have in order to make you hesitant. Would a mess of scar tissue make him any less beautiful? Was there anything that could possibly make you want him less? You doubted it. You reached up, fingering the leather band.

“May I see?”

—

His first instinct was to recoil and shut you down, to rearrange his patch and put a healthy distance between himself and the woman who was quickly driving him towards madness. However, he fought it down. He felt that he understood you better now. He felt the same impulse in you that was in him, the hunger for knowledge, the fear of the unknown. You weren’t turning away, you were asking him to explain where he was so that you could run toward him. You were asking him to assure you that you were safe, that you hadn’t made a mistake in trusting him with your virtue and reputation the way you had.

“I can see it’s irritating you,” you explained simply.

And wouldn’t it feel wonderful to be accepted? Just for a moment, to offer you that vulnerability?

So, slowly, he nodded, holding his breath as your fingers slipped beneath the patch and slid it off his head. He watched your face for signs of shock, for the recoil of horror. He waited, with bated breath for the telltale signs of rejection from you, but they never came. Instead, you merely looked curious for a second, and then began to smile with a sort of sweet affection. Aemond let out the breath he was holding shakily.

“There, isn’t that better?” You said.

He chuckled softly, “It is, yes. Thank you, Y/N.”

Your fingers ghosted along the scar and you hummed, studying his maimed eye as though it was something delightful and the creature in Aegon’s chest purred with pleasure.

“Honestly, I’m rather disappointed,” you told him, “I was hoping for something really terrifying, but this is lovely.”

How was it that you always knew how to make Aemond blush like a child?

“Well, I apologize. We all know how you feel about my beauty,” he retorted, letting his voice take on a suggestive tone.

You rolled your eyes, but he could see your mind drifting back to your earlier passionate embrace.

“I should never have told you that, your ego was unbearable enough as is.”

Aemond laughed, letting his hands drift back to your waist softly. It was the most curious thing, the way he could need you like a fire needs oxygen one moment, completely convinced of your desire for him, and then be gentle and adoring the next, nervous that he might overstep.

“Can you bear it, lady Y/N?” he asked cautiously, “Can you bear me?”

You paused, taking his hands from your waist and lacing your fingers together instead so that you were holding his hands.

“I suppose that’s what we ought to be talking about, isn’t it?” you replied, pulling out a chair and taking a seat with your hands still entwined.

Aemond followed your lead, pulling his chair closer to yours and running a thumb over the back of your hands. He tried to fight the rising fear in his stomach at the idea that this amazing, incredulous dream might be coming to an end, focussing instead on the things you’d said before.

She wants me. She wants me. She wants me.

“You are-” he started, clearing his throat, “I realize that I’ve been unfair to you, my lady. I sprung my feelings on you in a moment of weakness. I never took the time to tell you how I actually felt. You are the single most intriguing woman I have ever met.” he admitted, “I’ve been sick with it. Watching you with Aegon, it-” he shook his head, “it drove me mad.” he admitted, watching you intently, “But I would never want you to feel obligated to accept me. If you have any hesitation, please don’t be afraid to tell me.”

You squeezed his hands, “Aemond.”

“Gods, I love the way you say my name,” he whispered, without meaning to.

You laughed gently, “I like the way it sounds too,” you admitted, “but I-I’m scared.”

He leaned forward, his heart stuttering with nerves as he held your hands tight, “Scared of what, my darling?”

You shivered and Aemond realized that he’d once again revealed himself with a nickname.

“I was supposed to be engaged to your brother today,” you reminded him, “we met through my courtship with Aegon. How could I know, hells, how could you know that you aren’t merely covetting something because Aegon wanted it?”

Ah, alright, Aemond hadn’t expected that. He thought through the moment when he first saw you in the great hall being presented to his father. He’d been in the balcony section, looking down on the introduction with a keen interest that, even then, had shocked him. He remembered the way he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you, how uncomfortable he’d been because he hadn’t understood why. He remembered the way his stomach had roiled with fury when Aegon had leaned in and made a lewd comment about you and Daerra, the way he’d instantly rejected the idea of you being with Aegon. He thought back to how much he used to hate the way you called Aegon ‘my prince’, but Aemond ‘your highness’ or ‘your grace’. A hundred thousand moments when he could have realized his feelings, a million times that he’d misinterpreted jealousy as hatred or anxiety as irritation. From his perspective it was clear as day, but from yours he’d completely flipped his opinion of you. While, to Aemond, his feelings were written on every inch of his skin, to you he was still a mystery. So, he began to talk. He took you through every moment, every stare, every touch, leaving out only the ones where he realized that he was in love with you. As he spoke, you listened with a sort of wistfulness and awe, never interrupting except to squeeze his hand. He spoke for a long time, until he finished relaying the story of the night before, and how your being passed over for Helaena had felt like coming up for air,

Aemond sighed, lifting your hands to his mouth and kissing them softly, “There are few things about any of this, Y/N, that I know for certain, but that is one of them. I want you because you make me feel things I had never thought it possible for me to feel. Aegon was an obstacle. Seeing you with him was painful because I wanted to be the person who got to pursue you so openly, but that’s all he was. My intention isn’t to flaunt you to my brother like some trophy.”

You nodded and then shot him a rueful smile, “Although, if that was your plan, you’re a little too late. I am, at best, just a pathetic exercise in time wasting now it would seem.”

“You could never be pathetic, my lady,” he assured.

“It doesn't matter either way,” you continued, “Aegon frightened me. I had no desire to marry him, save that it was expected of me to marry, and to marry well. He was a prince who showed interest in me, really I had very little say in the matter.”

To Aemond, it felt as though the world slowed to a halt. For a brief moment, there was only the pair of you in this secret, private place, with all of eternity stretching out before you.

“I am a prince,” he said softly, “I’m a second son, I know that, and not the prince you came for but-” he trailed off, “we are similar ages, I get along well with your brothers. We could go to the sept today and-”

“Aemond,” you interrupted, raising a hand to stop him, “are you suggesting that we get married?”

“I don’t see why not, we clearly care for one another. I would be a loyal husband to you,” he continued, “we could-”

“Aemond!” You interrupted again with a laugh, “my prince, you can’t be serious.”

Something in his chest pinched painfully and the little bubble of excitement that had formed at the thought of a life with you by his side started to deflate.

“Can’t I?”

His sadness must have shown on his face because yours creased with concern and you leaned forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and ghosting your thumb across his scar.

“I want to be with you, Aemond,” you insisted, “please, don’t mistake my caution for disinterest. I just want to do this properly. How would it look if, the day after I was humiliated in front of the court and passed over, I vanished for several hours and then reappeared, engaged to Aegon’s brother, a man who, up until now, had shown no public interest in me at all?”

Oh.

“People would think you were-”

“Pregnant with your child, yes,” you finished with a rueful smile, “and the story would become that that is why my courtship with Aegon was ended, because you and I were fooling around on the side.”

I wish we had been, his mind supplied. You were right, of course.

“But,” he clarified, hating how pathetic and whining he sounded, “you do want to be with me?”

“Yes,” you insisted, enthusiastically, “yes, so desperately, but we need time. We need to talk to our families and friends, give the court some time to adjust to the idea of us. We need to figure out what we want. This,” your thumb grazed his lips and, as always, Aemond felt the urge to simply pull you onto his lap and kiss you until you couldn’t think, surge up in his chest. You continued, “this is new. It’s fragile, we need time to figure out if it’s real or if it will fade after a night or two together.”

Aemond felt himself flush as he fought not to allow his mind to run rampant with the idea of having you all to himself for a night. He knew, instinctively, that a night would never be long enough for him. He wouldn’t wake up in the morning and suddenly find his adoration gone, but maybe you would. Maybe, at this point, what he had was your attention and your lust, but not your love. Maybe that idea should have frightened him, but it didn’t. Your desire was more than Aemond had ever expected, and he knew he could take that and run with it. He could use it to get close enough to prove that he loved you, that he was worthy of your heart. Time was not the enemy.

“I know I’m asking for a great deal,” you continued, letting your hand drop from his face, “but I can’t agree to simply walk out of here, hand-in-hand, consequences be damned. Not yet. Can that be alright?”

The nervousness in your voice made the protective creature in Aemond’s chest keen and cry out that, of course it was alright. Of course he would wait. He would wait for a lifetime if he had to. Whatever you wanted, Aemond would do. Whatever you needed, he would provide. But, instead of saying any of that and risking overwhelming you even more, he simply leaned in to kiss the fear away.

Your lips still tasted like sweet wine but now, with more experience, Aemond thought that kissing you was more accurately comparable to tasting chocolate for the first time. Sweet, deep and utterly world-changing, the kind of experience that, as soon as you have it, you know that you’ll crave more for the rest of your life. He lived for how your arms felt as they wound around his neck, and the way his hand seemed as though it had been designed for the express purpose of fitting against your waist, but he held back. The memory of your teeth nipping at his lip was enough to send a spark of desire through him like lightning and, with so much time and privacy on his hands, he couldn’t risk either of you losing control. Having said that, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you onto his lap so that he could wrap his arms around you and feel the weight of you against him.

“And I suppose,” Aemond suggested when you broke apart, some time later, “there is something thrilling about a secret affair, isn’t there?”

You smiled and blushed, your arms still twisted around his neck, “I suppose.”

“Should we come up with a secret code?” he teased, “Pass notes at dinner, stare longingly across the floor of ballrooms? Oh, I know, how about you sigh prettily whenever I dance with other women?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “And how will you react when I dance with other men then, hm?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he replied with a sharp edged smile, “if anyone so much as touches you, I’ll kill them and feed them to Vhagar.”

You threw your head back and laughed, giving Aemond an excuse to unabashedly stare at you and marvel at the fact that you were really here, with him, agreeing to be his.

“You’re an incredibly reasonable and fair man, my prince,” You joked, “how do you remain so down-to-earth?”

My prince. Aemond shivered with pleasure, happier than he could remember being in years. Yes, the creature yelled, yours, yours, yours. Just yours. Only yours.

“I never claimed to be reasonable,” he insisted darkly, tilting your head down toward him, “I’m incredibly jealous. I don’t share well.” he kissed the side of your mouth, “I’m irritable, I sulk when I don’t get my way. I have a short temper, I’m proud.”

“You’re really confirming my decision here, Aemond,” you smiled.

“I wasn’t done,” he explained, “because I have one overwhelming thing on my side; I have a dragon.” Your eyes lit up with excitement, and Aemond smiled, “Would you like to meet Vhagar?”

—

This had to be a dream, you thought to yourself as Aemond dragged you up a darkened staircase. There was no way that, in the space of 24 hours, you had been rejected, kissed, snuck into the dragon pit, nearly consensually ravished, proposed to and, now, offered an introduction to the oldest living thing in Westeros. No, this had to be some bizarre, extended lucid dream that you would wake from at any moment now, but you weren’t in any rush.

The weight of Aemond’s hand in yours was like an anchor keeping you centered and present in and amongst the chaos, and you clung to it like a liferaft. You were so intensely overwhelmed that his stability truly did seem like a gift but you couldn’t say you were surprised. Even when he faltered, Aemond Targaryen was a rock and thus, the river of chaos parted around him.

And he was yours. Even just the thought made your heart skip a beat. He came to a stop before a large open doorway and pulled you against his chest.

“We have to cross through a section of the city now,” he explained, pulling your hood back up over your head, “it’s not very populated, but stay close just in case.”

Mine, a possessive voice in your stomach sighed, mine. Mine. Mine.

You nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety in your chest. Aemond adjusted your hood, his sapphire eye glinting in the bright sunlight streaming through the door.

“So beautiful,” he muttered to himself, before pulling you behind him out into the light.

You cleaved to Aemond’s side as he strode confidently through the side streets and alleyways of King’s Landing. You walked for some time, Aemond never letting go of your hand, until you crossed through the city walls and out into a clear expanse of hilly fields with woods in the distance.

“Why didn’t we bring horses?” you asked.

Aemond’s eye was scanning the field intently, “Because Vhagar likes to eat horses,” he explained, “and horses tend to be rather skittish around Vhagar.”

“Mine wouldn’t be,” you said certainly, “a well trained horse takes its cue from its rider.”

He turned to look at you with something like pride, before turning back to the hills, “Well Jasper is no ordinary horse, Y/N/N.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said instinctively, and then, “you remember my horse’s name?”

“I remember everything about you,” Aemond replied simply, “ah, there she is. Vhagar, sīmonagon!”

You looked around, confused, until one of the smaller hills began to shift.

Oh.

Massive was too small a word. As the ginormous dragon roused herself, you felt the visceral truth of your own mortality. Your brain whispered that you should run, that you should fight, that you should curl up in a ball and accept your fate meekly and without question. You were nothing to this creature, she was the undisputed ruler of the skies, the ultimate predator.

But, at the same time, something in you opened up like the ocean in a flood of wonder. Here was proof that magic existed, that every fantastical story you ever heard could be true. Vhagar was the most beautiful and terrible thing you’d ever seen, this other voice whispered, and you wanted to see more. It was this side of you that won out and you gasped with unrestrained joy.

Aemond watched you, again for signs of fear or horror, but found none. His heart swelled to what felt like twice its regular size, but he trained his focus on Vhagar.

“Sagon cal, Vhagar,” he called, approaching slowly, “dohaeris, lykiri! Lykiri!”

You watched him approach the massive beast with slow, practiced movements, a dance that was both strange and familiar to you all at once. You saw elements that mirrored the way one tamed a horse. There was an intuitiveness to it, but paired with a new risk of extreme danger and death. Aemond reached the dragon’s face and began stroking along her snout and jaw, whispering to her with a caring familiarity. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you pulled off your cloak and gestured to Aemond, who shot you a confused look.

“For my scent,” you explained, “so she gets used to me.”

“Iksis ziry daor sȳz?” You heard him say as he jogged back to you to grab the cloak.

Aemond let Vhagar sniff your coat for a long while and, when she looked up at you, you began to approach, slowly.

—

“Nyke jorrāelagon zirȳla,” he reminded Vhagar as you walked, “sagon sȳz.”

Your eyes were wider than dinner plates as you took Vhagar in, but there was no fear, only a kind of anticipation that made Aemond’s blood sing.

“Iksan Y/N,” you said to Vhagar, “Iksan iā raqiros.”

Seven Heavens. Aemond had to fight to stay focussed when he heard the lyrical, mystical twist of Old Valyrian slip from your mouth like silk. How were you this wondrous? How did you know exactly how to reach into his heart and twist it in your palm?

“That’s all I remember I’m afraid,” you said, softly.

“It’s perfect,” he assured, reaching for your hand and placing it gently on top of his own, “now, don’t make any sudden movements.” he instructed.

You nodded, your eyes trained on Vhagar, which let him stare at you unabashedly. Aemond hummed a tune that Vhagar enjoyed softly as he rested his hand on her nose and began to stroke along her scales, your hand still resting on top of his. Your voice caught in your throat, but you didn’t pull away. Aemond’s heart was thumping in his throat as all the worst case scenarios flashed before his eyes and he cursed himself for ever being foolish enough to suggest this. You, bleeding from the gaping wound where your arm had been. You, dead on the ground with your stomach ripped out, the grass stained red with your blood. You, screaming in pain as flames engulfed your body and burned you to ash. What was he thinking?

But it was too late to turn back now so, slowly, he slid his hand out from beneath yours, making sure Vhagar had him in her sight and his other arm was ready to rip you away at a moment’s notice. When your hand touched the scales, you made an excited noise, like a squeak, and Aemond involuntarily felt himself soften.

“Oh, they’re warm,” you whispered, “she’s warm.”

He chuckled at the childlike wonder on your face, “Of course she’s warm. Did you expect creatures who breathe fire to be cold?”

“Maybe,” you replied, rolling your eyes at him before turning back to Vhagar and slowly beginning to trace the patterns Aemond had been following, “honestly Vhagar, after Visenya I don’t know how you put up with this one.”

“Ouch.”

“I assume he whines more than she did,” you continued, “and sulks more, I’d imagine. Your patience is admirable.”

Vhagar rumbled in response. You tensed, but didn’t forget his instruction to not make any sudden moves, continuing your slow stroking. Aemond gave your side a comforting squeeze, trying to silently assure you that this was good, that that was a pleased grumble, not a warning one. Soon enough, your shoulders loosened and the tension dissipated.

Aemond wanted to shout with joy. Seeing you with his dragon, joking and poking fun at him with Vhagar as though you were old friends, was beyond his wildest expectations. You liked Vhagar, and Vhagar liked you! It affirmed everything he’d ever thought about your compatibility, your desire for adventure and your inner restlessness. It had all been confirmed in one foul swoop. He wanted to take you up into the sky. He wanted to fly with you across the narrow sea to Essos. He wanted to take you to the nearest sept and marry you right then and there, or fly you back to White Harbor, lock yourselves in the New Castle and never let you out.

Instead he just watched as you whispered to Vhagar, until the old dragon started to signal that she wanted to fly. Then he ushered you out of the way and you watched, together, as she leapt into the sky with a roar, disappearing into the clouds in a series of few wingstrokes. You watched her until she was completely out of view, your face open with excitement and wonder.

“And you ride her?” You asked when Vhagar had vanished.

“I do,” Aemond responded, more attracted to you than was fair.

“That’s amazing,” you said, “she’s amazing.”

“Is she everything you’d imagined?” he questioned, feeling a strange tug in his chest.

You looked at him, your eyes alight with something fierce and beautiful that made Aemond feel as though he understood, finally, why men went to war over a woman’s love.

“She’s more,” you said honestly, “so much more. She’s beautiful, but terrifying, but that terror is beautiful, you know? And she’s got so much inside of her, so much.”

The way your voice caught made Aemond feel unstuck, like you’d affirmed some part of him that he hadn’t fully realized he’d exposed. Like you were seeing into his soul and saying you understood him on a level no one had ever even attempted to before.

You looked back up at the sky, “I have no idea how you spend any time on the ground at all.”

He took your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “The ground has its advantages.” He explained, fastening your cloak over your shoulders and pulling your hood up over your head again, “Come, let’s get you back to the Keep before you’re missed.”

You paused, as though you wanted to argue, but eventually nodded, letting Aemond lead you back through the streets of the city the same way you’d come. The closer you got to the dragon pit, the more restless Aemond became. He couldn’t help but feel that he was letting you go without resolving anything, that you were making a mistake by separating at all, for any length of time. How could a plan that involved you being away from Aemond ever be the right choice? He loved you! He needed you! Who cared what people thought? If they dared to speak against his wife, Aemond would take their tongues and that would be that. These thoughts played on his head again and again and again, riling him up so that, by the time you arrived back at the pit, his nerves were frayed.

“Aemond?” you asked, instantly picking up on the shift in his mood “Aemond, are you alright?”

He tugged you down a deserted corridor and pressed you up against the wall, resting his forehead against yours and filling his mind with your scent. You yelped with surprise, but it was followed by a laugh that he ached to swallow with his lips.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, “before you go, kiss me.”

You looked him in the eye like you were sizing him up for a challenge and Aemond got to watch, in real time, as your eyes darkened “Kiss me,” you countered.

You didn’t need to ask him twice. Aemond ducked down and pressed his lips to yours, pouring every ounce of suppressed desire into the kiss, as though he could burn the memory of himself onto your skin. Remembering the way he’d responded earlier, Aemond nipped at your lip softly and shivered when you responded with a moan that he felt in his core. You wound your hands into his hair and pulled until it stung, earring a hiss of pleasure from Aemond.

Remember me, he wanted to scream. Remember this, remember how we make each other feel, even when we’re apart.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me!

He moved his mouth down the length of your neck, fighting the urge to mark you as his own and send you back to the Keep covered in love bites, his love bites. Your back arched and pushed your body against his which, Gods above, felt like heaven. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think, he was broken down into his simplest, most base instincts. Fear, lust, love. Everything in Aemond’s body screamed for him to not let you go, to pick you up and carry you back to his room, lock the door and just keep you there until the world ended. He was impatient and desperate for you, his stomach boiling with dragonfire as you sighed his name into the empty stone corridor and the echoes filled his ears.

“Avy jorrāelan.” He whispered against your skin, “va moriot. Va moriot.”

“I don’t speak High Valyrian,” you said breathlessly, “not well enough to-to understand.”

“Good,” he answered, capturing your lips with his own again.

He had to slow down. He had to stop, but you were pulling him closer, chasing his touch and giving him everything, like you couldn’t help yourself either. It was hot and forceful and Aemond knew he wouldn’t be able to forget it tonight when he lay down to sleep, but for now he had to stop. Eventually, it was a simple thought that broke through the stupor; he wanted you in his bed. The first time he took you, he wanted you in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, where he could take his time breaking you into pieces and building you back up again, where you could make as much noise as you wanted without fear. He didn’t want it to be in a corridor, where the hard stone might bruise your skin and anyone could walk in at any moment, you deserved more than that. You deserved so much more than that.

So, for the second time that day, he forced himself away, placing as much physical distance between your bodies as he could stand and gulping down air like a drowning man. He could only imagine how he looked right then, pupil blown out so wide his eye looked black, his pale skin feverish and red, his hair tousled by your hands running through it. His only consolation was that you weren’t much better off yourself, and that you were eyeing him like he was art.

“This isn’t goodbye,” you reminded him gently, “we’ll still see each other, Aemond.”

He shook his head, feeling a rush of emotion in the pit of his chest, “Not like this. Not like I want.”

Your face crumpled in with concern and he hated himself for that, hated that his weakness brought you pain.

You pushed yourself off the wall and took his face in your hands, ghosting your lips against his so gently that he almost didn’t believe that it had happened.

“This is temporary,” you assured him, “we’ll talk to our families tonight and explain, give the court some time to get over last night and find some new topic to gossip about, and then we can take things from there.”

“I don’t know how to go back to the way things were,” he admitted.

“I’m not asking you to,” you promised him, “I’m just asking that we do this the smart way, not just the way that gets us what we want the fastest.” you continued, “And I want this, Aemond. I want you. Trust me.”

I want you.

The sentence that always turned Aemond’s bones to liquid and made his heart skip several beats in chest. If you wanted him, he’d already won. So long as that was the truth, he could survive the separation. Whatever you wanted.

“Alright, my lady,” he whispered, readjusting your coat where it had slipped from your shoulders, “then I bid you farewell for now.”

“Farewell, my prince, I’ll send for you tomorrow, after we’ve spoken with our families,” you replied, giving his hand one last squeeze as you glided away towards the waiting carriage.

Aemond watched you go the same way you’d watched Vhagar, until you were completely out of sight, and then for a few minutes more before he called for his own horse and began his own, much more winding journey back to the Keep. As he went he alternated between agonizing over the memories of today and planning how in the world he was going to explain any of this to his mother. Eventually, he decided that the safest way would be to appeal to her strategic side; sell the benefits of an alliance with the Manderlys, emphasize how unhappy people seemed to be with Aegon’s engagement. Propose that she needed to repair the relationship with Lord Coren somehow before he left, and what better way than to offer him another prince in place of the one you’d lost? Once he felt she was at least seriously considering the match, he would bring up his feelings for you and bet on her love for him to do the rest. Aemond had always been his mother’s son. Surely, after a lifetime of service and duty, she would not begrudge him this?

Strangely, as Aemond handed his horse over to a servant and made his way to his family’s wing, heart racing in his chest, he felt like his father, more than anyone else, would be proud of this match. He very rarely thought about his father, but King Viserys and Queen Aemma had been madly in love, everyone knew that. Something told him that Viserys would support him in marrying you, and that made Aemond…proud? Relieved? He couldn’t quite say. He wandered through the familiar hallways, pushing open the door to his rooms, determined to wash and change before he went looking for his mother. He pulled the shirt from his head, kicked off his boots and then-

“Aegon?” He asked, noticing the disheveled lump that was his brother curled up on Aemond’s bed.

Aegon looked up and Aemond cursed in his head. His brother’s eyes were puffy and red and his hair was greasy and unkempt. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before and, even from where he stood, Aemond could smell alcohol.

“Aegon, what are you doing here? Where have you been?”

Chapter Text

At the sound of his brother’s voice, something in Aegon seemed to snap and his face crumbled. Sobs wracked Aegon’s body and tears streamed down his face in rivers as he buried his face in his hands. Instinctively, Aemond climbed onto the bed beside his brother, the way he’d done when they were children, and gripped Aegon’s shoulder to let him know he was there.

“How could she do this to me?” Aegon wailed, “She knows! She knows I never wanted to marry Helaena, how could she force me to?”

Aemond’s heart sank, “Mother believes she’s doing what’s best. At least you know Helaena. She’s smart and funny, you can find a way to make one another happy, I’m sure.”

Aegon shook his head, “But I was happy!” He insisted, “I was happy with Y/N. Everything was going perfectly she-” he sobbed, “she was fixing me!”

He turned and buried his head in Aemond’s neck, saving Aemond the embarrassment of explaining why his skin had gone ashen with guilt at the mere mention of your name. Two forces were battling for dominance in his heart, his love for you which urged him to protect you from Aegon and his love for his brother, which called him a traitor and a fool for moving in on his woman so quickly without so much as a thought of how Aegon might feel about this match.

“I love her, Aemy,” Aegon whined into his brother’s embrace, “I really do.”

Aemond cleared his throat, images of you sighing his name and him pressing his lips to your pulse points flashing through his mind at high speed, jealousy now entering the ring with the other two.

“You barely know her, brother,” he tried, “she’s just-she’s only a woman. There will be others.”

“I know her,” Aegon insisted, “or I would have if we-everyone said we were to be married.”

“There will be others,” he repeated.

Aegon shook his head again, “Not like her.”

And what could Aemond say to that? Aegon was right, there was only one Y/N Manderly and, apparently, two Targaryen princes driven half mad with love for her.

“Did she-” Aemond started, hating himself for the jealousy in his throat, “did you two ever…?”

“What? Fuck?” Aegon finished, “No, I never even got to kiss her.”

The relief was visceral. He hadn’t truly believed that anything had happened, but still, it felt good to hear. Though, the second that relief passed, he was overwhelmed with guilt. What sort of brother was he? Primping and preening over getting to hold the woman his older brother loved?

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said honestly, “I thought you were just pursuing her because I didn’t want you to.”

Aegon sniffed, “At first that was a big part of it,” he admitted, “but as time went on…she’s just so beautiful,” he explained, “and so innocent, and she laughs at my jokes and never interrupts or corrects me.”

So she’s polite, the jealous voice in his head whispered, so what? She was ready to let me take her to bed today.

“Did you talk to her about how you feel?” Aemond asked.

“Who, mother? Mother already knows, trust me,” Aegon replied bitterly.

Aemond rolled his eye, “Not mother, you twat, Y/N. Did you tell her how you feel?”

Aegon looked up, confused, his eyes even redder and puffier with tears now, “No? Why would I tell her?”

Aemond shrugged, “She’s the object of your affections I thought, if you wanted to marry her, you might have at least asked her how she feels about it.”

“Oh,” Aegon replied, as if this were a novel concept, “well, I don’t think it would have mattered much what she felt,” he admitted, “our parents would have negotiated with her brother, not with her. It would have been a waste of time.”

At least Aegon could still be counted on to be insufferable. His brother was ruined, whether from wine or grief or lack of sleep Aemond couldn’t be sure, but his heart ached to see Aegon in such pain. Again he felt a rush of shame creep through his bloodstream as he cursed his own carelessness. How had he not checked on Aegon? How had he been foolish enough to assume that he was simply sleeping off a hangover rather than nursing a broken heart?

I never wanted to marry Aegon, he heard you whisper in his mind. He’d been so consumed by his love for you, his desperation to know that you felt the same, that he’d neglected his brother completely. So, to quell his guilt, he simply held Aegon and allowed him to cry. He held onto him for dear life, just like he’d done when they were children and poured his grief onto Aemond’s neck. He smelled like stale beer, sweat and wine, his clothes were dirty and ripped but, under it all, there was Aegon. His brother. He was far from perfect. He was cruel and beastly at times. He was vindictive and selfish and mean, but he was Aemond’s family. He was Aemond’s older brother, and he was in pain. Pain that Aemond had a part in causing.

The rational part of Aemond’s mind knew that this wasn’t really about you. Aegon was drunk and chafing under their mother’s control, and the pressure he was under and, more than likely, this was simply a response to him not getting his way. But that didn’t stop Aemond from feeling like shit. For a long while Aegon cried and cursed his rotten luck but eventually the tears stopped and he began to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

The fight had gone out of Aegon a bit and he sat up, rubbing his eyes and sighing like a man who had not rested in weeks. He seemed less grieved now, as though he’d completely emptied himself and this was all that was left.

“I don’t want to marry Helaena,” Aegon replied simply, “I don’t want any of it, Aemy.”

He swayed as he sat and Aemond frowned with concern.

“I know,” Aemond said, “where have you been, Aeg? Have you slept?”

He shook his head, “Went to Flea Bottom to drink. Spent the night on the Street of Silk.”

“Whoring away the pain?” he asked with an attempt at joviality.

Aegon chuckled, pulling out of Aemond’s embrace and wiping his face again, “Always the judgemental tone.”

“Am I wrong though?”

Aegon shook his head ruefully, “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Did it help?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head again, “Not as much as I thought it would.” he paused for a long while, staring thoughtfully at the ground with the occasional sniff, “I think mother hates me.”

“Aegon, be rational,” Aemond countered, “she doesn’t hate you.”

“No, she does,” Aegon insisted, “I think she hates us all, actually. She’ll never let us be happy, not ever. Not if she can help it.”

“Aeg-”

“Tell me,” he interrupted, freezing Aemond on the spot with his sad, tired gaze, “how does our dear sister feel about our engagement? Do you think she’s incandescent with happiness, jumping up and down at the thought of marrying me, her least favorite brother? No, she’s miserable. Mother could have married her to our nephew, Jace. Rhaenyra offered more than once, but instead, she chose me. Why do you think she did that?”

Aemond opened his mouth, but then closed it again when he realized that he truly didn’t have an answer. Aegon was right, Helaena would have much preferred to be wed to Jacaerys. If he was honest with himself, Helaena would have rather married a total stranger than Aegon and, as far as Aegon was concerned, the feeling was mutual. It was a bizarre pairing. Politically it made almost no sense, personally it was even less intuitive. Why had she done it?

Aegon smiled bitterly, sensing his victory, “She doesn’t want us happy, Aemy. Because, if we’re happy, we won’t need her anymore.”

“Don’t call me Aemy,” he answered instinctively, his mind still processing Aegon’s words.

“Fine, my apologies, Prince Aemond ‘One-Eye’,” Aegon replied with a bitter tone, “my point is, Helaena and I will be miserable, just like mother planned, and she’ll never let you marry Y/N, so you’ll be miserable too.”

Panic. Aemond recoiled, stammering to come up with some response that would wipe the pained, knowing look off Aegon’s face, but none came. His older brother observed him with calm, distant calculation, the only hint as to his true feelings being the downturned corners of his mouth and the slight hesitation in his mauve eyes.

Aegon smiled ruefully, “Thought you’d kept that a secret then, did you?” he mocked with a bitter laugh, “no, One-Eye, you’re not a particularly good liar, I’m afraid. I’ve known about your…infatuation since the start.”

Aemond choked down his embarrassment, suddenly feeling like the child who’d been left alone in the dragon pit again instead of the man he’d grown into.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Aegon raised his eyebrows, “I did, at that first dinner party. I told you that I’d marry her regardless of your feelings. When they persisted I simply kept note. After all, it’s not as though we’ve never shared before. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine and all that.”

The idea that Aegon had planned for you to be shared, like a toy, made Aemond feel nauseous. He pictured himself handing you over to Aegon, watching Aegon kiss down the column of your throat as you sighed his brother’s name, Aemond forgotten in the background, and he felt a surge of jealous rage.

“You knew I loved her and you pursued her anyway?” Aemond asked, shocked that he could still be hurt by his brother

“I loved her too,” Aegon countered, “and I’m the oldest. She was mine by right. Her brother wanted her to be a queen, I could offer her that. You, dear brother, can not.”

But she wanted me, his mind replied, she wants me. Even now. Even after everything, she wants me.

“You aren’t a king, Aegon,” Aemond reminded him, “you’re a prince, and I’m one of those as well.”

“I’m not a king yet,” he corrected, sounding more exhausted by the fact than anything else, “if mother has her way, I will be, and mother always has her way.” Aegon said. Aemond said nothing, still reeling from the mix of emotions fighting for dominance in his mind. Aegon reached out and took his hand, something he hadn’t done since they were small, “I’m not saying this to hurt you, Aemond, truly I’m not. I know you think I'm a monster, and I don’t deny that I can be one, but I don’t wish to see you waste yourself on this. Mother will never allow you to be happy, not unless she’s sure that she’s the cause. So, learn from my mistakes. Let your hopes for Y/N go, alright? You’ll be happier for it.”

“Mother wants what’s best for us,” Aemond attempted, “of course she wants us happy, she’s our mother.”

Aegon scoffed, flopping down on Aemond’s bed, “And what a mother she is. Go, make your case, maybe she’ll listen to you, you were always her favorite. Gods know she ignored mine. I’ll be here when you realize it’s pointless.”

“This is my room, Aegon.”

“And I’m your brother,” he countered, “I’ll be the one helping you whore the pain away when our mother rips your heart out like she did to mine.”

—

“Absolutely not,” Alicent said simply.

Aemond recoiled, “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

She touched her temples and Aemond knew, instinctively, that she was developing a migraine. Gone was the confident, triumphant woman who had looked as though she’d won a victory the night before. The Queen had been packed away, in front of Aemond now was his tired, irritable mother.

“You’re here to explain why you feel I made a mistake engaging Helaena and Aegon,” she anticipated, “I knew Aegon would send you to plead his case eventually.” she shook her head in disgust, “Pathetic creature that he is.”

“He’s heartbroken,” Aemond replied.

Alicent scoffed, “He’ll recover.”

Aemond would have laughed at that on a normal day but now, with Aegon’s dire warning bouncing around in his head, all he could do was worry at the inside of his cheek and hope that, for once, things went his way.

Alicent looked at him, studying his face curiously, “You’re not wearing your patch.”

He reached up instinctively and then remembered, with a rush, that you’d taken it off him in the dragon pit. It was probably still just sitting on the table, abandoned in the face of more exciting adventures with the woman he loved. What really shocked Aemond is that he didn’t miss it. He liked walking around with his sapphire eye on display, no matter what anyone else might have thought about it, because you liked it. You’d called it lovely. You’d traced your fingers along his scar and declared yourself disappointed in its sheer loveliness. Not that Aemond could tell his mother that, of course.

“It was chafing,” he explained simply.

Alicent nodded once, dismissing the issue without a second thought, “We’ll have a new one made.”

“Thank you, mother,” he said and then, after a pause, “we should discuss the Manderlys though.”

She gave him a sidelong glance and sighed, “What then? Say your piece.”

Aemond took a deep breath in. This was already not going to plan, but what choice did he have?

“Aegon and Y/N are a lost cause,” he started, “you made sure of that when you engaged him so publicly to Helaena-”

“As was my intention.”

“But it was a mistake, mother,” he continued forcefully, “house Manderly is powerful. They’re wealthy, influential, their armies are well stocked, and they’re accustomed to fighting through hardship, they’re of more use to us as allies than as enemies.”

“They’re overreaching,” Alicent insisted, “sending that girl here to try and woo my son, it’s presumptuous.”

Aemond rolled his eye, “It’s normal, and there’s a difference between not agreeing to the match and allowing Aegon to openly court her for months only to engage him to Helaena in an incredibly public way. People are calling him cruel. They believe he was intentionally leading her on to maximize her humiliation.” He explained, “Or worse, that it was a targeted attempt from you and grandfather to destroy the reputation of a much-loved and well-respected young woman.”

Alicent growled her frustration, pushing up onto her feet and walking away from Aemond.

“You know I speak the truth,” he continued, “we’re not popular in the north, or in the riverlands. You speak often of our need for caution, you’re constantly reminding us that our enemies are out there, plotting against us, and now you go and make an enemy of one who would have been a powerful ally. We must make it right before the consequences spiral out of control.”

His mother turned to face him, a dangerous look on her face that made the child in Aemond shrink in fear. This was definitely not going to plan.

“You trained me to defend Aegon’s claim,” he continued, more calmly now, “I live and breathe for his cause, but we cannot hope to prevail if the whole realm is against us. We have to have friends, and the Manderlys are the key to the North. They aren’t as powerful as the Starks, but they have ties to the Reynes, the Velaryons, the Umbers and a dozen other houses besides. Please, we must find a way to make peace with Coren, perhaps by offering a new match for Y/N.”

For a long while there was only silence.

“Do you realize,” Alicent started, her voice low and dangerous, “that this is the second time that you’ve come to me to plead the importance of Lady Y/N?”

Aemond fought to keep his face neutral, “This isn’t about Y/N, it’s abo-”

“Lady Y/N,” she corrected sharply, “and don’t you dare lie to me, Aemond Targaryen. I am your mother, I know you.” she stalked towards him and he moved back before he even realized that he'd done it, “I thought I’d made myself clear last time,” Alicent said, stepping into his space, “that I will not have some girl come between my sons and put my family at risk, but apparently I was not clear enough. I do not care how connected the Manderlys are. I do not care how wealthy or powerful. I will never allow that woman into my family because she is a poison. She has brought nothing but strife and division to this castle and I will be glad to see the back of her.” she explained.

He remembered the way your face had lit up when you saw Vhagar, the moonlight glinting off your hair as he pressed you to the wall. He felt the weight of your hand in his and how you’d touched him so softly he thought he might shatter.

Aemond pressed his lips together. The dragon in his blood roared that he should defend you, warn his mother off slandering his love any further and assert, with confidence, that he intended to marry you regardless of what anyone might have to say about the matter. But the rest of him was quaking under his mother’s anger, still a lonely child desperate to be loved and accepted by the father who never wanted him and the mother who saw him only as a tool to ensure her own protection.

“Mother, she-” he started, hating the way his voice shook, “she’s important to me. I think if you knew her as I do, you would see-”

SLAP! The shock registered before the pain. Aemond’s head rang with the force of it and he felt himself shut down. Alicent gripped his face like a vice, his left cheek stinging from the impact as his skin flushed with shame.

“You are not to speak to me about that girl,” Alicent said with a note of definitive authority, “you are not to speak to me about her brother, or her friends.”

But he wasn’t listening. Aemond had retreated to that place, deep inside of himself, that he had carved out as a child, where no word or cruelty could reach him. He stood still, because he knew he had to, and he avoided eye contact because he knew his mother would see defiance in him and then the fight would be longer and even more unbearable. So he stood and said nothing while his heart cracked open and every ounce of joy he’d experienced in the past 24 hours flashed out of existence.

“You will do as you’re told,” she continued, “you will wait until your marriage is most needed to bolster your brother’s claim, and then you will marry whomever I choose for whatever reason I deem fit. There will be no ‘other match’ for Lady Y/N. You will do your duty to this family. Am. I. Understood?”

Aemond nodded, because he was supposed to, and quietly stoked the embers of anger that were flaring up in the pit of his stomach. Alicent released his face and stepped away, pressing a hand to her forehead while she tried to calm herself.

“We just need to get through this,” she said mostly to herself, “once Aegon is king, all will be well.”

Aemond wanted to scream or cry or throw a fit. He wanted to force his mother to apologize, or to see her obsession for what it was. He wanted to burn the castle to the ground. He wanted a million things he couldn’t have.

You.

“Can I go, mother?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, you’re dismissed.” She replied absentmindedly, rubbing that same spot on her forehead.

Aemond bowed, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. He started to leave but, before he vanished out into the corridor, the dragon in his chest forced him to turn back, prickling-hot anger and bitter resentment swimming before his vision and staining the world an angry, muddy red.

“Will it be worth it, mother?” he asked, his voice dead and cutting.

Alicent turned, “Pardon?”

“Will all this have been worth it?” He repeated, “When Aegon is king and Rhaenyra finally made to pay for breaking your heart all those years ago, will ruining the lives of everyone we’ve ever touched be worth it? Or do you think we’ll just be alone, finding new ways to torment one another?”

The worst part was, for a second, Aemond expected her to reply. He thought she’d have some answer, that she’d say something to convince him that he was wrong, or to assure him that they were on the right path, but she didn’t. At that moment, watching his mother’s petit, green clad frame stand stunned, mouth agape, with nothing but silence coming out, he felt nothing. Aemond didn’t care who won the Iron Throne so long as they swore that, when the dust settled and the blood dried, they would leave him the fuck alone and never bother him with their issues again. He would burn cities for his brother, sink fleets, win battles, slaughter innocents, but then he was done. He wanted nothing to do with Aegon and his mother’s new world.

He had no idea how he made it back to his room. One moment he was outside his mother’s door and the next he was outside his own, his cheek stinging, with hot tears threatening to slip down the plains of his face. One dream, that’s all he’d wanted. One unambiguously good, healthy thing to call his own. Was that too much to ask?

Second son. Second son. Second son.

Of course it was. Aemond was a fool to expect any different. He rested his head against the cool stone, willing the tears to dissipate as the fragile hope he’d been nurturing like a flower was ripped up by the roots and trampled into nothing. His grief at the loss of his hopes for a life with you, and the humiliation of being struck and berated by his mother for daring to defy her threatened to overwhelm him, filling his head with the kind of thoughts he’d spent years trying to distance himself from. He wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. He wanted to fly away and never return. Instead, he opened the door and confronted his brother.

“Let’s go,” he said simply, striding to his closet and pulling out a spare eyepatch and two cloaks, tossing one to Aegon, “take me to whatever shit hole you crawled out of. I need to drink.”

“Ha! Told you,” Aegon said, slightly cleaner and more put together than he had been when Aemond left, “let’s go, brother. Time to whore the pain away.”

Aemond’s chest pinched with discomfort. Yours. Yours. Yours, the dragon screamed, only yours.

“Time to whore the pain away.” He agreed.

—

You fiddled with your fingers nervously, your skin feeling hot and uncomfortable as you made your way to the ‘hidden room’ Daerra had pointed out to you. It wasn’t hidden, exactly, but it was out of the way and easily swept for spies, so it had become something of an unofficial home base for the Silver Council. Unfortunately, you were slightly late. You’d taken longer than you’d intended to double check that you looked normal and not at all like you’d just met a dragon and spent an absurd amount of time throwing yourself at Aemond Targaryen. You felt like you had a scarlet letter emblazoned on your chest, or a sign across your forehead displaying your every embarrassing thought.

You heard Aemond whispering, “Va moriot. Va moriot.” into your skin, the way he’d bucked his hips into yours and the pained look in his eye as he tore himself away from you, as though it physically hurt him to not be touching you more.

Your skin got at least a degree hotter and you shook your head to clear it, picking up the pace as you slipped into a side corridor and through the door with a silver ribbon tied around the handle. Coren looked like a general, standing at the head of the table examining a map with a quiet fury, nodding his head as Kevan gestured to something on the map, with Daerion chiming in whenever he needed to. Kerran and Daerra were also deep in conversation, looking concerned over something you couldn’t pick up. Daerion noticed you first, striding over to pull you into a tight hug. You heard the conversations stop as everyone else took note of your arrival.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N,” Daerion said softly into your hair, “he’s a cunt, any man would be lucky to call you his wife.”

“Whaaa-oh, Aegon!” you replied, “thank you, Darry. Truly that’s sweet of you to say.”

“He won’t get away with this,” Kerran promised, his young face stormy and dark with the promise of revenge.

“In all fairness, I doubt Aegon himself had any say in his engagement,” Daerra said, ever the voice of reason, “he seemed genuinely smitten. This is the Queen and the Hand’s doing.”

“Then it’s the Hightowers who will pay,” Coren said simply, his face a mask of determination, “and the Greens along with them.”

You felt the cold hand of panic grip your heart tight. Too much information was coming at you all at once. You’d been so distracted by Aemond that all this anger came as something of a surprise, and there was the very real sense that something had been set in motion without your knowledge that would not easily be undone.

“Wait, let’s not be hasty,” You countered, trying to regain your balance, “I’m alright. Honestly it’s a relief not to be shackled to Aegon for the rest of my life, but the Greens still have the stronger position here.”

Daerra shook her head, “I don’t know that that’s the case anymore,” she said, “word of Aegon’s behavior is spreading, nobles are looking at Rhaenyra as more suited to the job.”

“I hardly think one failed courtship will sway many,” you remarked.

“But it’s not just the courtship,” Kevan explained, his dark eyes piercing you knowingly, “people are sick of the Hightowers grasping at power. They believe making Aegon king would essentially just be handing over the rule of the kingdom to Alicent and Otta, and then there are the fighting pits.”

You raised your eyebrows, feeling as though you were betraying Aemond by even entertaining this conversation, “The fighting pits?”

“There are certain circles in Flea Bottom where wealthy men watch street children fight to the death,” Daerra explained slowly, “and bet on which child will be victorious.”

Although you’d heard her perfectly fine, your brain couldn’t process what Daerra was saying. It was as though you were underwater and the sound was so distorted as to completely obscure its meaning. Children, fighting to the death? For the entertainment of noblemen?

“The traffickers sharpen the children’s teeth and fingernails,” Daerra continued, “so that they can rip at one another more easily. Some of the children act as…companions,”

“Prostitutes,” Kevan corrected.

Daerra gave him a quick nod and kept going, “for the big spenders. The word is that Aegon has been known to frequent more than one of these establishments throughout the years.”

Coren snorted with disgust, “And this is who the Queen would have us place on the Iron Throne.”

Daerion squeezed your shoulder, but you barely felt it. You felt sick. Sick with Aegon’s perversions, sick with the knowledge that places like that could even exist, sick with wondering how many people knew about this and just let it happen. Your bubble of incredulous happiness popped. You were no longer floating above the ground, kept up by the butterflies in your stomach like a foolish girl. You were firmly on the ground, back to reality. Back on the brink of war.

“Rhaenyra would never behave in such a way,” Daerion insisted, “she’s a good woman. She’ll make a fine queen.”

Avy jorrāelan, the Aemond in your mind whispered, strange and indecipherable, but beautiful nonetheless.

“She doesn’t have the manpower,” you reminded everyone half heartedly.

Coren nodded, “But she will when we win it for her. Daerra has made a potential match with Lord Byron Redwyne, who brings substantial wealth, and another access point for ships to our cause.” He explained.

You looked at Daerra, confused and she gave you a sheepish smile, “It’s very new. I didn’t want to bother anyone with it until Daerion and I were sure it was real.”

Something in your chest pinched as you observed your oldest friend in a new light. You wanted to be angry, to rage against this seemingly random match to a man you’d never met, but you couldn’t. Weren’t you doing the same thing right now? You weren’t planning on telling anyone about Aemond…yet. You were waiting to see if there was anything real there, right? So you forced your hurt down, you had no right to it.

“Isn’t he old?” You eventually asked jokingly.

Daerra looked relieved and gave you a small smile, “He’s a widower, his wife passed a few years ago. He’s…older-”

“But very handsome,” Kevan supplied.

“But very handsome,” Daerra agreed, “and, most importantly, he already has two children. He’s…like me, he’s looking for a companion, a partner, not a bedmate.”

The knot of tension in your chest loosened and you let out a contented sigh. It was indeed a relief to know that Daerra would not be subjected to sex, considering her distinct lack of sexual attraction. Somehow, by coming to King’s Landing, your best friend had found someone who would love her without desiring her in a way that made her uncomfortable. It made you feel a little more sure, like you could orient yourself in the world again knowing that there was at least one good thing to come out of this chaos.

You touched her hand, “Do you love him?” you asked.

She shrugged, but there was a fondness to her smile when she replied, “I think I will someday. It’s too new to say right now, but he’s kind and clever, and he was as relieved to find me as I was to find him. It’s a start.”

“It’s a start,” you agreed.

You walked over to study the map yourself, shivering when you realized that there were enemy lines and supply routes drawn up, plans for barracks sketched out and figurines for infantry and cavalry brigades placed at key points. This was a map built to plan battles, it was a war map for a war council. The dragon pit caught your eye and held it for a moment. You could feel your friends watching you so you forced your features into neutrality, praying that they couldn’t sense the turmoil in your mind.

“So, we’re officially abandoning plan A then?” You questioned, though you figured it was pointless, “We’re preparing for war?”

“Plan A went out the window the moment we arrived,” Daerion pointed out, “peace and cohabitation was never an option for these people.”

This is wrong, a voice in your head whispered, we’re making the wrong choice. You imagined fields burning, children weeping over the bodies of their parents. You saw widows, orphans and the elderly grieving their loss. Millions would be maimed, injured, hurt and forced from their homes if you did this, and your throat started to tighten up. Viserys was getting iller by the day. No one had seen the King for weeks

“I’m not built for war,” you heard yourself say, “does this mean I can come home?”

You met Coren’s eye and knew, instinctively, that you weren’t going home. Coren, your brother, had been placed away for the day. The person in front of you was Lord Coren Manderly, the young merman. He loved you, he would die for you, he would take their people to battle for you, but he would not grant you this, not while there was work to be done.

So you weren’t surprised when he simply replied, “No, your task is unchanged. We need alliances.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, his eyes flickering with what looked like guilt. You looked in his eye and suddenly felt as though you were living your life in reverse, like this was a memory that you were playing over in your mind years from now. It was surreal, but you knew what was coming, and you knew the role you were expected to play.

“Who?” you asked quietly, feeling like you were a million miles away, watching yourself.

“Hmm?” Coren replied, stalling for time.

You sighed, glancing down at the map with a detached disinterest, “Who have you decided I am to marry, then?”

The answering silence was deafening and it stretched between you and your brother like a fine spider web. Kerran and Daerra were looking between you and Coren with confusion, clearly having not been filled in on the situation, but Kevan seemed unsurprised. As always, they acted as one, and you’d been left behind. That stung.

“Rohar Martell,” Coren eventually said.

Don’t think of Aemond, your mind warned. Don’t think of his hands, or his smile. Don’t think of the way he made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Don’t think of him. Don’t think of him. Don’t think of him.

You let out a bark of harsh laughter imagining oceans of sand and blaring heat that never abated.

“You couldn’t have found a place further from home to send me.” You acknowledged, “Or to somewhere I want to go to less.”

“Y/N/N-”

“But they hold another important harbor, right?” You interrupted, “If Dorne rises in support of Rhaenyra then the Greens will be facing enemies on both sides.” you continued, “And, if Rhaenyra can forge a peace with Dorne, people will support her claim even more, especially in the Stormlands.” Your heart felt like it was pounding in your ears. Your blood was rushing, drowning out the sound of anything but your own panic, but you continued calmly, “It’s smart, truly, some of your best work.” gesturing between Kevan and Coren. You wanted to swear, but you bit your tongue, “Am I to be shipped off, or will my husband come and collect me here?”

Coren winced, as though you’d struck him, but Kevan merely sighed. You took a sort of pleasure in watching Coren squirm under your accusatory gaze, but it did nothing to quell the tidal wave of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm you.

“The deal is not yet struck,” Kevan replied, “there wasn’t time for that. Lord Rohar will come here to meet you, you will have a brief courtship period and then, if all goes well, you’ll be married in Sunspear.”

There were tears pricking in your eyes now, but you held Kevan’s steady gaze, willing him to break under yours. After a few seconds he looked away, and that tasted like a bitter victory.

“You need me to woo him as well?” you asked incredulously, “It’s not enough that you made this match without consulting me, I must charm my future lord as well? That is rich.”

“You came here to find a husband and a husband has been found,” Coren piped up loudly, “I don’t understand why this offends you so much, you just said you were relieved to be free of Aegon.”

“I chose Aegon!” You snapped back, your voice on the verge of shouting, “He was a beast, but I chose to make myself available to him. When I agreed to come here you told me I could select my husband on the condition that my marriage bring strength to our cause.”

“And the Martells are that strength,” Coren shouted back, “your plan was a failure, so I made a decision, a decision that I had every right to make.”

“Right? You had no right!”

“I have every right!” He insisted, “I am your brother, I am the lord of White Harbor, I have every right to arrange marriages for those under my care, and that includes you, Y/N, whether you like it or not.”

Your mouth snapped shut as a tear slipped down your cheek. Coren’s eye flicked to the tear and it was as though the fight was sapped out of him. His face softened and you felt a pair of gentle arms wrap around your shoulders. Daerra held you and you drew strength from her support, wiping your face and pulling yourself back together.

“It’s a good match, Y/N,” Kevan said gently, “from what we’ve heard he’s a good man.”

A watery laugh worked its way out of your throat, “From what you’ve heard,” you repeated bitterly, “you’re comfortable marrying me to a stranger and sending me across the world based on what you’ve heard.”

“If we see any worrying behavior we’ll call the whole thing off,” Coren assured you.

“We?” you asked, shooting Kevan a look.

“I,” Coren clarified, flushing red, “I’ll call it off.”

You nodded, willing yourself to be soothed by that, “Well then, for the Council’s sake, I hope your sources can be relied on. When will he arrive?”

Another silence as Coren wrestled with himself and you tried not to scream.

“Ten days, if the weather holds,” Kevan replied.

You met his eye and gave him a curt nod. In a strange way you appreciated his straightforwardness. You clung to it like a rock in the middle of the ocean. There was no deceit in Kevan, and he would never ask you to understand his position. He would never philosophize to you, or speak down to you. He simply gave you the facts and took your anger on the chin.

Coren gave you a guilty look, “Y/N-”

“Is there anything else about the match that I should know?” You interrupted, keeping your eyes trained on Kevan.

He shook his head, “Nothing we need to go through tonight.”

“Then let’s move on,” you insisted, “what other developments have there been?”

“Y/N/N, if you’d rather sit this one out-” Daerra said softly.

“No, I want to be here,” you insisted, “let’s continue.”

After a few moments of silence, the conversation continued and you tuned out, offering comments rarely and retaining nothing. You couldn’t be alone with your thoughts now, not while the panic was fresh and massive, threatening to break you down into a thousand pieces that could never be put back together. You had to process your thoughts, you had to make yourself understand what had happened, what was happening to you. Rohar Martell. Rohar Martell was coming to King’s Landing for you.

Aemond, your heart whispered, Aemond. Aemond. Aemond. You forced it down.

Sunspear, that was the issue. You were being married off to a Dornishman, a Dornishman from Sunspear! Just the thought of it filled you with a deep, palpable dread. You weren’t exaggerating when you’d said it couldn’t be further from home. Dorne was so foreign to you that it may as well have been a different planet. The food was different, the clothes, the culture. You could almost feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you even now, burning your skin, drying your throat. Your eyes pricked. You swallowed hard and worried at your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

There would be no returning home. No last visit, no royal tours stopping in White Harbor. No summer snows, no icy springs and long, slow autumns. Even winters would be hot. You would likely never see your friends or family again. Maybe they would stay for a while after the wedding, but then they would be on the next boat back to a country that was no longer yours. The wedding! Your mind went round in circles for what felt like hours, the time ticking on until there was nothing left for you to analyze, save one thing;

“I remember everything about you,” you remembered Aemond saying. Simple, plain, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I remember everything about you. I remember everything about you.

Your heart ached. Your whole body ached. You wanted someone-no-you wanted him to hold you. You wanted Aemond to storm in, all beautiful fury, and pull you out of this nightmare and back into the happy little bubble of his sanctuary. You wanted him to kiss you hard and tell you that you were alright, you never had to leave, you could stay there, together, and everything would work itself out. The thought made you want to laugh. It was absurd! You barely knew Aemond, really. Thirty-two hours ago he’d just been a man who made you feel breathless, whose face you would quite have liked to touch someday, but you would never have expected him to kiss you. Did he love you? He’d proposed, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He certainly wanted to bed you, and to have you as his own in some way. Did you love him? Why had he not said anything through all the months you’d been here? Why had he been able to go from careful distance to constant affection with such ease? Was this a routine he pulled often?

Well, it didn’t much matter now, did it? Whatever it was, it was over.

You felt a touch on your shoulder and you looked up, seeing Kevan standing beside you and offering his hand. You looked around and noticed that the meeting had concluded. Coren was rolling up the map while the others chatted idly amongst themselves. Only Kevan was focussed on you, his gaze soft with affection. His eyes had always been of particular fascination to you. They were brown, but so dark that they almost looked black and, if you knew him well enough you could see everything he thought or felt contained in their depths. When you were kids, he’d said that you had that in common.

“C’mon,” he said softly, “I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

You wanted to fight, really you did, but you were so drained and confused that you had no fight left to give. So you took his hand, let him lace his fingers through yours and let him pull you to your feet. You said your goodbyes to your friends, giving Kerran a kiss on the head and purposely ignoring Coren, and then you were free, wandering the empty corridors with your hand firmly in Kevan’s. For a long while you didn’t talk. You were angry, of course but mostly you were just heartbroken and too exhausted to formulate the words you needed, and you knew without saying anything that Kevan understood that.

“I’ll be breaking off my engagement,” he said finally, when the door to your room was in sight.

You frowned, momentarily shocked out of your stupor, “What? Why?”

He grimaced, his handsome features thrown into sharp relief in the moonlight, “It’s not certain, not yet anyway, but if you’re getting shipped off to Dorne, I’m coming with you.”

“No,” you said, “no, Kevan, you can’t. You have a title here, and lands to inherit. You can’t just leave all that behind.”

He shot you a look, “The match with Rohar was my idea, and that makes your safety and happiness my responsibility.” he explained, “I can’t, in good faith, send you to another potential den of vipers without knowing that someone is there to look out for you.”

You weren’t sure whether you wanted to laugh or cry, slap him or hug him so instead you settled on simply squeezing his hand in thanks. It was a genuine relief to not be facing the daunting reality of Dorne on your own, and you were touched that Kevan would even consider such a sacrifice for you, but one thing kept nagging in the back of your head.

“What about Coren?” you asked as you reached your rooms.

Kevan sighed, “What about him?”

“You love him,” you replied simply, “and he loves you. How will you see each other if you’re in Dorne with me?”

He looked down, years of rejection and heartbreak written on his face like ink in a book.

“Coren is married,” he said, though whether it was to you or to himself you couldn’t tell, “and, as he loves to remind me, he needs to focus on making babies and ruling White Harbor, not some childhood fling.”

You frowned, gripping his hands tight and forcing him to meet your eyes, “My brother lives for you. You’re not some childhood fling, Kev.”

His eyes were watering a little, you noticed as he pulled you against his chest into a brief, but comforting embrace.

“Tell him that,” he said simply, trying for a joking tone and failing miserably, “either way, it’s done, I’ve made my decision. If you go, I go. We’ll have such adventures together, Y/N, it’ll be wonderful.”

He looked so sad, and was trying so hard that you felt the shard of icy anger in your chest melt away into nothingness, leaving only affection in its wake.

“It will be,” you agreed, even though you both knew you were lying, “goodnight, Lord Reyne.”

He smiled, giving you an exaggerated bow, “Goodnight, Lady Y/N.”

You watched him for a moment as he strolled away with his head down and his hands in his pockets. You felt the familiar bittersweet ache of loneliness in your chest as you stepped into your room and closed the door behind you. You penned a brief note to Aemond, asking him to meet you the next evening in a courtyard you knew tended to be overlooked and underpopulated. You knew the risks of meeting him in public were high, but you also knew that, if he got you alone and in private, all would be lost. You couldn’t trust yourself to think clearly if feeling his lips on your skin again was even an option.

But, Gods above, you wanted it to be.

When you fell asleep you dreamed of sapphires and scales, of blood on cobblestones, rattlesnakes in sand dunes and the taste of ash in your mouth, and in the distance, a man watching you. Always watching with one hand on his sword belt.

—

While you slept, Aemond drank. His whole life, he felt, had boiled down to a series of failures. He was alone, he was a weapon, he had no power, no control and no reason for caution, and so he drank. They had been to a number of bars and restaurants in Flea Bottom until the night had turned to early morning. Then Aegon had dragged him into a relatively nice brothel on the street of silk and had promptly procured himself a whore and disappeared from view, but not before he sent a lady to Aemond ‘as a gift’.

The madam of the house had ushered the two of them into a large, beautiful room, done up in shades of white and gold. The girl in question was staring at him while Aemond purposely looked almost anywhere else. She looked like you, his brain noted. That, Aemond assumed, was the gift part of Aegon’s plan, as though fucking some woman who looked vaguely similar to you would do anything other than remind him that she was not. In general Aemond had never been fond of whoring. The women were beautiful and talented, the madams discreet, but there was a performativity to the whole encounter that made Aemond feel foolish and restless. He wanted to be with the person who wanted him. Only him. He wanted to know his partner intimately, to know what made them tick, what made them shiver and break and fall apart. He wanted them to look him in the eye as he made them see stars, and he wanted to know, when he did that, that his partner knew him every bit as well as he did them.

So no, he did not fuck the girl Aegon had so graciously sent his way. Instead he drank, and she drank, and she attempted to get him to talk about himself, which made him wish he could just fuck her to stop the talking.

“Your brother mentioned that I remind him of a woman,” she said an hour or two into the encounter, when it had become clear that Aegon had purchased her for the entire day, “is that why you will not touch me? You have a woman waiting for you at home?”

Aemond downed his glass of sweet Arbor red as the dragon in his chest keened and clawed at him, making his chest ache. He’d been drunk, sobered up and was now attempting to become drunk again. He was chasing it, chasing that mindless, blinding numbness that came with it in the hopes that it would wipe the memory of you from his mind. It had not yet worked. He refilled his glass.

“No.”

“I believe you’re lying to me, my prince,” she attempted in a flirtatious tone, “I believe there is a woman.”

“I never said there wasn’t,” he replied, “but she’s not waiting at home for me.”

“Oh,” the prostitute mouthed, “did she leave you? Run off with another man?”

“Do you always talk this much?” He snapped, taking another deep drink.

She rolled her eyes, walking up to him and collapsing prettily into his lap, tracing a finger down the unscarred side of his face.

“Usually by now my mouth is full,” she said suggestively.

Fuck. She did look like you, or maybe it was the wine. Either way, he didn’t immediately shove her from his lap.

“She didn’t leave me,” he said through gritted teeth, “I just…” he sighed, “I cannot have her.”

The girl tilted her head to the side, “She married?”

“No.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

She gasped, “Is she a Silent Sister? You dirty boy!”

Aemond choked on his wine and spluttered, “Wha-no! Gods no.”

“Oh,” she pouted, now tracing his lips with her fingers, “that’s disappointing. Well then, my prince, it seems that you could have her, if you wanted her. Is she unwilling?”

Aemond laughed shakily, remembering the way you’d moaned for him, the way you’d chased his lips hungrily and pulled his body tight against your own.

“She’s willing.” he said certainly, “She wants…she wants what I want.”

“And what is that, exactly?” She persisted, watching him like a cat playing with a mouse, “What would you have her do, if it were her here on your lap and not me?”

She was good at her job, Aemond had to give her that. His mind involuntarily drifted to you and he felt his blood start to rise. The girl noticed and slipped from his lap, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him with faux innocence.

“Is this where you picture her?” she asked softly. He didn’t respond, not trusting that his voice wouldn’t crack. She smoothly shifted onto her hands and knees, facing away from him so that he got a clear view of the curve of her waist and her full ass, “Or maybe you want her like this?”

“Stop,” he said softly.

She turned back to him, making her voice soft and enticing as she leant forward on his thighs, “It’s alright, your grace. I can be her if that’s what you need. You can touch me in all the ways you want to touch her, you can even call me by her name if that would please you.”

He twisted his head, as though he could ward off her words, images of you playing in his mind on a never ending loop that danced on the tattered remains of his heart.

“Stop,” he insisted again, snapping as he pushed himself to his feet and stalked away.

He heard the girl clamber to her feet. The dragon in his chest was roaring with rage like an injured creature, blowing fire so hot it made him feel as though he were cooking from the inside. Having said that, he knew his bad mood was not her fault. He knew she was simply doing her job, trying to provide the service she’d been paid to provide, likely in fear of retribution from himself or Aegon if she was seen to be ripping them off or underperforming. So, he breathed, doing the exercises his father had taught him in his youth to quell the dragon and put it to sleep again. They only partially worked.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said, turning back, “I did not mean to be rude or to cause offense. You’re very beautiful, I simply am not in need of sexual favors right now. My brother overstepped when he purchased your time.”

She nodded, “I understand, your grace. Your brother did purchase me time though, and we offer other services besides sex here. We can just talk, if you’d prefer.”

Aemond hesitated, feeling the weight of his own loneliness like a heavy cloak around his shoulders intent on dragging him to the ground. The few seconds of conversation he’d allowed himself to have had been a relief. In talking about you, even without specifics, he felt the echoes of your time together, the precious few moments you’d had that had filled him with such a sense of purpose and belonging. It would feel good to talk more, he thought. Wouldn’t it? What harm could come of it?

“I would not wish to burden you,” he said hesitantly.

The girl smiled, “You would not be burdening me, my prince. This is my job, you’d be surprised how many come here just for a safe place to unload the contents of their day to a pair of comforting ears.” She sat at one of the many couches, tucking her feet up underneath her and gesturing for Aemond to do the same, “Please, sit.” He did and she continued, “So, what’s on your mind, your grace?”

—

By the time he returned to the Keep, Aemond was conflicted and sore. His head pounded, he was dehydrated and demoralized, but he strangely felt as though he’d found a friend. He’d left Aegon behind, paying off the brothel keepers to ensure that he got home safely but, once the day had started to grow old, Aemond knew he had to return home. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. He’d never been gone for so long for so long without explanation and, pathetically, he missed knowing that he might see you if he took the right turn or passed the right library. So, he said goodbye to his new friend and began the return journey. He’d barely been back in his room for ten minutes before his manservant presented him with a note, signed by you, asking to see him.

“It arrived this morning,” Alphard said, “But my lord was not around, so I held onto it.”

Aemond nodded curtly, cursing his own short sightedness. He was a wreck, he knew he was a wreck. His hair was a mess, his clothes were rumpled, he reeked of alcohol and cheap incense. But fuck, he missed you. The thought of seeing you again was like a drug. He traced the words you’d written as though they were the last words he’d ever read, feeling his stomach sink into the soles of his shoes.

“Would you like me to tell the lady that my lord is unavailable?” Alphard asked gently.

Aemond shook his head, choking down his sadness and resigning himself to the conversation he was about to be forced to have. He glanced outside to see the darkening sky, gave Alphard a tired smile, slipped his cloak back over his shoulders and strode directly out into the air. As he followed the winding back pathways of the Keep on his way to you, he tried to figure out what on earth he was actually going to say. He practiced his lines over and over again, fighting through the remaining effects of the alcohol to keep his mind clear and focussed, all the while trying to fight off his growing excitement. No matter what was about to happen, he would see you again. He would be near you again, and that was reason enough to celebrate. Every hour that he had been out in the city he had felt your absence like a wound.

He saw you before his mind had even processed that he was there, his heart stuttering like a hummingbird. You struck a sad but elegant figure in the darkening air, sat at the base of a forgotten weirwood tree with your knees pulled up under your chin and your arms wrapped around them like a vice. You looked so young, so afraid and lonely. Your face was drawn and ashy, your hair pinned securely to the back of your head, and your eyes, when you turned to face him and met his gaze, were red.

Oh.

Oh no.

He’d lost you.

Knowing it was coming didn’t stop the blow from landing like a warhammer to his chest and, for a second, Aemond thought his knees might buckle and fall out from beneath him. You pressed your lips together and he could see the tears welling up in your eyes. He forced himself forward, like a man walking to his execution and folded himself down beside you, with his back pressed to the bark of the weirwood tree. Without speaking, your hand found his and, although his brain told him to move away, he laced his fingers with yours tightly and wished he could just pull you against his chest and hold on forever.

“My brother’s a heartbroken wreck,” Aemond eventually said.

You nodded and gave him a searching look, “You look like you haven’t slept.” you observed.

He laughed weakly, “I haven’t.” he admitted, “Aegon took me to the city. I suppose I’m a bit of a heartbroken wreck too.”

“What did you do?”

He shrugged, “Mostly drank. Aegon took me to a brothel to whore the pain away.” he chuckled darkly, “That was a bust.”

He heard you let out a breath and felt a flicker of pleasure at the thought that you may have been jealous, that you may hate the idea of him being with any other woman but you.

“It was?” you asked

“It was,” he confirmed, risking a look your way, so that you could see the sincerity in his eye, “Aegon found me a girl. She was lovely, but she wasn’t…she wasn’t what I wanted. It seems that you’re the only woman for me, Y/N Manderly.”

You pressed your lips together to stop them from trembling and Aemond felt a swell of pride as he watched you forced your tears back. You were so painfully strong. He wanted to kiss that sadness right off your face. You brushed your eyes with your free hand, looking resolutely forward, steeling yourself against the coming storm.

“My brother has a new match planned for me,” you said simply, “Lord Rohar Martell of Sunspear.”

If losing you was a warhammer to his chest, hearing that you were about to be courted again was a lance straight through his very soul. He opened his mouth to say something-anything to comfort you, but nothing came out but a tiny, broken ‘oh’.

“He’s furious with your family,” you continued honestly, “he went behind my back. I didn’t know.”

Aemond barely heard you over the blood rushing in his ears. He could see it all so clearly, like a story he’d read in a book a thousand times before. There you were, breathless and beautiful, laughing at something a dark haired man said in the gardens. His lips were on your neck. His hand was too big on your waist, but you didn’t mind. Your fingers ran through his hair as he smiled down at you with love in his eyes. You were walking down the aisle to him, incandescent with beauty while he wept openly, pledging himself to always be yours. You stepped on a ship to Sunspear without so much as a glance back. Your whole life flashed before Aemond’s eyes, and he wasn’t a part of it. His only role was to stand and smile, to be polite to your new husband for your sake, to support the match and pretend that he didn’t lie awake at night remembering the way your lips tasted. He would be a memory before he even got the chance to be something real to you.

“My mother wants me to remain unattached until-” he paused, realizing that he couldn’t even tell you the whole truth without risking his brother’s cause, “until such time as she makes a match for me. Herself.”

“And that match won’t be me.” you finished, it wasn’t a question.

Aemond shook his head, lifting your hand to his mouth so that he could press his lips to your knuckles. He tried to burn the feeling into his mind.

“It won’t be you.” he confirmed anyway.

You wiped your eyes covertly again, “What do we do?” You asked, and Aemond could hear the pain in your voice, the ache of being moved around like a pawn on a chessboard, “How do we…what do we do?”

Run away with me, he wanted to say, run away and be mine.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to betray his mother, his brother and his family. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of the good little soldier he’d always been. It was all he knew how to be, it was all he knew how to do. He was the second son. He didn’t get to want things for himself, to have his own dreams and desires. He was his brother’s sword and shield, his mother’s hidden ace, the key to their coming victory, and he despised himself for it.

“You court Lord Rohar,” he forced himself to say, the words tasting like poison on his tongue, “you marry him, if you’re both willing. He’ll love you well, I’m sure of it.”

You twisted to look at him and Aemond flinched at the hurt and betrayal in your eyes. You were so painfully beautiful, even now. Especially now. How could he hurt you like this? How could he ask you to trust him, bring you close and then so quickly give you up?

“So, that’s it? We just pretend as though nothing ever happened?” you accused, “You’re quite content to watch me marry some stranger and disappear to Dorne?”

“Of course I’m not content,” he snapped back, feeling the hopelessness wash over him again, “of course I’m not. Do you have any idea how…” he breathed deeply, fighting off the despair, “Y/N, I just want you to be happy.”

“I was happy,” you whispered, almost too quiet for him to hear, “I thought we both were.”

Aemond’s heart pinched, swelling to twice its normal size with love. He leaned forward, cupping your face with his free hand and pulling you close. At that moment, he couldn’t care who saw him, it didn’t matter who might stumble upon you together and get the wrong idea. All that mattered was you. All that mattered was savoring this moment and making sure that you knew that he-

“Happy is too small a word,” he told you seriously, willing you to believe him, “far, far too small.”

You nuzzled into his hand and Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, “We never had a chance,” you said, your voice small.

He shook his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. He wanted to tell you that he loved you then. He wanted you to know that he was yours, that he would always be yours, that there was nothing he wanted more than to be with you. The words were on his lips, ready to slip out, but he forced them down. It would be unfair, he reasoned, unforgivably unfair to tell you now, when it was too late for either of you to do anything about it. How could you respond? How could he expect you to respond? So, he merely pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should never have put us in this position.” he whispered.

You returned his embrace, “I’m not sorry.”

Love me, the dragon cried, please, please, please, just love me.

“Avy jorrāelan,” he said softly, “va moriot.”

You pulled away to look in his eye, “What does that mean?”

I love you. I’ll always love you. I’ll love you forever.

“It means thank you,” he lied, “for everything.”

Chapter Text

You still hated the heat, and the sand, and that your brother had gone behind your back but, besides that you were…happy? You sighed, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes to try and rub out the exhaustion. Were you happy? Is this what happiness felt like? Rohar was lovely, you knew that now. He was handsome and respectful. He made you laugh, he spent time with you almost every day and he never entertained other women, even when he had the chance to. As a person, he was bubbly and energetic. He was the life and soul of every party he was invited to and he sometimes seemed so full of excitement that he was almost vibrating.

He was a perfect gentleman. So you were happy.

Or optimistic maybe? Relieved?

You pulled a throw pillow onto your face and screamed, letting out every little bit of confusion, frustration and anger that had been swirling in your stomach for the past two months. This was hell! How could you not know how you felt? How, after all this time, after everything you’d been through with Aegon, could you even be doubting Rohar at all? He was perfect! You liked him a lot, didn’t you? Didn’t you?

“I want to die,” you mumbled through the thick fabric of the pillow, “would you kill me, please?”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Daerra replied, patting your knee comfortingly as she embroidered, having been beside you for a number of these minor breakdowns now.

“I’m not, I want you to kill me. Stab that embroidery needle into my jugular, make it quick.”

“You sure you wouldn’t prefer that I stick it in your eye?” she teased with a sidelong glance.

You lifted the pillow off your face, frowning, “You’re cruel.”

She shrugged, “But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” you sighed, “but now you’re abandoning me too.”

“I’m not abandoning you, you dramatic little fool,” she laughed, “I’m getting married.”

“To an old man.” You grumbled, fully aware of how silly and childish you sounded.

“To a kind, wonderful man,” she corrected, “who also happens to be maybe the only other asexual in this depraved cesspit of perverts and assholes.”

“Who’s also old,” you insisted.

“He’s two and thirty, Y/N!” Daerra laughed, “it’s a good match. You talk as though he’s halfway to the crypt.”

You mumbled unhappily to yourself but didn’t protest any further. You knew she was right, there had been far more uncomfortable age gaps than two-and-twenty and two-and-thirty, and Lord Redwyne was by all accounts a good man who had nothing but respect for Daerra, even offering to take her home to Driftmark whenever she got homesick, or to Sunspear (though this had been more of an implication, since the engagement to Rohar wasn’t certain) should she wish to visit you. She had found a diamond in him, and he’d found one in her. Were you jealous? No, you were elated for her. However, his gain was quite literally your loss. In a terrifyingly brief period of time, Daerra and Byron would say their vows, be wed and embark on their honeymoon tour. They would be off visiting friends and family, setting up their home and enjoying one another's company and you would be here, agonizing over why you were hesitating to marry a man who seemed to be literally perfect for you, for at least a little while.

You worried at the inside of your cheek, purposely not thinking about anyone in particular or any specific events, words, illicit affairs etc. that may or may not have taken place in recent history, pretending to not see Daerra’s knowing look. This too was a familiar pattern now, ever since Rohar had arrived, you’d met him in the gardens, panicked, and then broken down to Daerra about everything that had happened between you and that person you weren’t supposed to be thinking about anymore. It was mostly working, avoiding the thoughts made the pain less all consuming, and Rohar was a welcome distraction, but it wasn’t gone. Your heart still leapt when you caught a glimpse of pale white, or when you heard a specific laugh.

“Byron calls himself old,” you pointed out, forcing your thoughts to safer territory, “so it’s not bullying, it’s simply repeating information that he himself has made public.”

“Naaaaw,” Daerra cooed, “you called him Byron. I’m going to tell him that you said that.”

You leaned up on your elbows and shot her a look, “You absolutely will not.”

“Yes I will.”

“Daerraaaaa,” you whined, “you can’t, he’s terrified me.”

She laughed, “He’s not terrified of you, he’s…reasonably careful around you.”

“Because he’s terrified.” you finished.

“Because he’s smart,” she corrected.

You hummed in agreement, taking the small victory and flopping back down on the cushioned bay window seat. You watched Daerra embroider in silence for a while, taking comfort in the repetitive and well practiced motions of it. She was working on a handkerchief for Byron, a wedding handkerchief that she was planning on making a gift of it to him on the morning of their ceremony. It was their family crests combined in a beautifully artistic way and it was well on its way to being done by the stipulated due date…which was tomorrow morning. Just the thought made your throat feel strange and tight.

“You want this, don’t you, Dae?” You asked seriously, “This marriage, this man, all of it?”

She stopped, giving you a soft look as she placed her embroidery down and took one of your hands in both of hers and squeezed tightly.

“I do,” she said surely, and you could see the sincerity in her eyes, “I want to spend my life with him. I get to be a mother to his children, I won’t have to allow some brute to use me as an incubator for heirs and, more than that, we enjoy each other. I truly do just adore him. You mustn’t worry yourself about that.”

You squeezed her hand back, feeling a swell of emotion in your chest when you compared the woman sitting in front of you to the child she had been when you met.

“Alright,” you agreed softly, “I am happy for you, Dae, truly.”

She smiled, “I know. I only wish you were as happy as I am with Byron.”

“Whatever could you mean?” You said in a joking monotone, “I am practically incandescent with happiness. Can you not tell?”

“Ahh, of course, how could I be so wrong? Perhaps your attempts to incite me to commit murder simply had me confused.” she joked back.

“Common misconception.” You continued.

You lapsed back into comfortable silence, with Daerra continuing her work and humming a nonsensical tune, and you falling back into your own mind, worrying at your cheek again until you began to taste blood. Your thoughts kept threatening to slip back into dangerous territory, and even your most trusty topic of distraction, the wedding, was no longer safe. You see, Daerra was a Velaryon and Byron was the lord of the Arbor. This wedding was a major event both socially and politically and, because of that, the royal family would be in attendance. In fact, they would be allowing the new couple to use a banquet hall in the Red Keep for their official wedding party and rooms for the bedding ceremony that, Daerra said, would be about drinking wine and making loud imitation sex noises for fun. You’d helped Daerra plan a decent amount of the wedding so you knew that it was bound to be a wonderfully fun celebration of love, family and friendship.

And that person would be there. That person who you were not supposed to be thinking about, seeking out in public or interacting with in any way, shape or form.

Aemond. Aemond. Aemond, your traitorous heart whispered.

So far you’d been good, very good. The few times you’d been in the same place as Aemond over the past two months you’d managed to avoid being in close proximity and, once Rohar had arrived, you’d managed to stay away from Aemond entirely. At no point had you been in the same location as both Rohar and Aemond at the same time. Coincidentally, Rohar would also be in attendance at Daerra’s wedding. Fun! The only two people in the whole realm you desperately did not want interacting were about to be forced into the same place, plied with alcohol and left to potentially ruin your life. The worst part was, if you were honest with yourself, you had no idea what you wanted to happen.

Aemond and Rohar didn’t coexist well in your mind. Whenever you tried to imagine them talking to one another or sharing a bottle of wine your throat got tight and your heart started to pound. It was like there were two completely different versions of you that existed, the insane, shell-shocked girl who’d met a dragon, thrown herself at a man and nearly wept in Aemond’s arms, and the calm, put together young woman who loved to wander the gardens and drink Dornish wine with Rohar, and these two women simply could not both go to Daerra’s wedding. It had to be one or the other. The worst part was, if you were honest with yourself, you had no idea which woman was actually you.

You felt hands in your hair and lips ghosting over your pulse points like feathers. He kissed you hard and you moaned into his hips, letting him swallow the sound whole, your body screaming for more, more, more, more.

Fuck, stop that! You took a deep breath to clear your head.

You should be praying that the two never interact and the night passes without incident. You should be doing everything you can to ensure that Aemond was a non-factor and that your relationship with Rohar remained unaffected by him. However, you couldn’t stop yourself from hoping that something happened to prove that you weren’t losing your mind alone. But what did you actually want, specifically? Did you want to flaunt your partner in Aemond’s face? Did you want to punish him for encouraging the match at all? Or, did you want him to sweep you off your feet, kiss you hard and challenge anyone who dared to comment on it to fight him? Did you want him to rescue you? Did you even want to be rescued?

This is where you usually began screaming into pillows.

“I want to die,” you said again, hopelessly.

“I know, lovely,” Daerra sighed, “I know.”

“My lady,” Lila called, forcing you to sit up, “Lord Rohar is here for you.”

You willed yourself to feel something, anything really, about that, but you were met with only a kind of quiet exhaustion.

“Thank you, Lila. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

You shot your friend a weary look and she responded with a sympathetic little smile.

“Off we go then,” you said.

A hint of humor glinted in her eye, “Off we go then.”

—

“Stop moving,” Helaena grumbled, her face thin and drawn as she combed through Aemond’s hair, “for the Father’s sake, Aemond, how many times have I told you, you really ought to braid your hair before you go flying?”

“Oh, sweet one,” he sighed, “I couldn’t possibly begin to count that high.”

“Don’t be mocking, Aem,” she replied, “you don’t have an abundance of friends right now.”

His heart pinched, but he shrugged it off and kept his face neutral, remembering that Helaena’s life was at least as bad, if not significantly worse than his at the moment. She was a newlywed, after all, and a newlywed whose husband was more interested in drinking and whoring than her. So, really, Aemond and Helaena were both more isolated now than they had ever been before. So, like when they were young, they were relying on one another.

“I’m sorry, Helaena,” he said sincerely, “I ought to take your advice more, I know I ought to.”

“You and everyone else,” she muttered irritably, “Blood in the dirt, blood on the stones. Dragons of gold and dragons of blood.”

“Dragons of gold and dragons of blood,” he agreed, more to comfort her than anything else.

Helaena completed her work and sat up with a pleased hum, ushering him up so that he could take a seat beside her on the couch. Aemond picked up his book and began reading while Helaena sketched and hummed, realizing quickly that this was a tome he’d finished more than once already. He sighed, feeling a rush of exhaustion as he contemplated the long trek back to the library. It wasn’t particularly arduous on a normal day but, since Aemond had barely slept for the past few weeks, everything seemed taxing.

He’d been avoiding his bed for one reason and one reason only; he knew that, once he closed his eyes and drifted off, he would dream of you. He couldn’t allow that to happen, he couldn’t take it. It was hard enough to control himself during the day, when there were tasks to be done, duties to be seen to and social pressures to be observed. When all those fell away, it was almost impossible. He couldn’t keep himself from remembering the kind of things that made his skin hot and his bed feel entirely too big and lonely. Sleeping made it worse, because his dreams gave him new memories of you, some of which were too tantalizing and beautiful for him to ever forget. The dreams themselves were a gift, but waking up and remembering that they could never be real was infuriating. So, he kept sleeping to a minimum. He trained and flew until his body felt as though it might give in, then he collapsed into bed for a few hours of (hopefully) dreamless rest, woke with the rising sun and repeated the pattern.

He still sparred with Kevan and Daerion on occasion, and he nodded at Coren and Kevan in the corridors when they passed one another. He was civil, but it hurt to see the echoes of you in your brothers’ faces. It hurt to be so near to the people you loved, the people he once hoped would be his family, and know that you had slipped right through his fingers. Coren, in particular, was hard for him to stomach, considering that you were currently on another man’s arm because of Coren’s actions. Aemond couldn’t quite get past the fact that your brother had gone behind your back and used you like a tool to form a beneficial alliance. It was normal behavior, he knew that rationally, but nothing about his feelings for you had ever been rational. They were instinctual, animalistic and visceral. He couldn't think his way out of them and, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to.

Regardless of what else may have happened, Aemond couldn’t bring himself to regret what had happened.

“Aem, stop torturing yourself,” Helaena said, not looking up from her sketching.

He sighed and rolled his eye, “How do you do that?”

She shrugged, “I’m a prophet, and I’ve literally known you all my life.”

“That you have,” he agreed softly, “I am trying, you know?”

Helaena sighed, giving him a comforting look, “I know you are. We all are, but-” she trailed off.

“But what?”

“But,” she continued, with a tired sigh, “the person you love is still out there. She’s unmarried, she cares for you. There’s still time.”

Aemond felt a flicker of irritation, “It’s not that simple, sister.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it isn’t. Mother made it clear-”

“Mother married me to Aegon,” Helaena snapped, “mother has put us on a course to-” she took a deep breath, “you’re an adult, Aemond. That’s all I’ll say about that.”

It was an old conversation now, and there was nothing that Aemond could say. They lapsed back into silence and Aemond tried to dredge up an interest in the book in his hands, his mind whirling with restless energy. It was no use. He had to go get a new one. So he kissed his sister on the head, taking note of the dark circles under her eyes and swearing to himself that he would talk to their mother about Helaena’s health and safety, and forced himself out into the corridors. The castle was bustling with activity, cooks, musicians and decorators rushing from one place to the other in service of Daerra’s wedding. Aemond felt the normal slight tug on his heart when he imagined Daerra’s wedding. Byron Redwyne was a good man, Aemond had had his people look into him when the engagement was announced. It was a little unexpected, but he was happy for them, happy for Daerra.

The sun went a long way in making Aemond feel at least slightly more alive, though nothing could quite cut through the thick haze of exhaustion, which made him sluggish and inattentive. It was the exhaustion that kept him from noticing the glint of gold jewelry on a distinctly foreign coat, or the familiar curve of your waist as you strolled through the nearby courtyard with-

Aemond threw himself behind the nearest wall before you could notice him. He wondered, idly, if the gods were punishing him for something. There seemed to be no other option, no other conceivable reason for why every good thing in his life turned to ash in his hands. Cosmic retribution would explain why he found himself trapped behind a wall, trying not to breathe too loudly while you spoke to Lord Rohar Martell in the gentle, comforting tone he hadn’t heard in months now.

Rohar made a self-deprecating joke and you laughed. Aemond felt his heart pinch, all exhaustion completely forgotten. He could hear you both walking towards where he was hiding and, in his mind, he could perfectly picture you on Rohar’s arm, smiling and forgetting all about him. It made him want to scream, or cry, or possibly burn down everything in his sight. Perhaps all three at once. The only thing stopping him, as usual, was you. He couldn’t stand to see you afraid, he couldn’t stand to make you afraid and, at the end of the day, that’s why he was hiding rather than simply escaping into the safety of his rooms.

But that meant he was stuck listening to you be wooed and charmed by another man. It wasn’t the first time, of course, he’d nearly stumbled upon you and your suitor a number of times over the last two months, but he’d always managed to keep his presence a secret. In truth, he didn’t know how to be around you and Rohar. If he even thought about it for too long Aemond felt the dragon in his chest roar to life, possessive and jealous and intent on destroying any man who dared to touch you. However, at the same time, his heart ached to be near you again. He wanted nothing more than to be able to talk to you again, to go back to those months before the kiss when he had reasons to be around you publicly.

That wasn’t true, there was one thing he wanted more than that.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.

He heard you and Rohar move past the wall he was hiding behind and, after a few seconds, he took a deep breath and began to leave, heading towards the nearest library, his book still clutched in his hand.

“Prince Aemond,” an accented voice called, turning his blood to ice, “good to see you again, my friend.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck.

Aemond turned, plastering on a look of casual neutrality as he turned to face Lord Rohar.

“Lord Martell,” he said, praying that he couldn’t see Aemond’s panic, “I hope King’s Landing continues to be to your liking?”

Rohar laughed. The sound was pleasant, loud and warm, and made one think of a thunderclap on a clear day. It made Aemond’s skin crawl. He was an unfairly handsome man. Exactly Aemond’s height with olive skin, a strong jaw, full lips and long, shiny black hair. His smile was blinding, and came easily and Aemond thought, if he’d been born into the right branch of his family, he would’ve been a beloved prince and king. With you as his queen.

Aemond’s eye involuntarily flicked to your face for the briefest moment and, all at once, he felt the air get sucked out of his body. Your hair was up again, gold jewelry complimenting the Dornish style gown your partner had gifted you. Had you always been this beautiful? How had he ever stopped looking at you before? How did anyone stop looking at you? You were holding Rohar’s arm gently with one arm, a perfect pink rose clutched in the other hand, most likely another gift. He could see your chest rising and falling quickly with your shallow breaths, and your eyes darted between him and Rohar. Even so, they clung to Aemond for a fraction longer, like you had to drag them away.

“It is a very different city, your grace,” Rohar continued, unaware of the turmoil, “It is-uh-how can I put this? It is very…serious,” he eventually answered. He looked down at you and squeezed your hand where it sat, nestled in the crook of his elbow, “but the company is wonderful. Do you know my beautiful companion, Lady Y/N of House Manderly, your grace?”

Aemond wanted to laugh.

“Uh-yes,” he said instead, “we-uh-she has been a well-loved fixture at court for many months now.” he turned his attention to you, trying not to let his face betray his heart, “Are you well, my lady?” he asked gently.

You pressed your lips together and met his gaze, a mess of emotions swirling in your eye as you forced a small, polite smile.

“Quite well, your grace,” you responded, “are-are you well?”

“Quite well,” he echoed softly.

Are you thinking of me? He wanted to ask, do you dream of me like I dream of you?

“Will we be seeing you tomorrow, Prince Aemond?” Rohar asked, obliviously.

Aemond tore his gaze away from you, giving Rohar a confused look, “Hmm?”

He smiled, “At the wedding, my lady says it’s shaping up to be quite the party.”

The dragon in his chest roared with rage.

She was mine first, it cried out, she was mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!

“Oh, yes of course, the wedding,” he replied politely, “yes, my lord, I will be in attendance.”

Rohar whooped and clapped his hands together once, pulling a fond smile from you that made Aemond want to scream. He pressed his lips together to keep the sound from escaping.

“This is good! We’ve had so little time to talk these past weeks. I would love to hear about your adventures with Vhagar,” he enthused, “ever since I was a boy, I have loved dragon stories.”

He would rather stab out his good eye and eat it than sit and talk to Rohar at length about his dragon. He would sooner stab needles under his fingernails than laugh and joke while Rohar held your hand and called you his lady. He would rather-

“Of course, my lord.” he heard himself reply, “Perhaps we’ll take a trip to the dragon pit sometime.”

You tensed, dropping your rose and Aemond swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. Stupid thing to say, he cursed himself. Stupid suggestion. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You both leant down, almost bumping your heads together as Aemond’s fingers curled around the stem of the rose.

“Thank you, your highness,” You said softly, the hint of a smile in the corners of your lips as he presented it back to you.

He smiled and, as he passed it back, your fingers brushed, sending a shock of pleasure through Aemond’s whole body. Your breath caught almost imperceptibly, but Aemond noticed. He noticed everything. You let your fingers linger on his for just a moment longer, not enough for anyone to notice but him, and the dragon lay down and purred its satisfaction. Once again he realized, in a deeply profound way, that he would likely love you until he died. Two months of minimal contact meant nothing, like it had never happened. A brief touch, the hint of a smile and he was yours again. Completely, painfully, yours.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord and lady, I must be going,” he said, giving you both a half-bow, but keeping his gaze leaning towards you, “I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow.”

You started a little, opening your mouth as though to say something to stop him. There was a kind of panic in your eye now, and a sadness that made Aemond want to lean out and touch you. For a moment he forgot about Rohar. All he saw was you, confused and hurt. He wanted to assure you that he was fine, that he’d stay if you wanted him to. He’d do whatever you wanted, be whatever you wanted.

“And you, your grace,” Rohar agreed, with a bow, “I look forward to our talk.”

The bubble popped. Aemond tore his eyes away from you painfully, reminding himself where he was.

You sunk into a deep curtsey, your eyes trained on the ground, “My prince.”

My prince. Aemond’s breath caught and he turned quickly, striding away before Rohar could notice the mess of conflicting emotions in his eye. He felt your gaze on his back for a long while. Memories felt like anchors, weighing him down as he walked, his mind churning like a spinning wheel. Like before, he seemingly blacked out, only realizing where he was when Elen slipped into the brothel’s private room with a confused look on her face.

“Your grace,” she said sleepily, “I wasn’t aware that we had plans for today.”

She looked a lot less like you now than she had on that first introduction, now that Aemond was more familiar with her. She was a few inches taller than you were, her hair was slightly lighter than yours was, the shape of her face a little off, her lips slightly thinner, but there was still an eerie similarity. If he gazed at her just right, out of the corner of his eye, it was possible to mistake her for you. Once she spoke though the spell was always broken, your voices were nothing alike. He’d been visiting her fairly often in the past few weeks. After that first failed night of whoring, Elen had become a sort of confidant for Aemond, someone he could rely on to listen without judgment and offer advice free from agenda.

“We didn’t. I-I’m sorry I just-” his chest felt tight and there was a pressure in his heart, like it was going to burst, “I just-”

Elen’s face softened and she ushered him down onto a couch and forced him to lie back, encouraging him to breathe deeply and evenly, until the panic faded into just a dull, throbbing ache.

“You saw her,” Elen said, it wasn’t a question.

“I love her, Elen,” he said, almost whining, “I love her so much.”

“I know, my prince, I know you do,” she said comfortingly, “did you speak?”

He let out a bark of laughter, almost frantic, “We made small talk,” he answered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, “I offered to take her suitor to the dragon pit! It was horrid.”

Elen nodded, pouring a cup of wine for them both and handing one to Aemond. He told her everything, recounting every detail of the brief encounter, from the way Rohar had laughed to the way your eyes had clung to him.

“Did she seem happy?” Elen asked.

He thought for a moment, “She seemed shocked, and nervous. She seemed…” he thought back, feeling the familiar tug of hurt, “she seemed like she was happy.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

The scaled creature in his chest growled, “Yes.”

Elen observed him with her discerning, clinical gaze, “There’s something else.”

He flexed his hands, feeling the ghost of your fingers on his like a wine stain, a permanent memory of that tiniest moment of connection, that wordless acknowledgement that you meant something to each other. There was an intimacy to it that made him feel awake and alive, like he could single handedly take down any opponent, overcome any obstacle.

“She’s the only one, I think.” he eventually answered.

“The only one you want to be with?” she pushed.

He shook his head, “The only one I’ve ever wanted. The only one I will ever want.”

Elen made a skeptical noise in the back of her throat.

“I’m serious,” he insisted.

“You’re a man,” she countered, “a man will fuck just about anything, and they all think that whatever poor soul is in their sights currently is the only one they’ll ever want.”

“It’s not about the sex,” he heard himself say, “with her. I-she’s beautiful and she makes me want things in a way I never have before,” he admitted, “but I just want to be with her openly and without fear. I want to make love and then hold her while she sleeps. I want to walk with her in the corridors and read together in the gardens, and then I want to take her home, to our home.”

“You want a life with this woman,” she offered, “that’s different than plain wanting.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, “I want all of it, all of her, but,” he sighed, “but I have duties. My family expects certain things of me, and what kind of son or brother would I be if I put my own desires above theirs? They want me to remain unattached and they disapprove of her, so I have to let her go. Somehow.”

She was silent for a long while, thinking hard before she responded, “I think you may be underestimating the power you have, your grace.”

Aemond frowned, “What do you mean?”

She gave him a mischievous smile, “You are a prince, a Targaryen prince at that. What will they do if you simply take her? You have a dragon. Claim your bride if she’s willing.”

“They’ll annul it,” he countered, “to marry without the King’s blessing is to marry illegitimately.”

“How can they annul a marriage made before the eyes of gods and men?”

“You don’t understand,” he growled, “I can’t just take her and run. The consequences would be-”

“I’m sure they would be,” she acknowledged, “but you would have your lady, and she would have you. You would face whatever came together, as a pair.”

As a pair. That thought was almost too sweet for Aemond to handle. Already, after only a few moments together with you, he felt like he was on fire, like he was an addict itching for his next fix. He wasn’t sure he could ever get enough of you, never be fully satisfied or fed up with how you made him feel.

“But she seems happy,” he repeated, “Rohar seems to make her happy, and her family loves him. Going against my own family is one thing, I cannot ask her to go against hers.”

Elen rolled her eyes and muttered, “Men,” under her breath.

She stood, clearly annoyed, and strode over to a nearby table, her silk robe flowing over her revealing slip as she poured another drink. Aemond sat up, frowning in confusion.

“Helen?”

“What, your grace?” she snapped, downing her drink and pouring another.

“Have I offered some offense?” he asked skeptically.

She turned to face him, looking distinctly irritated, “You men are all the same, you cling to your misery like a child to a blanket. You sit here and you whine about this woman you love but you’re completely unwilling to actually do anything to solve the problem.”

“I’m not unwilling-”

“And, worse than that, you endlessly berate her brother for making decisions on her behalf, only to turn around and do the exact same thing yourself!” she continued, as though he hadn’t spoken.

That pricked at his ego, “Pardon? How on earth could you say that of me?”

“Listen to yourself,” Elen insisted, “But she seems happy, I cannot ask her to go against hers,” she mimicked in a mocking tone, “why not? Why not simply ask the woman how she feels about you? What she might want from this situation? Is it not her life?”

Aemond was stunned. He opened his mouth to insist that he had asked you, that he’d asked you many, many times what you wanted and you’d said-

Oh.

Elen was right.

He felt a rush of shame, his skin flushing with heat as he avoided Elen’s knowing, judging gaze. Had he really never asked you what you wanted? Had he really never even asked you how you felt about him? Sure, he’d only had a limited number of moments with you, but surely he could have spared a few to discern your feelings? He knew you’d wanted him, but beyond that there was nothing. Every desperate, burning question had been left unspoken. He’d thought about them, he’d wanted to ask, but he never had.

“What if she does love you, Aemond?” Elen insisted, using his first name, which was a truly rare occurrence, “What if, in her heart, she would rather run away with you than live in Dorne with Rohar? What if she would be happy to go against her brother’s wishes and, because you never bothered to ask, she marries him and you lose her forever?”

The image of you, married, stepping onto a ship to Sunspear with tears in your eyes, cut him to the core.

“Or maybe that’s what you want,” Elen continued, “because then you never actually have to do the brave thing, which would be to choose love over duty, to choose yourself over your brother for once.”

Her words landed like heavy stones, sinking into his chest and settling there, pulling his fears and insecurities to the surface.

“That’s not what I want.” he insisted, quietly.

She sighed, “Then do something about it.” she insisted.

There was a franticness to the way she was speaking, he noticed, tinged with an exhaustion that made Aemond feel selfish and young. She wasn’t an old woman by any means, but there was a maturity to Elen. He got the feeling that she saw him as much younger than herself, much less street-smart, much less wise and experienced. Not for the first time, Aemond cursed his own tactlessness.

Elen crossed her arms over her chest and gazed out of the window, “She’s not safe, your grace.” She said, “You may think she is, because you’re young and noble, and you don’t see the seedy, disgusting underbelly of the world the way a woman does, but she isn’t. Aegon still calls on me, you know? He calls on me and he whispers ‘Y/N’ in my ear when he’s inside of me.”

No, Aemond didn’t know that. He knew Aegon had lusted after you, had wanted to own and possess you the way he’d owned and possessed so many others, but he foolishly believed that that was over, that he’d forgotten you in favor of easier targets. It nauseated him to know that, instead of caring for his wife Helaena, Aegon was here imagining himself with you. It made him sick to know he was putting his hands on Elen in that way, using her in place of you.

“He hasn’t forgotten her,” she said distantly, “and with the way he talks, I wouldn’t assume the powers who worked to keep you apart have forgotten her either.”

His mother, his grandfather, Lord Larys Strong, Ser Criston Cole.

“You believe they would hurt her?” Aemond asked skeptically.

She pressed her lips together, giving him an almost pitying look, “I think a woman alone is little obstacle for people in your world, no matter how highborn she might be. So, what it boils down to is this, do you believe Rohar Martell will be able to protect her better than you can?”

The protective dragon in his chest roared its defiance. It insisted that no one could protect you better than he could. No one. He was a prince of the realm, he was one of the best swordsmen of his age and he rode the largest dragon in the world. Who was better suited than him? Who cared for you more?

No one.

Elen watched him, “Speak to her, your grace. If you love her as you say you do, give her that respect and then ask yourself, who benefits from her marriage to Rohar and to whom might she still pose a risk?”

—

Her words were still echoing in his mind the next day as he sat in attendance at Daerra’s wedding. The ceremony was beautiful, the couple so clearly filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of being together forever that it seemed to radiate off of them like sunlight. The years seemed to melt off of Byron Redwyne as he held his pretty bride’s hands and swore loyalty, love and devotion. Daerra was the most beautiful bride in the world as she smiled at her groom until her cheeks ached, sure and steady, even as his hands shook. You stood beside Daerra as her maid of honor, tears of pride slipping down your cheeks as she said her vows and Byron wrapped his blue and red cloak around her shoulders, they shared a sweet kiss and their friends and family whooped and cheered them on. Daerra leaned down and embraced Byron’s two young sons, whispering something to them too low for anyone to hear, but with such obvious affection in her eyes that it was easy to imagine what she might be saying.

It was nothing like the formal, somber ceremony that had been put on for Helaena and Aegon. There had been silent tears that day too, but no joy and none of the excitement or love. Which version would his own wedding be like, Aemond wondered. Would there be tears of joy, whoops and cheers and smiles so bright that they eclipsed everything else, or would it be somber and dark, with dread and hopelessness threatening to drag them to the ground?

He let himself watch you for a moment, wondering if you were considering the same options. As though you could feel his gaze you glanced in his direction and, after a moment, gave him a small smile. He smiled back, letting the love he felt wash over him without a fight for once. It was a wedding, after all.

If the ceremony had been good, the reception was brilliant. The banquet hall was set up in both Redwyne and Velaryon colors, filled with light and music and room for dancing. The groom, himself from the most famous wine region in the world, had brought seemingly endless barrels of his best vintages for his guests to enjoy and the food was fresh and delicious. It was rowdy and chaotic, but in the best possible way.

To Aemond’s immense annoyance, Rohar was in his element. He swung you around the dancefloor, cracked endless jokes that made all who were nearby laugh and told wonderfully engaging stories of Dorne and his adventures in Sunspear. He hated how easy it seemed for him, how effortlessly Rohar slotted into the space Aemond had left behind. He couldn’t help but notice Rohar and his sister, Rhaenyra getting along too, dancing together more than once and whispering amongst themselves with Coren on the sidelines. Elen’s warning whispered in the back of his mind again, sharpening his senses and making his throat feel tight.

As he watched you laughing with Kevan and Daerra, Aemond could feel eyes on the back of his neck, his mother’s eyes, and he forced himself to look away. You looked beautiful, as usual, dressed in Velaryon teal and silver, with your hair curled and flowing, and jewels glinting on your throat. It made him absurdly smug to see you in a more familiar, Westerosi gown, as though you were making a statement and purposely asserting that you were not Dornish yet. More than likely the gown had simply been made according to the bride’s specifications, but Aemond chose to enjoy it anyway. He remembered the way you’d looked on the night when he’d first kissed you, how you’d been almost luminous in the moonlight. He would give anything to be back there, to live in that moment forever.

“Will you dance, my prince?” a vaguely familiar red haired woman asked, offering him her hand with a flirtatious smile.

He opened his mouth to decline, until he noticed you frowning in his direction. You were staring daggers at the woman (Meera Massey, his brain supplied), your beautifully made-up face scrunched up in the most endearing way. You noticed him watching you and he raised an eyebrow, forcing you to quickly look away, your skin flushing. You were jealous, he realized incredulously. You were actually jealous!

“Of course, my lady,” he agreed, taking her hand and leading her to the floor, “it would be my honor.”

This time, when he felt eyes on the back of his head, he knew they were yours, and he reveled in it.

As time passed and the wedding guests got progressively drunker and more rambunctious, Aemond kept looking for an opportunity to pull you aside without causing a scene. He did speak to Rohar about dragon riding for a while, doing everything he could not to let himself openly stare at you, with partial success. Soon, you fell into a pattern. He danced with a variety of women and watched you pretend not to notice. You danced with Rohar and watched him pretend not to care. It was this endless silent conversation that made him restless and desperate to simply walk over and ask you to-

You know what? Fuck it.

He downed his glass of wine and strode across the hall before he could chicken out, drawing your attention almost instantly. You were mid-conversation with Rohar and Kevan, but as soon as you noticed him, you stopped, your breath catching in your throat.

“May I have this dance, Lady Y/N?” he asked, dipping into a bow and extending his hand for you to take. You paused, looking over at Rohar nervously, “Unless Lord Martell has already claimed it, of course.”

You dutifully waited for Rohar’s response, but he could see you fighting with yourself. He knew you wanted to say yes.

Rohar looked between you, his dark eyes betraying nothing, “Of course, your grace. Be my guest.”

“My lady,” he asked you softly, “may I?”

He tried to silently convey that you could refuse him. He was asking, not demanding.

“I would love to, your grace,” you replied equally softly, even if there was still tension in your eyes.

You took his hand and by the Gods he’d missed the way your hand felt in his. He led you to the floor and you took your positions facing one another. He watched you notice the bags under his eyes, clear signs of his nearly chronic exhaustion. You watched him notice that the earrings you wore were Dornish and new, clear signs of a successful courtship. The music began and your hands touched again as you circled one another, following the carefully practiced rhythms of the steps.

“Did you enjoy the ceremony, your grace?” you asked.

“Aemond,” he corrected softly, “I did actually, did you?”

He twirled you around.

“Yes, your grace,” you replied, putting emphasis on the last two words.

He laughed as you faced him again and you smoothly swapped positions, “You and following orders.”

The corners of your mouth twitched as you fought a smile, your eyes flicking over his shoulder, presumably to Rohar. That was no good, the scaled beast in his chest insisted, he wanted you looking at him. He let his hand glance along your forearm as he dropped it, sending a shiver down your spine and-yes!-forcing your eyes back to him.

“I must protest, your highness,” you replied, letting him take you by the waist as you moved with the music, “I believe I have followed your every order to the letter.”

He pursed his lips, “I suppose that’s true enough, my lady.”

You danced in silence for a few seconds, merely enjoying one another's company and the excuse for closeness.

“You mother is staring daggers at me,” you whispered as you were forced in close again.

Aemond’s stomach sank, but he tried not to let his unease show, trying to comfort you the only way he could in public.

“Like the daggers you were staring at poor Meera Massey earlier?” he asked teasingly.

Your fear turned to annoyance, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you lied.

“Alright, jealous,” he replied easily.

“I am not jealous.”

“Of course you are. Which is ridiculous. Though I must say, it looks good on you.” he flirted, focused completely on setting you at ease and making you smile.

You laughed, and Aemond’s heart swelled.

“Firstly,” you started, “I’m not jealous. Secondly, even if I was jealous, why would that be ridiculous?”

He leaned forward, living for the way your breath caught in your throat, as he said, “Because jealousy, in this case, is ridiculous.”

“So you’re not jealous of Rohar?” You countered.

Rohar. The fact that you called him by his first name made Aemond irrationally annoyed, but he choked it down, trying to keep his face neutral.

“Of course I am,” he admitted, “But that’s entirely different.”

“And why is that?”

“Unlike me, you have no equal, Lady Y/N,” he said simply, “your jealousy is ridiculous because you have nothing to be jealous of. I do.”

You pressed your lips together and the music swelled. As the dance required, Aemond gripped your waist and lifted you up, spinning you through the air before placing you gently on the ground, his heart pounding. He remembered the last time you were this close, him pushing you against the wall of the dragon pit, his thumbs pressing into the dips beside your hip bones as he tried to kiss the memory of him into your lips. Your eyes met his and he knew, instinctively, that you were remembering the same thing.

“And whose fault is that?” you said softly, your eyes dark.

There was applause and Aemond realized that the dance had ended. He took a step back, reinstating the polite distance despite the fact that it made him ache. You leaned forward, as if to follow him, but stopped yourself.

“Thank you for the dance, my lady.” he bowed, “If you have a mo-Lord Rohar.” he greeted.

“Prince Aemond. May I have this next dance, Y/N?” Rohar asked, taking your hand before you even responded.

He nodded at Aemond and Aemond realized, with a start, that he was being dismissed. He, a prince, was being dismissed by a foreign lord. The dragon in his blood boomed and growled its displeasure, spewing dragonfire into him like water from a faucet and demanding payment for this blatant disrespect. He swallowed his fury and backed away, retreating into the shadows of the hall, his violet eye still trained on you. The part of him that had wanted to send you back to the Keep covered in love bites all those weeks ago couldn’t abide watching Rohar touch you. He wanted to tear him away from you and bash his pretty little head against a wall. He wanted Rohar to watch Aemond kiss you and know, in his soul, that nothing he could do would ever make you feel the way Aemond did.

And whose fault is that?

Aemond needed a breath of fresh air and he slipped into the night, moving away from the noise of the wedding to clear his head and calm his raging jealousy. He couldn’t stop thinking about that first kiss and that first night, the things he would do differently if he could go back. Voices snapped him out of his reverie and, instinctively, Aemond crept forward, eavesdropping on the clearly clandestine conversation

“-cannot be allowed to win Dorne to her cause.” Aemond heard his grandfather insist.

“Obviously she cannot,” his mother replied waspishly, “but what would you have me do?”

“Whatever it takes Alicent,” Ser Otto countered, “if Dorne declares for Rhaenyra then we’ll be facing enemies from all sides.”

Aemond felt his heart skip a beat in his chest and he worked to keep his breathing quiet.

“One wedding will not win peace with Dorne, father,” Alicent insisted, “the Dornish still remember when Vhagar last came to Dorne.”

Elen’s warning played in his ears again and he felt nauseous, not at the thought of his mother threatening the people of Dorne with dragonfire, but because Elen had been right. They had not forgotten you.

“Rhaenyra has dragons too, my Queen,” the reedy voice of Larys Strong interjected, “and while I agree that one wedding would usually be insignificant, I would remind you that Rohar is Prince Qoren’s favorite brother. Qoren himself is also a ruler with a female heir, he may be partial to Rhaenyra’s cause, especially if his own brother by marriage has declared for her.”

“Seven curses on those Manderlys,” Otto muttered to himself, “offending him was a mistake, Alicent.”

“It was a calculated decision that we both made,” she corrected angrily, “there’s no use complaining about it now. The insult has been given, now we live with the consequences.”

“And the consequences are to be decided by a young girl with barely enough brains to fill an eggcup.”

“Lady Y/N is plenty smart, father, and cunning too.” Alicent contested.

“A pity,” he countered, “that will make dealing with her far harder.”

Aemond felt his chest constrict with panic and a lump formed in his throat as he processed the many implications of his grandfather’s words.

“I suppose that depends on how she must be dealt with,” Larys suggested, ever the eerie voice of reason.

There was a pause, presumably while the two men looked to Alicent for her input. Aemond waited to hear her speak up from you, to wave all this away and insist that all was well. He willed her to remember what you meant to him, or to sympathize with a girl simply trying to survive at court, just as Alicent herself had done in her youth. He barely breathed while he waited for his mother’s voice, every nerve in his body tingling with the beginnings of adrenaline.

“She cannot be allowed to marry Rohar,” his mother eventually said softly, “no matter what.”

“And that includes-” Larys started.

“No. Matter. What.” Alicent interrupted, her voice sounding as though it was being forced through gritted teeth, “Now go, find out what you can and we’ll discuss a way forward next week.”

Otto said something in response, but Aemond had already left, his heart pounding like a sledgehammer in his chest. He expected to feel something, some shock or pain fear, but all there was was a kind of quiet fury. His mother had signed your death warrant. She would discard you like a broken toy to solve the problem she had caused and no one would stand in her way. Even knowing that her sons had given you their hearts meant nothing. She would let you die. She would let you die. She would let you die.

He sees you on the floor, your skin purple and swollen with blood seeping from your nose, mouth and ears.

He shook his head to clear it, the image alone sending a shock of pain through him so strong that he actually had to stop and catch his breath.

His mother wanted you dead.

So his mother could no longer be trusted. For the time being, Alicent Hightower was his enemy. Not forever, he promised himself, just until he could ensure that you were protected. His mind was sharp and focussed, the adrenaline in his system clearing out all the unnecessary clutter. The way forward was clear. He would find a way to talk to you tonight and then, depending on how that talk went, he would have to do something he had never wanted.

He would have to talk to Rhaenyra.

—

Your feet ached as you combed through your hair and yawned, the night’s festivities having totally worn you out. The wedding had gone exactly as you and Daerra had planned. It was beautiful and celebratory, everyone had danced and drank and ate, the speeches had been touching, and the couple so undeniably smitten that it made your heart melt. It had been…difficult, convincing Rohar that Aemond wasn’t planning something nefarious, but you’d managed. It had been tempting to simply tell him the truth of it all, to let the whole story all pour out of you like water just to watch his face change. There would be a sort of satisfaction in that kind of honesty, you felt. It was exhausting keeping up the facade, playing your part perfectly, it wore on you more and more as the days passed and, unfortunately, there was no end in sight.

Especially since you’d finally realized how well and truly fucked you were.

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as you tried to calm your beating heart. White hair, a violet eye, a touch that felt like milk of the poppy and left you breathless and shaky. Two months you’d tried. Two months you’d avoided him, you’d kept your distance, you’d done everything right and it hadn’t mattered at all. One smile, the briefest confession of ongoing feeling and you had just caved. Just like that there was no confusion, no question of how you felt. It was Aemond. It had always been Aemond.

You’d expected some sort of pain or shock, some reaction to this revelation, but it felt inevitable. It felt like maybe you’d always known, maybe you’d always expected that this would happen. Maybe the day you’d met, some small, instinctive part of you had decided that it was going to be him and had just been waiting for the rest of you to catch up. So then there was nothing to do really, no battles to be fought in your head, no decisions to agonize over. You knew how you felt, deep in your bones and now it was just a matter of living with it.

Rohar would propose, you were fairly sure of that. He would propose and you would do your duty and marry him, because that was your job. You would move to Dorne, have Rohar’s children and live your life as well as any other woman, but your heart would remain here. The part of you that was Aemond’s would stay with him and no amount of gifts or flattery would be able to change that. It would have been a singularly depressing thought, save for the fact that you were fairly certain that Aemond felt the same way.

Unlike me, you have no equal, Lady Y/N, you heard him whisper in your mind, sending a shiver of pride down the length of your spine. You hadn’t known that you were capable of possessiveness or jealousy on the level you’d felt that night, watching Aemond spin woman after woman around the floor, smiling at them, touching their hands. Or that you were capable of the kind of relief you’d felt when he assured you that they’d meant nothing, that his attention was still yours to command.

It was freeing, you realized. Not fighting it anymore, not hating yourself for wanting him or agonizing about whether or not your feelings could be trusted. You simply were. There didn’t need to be a reason or a justification, you could just be.

Lila popped her head into your dressing room, worrying at her bottom lip, “My lady?”

You smiled gently, “Yes, Lila?”

“There’s someone here for you.”

“There is? Who?” you asked with a slight frown.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

She looked around nervously and you began to suspect-

“It’s the prince, my lady,” she said, confirming your suspicions, “Prince Aemond.”

You felt a flare of triumph in your chest, but didn’t allow it to show on your face.

“Should I tell him that you’re already ready for bed?” Lila suggested.

You shook your head, “It’s quite alright, I’ll talk to him.”

But not in your room, and not in nothing but your nightgown. You weren’t foolish enough for that. You stood, allowing Lila to help you into your robe and ran your fingers through your hair to ruffle it to your liking. You briefly inspected yourself in the mirror and, once you were satisfied, strode through to the door and swung it open, leaning against the doorframe as you faced the object of your affections and frustrations.

“The hour is late, my prince,” you said in lieu of a greeting.

“My apologies, my lady,” he responded without a hint of remorse.

You took a moment to observe him again, letting your eyes trace the familiar planes of his face, the lines of his body and the way he held himself, without shame. He looked tired, you noted, and wound up tight, like a bowstring ready to snap. You could tell by the way he was holding his jaw that he’d been biting the inside of his cheek, the same way you did when you were anxious, but nothing else about him read as nervous. If anything, he seemed more focussed and determined, and some of the tension in him seemed to seep out as he took you in, studying you the same way you were studying him.

“Is there something I can help you with, your grace?” you asked.

“Aemond,” he corrected with an almost rueful smile, “I wanted to see you again.”

“Well, now you’ve seen me,” you countered, knowing full well that he was holding something back.

His eye ran the length of your body slowly and you imagined that you could feel the way his breath shook, even with the distance.

“Did you enjoy the festivities?” He asked.

“I did.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled, “Rohar didn’t give you too much trouble, I hope? He seemed…put out when I saw him last.”

You didn’t want to smile, but you could tell that the corners of your mouth had lifted enough for Aemond to notice.

“We sorted it out, your highness,” you assured with faux innocence, “he’s a very understanding man.”

Aemond’s mouth twisted, “If you were mine, I would not be so understanding.”

“But I’m not yours,” you reminded him quickly.

He nodded, “But I wish you were.” he admitted.

Your heart pinched and skipped a beat, your throat tightening as you processed his words. For a long moment you simply watched one another, your eyes clinging to one another, both searching for something in the other.

“Do you love Rohar, Y/N?” He asked.

You hadn’t expected that. You opened your mouth to answer, fully intending to deflect or brush the question aside, but something in his eye stopped you. There was fear there, you realized, and a desperation of sorts that made you feel as though this was important. This wasn’t about his ego. Something had happened to drive him to your door, something he wasn’t telling you.

“Why are you asking me this now?” you countered.

He pressed his lips together but didn’t falter, “Because I love you,” he answered simply, “because I want you to know that I’m here. You have options besides him.”

For a moment you were sure you’d misheard him, but one look at his face told you you were wrong. You frowned. It was part of the truth, but not all of it.

“Why now?” you pressed, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Tell me the truth.”

He pressed his lips together again and sighed, the exhaustion clearly weighing on him like a cloak. For a long while Aemond was silent, clearly warring with himself, his eyes flicking to and away from you as he thought.

“Aemond,” you tried gently, taking half a step towards him, “please.”

His breath caught and, for a moment, it was like he was frozen, watching you like you were something precious and beautiful.

He loves me. He loves me. He loves me! He really loves me!

Eventually Aemond’s gaze softened, “My mother wants my brother to be king,” he admitted, “she wants me to remain unmarried until such time as my engagement can benefit his cause,” he continued, as though he couldn’t stop, “that’s why she wouldn’t let me-” he paused, meeting your eye again, “that’s why I didn’t fight for you. I wanted to, but she-well-she made my duty clear. But now she believes that your courtship with Rohar is a threat to Aegon.”

You let the information wash over you, processing as quickly as you could. This whole situation was surreal, like a dream you might wake from at any moment.

“You believe I’m in danger.” you stated.

“I know that you’re in danger,” he corrected, “and now, all that matters is that I protect you.”

“From your own mother?” You asked skeptically.

Aemond gave you a serious look, “From anyone who might do you harm, Y/N. Anyone. Including my mother.”

You should be frightened. This was objectively frightening, was it not? You should be shaking and crying, calling for your brother or clinging to Aemond, but you weren’t. Aemond was here, he was with you, he was swearing to protect you and you were calm. Frighteningly calm

“You wanted to fight for me?” You asked quietly, feeling your heart flutter, “If it hadn’t been for your mother, you would have?”

Aemond laughed incredulously, stepping forward before catching himself and stepping back, “I tell you that my mother is plotting treason against my sister and that’s what you focus on? Of course I would have. I would have stayed by your side until you told me you wanted me gone, I would have done whatever it took to convince your brother that I was the better option. I would never have let you go, Y/N, never.”

He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.

You pressed your lips together, your heart pounding in your throat like a drum. You weighed up your options, weighed up the risks, weighed up how desperate you were to simply pour yourself into Aemond and let him burn away the past two months of loneliness and frustration.

“I knew about Aegon,” you admitted, “everyone knows, Aemond, or at least suspects and,” you worried at your bottom lip again, “your mother is right to be worried. Coren wants to use my marriage to help win Prince Qoren’s support for Rhaenyra.” You paused, taking a moment to simply soak in Aemond’s beauty and the way he looked at you like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen, “I don’t.” you eventually said.

Aemond shifted on his feet, nervously “Don’t what?”

You fought another smile, “I don’t love Rohar, Aemond. How could there be anyone else when there’s you?”

You watched, in real time, as the exhaustion melted out of him and the weight of your words sunk in.

“You still want me, my lady?” He asked.

You nodded and Aemond smiled with relief. You realized, with a start, that this had truly been weighing on him.

“Jealous much?” you teased.

Aemond chuckled, running a hand over his face, “You have no idea.”

“You doubted me then?”

He weighed you up with his gaze, “I wanted to believe that you still care for me, but I wasn’t sure. You seemed content with him.”

“You told me to pursue the match,” you reminded Aemond.

He dipped his head, conceding the point, “I also wanted to marry you that day in the dragon pit.”

You pressed your lips together, remembering the moment as clear as day, “Because you wanted to keep me close,” you countered, “not because of me.”

Aemond shook his head, “You’re wrong. I knew I loved you then as surely as I know it now.” he admitted. You swallowed hard, feeling your heart stutter again. Aemond caught the movement and his gaze softened, “I should have told you.”

“Yes,” you agreed with a breathless laugh, “yes, you should have.”

There was a moment when you just observed one another again, the weight of lost time bearing down on you like a ghost, sending a chill through you that cut to the bone.

“Y/N, please don’t lie to me. Not about this,” he started, “I will protect you no matter what you say, you do not need to-” he paused, “I want you to be happy. I would never want you to do something that isn’t what you want.”

“I know,” you assured him.

He nodded, taking a breath before he continued, “If I had asked you to run away with me that day, would you have done it?”

You paused, considering the question seriously, remembering the sharp grief, the hopelessness. You remembered the feeling of powerlessness, how desperate you had been for a way out, for Aemond to sweep in and rescue you from this endless cycle of being shipped around and treated like a bargaining chip.

“I think so,” you admitted, “I would have been frightened. I would have needed to know that you were sure, but I think I would have.”

You could tell that your answer hurt him to hear. You could imagine the thoughts running through his mind, the regret, and your heart ached to see it written on his face.

He pulled himself together, “If Rohar proposes, will you say yes?”

You swallowed, “Unless I have a reason not to.”

“If I asked you to refuse him?”

You shook your head, “I wish that was enough, Aemond, but-”

“But your family,” he finished.

You nodded, “They would want to know why.”

His mind was whirling, you could see it in the way his brow furrowed and his jaw was set.

“Do you want to marry him?” he asked.

“Obviously not.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

You froze, feeling your skin flush. Aemond as your husband. Aemond taking you as his wife. No more Dorne, no more helplessness, only Aemond, who loved you. Who wanted you safe, who wanted you, even when you were inconvenient. Aemond, who would never send you away.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” You asked softly.

Aemond smiled ruefully, “I’m asking if you want to marry me,” he repeated, “because I want to marry you. You are the only woman I have ever loved or ever will love, Y/N. If you tell me to leave you be, that I’ve lost my chance, then I will respect your wishes and protect you from the shadows,” he stepped closer and you could see the sincerity in his eye, “but if you tell me that you want to be with me then I will make it so. I will turn heaven and earth, I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife and anyone who wishes you harm will have to go through me directly.” He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “It is not a proposal, my love,” he said, his voice dripping with affection, “but it is the promise of one. If you say the word, I am yours. Tell me that you want this and I will find a way, I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

A million thoughts flashed through your mind at once. Hopes, regrets, fears, desires. Duties, promises, pacts and prayers. And through all of it, your heartbeat, sure and steady; Aemond, Aemond, Aemond, Aemond. You felt like you were watching yourself from a distance, a ghost on the wall remembering moments from long ago. Your father used to tell you that there were moments in your life that changed everything, that became touchstones, watermarks for everything that came after and stuck out no matter how many years passed. You had one chance in those moments, he would say, to make the right decision, else you would regret it forever. This felt like one of those moments.

You had to say no, a voice in your head that sounded like Coren whispered, you had to stop this now before it went too far, before you couldn’t turn back any longer.

I love him, a different voice whispered. I love him, I love him, I love him.

“Yes,” you heard yourself say softly, “Yes, I want to marry you.”

Chapter Text

The next day, while the morning was still young and the castle was asleep, Aemond took Vhagar to Dragonstone. At first he was going to wait. He wanted to wait, to bask in the small victories and spend time lavishing you with gifts and affection but he knew that, the longer he delayed, the more he exposed you to risk. His mother and her council was efficient and merciless, if they wanted you dead, they had the power to make that a reality, and it was down to Aemond to keep you safe.

As he flew, Aemond practiced what he was going to say to Rhaenyra in his head, checking again and again for double meanings or places where she might misinterpret his words as threats. He would only get one chance at this, and it had to be perfect, not only for your sake, but Helaena’s, Aegon’s and his mother’s as well. The sky was dark with clouds, the waters around the island were choppy and the wind was picking up, like there was a storm on the horizon. It was as though the weather was mimicking his mood. Vhagar, on the other hand, was thriving. He could feel her pleasure as she stretched her wings and navigated the fierce winds with the ease and grace characteristic of her experience. With her immense size and speed, the flight would be a brief one, but Aemond knew that speed didn’t always mean safety. No one could mistake Vhagar for any other dragon and, even with the dark clouds, stealth had never been her strong suit. No, the inhabitants of Dragonstone would know it was he who was coming and, based on past interactions, they would not take to the interruption kindly.

As expected, the moment Dragonstone came into view, dark and menacing where it jutted out of the sea, Aemond heard the distinctive high pitched keening cry of the Blood Wyrm, Caraxes. There was a rush of movement as his uncle’s mount clambered onto Dragonstone’s wall and crouched down low, his long neck snaking up towards Vhagar with suspicion, ready to pounce into the air at a moment’s notice. From his position in the sky, Aemond could just make out the figure of his uncle Daemon on Caraxes’ back, his ice blonde hair glinting even in the dim light and he could imagine the scowl on his face as he stared up at his nephew in challenge. Next came Syrax, taking position in Dragonstone’s courtyard. She was almost as big as Caraxes and even more elegant and he could see sister Rhaenyra preparing to mount her. It was a show of force, but Aemond wasn’t here for war or revenge. He reached down and undid his hastily tied knots, letting the massive Targaryen flag unfurl and stream through the wind where it hung on Vhagar’s side. It wasn’t quite a white flag of surrender, but Caraxes’ posture shifted slightly, and Rhaenyra ceased her assent, clambering back onto the ground to wait by Syrax’s side. Vhagar let out a low rumble of greeting, which was returned by the other two dragons and Caraxes looked as though he wanted to fly to greet her, but Daemon kept him back.

For a moment, as he began his descent, Aemond allowed himself to imagine what his life might have been like if his mother had never lost Rhaenyra, if they’d remained bound to one another despite her marriage to Viserys. Would Dragonstone have been a second home to him? Might he have been close to his sister and her children? Would he have trained under Daemon, flown with Rhaenyra? Could Jacaerys and Helaena have been married? Would Aemond have ever lost his eye at all? Could his life not have been fuller, happier even, if these people had also been his family? The wind buffeted Aemond from all sides as the courtyard rapidly rose up before him and the stern, guarded look on his sister’s face came into focus, pushing the thoughts from Aemond’s mind. The earth shook as Vhagar landed but, to Aemond’s surprise, Rhaenyra didn’t flinch. She stood tall and regal, her belly swollen with child and radiating a cool kind of power. It was too late for a happy childhood now, he reasoned, too much harm had been done. They couldn’t go back, only forward.

“Aemond,” Rhaenyra greeted as he dismounted and pulled off his riding gloves, “to what do we owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?”

As always, Aemond felt a slight pull in his chest at the coldness of her tone. He saw so much of himself in Rhaenyra, so much of his siblings and his father that being her enemy felt wrong.

“Sister,” he returned, bowing deep and trying to keep his usual mask of disdain from his face and voice, “my apologies for the intrusion. It was urgent that I see you.”

He felt her surprise at the respect in his greeting, followed by the creeping in of suspicion.

“And you couldn’t have sent a raven?” she enquired.

He stood and shot her a rueful smile, “A dragon is faster than a raven, I find,” he paused, fighting years of training from his mother. He was doing this for you, he reminded himself, for your future together, for your lives, “and I find myself unable to trust the maesters with this.”

The only sign of Rhaenyra’s surprise was the slight raising of her eyebrows and the flicker of something in her eyes that Aemond recognized; she was intrigued.

“What can I possibly help you with that others could not, Aemond?”

He worried at the inside of his cheek, casting his eyes around the courtyard for signs of anyone who might overhear. Daemon was still on the wall with Caraxes, watching the interaction intently but too far away to actually hear anything, but there were a number of people milling around, drawn in by the sight of Vhagar and Aemond.

“Could we speak privately, your highness?” Aemond asked, dropping his voice to avoid eavesdroppers, “I swear I will explain myself, but I fear-”

“You do not wish to be overheard.” she finished.

He nodded, “It’s about my mother.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, searching his face intently for some sign of deception. He could practically hear the wheels in her head turning as she calculated the risks of allowing him into her home. Again, Aemond felt sure that this was wrong. All of this was wrong. As a sign of trust, he removed his sword belt and tossed it at Vhagar’s feet. Rhaenyra’s shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly as she followed the sword’s movement with her eyes, and he knew he’d made the right move. She looked at Aemond again, slightly softer now and nodded.

“Come, brother, before the storm breaks,” she said, waiting for him to fall into step beside her.

Aemond looked around again, trying to quell his nerves. For her part, Vhagar seemed more than happy to simply lounge in the courtyard, clearly pleased to be back in her ancestral home. Rhaenyra followed his gaze and the remaining hardness in her face slipped away behind a gentle and nostalgic smile as she watched Vhagar.

“She’ll be safe here,” Rhaenyra promised, “the dragon keepers will make sure she’s not bothered by anyone.”

He acknowledged her assurances with a nod, “Thank you, sister.”

He reached out to touch Vhagar’s leg, promising her that he would return soon and with that, he fell into step beside Rhaenyra and allowed her to guide him into the foreboding castle. Despite the darkness, there was a comforting warmth to Dragonstone that seemed to revitalize Aemond’s chilled bones, and the history lover in him couldn’t help but be delighted to be walking through the same halls that his ancestors had roamed for centuries. Rhaenyra seemed at home here, the undisputed ruler of Dragonstone and the clear inheritor of the Targaryen dynasty. As she led him into a room with Aegon the Conqueror’s famed painted table, Aemond felt himself shiver. How long would it be until Rhaenyra sat at the head of this table, plotting her next move against Aegon and his supporters?

Blood in the dirt. Blood on the stones. Dragons of gold into dragons of blood, Helaena’s voice whispered in his head. He swallowed hard.

Rhaenyra leaned against the table, studying him again, this time with an open curiosity that Aemond recognized in himself. There was no malice in her gaze, he noticed, only a kind of suspicion and interest, like he was a puzzle she couldn’t quite crack.

“Did your mother send you?” she eventually asked.

Aemond shook his head.

“Does she know you’re here?”

Aemond paused, then shook his head again.

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, as though she was fighting a smile, “Well, go on then. What can I help you with, Aemond?”

He let out a breath, running through the words he’d practiced in his head again. He felt like a traitor, like he was betraying his family by even being here. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again once, twice, three times before he managed it.

“When you were with my mother, did you love her?” He asked.

Rhaenyra looked surprised, but she didn’t recoil or get defensive. Instead she just sighed with a kind of tired sadness. Aemond got the feeling that this was something she had thought of often and, again, he felt that painful tugging in his chest. He remembered the look on his mother’s face when she’d drunkenly confessed the whole story to him, the shame she’d felt, the grief, the loss, the heartache of it all. Rhaenyra was sober, but he could see glimpses of the same agony in her now, the dull ache of a long passed wound that had never quite healed. But there was no shame, he noted. Whatever Rhaenyra felt, she was not ashamed of it.

“I did,” she admitted, “Alicent was-of course she wasn’t the Queen then-but she was my first love. She was my closest friend, I dreamt of us traveling the world together.” her voice dropped low, almost as though she were talking to herself, “flying on dragon back and eating only cake.” She looked up at Aemond again, “Why do you ask?”

“Do you believe she’s capable of doing terrible things?”

Rhaenyra looked away for a moment, “We’re all capable of terrible things, brother.”

“Murder?”

Her gaze flicked sharply back to Aemond, “Why are you asking me these things?”

He pressed his lips together, summoning up every ounce of courage he had left.

“I’m in love, sister,” he admitted, “there’s a woman and I believe that she’s in terrible danger in King’s Landing. I want to keep her safe, but I don’t know how. Hells, I don’t even know if the danger is real.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifted and she nodded, “You think Alicent would harm her?”

“Or standby while someone else does,” he agreed, “she’s my mother and I love her, but the people she’s surrounded with have such sway over her and…” he breathed deeply to calm himself down, “and I’m afraid, Rhaenyra. I’m afraid for my love.”

She took a step towards him, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Talk me through what’s happened, brother,” she said gently, “I swear I will do what I can to listen and help.”

And so he talked. He told her everything, from the moment he’d met you to the conversation he’d overheard after Daerra’s wedding, holding only the specifics about Alicent’s plans for Aegon back, though he was sure that Rhaenyra suspected what was happening. True to her word, Rhaenyra never interrupted. She listened intently, nodding along and giving Aemond the time he needed to explain himself. When he ran out of words it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt breathless and light, as though he’d emptied himself out of all his secrets like a bucket and all that was left was the core of who he was. For a long moment Rhaenyra simply looked at him, as though she’d never seen him before.

“Tell me that I’m wrong,” he almost pleaded, “Rhaenyra, you may be the only person who ever truly knew my mother, who loved her enough to understand her. Tell me I’m wrong about this. Tell me that she wouldn’t-” his voice trailed off.

Rhaenyra nodded, understanding his distress better than he could imagine. She opened and closed her mouth, choosing her words carefully and rolling them around her mouth before she let them out.

“Your mother is a good woman,” She started slowly, “I don’t believe that she is capable of murder on her own. Your grandfather, on the other hand,” she smiled ruefully, “there’s not much I don’t believe Otto Hightower is capable of in service of his own agenda. He’s been undermining me since I was a girl.”

“But you don’t believe my mother will stand in his way, do you?” Aemond pressed, his heart sinking.

Rhaenyra sighed, “I don’t, no. Otto has always controlled Alicent’s behavior, her thoughts, her dress, everything. If he wants Lady Y/N dead, you have reasons to be concerned.”

Aemond felt the grip of panic in his chest. He’d known that this would be the answer. Deep down he’d never expected anything less from his mother and grandfather but, he supposed, he’d hoped. The child in him had wanted to be wrong.

“So,” Rhaenyra continued, turning to face Aemond seriously, “what’s your plan then?”

Now it was Aemond’s turn to be shocked, “Excuse me?”

She smiled a little wickedly, “Come now, Aemond. You just explained your love for this girl in excruciating detail. You flew all the way out here. Don’t tell me you don’t have a plan.”

It was strange to be aligned with his sister in this way, to be stood together in the room where his ancestors had planned their conquest of Westeros, united as brother and sister for the first time in their lives.

He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, his grandfather calling Rhaenyra a whore, Ser Cole insisting that she was devious and entitled and cruel. Every terrible thing he’d ever heard or thought or said rang through his memory like bells, calling him a fool and a deceiver. The Rhaenyra that stood before him now was clearly none of those things. She was reckless, yes, but in a way that made her trusting, not devious. She was entitled, sure, but no more than he himself was. Certainly not more than Aegon. She was curious and intelligent, but fair. She’d heard him out, she’d had a chance to try and turn him against Alicent and she hadn’t taken it. At the slightest sign of sincerity from Aemond she had responded in kind. She’d seen his distress and still called him brother even though it was her right to turn him away.

“Why would you help me?” He asked, “After everything that I-you have nothing to gain from this. If anything, you should want Y/N to be with Lord Rohar.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it was almost one. It was an admission of…something and Aemond could see by the way Rhaenyra’s eyes shifted that it hadn’t gone unnoticed

She shrugged, “I’ve never liked the idea that men alone have the right to decide a woman’s fate. I was married against my will, so was your mother,” she touched her belly, “if this next babe is a daughter, I hope she never will be. You tell me Lady Y/N has accepted you, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes to be with her. I am choosing to believe you.” She paused and then continued, “And you are my brother. That may not mean much to you, but it means something to me.”

It means something to me, the child in Aemond wanted to say. But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

“I have a plan,” he admitted, “but I need your help for it to work.”

—

For several days nothing much happened. Your brothers left, ostensibly to begin the journey home, but this was just a cover. In reality, they were visiting some of their allies in the Stormlands to try and gauge where the Baratheons might throw their support. Daerra and Byron had left for their honeymoon, kissing you on the cheek and promising to send word as soon as they reached their first stop. Lord Rohar had been called away by an envoy of some kind and he was not set to return for another week. Kevan was visiting family somewhere in the Crownlands, Daerion had returned to Driftmark and, for the first time since you’d left for King’s Landing, you were alone.

The mood at court was dire. Word had begun to spread that the King would not survive to the new year, Aegon was nearly always drunk and causing scenes in seedy establishments and Princess Helaena was struggling with her first pregnancy. The joy that had briefly lit the Red Keep for Daerra’s wedding had left as suddenly as it had arrived, and it was once again a menacing and dangerous place. It was made worse for you, of course, because you now knew that the Queen may or may not have been actively planning your demise. So, you spent a lot of time in your rooms.

Every sound made you jump. Every shadow you saw in the corner of your eye sent a jolt of panic through your chest. Every time you ate, you inspected the food for unusual smells or textures. Aemond had sent word that he’d employed a food taster, of course, but you couldn’t help but double check yourself. He’d also sent something else; a heavy gold ring with a large red stone set in the center that you’d seen him wear on occasion. There was a brief note attached, which you’d read so many times that you practically had it memorized.

Keep this for me, darling, until I can bring you a proper one. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Wait for me.

Yours, Aemond

You traced the letters with your fingers, mouthing the words and imagining the way they would have sounded if he’d said them to you directly. You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to hold his hand and have him press his lips to your temples and promise that everything would be alright. More than anything, you just wanted to see him. After the night of Daerra’s wedding he’d vanished. Out on a patrol, you’d heard, scouting new lands on the back of Vhagar. You didn’t believe that really. There had been an urgency to him when you’d last spoken, a note of franticness that made you sure he wouldn’t simply leave you behind. No, if he was on patrol, or scouting new territories, he would have taken you with him. That did beg the question, however, of where he actually was.

You ran a hand over your face, sighing deeply as the exhaustion of the past few days flooded through you. Your nerves were frayed. Your body felt like it was starting to give up from the sheer effort of always being on high alert and there was nothing you wanted more than to simply close your eyes and slip into sleep, but something was stopping you. There was a palpable anxiety in the air, like the world was holding its breath, and it had you on edge.

“Where are you, Aemond?” you muttered to yourself, “Where are you?”

You cast a glance at your writing desk and the stack of half finished letters you’d spent the last few days writing and rewriting to no avail. They were meant to be explanations to be sent to the people you loved, confessions for after Aemond’s mystery plan came into play. You tried not to think of it too much, of the betrayal Coren would feel, the anger and bruised egos. Whenever you did let your mind drift too far, you felt your chest tighten with guilt and fear and you had to fight the urge to call the whole thing off.

Not that there was anything to call off officially. Yet. All you had was the ring and Aemond’s promise, but that was enough for you. Aemond was a cautious man, he was intentional with his words, careful with his actions and fiercely loyal to his oaths. For him to abandon you now without a word of warning was unfathomable and completely out of character. He said he would propose, and so he would.

Aemond Targaryen would propose to you. Just the thought made you tingle and you could feel the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He would propose, and you would say yes. Aemond would be your husband, just yours, and you would be his wife. You imagined the thrill of kissing him in public, of spending your days together safe in the knowledge that none could come between you, and then spending long nights wrapped in each other's arms, waking each morning tired but satisfied. There would be chaos in the wake of it, you knew that, but it would be worth it. You would have him. You would be protected and loved, and you hoped that that would be enough to assuage your brother’s rage. Being a wife had always been something you knew you would have to be, but you had never expected to be longing for it, cherishing the idea of it, cherishing the idea of your husband.

The weight of his body against yours was heavenly and, with the heat and the rough stone and the obscene sounds of your breath, it was completely overwhelming. Every single sense was flooded with Aemond. His smell, his touch, his voice, his taste, him, him him him.

“My lady,” Lila said softly, breaking you from your reverie, “you have plans with Princess Helaena this evening.”

You smiled weakly, trying to put on a brave face for Lila’s sake, “Of course. Sorry Lila, I must have drifted off. Would you help me dress?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes of course, my lady. Which dress would you like to wear? The blue or the violet?”

You thought for a moment, “The violet I think.”

—

The riverlands were burning. Horses screamed, flames licking at the ground as they fled, leaving the broken bodies of their riders behind. Blood seeped into the soil, feeding the insatiable earth. The screeching of dragons made the ground shake. Violet eyes, white blonde hair, a golden dragon on a black field slowly turned red, like blood seeping through the fabric.

“Princess?” a smooth, lyrical voice called, sucking Helaena out of the future and into the present.

“Dragons of gold into dragons of blood,” she said instinctively.

You looked confused, but moved on. You hadn’t understood really, Helaena knew that. She hadn’t expected you to. No one ever really understood. No one listened, no matter how many times she told them.

She saw your wedding dress, your beautiful smile turning into bitter tears of grief. Blood dripped onto the dark cobblestones, you covered your mouth in horror and stained your face with the red. Aemond kissed your neck and then screamed his rage into the dark storm clouds. Dragons framed in lightning, a crying child, black flags sprung up around the country. War, war, war, war.

“Is the babe troubling you, your highness?” you asked.

Helaena shook her head, “Blood on the cobblestones,” she continued.

You gave her a sad smile, “I don’t understand your meaning, princess. I wish I did.”

“I wish that too,” she said honestly, “it would…maybe things would be different.”

“What things?” you asked.

Helaena shrugged. She’d long since given up trying to explain her visions to anyone. They never saw it. Even when the visions inevitably came to pass, no one remembered the mutterings of Crazy Princess Helaena. They cursed the gods and sighed and wondered at what could have been done, and Helaena screamed into her pillows, shaking with rage.

Hay catches light, fire spreads. A boy bleeds out while the crowd watches, frozen. He’s so young, so so so young.

“All the things,” she eventually said simply, “everything. Death in tea cozies, bones and blood and hooves. Flames cleanse the graveyard.”

You sighed, “Your brother says you see things no one else does.”

Helaena nodded. Like the berries, her mind supplied, the berries on the cup’s rim.

This one was shaky, unsure, as though it could change. Black berries rubbed on the inside of a cup. A knife catches the moonlight. Choking, burning with fever, blood fills your lungs, your eyes bulge. One shaking, gurgling breath. Vhagar keened a fearsome, terrible cry, Aemond paced the halls, tearing at his hair and roaring, his fury filling the air like smoke. The realm burned with dragonfire and Aemond One-Eye apologized to no one.

“Are they usually good things or bad things?”

She thought for a moment, surprised that you were actually pushing the issue. By now most had simply checked out and decided that she was delusional.

“Usually bad things,” she eventually admitted, eyes fixed on the tea cup, “sometimes good, but mostly bad.”

Don’t drink the tea, she wanted to scream, you’ll die! You’ll die, you’ll die, you’ll die! And Aemond will burn the world to ashes for it.

You seemed to process that, “And they come true?”

Another shaky vision. You slipped away in the night. Dragonstone. Smiling faces, goblets of wine passed between old enemies and new friends. Your belly swollen with a child, Aemond’s face lit with joy as he swung you through the air, your laughter echoing through the calm before the storm.

“Some do,” Helaena explained, “not all.”

“Can you tell which ones will and which won’t?”

She shook her head. It had been many years since she had stopped trying to influence the future. It never worked. What was coming would come no matter what she said or did, her role was to observe, to simply know. And to live with the consequences of that.

You reached out and touched Helaena’s hand, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze. Helaena felt herself flush. It was rare for her to find kindness these days. As Aegon’s wife she was more alone than she ever had been, and her dreams were getting more and more debilitating as the days passed. Her growing children (she would have twins, she knew that for sure) seemed to trigger more and more horrifying images and prophecies, some that were so awful that they left Helaena nearly catatonic.

“I’m sorry you have to live like this, Princess,” you said sincerely, leaning forward and gripping her hand tight.

Helaena felt her eyes prick with tears, “Thank you, Y/N.” she replied. She caught a glimpse of the gold chain you wore around your neck, and the hint of that familiar ring nestled just out of sight of prying eyes, “I’m glad that we’re to be sisters soon.”

Hopefully, her mind corrected.

You didn’t bother hiding your shock but, while you sat up, it wasn’t the sharp and horrified recoil Helaena had grown used to.

“Did Aemond speak to you?” you asked.

She shook her head and squeezed your hand back, “He didn’t need to. Some things were clear early on, I didn’t need dragon dreams to tell me that he was obsessed with you.”

Helaena watched as heat crept into your cheeks and you tried to fight a smile, “Was he? I feel as though I missed that entirely.”

You put your cup down to focus on the conversation and Helaena’s shoulders loosened slightly.

“Oh he was obsessed,” she assured you, “I swear all we talked about for months was you and Aegon, or you and that Lannister who followed you around for a bit, or you and Daerra. Literally any excuse he could find to bring you up in conversation, he would take. Honestly, if it weren’t so sweet it would have been totally insufferable.”

At that you couldn’t help but smile, and Helaena suddenly saw what it was that had drawn Aemond to your side so fiercely. You were just so open and warm, you gave so freely of yourself that one couldn’t help but feel special, like you were already the closest of friends.

Choking, gurgling, clawing at your throat as the strength was slowly sapped from your body.

Helaena shivered.

“I wish I had known,” you replied sweetly, “I feel like such a fool now, having not seen it.”

She shook her head, “You couldn’t have known. Aemond’s casual, resting face is scarier than most people’s angry face.”

You laughed, fiddling with the chain around your neck, your eyes soft with affection. You picked up your cup again, and Helaena felt herself stiffen. You were talking again, but Helaena couldn’t hear you over the sound of Aemond’s heartbroken shouting and the screams of thousands as their cities burned ringing loudly through her mind.

“Porcelain death, the dragon weeps and its tears turn to smoke,” she muttered.

You tilted your head to listen, confused. Don’t drink the tea! She wanted to shout. Please, please, please, don’t drink it! Put the cup down! Her eyes flicked to the cup and she started to pick her nails. You noticed her gaze and, for a moment, Helaena watched you try and put the pieces together.

Eventually, you put the mug down on the table and pushed it away from you, instead taking Helaena’s hands in yours, stopping her from picking at her skin until her fingers bled.

“Thank you for telling me, princess,” you said softly.

Relief. Pure, unadulterated relief flooded through her. You had heard! You had understood! You had listened to her! She squeezed your hand tight and the screaming subsided.

—

For the fifth time that week Alicent woke in a cold sweat, sure that something terrible was about to happen. Every sense was on high alert, every nerve tingling with suppressed panic. She tried to breathe deeply, letting the cool night air center her back in her own body, even if it didn’t completely banish the sense of creeping dread.

It was late now and so dark that she could barely make out the details of her own chambers, the well tread carpet, the books stacked at the end of the couch, all her creature comforts. In earlier years she would be praying that her husband didn’t call on her, but anyone with eyes could tell that that was long over now. Viserys could barely stand, of course hadn’t summoned Alicent to bed in years. It was a small mercy. A very small mercy.

She remembered her dreams, the clanging of metal, the blood of her children staining her hands like dye as she screamed into pillows, tearing her gowns to shreds, the color green making her feel sick and shaky.

“When Aegon is king, all will be well,” she whispered to herself like a prayer, or maybe like a promise, “When Aegon is king, all will be well.”

When Aegon is king and Rhaenyra finally made to pay for breaking your heart all those years ago, will ruining the lives of everyone we’ve ever touched be worth it? Or do you think we’ll just be alone, finding new ways to torment one another? She heard the ghost of Aemond whisper in her ear, his face a dead mask of suppressed emotion.

He’d never looked at her like that before, like he saw every ugly, twisted part of her and was disappointed in it. Aemond, of all her children, had never recoiled from his mother, he had never held the way she treated him against her, even in her worst moments. But he did that time, she had seen it in his face. That time, for whatever reason, his duty had cost him more than he’d wanted to pay, and he resented her for it.

She remembered Helaena subtly sobbing, her fragile shoulders shaking as she married Aegon, who was staring dead ahead, with no trace of emotion on his face at all. She remembered the children they had once been, the hope she’d had, when Aegon was born, that they could be a real family. It seemed like a fool’s dream now.

Is it worth it? Is it worth this? Her traitorous heart asked, but she had no answer. She never did have an answer.

“When Aegon is king,” she repeated firmly, “all will be well.”

—

It had been ten long, painful days since Aemond had last seen you and he felt like he was crawling out of his skin with longing. Every moment away was a moment wasted, a moment that brought him closer to losing you forever, but he pushed forward. He had to do this properly. He was going against his mother, against his family and behind the backs of everyone in the realm, it was going to cause havoc and he needed to have protections in place for when all hell broke loose. So, as he snuck through the corridors of the Red Keep, having flown Vhagar in in the dead of night, he fought the urge to simply sprint to your room and spirit you away right now. Soon, he promised himself, so soon. Just a few more hours.

It was early afternoon now, and the heat had driven almost everyone into their private chambers, meaning he could slip about the castle and into the rooms of people he needed to speak with without being seen. Not part of Aemond’s plan, but a wonderful coincidence that filled him with the sense that the gods were on his side.

He schooled his features into cool neutrality, his heart pounding in his chest with nerves as he pushed open the door to his mother’s rooms. He sighed dramatically so that his mother could hear, pulling off his flying gloves and sweeping in to kiss her cheek where she sat on the couch, reading.

“Morning, mother,” he said, pleased at how casual his voice sounded.

“Aemond,” she greeted, “you’ve returned to us. I’m pleased. I was starting to worry.”

“I know, my apologies. I got caught up exploring the coast. Lost track of time.”

“And Dragonstone?” she asked pointedly, “There was talk of you there.”

Aemond didn’t let the nerves show. He knew word would have spread about his trip to the rock, he’d prepared for that eventuality.

“Yes, I wanted to get permission from Rhaenyra to restock there,” he explained, “I knew I wanted to do some longer coastal flights and it was more practical to stop at Dragonstone than to come all the way back here.” He paused, giving her a cruel, knowing smirk, “Plus, it’s only a matter of time before Dragonstone is my seat.”

Alicent sighed, but he’d assuaged her suspicion, “Don’t say such things, Aemond, it’s bad luck.”

“Whatever you say, mother,” he teased, “so, what have I missed here at court?”

Alicent shrugged, still reading, “Nothing much. Oh, Lord Rohar has sent word that he’s returning to court soon.”

He feigned surprise, “I didn’t realize he’d left.”

She hummed, “For a moment I thought-” she trailed off, “Well, needless to say I was hoping he would stay gone. His return creates problems for me that I’d rather not have.”

Problems like you. Problems like arranging your murder. Aemond had gotten word from Helaena, as well as the mercenaries he’d employed to protect you from a distance, that there had been several failed poisonings and one strangulation that had been successfully, and discreetly, thwarted.

“Is there any way for me to help?” Aemond asked, trying to keep his protective anger in check.

Alicent gave him a distracted smile, but he could see the tension in the corner of her eye, “No, my sweet boy. You musn’t worry yourself.”

“How is father?”

“He’s resting,” she replied with a sigh, “but he fades away a little more each day.”

He’d been lucid enough when Aemond had spoken to him, but he wasn’t about to say that to his mother, so he just nodded, trying his best to look concerned.

“Well, should the worst come, we'll be ready for it, won’t we, mother?” He said.

Alicent smiled again, and Aemond felt the little rush of guilt at betraying her rise up in his stomach again.

“We will, my boy. I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

He pressed his lips together, “I know I’ve been…distracted, lately. But I’m back now, and more focused than ever. I know my duty, I’ll keep our family safe.”

“Good,” Alicent sighed happily, standing and touching his cheek, “will you be joining us for dinner then? The Caswells have arranged a feast and the royal family has been invited to attend.”

Another look of feigned surprise, “The Caswells you say?”

“I know, I was shocked too, but they do host a wonderful party,”Alicent smiled.

“I think I’ll sit this one out, mother. I feel slightly ill.”

She frowned, concerned, “Oh no, should I call a maester?”

He gave her a comforting smile, “No need. I just need some time to rest and recover from the journey. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in a day or two.”

He needed time, not a lot but some. Seventy-two hours would be ideal, but he could make do with forty-eight. His aid would concoct some story about a stomach bug, a maester would be paid to confirm that he needed rest and, by the time everyone realized that he was gone, it would be too late.

He would be yours.

Alicent tutted, touching his cheek gently, “Alright, my boy. You rest. We’ll talk soon.”

Yes we will, his mind whispered, but you won’t be so loving with me when we do. He felt the ring in his pocket and clung to the promise it entailed like a lifeline, reminding himself why he was doing this, why he had to do this.

Yours, yours, yours, only yours, the dragon in his chest keened. His beautiful Y/N, his love, his light, his partner in everything.

He kissed the top of his mother’s head and muttered his goodbyes, leaving her to her book without a second look back. It was almost time. As he crept through the disused back passageways, making sure everything was clear for that night, Aemond felt the undeniable pull of you like a magnet. He kept finding himself near your rooms, wondering closer to the places that he knew you tended to haunt before he caught himself and steered away. He couldn’t risk being seen with you, not here, not where his mother and grandfather had paid eyes on everyone with any sort of influence at all. So, he forced himself to stay in check, for a time.

But he had always been weak when it came to you. Eventually he couldn’t stop himself from knocking on your door. Lila answered, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly as she took him in. Lila had always seemed suspicious of him, but he respected that. She cared about you, she didn’t trust him because she had no reason to believe a random prince would have anything but bad intentions for her lady. In a strange way, Lila was one of the few people in King’s Landing that Aemond truly felt he could trust with your safety.

“Hello, Lila. Is Y/N in?” he asked.

“She’s resting, your highness” Lila replied, polite but still curt, “she’s not…it’s been difficult for her to sleep.”

“May I see her? I won’t bother her long, I promise. I just need to know that she’s safe.”

He sounded desperate, he knew that, but there was no point hiding himself from Lila. If anything, he hoped his sincerity would help win her approval.

She pressed her lips together, “Please try not to wake her, your highness. She truly hasn’t rested in days.”

She stepped aside, ushering him in and checking that no one had seen before closing the door behind him. Aemond realized, with a jolt, that he had never actually been in your rooms before. He had no idea what your living space looked like. Were you neat? Messy? Did you fill the space with clutter, like he did? He drank in the details as discreetly as he could, noticing your discarded shoes and the books you’d piled on the couch. There were blankets everywhere; some folded neatly, some rumpled from use. He could see you here, moving from couch to couch, tossing away your shoes and tucking her feet under your body. He followed Lila through the dayroom and into your bed chamber, where Aemond froze, his voice catching in his throat.

Even from a distance you were beautiful, curled up on your bed with your hair splayed across your pillow. Because of the heat you had chosen to forgo a blanket and Aemond could make out the curves of your body beneath the thin white slip you wore to bed. You looked so peaceful, he wanted to reach out and slide his hands along your waist. He wanted to feel your skin under his palms and press his lips to your neck. He wanted to hear you sigh his name, and see your face light up with a smile when you realized that he’d come for you.

But he could see the signs of exhaustion on your body, the dark circles under your eyes, the way you tossed, even restless in your sleep, so he held back. Instead he simply sat down gingerly beside you on your bed, flushing at the intimacy of seeing you completely at rest like this, and touched your cheek gently. Up close he could see his ring on a chain nestled against your throat and, when he touched it, it was warm from extended contact with your skin, as though you rarely took it off. Again, he felt the ring in his pocket, and the urge to wake you welled up in his chest again.

“I’m back, my love, just like I said I would be.” He said quietly, wishing that he could lay down and wrap his arms around you, “Everything’s in place, we just need to wait a little while longer and then…” he paused, “then we can be married. We can be free. So, rest now, princess. I’ll be back for you in no time.”

He could feel Lila watching him like a hawk, hovering at his back to ensure that he didn’t push his luck or harm you in your sleep.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said softly, “I love, I love, I love you.”

Aemond stood gently, taking care not to rustle the bed enough to wake you, and shot Lila a thankful look.

“She’s safe, your highness.” Lila assured him.

“You’ve taken good care of her, Lila,” Aemond said, “I appreciate it.”

She paused, looking torn, “Are you really going to propose, your highness? I don’t mean to pry, but a friend approached me. He said he was working on your orders, making preparations.”

Hearing someone else say it made Aemond tingle with excitement. He was like a child on his nameday, so ready for the next phase of his life that he could barely contain himself. He felt the smile creep onto his face and, instinctively, he touched the pocket where he’d stored the engagement ring.

“I am,” he admitted, “tonight actually. Will you help her be ready? We’ll need to leave fast and I don’t know when we’ll be able to return to this place.”

Lila sighed, torn between suspicious and relieved, and nodded, “She’ll be ready.”

“Thank you,” he said, “you’ll be ferreted out of the city as well. You can come to us, or I will provide you with the funds and resources to get wherever you need to go.”

She looked surprised at that, “I could go home?”

“Yes, you could go home, Lila.”

She looked tempted but, after a moment, shook her head, “I won’t abandon my lady. I also need to know that she’s safe and well.”

Aemond smiled fondly and nodded, “As you wish.”

She led him back towards the door, checking the outside hallway for passersby before ushering Aemond out of your room, promising again to tell you that he’d stopped by without giving away the proposal. Aemond thanked her for her assistance and pressed a stack of golden dragons into her hands, so that she could purchase anything the pair of you might need, and then took his leave.

“It was good of you to come,” Lila said, seemingly against her better judgment, “she’s…” she pursed her lips, “she’s missed you a great deal.”

Aemond felt his heart swell with affection, his cheeks flushing with heat and the dragon in his chest purring with satisfaction.

“I missed her too,” she said honestly, “more than you know.”

—

“Are you sure you want to wear that one, my lady?” Lila pressed, giving your pale yellow gown a skeptical look.

You frowned, looking at yourself in the mirror, “Is there something wrong with it? I thought it was nice.”

“It is nice,” she admitted, “but it’s a little bit…plain, don’t you think?”

You looked at the dress again, “I mean, I suppose it is, but it’s just a banquet. Do you know something I don’t, Lila?”

Lila shook her head quickly, “No, no not at all I just-” she shrugged, giving you a knowing smile, “Your prince may be there, my lady. I thought you may want to wear something more…elaborate.”

You laughed, your cheeks flushing with warmth, “Aemond hates the Caswells, he thinks they’re insipid. He won’t be there tonight.”

But he may be in the hallways, a little voice in your head whispered, he may call on you after the dinner, to see you awake this time. You imagined his hand ghosting across your shoulders while you slept, his eye tracing your body through your slip and you shivered, fighting a smile. Aemond was home. He was back in King’s Landing, and he’d come to see you. He’d promised Lila that you would see him soon. It felt surreal. You cast a critical eye over the pale yellow gown again, pursuing your lips.

“I suppose there’s no harm in wearing something a little more glamorous.” you said, giving Lila a smile, “What did you have in mind?”

Lila looked elated, rummaging through your closet to pull out a blood red gown you’d had made a while ago, but had not yet an occasion to wear. It wasn’t your most intricate gown, but it was beautiful and you’d been saving it for a special occasion. Still, something in you said that it was the right choice, your fingers itched to touch the expensive fabric, and you knew the color would look striking against your skin.

“Gold jewelry, I think.” you said.

Lila’s eyes sparkled, “As you wish, my lady.”

By the time you were dressed and ready, it was dark outside and the temperatures had started to drop but you looked like a creature from another world. The gown clung to your body and flared out in all the right places, all intricate embroidery and perfectly tailored tucks, and the jewelry you’d selected was subtle but made you shimmer with every bit of light. You felt wonderful in it, regal and timeless, like the sort of woman who might stop a war before it began, or sail her people across the narrow sea and into safety. More importantly, for the first time in your life you thought you looked just a little bit like your mother.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” Lila said, her face a comforting familiarity in the mirror beside your own, “now hurry along. You’ll be late if you’re not careful.”

You chuckled, “I’m already late, Lila.”

She shook her head, her eyes still sparkling with something you couldn’t identify, “No you’re not, my lady.”

You pressed her for details of what she might mean, but Lila’s lips were sealed. She merely gave your hands a squeeze and hustled you on your way, promising to see you later before she turned on her heel, leaving you alone and confused in the corridor. You frowned, but brushed it off, chalking the weirdness up to her being happy that you had finally slept again, and continued on your way. The air was cool and through the windows you could see storm clouds gathering in the east, maybe a day away from breaking. You loved the calm before the storm, it made the world feel crisp and electric around you, like anything could happen in the moments before the storm swallowed the world whole.

As you walked you thought about how much your life had changed since you’d first arrived in King’s Landing. It hadn’t been long, less than a year now, but the girl you had been back then felt a world away. In fact, your whole life before King’s Landing felt a world away. Strangely, you didn’t mind that much. Yes, you grieved the loss of your youth, the way any grown person might, but you felt as though you’d found something here, something unexpected and beautiful, something you would never have gotten the chance to experience if you’d stayed in White Harbor.

And there he was, appearing as you rounded a corner, leaning against the cool stone wall looking like a prince from the myths of Old Valyria. The moonlight turned his white hair to molten silver and, in an ornate tunic you’d never seen before, he was the single most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. At the sound of your footsteps, he turned and his face softened into a smile that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Aemond,” you greeted, all thoughts of the Caswell’s dinner already forgotten, “what’re you doing here?”

“My love,” he replied, reaching out to take your hand when you were close enough, “I’m here to see you, of course.”

He raised his free hand to cup your face, pulling you into a heartbreakingly soft and tender kiss that made you sigh with pleasure. For a moment, everything else faded away. All that existed was you and Aemond, and the feeling of finally being full after an eternity of fasting. Gods above you had missed this man, and not just in your head, in your body, Physically it was like an ache, like he’d left a space in you that nothing but this could fill. He hummed against your lips, resting his forehead against yours when you finally broke apart.

“This is why Lila was acting strange,” you realized, “you two have been scheming.”

He chuckled, brushing your cheek with his thumb and letting his eye scan up and down your body, “I confess, there may have been some scheming, yes, but only to make you happy.”

“I missed you,” you said happily.

He laughed as though you were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen and kissed you again, gently.

“I missed you too, Y/N, every day that I was away.”

“You were away for an awfully long time,” you teased.

“I had an awful lot to do,” he countered, “I had to ensure that you would be safe, that’s no small task.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding in understanding. Suddenly you realized how open your position beside the courtyard was and you moved to step away from Aemond. To your surprise, he pulled you back.

“Aemond, we’re in the open,” you reminded him gently, “it’s not safe.”

He smiled softly, “It is tonight. I-uh-I’ve made some arrangements, but tonight I wanted us to have some privacy.”

Your heart stuttered, “Privacy for what?”

He touched the chain around your neck, his chest rising and falling quickly, as though he was nervous. You had that same strange tugging sensation in the pit of your stomach, as though you were remembering your own life from far in the future and, instinctively, you squeezed his hand for comfort.

“Do you recognize where we are?” Aemond asked.

You looked around, something in your chest pinching as you took in the details of your surroundings. The moonlight shining into the courtyard, the carved stone wall, the fresh air whipping through empty panes.

“This is where you kissed me,” you replied with a fond smile, “gosh, that feels like it was ages ago now, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled, “A lifetime ago.” For a moment you just looked at each other, his hand still touching your necklace, “You kept this safe for me?” He eventually asked softly, hooking the heavy ring around his index finger.

You nodded, feeling a little breathless, “Of course I did. You asked me to.”

“If I remember correctly, I also asked you to wait for me.” He continued.

“I did that too, most impatiently and with much complaining I can assure you.” you replied, trying to lighten the air that was thick with tension.

He smiled, but more sharply this time, sending a shiver of anticipation through you, “Believe me, darling, you could not have been more impatient than I was to get back to you.”

“But you’re back now.”

Aemond nodded, worrying at the inside of his lip, “But I’m back now, and I have a promise to keep.”

Aemond smiled gently, pressing his lips to your forehead for a moment before stepping back and pulling out a small ring from inside his tunic. Oh fuck. Oh fuck this was happening, and it was happening now. Your heart was pounding in your throat, your eyes began to prick with tears and you let out a sound, halfway between a gasp and the word ‘oh’.

“I am madly, truly, irrevocably in love with you,” Aemond started as though he had prepared the words beforehand, injecting each with tenderness, care and sincerity, “I fought it for as long as I could, but it’s obvious to me now that the cause is hopeless. I am yours, Lady Manderly, only yours, body and soul. I will take no wife but you, father children with no one but you, and have no home but the one we share. I swear before the old gods and the new that I will be a true and loyal husband to you because I love you, with every fiber of my being.” he paused, taking a shaky breath as he met your gaze head on, “I’m asking you Y/N, not demanding, not telling, you have every right to-” he paused again, “I’m asking.”

It was so Aemond, some part of your brain registered, so quintessentially Aemond to pause and check with you in this way, to need to know that you wanted him, that he wasn’t forcing himself on you. It made you breathless with love.

“I know,” you assured with a breathy laugh, “I know that, Aemond.”

“Good, good, that’s good,” he said, returning your laugh with one of his own, “I love you, Y/N.”

“You’ve mentioned,” you teased, “a few times, actually.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

“You have indeed, my prince.”

“Then say you’ll marry me,” he countered, lowering himself onto one knee, offering up the ring, “say you’ll be my-”

“Wait!” you interrupted quickly, “Wait, stop.”

He frowned, “What?”

You reached down with shaky hands and gently lifted his eye patch off his face, lowering yourself to his level and kissing him firmly. He let out a noise of surprise but kissed you back, one hand on the ring, the other strung loosely around your waist.

“I love you too,” you said when you broke apart, “I didn’t say it before, but I do. I love you, Aemond Targaryen. All of you, as you are right now.” He let out a shaky breath, his good eye glinting with fondness and suppressed tears. You kissed him again, quickly this time and then said, “Alright, I’m done, you can ask me now.”

“You’re a menace, you know that, don’t you?” He teased.

“But I’m your menace,” you countered, “always.”

He mouthed the word ‘always’ back to you like a promise and then smiled.

“Put me out of my misery, Y/N. Say you’ll be my wife, let me spend my life making you happy and I swear to you, I will prove myself worthy of the honor of having you by my side. It won’t be easy, there’ll be consequences for both of us, but I’ll be with you for all of it. Wherever you go, I’ll be right there, I promise.”

You were lightheaded with happiness, giggling like a child as tears slipped down your cheeks and your heart swelled to four times its regular size. You had never been this happy, you thought. You were sure no one on earth had ever been this happy. How could there be grief in the world? Hardship, war, deceit? How could there be pain in a world filled with this much love? How did anyone bear it?

You wiped your eyes, nodding as you laughed, “Yes, yes of course. Of course I’ll marry you, Aemond.”

“Yes?” He clarified, “Yes, you will?”

“I will,” you agreed, “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

He laughed, just as silly with happiness as you were. He slipped the ring onto your finger and swept you up into his arms, lifting you into the air and spinning you around, peppering your face and neck with kisses and thanking you over and over and over again, as though he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Run away with me,” he whispered into your ear, “tonight. I don’t want to waste another moment being apart from you.”

You nodded, winding your arms tightly around his neck and breathing in the clean, peppery scent of him.

“I need to hear you say it, darling,” Aemond said.

“Yes, let’s go,” you obliged, “let’s just leave. We’ll find a sept somewhere and make it official.”

He chucked, brushing the lingering dampness from your eyes, “I have a plan. Go back to your room, Lila will help you pack, and then my man will come for you. He’ll bring you to me and then we’ll leave together.”

“To where?” You asked, instinctively dropping your voice to a whisper.

“Dragonstone,” he whispered back.

Your eyes widened, “We’re going by boat?”

Aemond let out a bark of laughter, pulling you into another sweet kiss.

“No, my love,” he said, “we’re going on dragonback.”

—

The moment you stepped back into your rooms it became clear that Lila had been entirely in on this. She pulled you into a tight embrace and, for a long while you simply squealed in excitement together. She inspected the ring and deemed it acceptable, and then you got to packing. She explained how Aemond had told her to back everything you might need, that there was no way to know when you would be able to return for the rest of your belongings and how she had started already. Altogether it took you less than twenty minutes to gather everything you would need, but even those twenty minutes felt like a lifetime.

Lila bundled you into a thick cloak and braided your hair against your head. She arranged your bag under the cloak so it wouldn’t be too difficult for you to move around with, but also wouldn’t be too visible to anyone who might see you. It was frantic and exciting, and so so so liberating. You’d never acted this rashly before, you’d never done something without considering all the possible ramifications and weighing up the pros and cons.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond, your heart screamed, banishing any doubt from your mind completely. There was no room for it, no room for second guessing or overthinking. This was what you wanted. Aemond was what you wanted, and you were done getting in your own way. Consequences be damned, you were taking that leap.

It wasn’t until you had been guided into a carriage and began the journey towards the dragon pit that you started to really consider the fact that you were actually engaged. You were engaged, to be married. You stared down at the ring on your finger, playing the events of the night on a loop in your mind, smiling like an idiot. The night was too beautiful, the most beautiful night there had ever been and, as you pulled up to the dragonpit, you sent a prayer of thanks to the gods for bringing you here, to this place, to this man.

You let Aemond’s man guide you to a part of the dragon pit you’d never visited before, where the massive, shifting form of Vhagar was waiting. She was clearly too big for the space, clearly itching to be free from the confines of the pit, but she still rumbled out a greeting. At the sound, Aemond turned his head and smiled.

“My fiance,” he said, “right on time.”

You rushed over and let him pull you tight against his body. You pressed your lips to his, hard, pouring every bit of love and excitement into your kiss that you could. Aemond hummed, cupping the back of your head with his hands and returning your embrace in full. After a while you felt him start to pull away and some animalistic, instinctive part of you growled its displeasure. You nipped at his bottom lip, earning a gasp that sent heat pooling to your core, and took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Aemond responded in kind, slipping his tongue into your mouth and dropping one hand to your waist so that he could press the skin beside your hip bones. The distance between your bodies felt like a crime. You wanted more. You needed to explore all of Aemond, every single inch of him, until you knew him as surely and as fully as you knew yourself. He moaned something that might have been your name and, judging by the way his body was reacting, he was just as desperate for closeness as you were.

“You’re killing me, darling,” Aemond groaned, “we have to go.”

You pouted, “I love you.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathed, kissing you quickly, as though he couldn’t stop himself, “I love how that sounds.”

“Marry me and I’ll say it every day of our lives,” you smiled.

Aemond chuckled, “Now that I can do. Come with me.”

He led you back to Vhagar, calming the dragon in Old Valyrian, but he need not have worried, Vhagar clearly remembered you. There was a ladder of sorts strung from her saddle and Aemond ushered you up it, keeping one hand on your waist to keep you steady. Your heart was thundering in your chest, pure adrenaline coursing through your veins and making you braver than you had ever been before. You were on a dragon. Not just any dragon, but Vhagar, the largest and oldest creature in all the realm. The beast you were riding had conquered cities, burned armies to ash and watched Westeros become a unified nation. Vhagar had watched your family flee from the Reach and create a foothold at White Harbor. Every prominent figure in history you knew was outlived by this one dragon. She was old and powerful, a beacon of magic and majesty the likes of which you truly had no business dealing with. You felt the beginnings of panic in your chest but, before you could spiral, you felt Aemond take his place behind you. He wrapped his arms around you to take hold of the reins, effectively caging you in and pulling you back against his chest.

“You’re alright, my love,” he whispered, “I’ve got us. I won’t let you fall.”

You nodded, feeling the way his presence grounded you in your body and sucked the cold fingers of dread right out of you.

“I trust you,” you replied.

You could feel Aemond’s breath on the back of your head and his broad chest against your back. It made you want.

“Last chance to turn back,” he said, only half-joking.

You turned in your seat, so he could see the sincerity in your eyes.

“Never.”

He kissed you then, so sweetly that it made you want to cry and, after that, you learned what it meant to be a dragon rider.

Chapter Text

Aemond Targaryen had always loved to fly. Since the moment he’d claimed Vhagar, there had been no greater pleasure in the world to Aemond than flying, at least until he tried flying with you. Every moment was exhilarating, the weight of you against his chest was a comfort he’d never truly known and, even in the dark, battling the wind and the clouds, he could honestly say he had never been happier. You whooped and cheered, like a child at a party and, in response, Vhagar rumbled and swooped through the air in dramatic loops, in the dragon equivalent of showing off. He felt like a king, like a young God at the birth of the world, with all the universe’s possibilities stretching out endlessly before him towards the horizon. What enemy could dream to come against him? What evil could hope to dampen the perfect, unexpected joy of Aemond Targaryen as he flew through the skies with the woman he loved between his arms? He had you and Vhagar, the beginnings of his own family, and a plan that had been thought through so many times he could recite it in his sleep. For now, for the first time in his life, Aemond felt invincible.

Your joyful laughter flowed through him like nectar and a part of him wanted to simply keep flying, to say screw Westeros, screw his plan, and simply take you somewhere where no one would know either of you. The possessive creature in his chest didn’t want to share you with anyone. It wanted to take you home and claim you, make you his and start the journey to prove his endless devotion.

“THIS IS INCREDIBLE!” He heard you shout over the wind, a few wisps of your hair escaping from the tight braids your hair was in.

“I KNOW,” Aemond replied.

“I LOVE YOU,” You said.

“I LOVE YOU TOO,” he laughed, more enthralled by your joy than he’d ever imagined possible.

How could anyone not be completely under your spell? What wouldn’t he do to keep that smile on your face for as long as possible? You were wild and magnificent and, finally, you were his. After all that worry, all that pain and frustration and loss, you’d agreed to marry him. If things had been different, he would have liked to be slowing down with you right now, drinking wine and savoring the moment of victory. He would have wanted to simply be engaged to you for a while, to go on adventures, lavish you with gifts as you planned your wedding together and introduce you to the court as his betrothed, just to watch the looks of jealousy on their faces. Aemond wanted time. More than anything else in the world, he craved time with you like a drug, and part of him knew that he would always resent his mother for stealing yet another moment from him. You deserved more than this cloak and dagger routine, he deserved more than this.

Soon enough, and sooner than you would have liked judging by your disappointed grumble, Dragonstone came into view and Aemond began to bring Vhagar down. Her wings buffeted you both with wind and, to Aemond’s immense joy, you leaned further into him to avoid getting pummeled too badly. He could make out two blonde figures waiting in the courtyard and, judging by your sharp intake of breath, you saw them too.

“It’s alright,” he assured you when you touched down, “they’re on our side.”

Rhaenyra was watching you intently and Daemon was watching him suspiciously. Clearly he wasn’t pleased about this, but he was going along with his wife’s plan for her sake. Aemond gave him a brief nod, but Daemon ignored it. Aemond offered you a hand, helping you clamber down off Vhagar’s back. You gripped his hand tightly, your eyes flicking between him and his sister nervously. He tried to give you a comforting smile, hoping that you could see the sincerity in his eyes when he told you that everything was going to be fine.

“Uncle, sister, this is my fiance, Y/N Manderly,” he said, keeping you at his side, “my love, this is my uncle Daemon Targaryen. You’ve met my sister Rhaenyra.”

“Your highnesses,” you greeted, dipping into a low curtsey, “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

Rhaenyra smiled, “No intrusion at all, Y/N. Come, let’s get you ready. Aemond, the septon is waiting in the sept if you want to freshen up.”

She wrapped an arm around you and began guiding you away, into the castle and out of sight. You looked back at Aemond, panicked and confused, looking to him for reassurance. He gave you what he hoped was a comforting smile as you vanished into the castle, mindlessly fiddling with his gloves as the endless list of possible flaws with his plan started to rear their head again. His stomach started to pinch with concern, every fiber of his being straining against the instinct to not let himself be separated from you, to not let anything come between you ever again. Trust didn’t come easily to a Targaryen.

Daemon was proof of that, standing guard with a hand on the pommel of his sword, his dark eyes searching Aemond’s face with a sort of practiced, predatory interest. It was often said that dragons and their riders had more in common than first met the eye and, while Aemond didn’t see much of himself in Vhagar, there was no mistaking Daemon, he was clearly the Blood Wyrm’s rider. Aemond met his gaze head on. He had once idolized his uncle, dreamt of fighting him, of besting him in battle and proving himself Daemon’s equal. He wanted songs to be written about him, as they were written about Daemon but, more than that, he wanted that moment. That moment, when Daemon went down and met Aemond’s eye, where a shock of recognition would pass between them and Aemond would be completely and utterly seen and known, second son to second son, the passing of the torch.

It was childish, he knew that now. He could see the yearning for family in his younger self, the desperation to be loved and appreciated that had made him so vulnerable, that still made him vulnerable, and that made you vulnerable by proxy.

“Nephew,” Daemon said simply.

“Uncle,” he responded.

He smirked, “My congratulations on this joyous occasion, of course. Nothing says romance and endless devotion quite like a secret wedding in the dead of night.”

Aemond pressed his lips together to choke back his instinctive urge to lash out, focussing instead on the memory of the scent of your perfume as you flew through the night and allowed it to calm him.

Instead of snapping, he bowed his head in acknowledgment of the compliment, “Thank you, uncle. That means a great deal, considering that I’m sure you know the feeling very well.”

Daemon let out a bark of laughter, genuinely delighted at the comment and Aemond couldn’t help but hear the similarities in their voices, the way Daemon’s voice broke at the same place his own did, the way the sound was on the edge of human and beast. It was a strange sensation, like looking at himself from far away, stretched through time, through experiences he’d yet to have. He watched Daemon size him up and wondered if he was having the same realization, the same strange ghost-double effect sensation in reverse, if he was looking at all the mistakes Aemond had yet to make.

“My marriage to Rhaenyra was-”

“Apologies, uncle,” Aemond interrupted, unable to contain the barb “I spoke actually of your second marriage, to the Lady Laena.”

Daemon’s lips curled, but his eyes remained unchanged, “My departed wife and I had a courtship period, nephew, even if it was somewhat brief.”

Aemond felt the steady pressure of the wads of parchment he kept in his tunic as his heart pounded against them in his chest.

“Your second departed wife,” he corrected instinctively, “As to your courtship, lady Y/N and I also courted,” Aemond pointed out, “but in my case it is my mother’s approval I lack, in yours I believe it was the king’s.”

“Hmm,” Daemon countered, “either way, at least I married my brides in the light of day, with the people they loved around us.”

Aemond took another calming breath, “Ah, but the night is so lovely, is it not?”

Daemon smiled, “That it is, nephew, that it is.” He looked back at Vhagar and then gestured Aemond forward with his head, “come, let’s get you married then, before the sky falls down on all of us.”

Aemond took the peace offering for what it was and let out a little sigh of relief as he fell into step with his uncle as Daemon guided him into the castle. Something started to stir in his chest, the slightest glimmer of excitement, the beginnings of nervous glee. With every step he took he got closer to you, to marrying you, to taking you as his wife. Finally. It still felt surreal.

Daemon helped him into a borrowed tunic, a lovely thing of black brocade, with the Targaryen seal emblazoned across the left hand side in burning red. He slipped his parchment into the inner pocket of the tunic, feeling strangely naked without the weight of the engagement ring he’d held onto for so long. Daemon hung a heavy, lavish chain of gold and rubies over his shoulders and leant him a jeweled and braided belt for him to hang his sword on. Aemond undid his long white braid and combed through the gentle waves, neatening his hair up as best as he could, smoothing it down with light, fragranced oil. He watched himself in the mirror, pleased with his appearance, pleased that he saw a man looking back at him with a steely determination and not a frightened boy acting out in a childish display of rebellion. This man, he thought, was capable of protecting his wife and of bringing honor to his family. This man could withstand whatever came after this. He gave his uncle a small nod, which Daemon returned, and they fell into step again as Daemon led him through the winding corridors of Dragonstone, their footsteps echoing against the stone as they made their way to the small but lavish sept.

Everything was done up beautifully and something in Aemond’s chest pinched as he realized that Rhaenyra had gone above and beyond. Flowers decorated the surfaces, effortlessly softening the harsher edges of the rough stone of Dragonstone, swaths of fabric hung on the walls, a tasteful mix of deep Manderly teal and green and Targaryen black and red, and candles bathed the whole room in a soft, welcoming light. All throughout the room there were subtle nods to your house and his and, through the door that he knew would lead back into a banquet hall, he could smell the beginnings of a feast and the ambient sounds of a band tuning their instruments in preparation. He wanted to cry. Aemond had asked for a sanctuary and place to say some words, and Rhaenyra had given him a wedding, a real wedding. Small in stature, yes, but packed with enough care and attention to detail to rival anything that he may have had in King’s Landing. Jace and Lucerys were standing at the altar, acting as his groomsmen and, though Aemond couldn’t shake the stab of resentment that went through him at the sight of Luke, he also couldn’t help but be grateful. Both boys nodded as he entered and Jace even gave him a small smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder as he took his place beside them, Daemon falling in in front of Jace.

“Good to see you, uncle,” Jace said gently, “couldn’t think of a happier occasion.”

Aemond returned his smile, feeling a pang of longing for the closeness of their youth, “Thank you, Jace. For being here, for agreeing to stand witness.”

He ignored Luke entirely.

Jace nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder again, “Of course, man.”

By then the tiny sliver of excitement had turned to all out stomach churning, heart pounding nerves. Aemond clenched and unclenched his hands at his side, itching for something to do besides wait. He was keenly aware of every inch of his body in a way he never had been before. Were his hands too rough? Did they chafe where they touched you? Was he too tall and awkward? Had his arms always been so long? He paced and Daemon cast him a sideways glance as he walked, something unrecognizable dancing at the corners of his mouth and Aemond wondered if his feelings could be seen on his face.

“Is all well, uncle?” Aemond asked.

Daemon didn’t answer for a moment.

“Yes,” he finally said, softly, so that only Aemond could hear, “it’s just,” he paused again, “for the first time I see some of your father in you, and my father through him.”

Aemond opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again, stunned.

“I think she’s coming,” Jace said, interrupting his thoughts.

And all thoughts left Aemond in a rush, vanishing in the face of this one, perfect vision.

“Oh.”

—

Your hands were shaking. No matter how much you willed them to stop, they just kept shaking and you had the sense that, if it wasn’t for Rhaenyra’s hand on your arm keeping you steady, your knees might have given out beneath you. She gave you a comforting smile and, before she could think better of it, touched your cheek softly.

“You look lovely, my dear,” she assured you, “truly, truly lovely.”

You let out a shaking breath, watching yourself in the mirror as Rhaenyra’s women rushed around you like a flock of birds. The gown Lila had packed for you wasn’t white, after all it would have been entirely too presumptuous of you to come to King’s Landing with a wedding gown packed, but it was beautiful. It was a pale golden fabric embroidered with intricate patterns and beaded just enough that it made you shimmer. Rhaenyra had done your hair herself, it was perfectly balanced, elegant and regal. You did look beautiful, you knew that, but that didn’t stop the shaking.

Rhaenyra watched you with a slight frown, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, but you were worrying at the inside of your lip when you did, your eyes pricking with suppressed tears.

She stepped in front of you, blocking the mirror and forcing you to meet her lovely purple eyes. She touched your face with one hand again, using her other to give your hand a gentle squeeze. It was a sweet gesture, and so motherly that it made your heart feel like it was cracking down the center.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra said softly, “do you want this marriage? Has Aemond forced you here somehow?”

“No, no nothing like that,” you said quickly, a single tear slipping free from your eye and landing on her hand, “I want to marry him, your highness I just-” you pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling, “I just realized that there’s no one to walk with me down the aisle.”

It sounded so foolish when you said it out loud, like the whinings of a child, but Rhaenyra’s face creased with sympathy. As more tears threatened to drop from your eyes, she brushed them away softly. You ached for your mother, for your father, both long dead, for the grandparents you remembered vaguely from your early years. You ached for Camylla, who should be the one dressing you and preparing you for this night, and for your dear brothers, who would die for you and who you were betraying. More than anything you ached because you were so painfully happy, and that happiness had to be tinged with guilt because of the selfishness and politicking of people who wouldn’t hesitate to end your life because you were an inconvenience.

“I’m alone,” you continued, “it’s my wedding and I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Rhaenyra promised, “of course you’re not.”

“I am-”

“You’re not,” she interrupted, giving your hand a squeeze, “I am here, my family is here. Aemond is waiting for you.” she reminded you gently, “Y/N, both of my weddings were sudden and lonely events and all I wanted, both times, was for my mother to be there by my side.”

Your lips trembled, remembering your own mother again.

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand again, “I can’t bring your mother back but I will stand by your side, as your sister. I will walk you down the aisle and hold your hand for as long as you need, alright? And should things go poorly when this marriage becomes public, I will defend you. I will keep you safe. You’re not alone.”

“But my brothers-”

“Will understand in time,” she assured, “they’re men, which means they’re fools and they’ll likely rage and storm and pout at first but, when their egos cease to be bruised, they’ll remember that all they want is for you to be happy, and all will be forgiven.” she continued, “And if they don’t get over themselves, we’ll just wait until I am made queen and then I’ll have them thrown into the black cells until they do, alright?”

You let out a watery laugh, “Alright.”

You looked into her eyes, searching for any signs that she was placating you and finding none. There was a painful sincerity to Rhaenyra, an honor that made you sure of her the way you were sure of Aemond. She was sticking her neck out for you, you realized, fully and completely. Based on nothing but her brother’s word, she was risking the wrath of the Hightowers and using her reputation to allow this marriage to happen at all. More than that, she had taken you under her wing personally, dressed you in her rooms, done your hair herself, allowed you to borrow her makeup. It was kind. She was kind, even though she truly had no reason to be.You couldn’t help but compare her to Aegon and find him severely lacking. Your heart swelled with affection and you felt something click into place, steadying you like an island in a restless sea.

“Thank you, your grace,” you said seriously.

She smiled, leaning back but keeping a hold of your hand, “Rhaenyra, please. We’re to be sisters soon after all.”

“Rhaenyra,” you corrected with your own, shy smile, “I’m sorry for the trouble this is causing. I know my-” you paused, “I know there was benefit to you, to have me marry Rohar.”

She waved away your concern, touching her pregnant belly absentmindedly, “Don’t worry too much about that, Y/N. All will work out as it should, I’m sure of it.”

There was something behind her words, a promise that you couldn’t quite decipher even as it soothed your frayed nerves.

“Alright.”

“Now,” she continued, more delicately, “I have to ask, do you know what happens between a man and woman on their wedding night?”

You felt yourself flush with heat and you suppressed a nervous laugh, “Yes, my lady, I know about sex.”

Rhaenyra let out a relieved breath, “Thank the gods, I was not ready to have that conversation right now.”

You chuckled, “There’s no need, my father told my sister and I before her wedding.”

“It’ll probably hurt,” she explained, “but not a lot, and he shouldn’t-” she paused to rephrase, “if he hurts you on purpose-”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does,” she continued, squeezing your hand tight, “hurt him back, worse, and then come to me.”

You thought of the pressure of Aemond’s lips on your neck, the way his voice broke with suppressed need, how he’d looked at you like you were something precious and holy.

You nodded, “Alright, I will.”

“Not all pain is bad,” she continued, as though she couldn’t stop herself, “some people enjoy it quite a lot, but you would need to talk about that beforehand, and he shouldn’t tonight. Tonight is-”

“I’ll be alright, Rhaenyra,” you laughed gently, “really, I will be.”

“But if you’re not, you’ll tell me?”

“I’ll tell you,” you promised.

She held your hand tight, smiling kindly and stepping away so that you could watch yourself in the mirror again. Instead of inspecting your appearance, you watched her for a moment. She was short, but something about her presence made her feel like a giant, every inch seeming to stretch until it felt like she was towering over everyone, a benevolent giantess with kind eyes and soft hands.

“You’ll make a magnificent queen, Rhaenyra,” you heard yourself say honestly, “I’m excited to live in the world you make one day.”

She looked stunned for a second, but then her face softened and she gave you a grateful smile, “I appreciate that, Y/N, truly. Are you ready to go?”

You gave yourself one final look, giving yourself permission to feel the flicker of excitement in the pit of your stomach, setting your skin ablaze, and gave her a nod. Rhaenyra picked up a beautiful cloak with your family’s seal emblazoned on it in green and teal and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you married then,” she said fondly, “and to hell with Alicent and her scheming. Go on, say it, I won’t tell anyone.”

“To hell with Alicent and her scheming, let’s get me married.”

She laughed, “See, I knew I liked you. Come on, the night isn’t getting any younger.”

—

Aemond couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Every nerve in his body was alight with the complete and total certainty that he was yours. If ever there had been a doubt, it was gone. He hadn’t really believed that marriage was anything more than an agreement, a contract between parties that changed the legal status of two people into one, but oh lord had he ever been wrong. Seeing you in the doorway, a golden queen wrapped in a cloak of teal smiling at him, your eyes shining, made him want to fall to his knees and swear himself to you right then and there.

The crowd that had gathered in the sept took a collective breath and Aemond could vaguely hear the echoed sounds of admiration and awe as they took in the vision of beauty and loveliness before them. None of it made any impact on Aemond at all, all that he could see was you. You, you, you, you you.

Your eyes found his and you smiled with a kind of sweet nervousness that made Aemond’s heart ache. He loved you. He completely loved you, he loved every part of you.

“Gods above,” he heard Jace whisper.

Aemond laughed in agreement, his eyes pricking with tears. He felt insane, like he wanted to laugh and cry all at once, like he could leap from the tallest tower in the Red Keep and find himself floating among the clouds. Aemond was no expert, but he was fairly sure that he was coming undone in the most public and indiscreet way possible and he didn’t care one bit. He couldn’t give less of a fuck what these people said about Aemond One-Eye when they left this place, so long as they called you his wife. Jace placed his hand on Aemond’s shoulder and gave a brief squeeze, making Aemond momentarily long for his brother, but the sadness was quickly swept up and discarded as Rhaenyra led you to the altar and you were finally close enough for him to reach out and touch you if he wanted to.

“Who brings this woman to be wed?” The septon asked.

“I do,” Rhaenyra said.

“And she consents to this marriage?”

You looked to the septon for a moment, smiling as you said “I do, yes.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and gestured for Rhaenyra to step back. You stepped forward and Aemond took your hands in his, instinctively raising them to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. The audience chuckled and the septon cleared his throat in irritation. You were fighting a fond smile and losing which made Aemond feel warm and light.

“Apologies,” Aemond said to the septon sheepishly, “I forgot myself for a moment.”

The septon took out a swath of black silk and began to bind your hand to Aemond’s, wrapping the silk from your forearm, across your joined palms and up Aemond’s forearm as he spoke.

“In the light of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” He said, his voice clear and true, striking a chord in the pit of Aemond’s chest the likes of which he hadn’t felt since his first flight on Vhagar. The septon continued, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

You met Aemond’s gaze and he just broke. For a moment the sept fell away and Aemond was watching his life happen in third person. Marriage, children, a home filled with music and laughter and art. Green fields and bright blue skies and you, you you you you. He took a shaking breath and felt tears well up in his eye. Your face softened fondly and he watched your eyes get glassy in response. You squeezed his hand tight, effortlessly centering him and bringing him back to his body the way you always seemed to be able to.

“You ready?” you asked softly.

Aemond nodded and fought the urge to pull you close and kiss that beautiful, understanding smile off your face.

Instead, you both took a deep breath and spoke in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior. Mother, Maiden, Crone. Stranger.”

“I am hers, and she is mine.” Aemond said, injecting each word with as much sincerity and promise as he could muster

“I am his, and he is mine.” You mirrored, smiling more brightly than the sun and stars combined.

I love you, I love you, I love you, he thought, trying to tell you with his eyes. Thank you, thank you for loving me. I will be deserving of this, I swear I will make myself worthy of you, worthy of the life we will have.

And then, together again, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward and slipped the Manderly cloak from your shoulders, giving Aemond an approving smile as she stepped back. Daemon passed Aemond a swathe of black fabric which, upon opening, revealed itself to be a thick, heavy Targaryen banner. The red dragon was embroidered onto the heavy black fabric with such detail that it took Aemond’s breath away and, somehow, Aemond was certain that this was an heirloom. It felt old and powerful, like just by holding it Aemond was connected to every generation of dragon rider that came before him. This was the final step, the last hurdle standing between him and the life he’d never believed himself to deserve.

“Last chance to turn back,” you whispered, echoing his words from hours before.

Aemond gave himself a moment to just take you in, to bask in the fact that this was real. This was happening. In mere seconds, you would be his wife. He would no longer be Aemond Targaryen, second son of Queen Alicent and King Viserys, instead he would be Aemond Targaryen, husband to Y/N Targaryen. His primary duty would be to you, his loyalty would be owed to you and you alone. The boy who had once been routinely left behind while his peers learned to fly, who had had no friends save his sister and his mother’s guard, was about to have a family that was all his own. Aemond felt, with a deep and aching sort of certainty, that the moment he did this he would no longer be his mother’s sword. He would be yours. It felt massive. It felt life changing and gravity shifting, but somehow he wasn’t afraid.

He gave you a small smile, “Never.”

You returned his smile, relieved, as you dipped into a graceful curtsey and, with that, Aemond wrapped you in the thick cloth, feeling a strange thrill as the black fabric settled over your shoulders and, for the first time, you were completely engulfed in the Targaryen colors. His colors, and now, your colors as well. He watched your breath catch, saw the swirl of emotions in your face as you had the same realization that he had just gone through and saw, with a rush of pride, as you embraced it. Y/N Manderly had dipped low, but it was Y/N Targaryen who rose now and stood tall before him.

The septon continued, “Let it be known, Aemond Targaryen and Y/N Targaryen are hereby wed. Cursed be the man or woman who seeks to separate that which is joined in the sight of the gods.”

You both shot the septon a surprised look. It was a slight deviation from the usual wedding proceedings, not unheard of, but often left out because it could be seen as slightly fatalistic. It was a small thing, but its inclusion in front of a crowd such as this would cast a shadow of doubt and suspicion on his Hightower relatives, his mother included, when they eventually came for him. Rhaenyra must have asked for it to be included and, for the millionth time in the past ten days, Aemond felt a rush of gratitude to his sister for all she’d done for him, and for you as well.

“You may kiss the bride,” the septon concluded.

Just like that, all thoughts of his mother and the danger that was just over the horizon slipped away and Aemond lost himself in you once again. You smiled, finally allowed to do what you’d been itching for since the start. You pushed forward, cupping his jaw with your hand and tilted his head down towards you, kissing him hard. The crowd erupted into cheers and whoops of excitement, enamored with the beautiful young couple and the forbidden romance of it all.

Surely he should be used to this by now? Some part of his brain wondered. Surely, by now, the feeling of your lips on his shouldn’t send him reeling, shouldn’t make his heart stutter and ache and burn the way it did? But, alas, he was as much your devoted acolyte now as he’d ever been and, under your touch, he melted. He pulled you close and kissed you back, trying to burn every detail of the moment into his mind forever. He wanted to remember this until the day he died. When the gods decided his time was up and they ripped him from your arms he wanted to remember what you’d felt like on this day, how the sept had smelled of lilies and lavender, how the guests had cheered and how the music had seeped from the banquet hall, sweet and delicate. He wanted to remember the taste of summer on your lips and the way you trailed your fingers from his jaw down the column of his throat and made him ache for you.

Some sad, scared, romantic part of Aemond needed to remember the first time he’d ever kissed his wife, because he had no idea how many more perfect moments the universe would let him have.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

You chuckled fondly, “I love you too, husband.”

“Husband,” he repeated incredulously, “fuck, that’s even better than Aemond.”

And, by the gods, Aemond would do anything, be anything, sacrifice anything to remember the way you laughed.

—

Being a wife felt…strange. Throughout your wedding banquet, as lords and ladies you barely knew ate and drank and made toasts to your union, you tried to wrap your head around the small ways your world had completely shifted. You weren’t a Manderly anymore. You were not a Manderly anymore. You were Y/N Targaryen, wife of Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen and, in a strange twist of fate, you were a dragon rider. Rhaenyra was your sister. Aegon was your brother. The two possible heirs to the throne who you had once been deciding between were now your family and Aemond…beautiful, brave, sweet, soft spoken Aemond who you loved with every fiber of your being, was your husband.

You weren’t a Manderly. You were a Targaryen.

Aemond’s hand on your thigh was like an anchor, his adoring gaze was like a calming balm. Every time the momentousness of what you had just done threatened to overwhelm you, all you had to do was look at him and the panic faded away. What could be done to you now? What could be worse than being separated from Aemond and forced to marry someone else?

You watched as Aemond drank with Jacaerys, smiling at how hard he was clearly trying to be relaxed and civil with Jace despite years of strain and tension.

“Are you alright, sister?” Rhaenyra asked, leaning across Daemon’s empty chair, “Can I get you anything?”

You turned to her, reaching out and taking her hand before you could think better of it.

“I’m quite alright,” you assured, giving her hand a squeeze, “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how to repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me.”

Rhaenyra looked touched, squeezing your hand back, “There’s no need. Aemond is my brother. He’s uncle to my children, it makes me happy to see him so clearly enamored with someone and, if you don’t mind me saying, he couldn’t have made a better choice in a partner.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” you said, “I’m sure everything will kick off soon enough.”

She hummed her agreement, “Undoubtedly, but you’re married. There’s nothing Alicent or Otto can do to put that aside.”

“Unless the marriage remains unconsummated,” you pointed out.

She cast an incredulous look your way, “I highly doubt that’s going to be an issue, Y/N. I swear for a moment I thought the two of you were going to go at it right there in the sept.”

You laughed, feeling yourself flush, “I was tempted, I won’t lie.”

“Trust me, I understand,” Rhaenyra said, chuckling along, “so I’m sure by morning that particular loophole will be quite closed to any of your detractors.” She cast a glance outside, “Speaking of which, the night is beginning to wane. I hate to cut the celebrations short, Y/N, but I think it might be time.”

The bedding ceremony. One of the few aspects of marriage you sincerely dreaded. You understood the need for it, understood the historical roots, the community building aspects of stripping the couple and placing them in their marriage bed, but you couldn’t help but shiver at the idea. Foreign hands on your skin, men leering down at your barely covered form, it sounded awful. If things had been different your brothers and Kevan would have been there. They would have guarded you, stayed at your side and kept you from being harassed, while Camylla and Rhaenyra did the same for Aemond. Now you would face the ceremony alone.

Your heart leapt into your throat and, as though he could sense the shift in you, Aemond looked over and smiled, his violet eyes clinging to yours with a kind of sweet bashfulness, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to stare so brazenly. You let yourself trace his figure with your eyes, imagining the ways he would take you apart, imagining the ways you might take him apart and something in the pit of your stomach flared to life. Your fear ebbed, being replaced with the prickling heat of need as the promise of privacy started to edge out the fear of the undressing. It was more than desire, more than lust. It was an ache, a longing for closeness, a longing for the kind of comfort that your body told you could only come from your husband, from Aemond. The cut of his gaze shifted, like he was recognizing something in your eyes, and he smirked, stoking the embers in your stomach.

“Alright then,” You told Rhaenyra, “let’s do this.”

She called to the crowds and announced that it was time for the bedding, but you could barely hear her over the sound of your blood in your ears. Aemond hadn’t taken his eye off you, a light pink flush creeping his way up his neck as he held your gaze, only looking away when the nearest noble lady started tugging at him, pulling him away so that they might prepare him for you. There was a rush of sound and movement and soon you were surrounded by men, some familiar, some not, as they hoisted you into the air. You felt the beginnings of panic, until a familiar mop of brown hair and eyes came into focus.

“Jace,” you breathed out in relief.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, “I won’t let anyone get fresh. You’re safe with me.”

And you felt it.You kept your eyes on Jace as a man you didn’t know removed your shoes. You strained to look back at Aemond as Daemon loosened the ties to your overdress. Jace pressed himself between you and any man who got too close to your front and young Luke, still just a boy, kept you shielded from the back.

“It’s alright, aunt,” Luke whispered, “we’re not far.”

And they weren’t. Every step you took, Jace, Luke and Daemon took with you. It was their hands that kept you in the air, their eyes that you felt and their voices that you heard, drowning out anyone else and surrounding you with every bit of the attention, care and respect your own brothers would have shown if they had been present. You were hit, again, with the strangeness of marriage. A few words, some cloth and a kiss and suddenly you had a whole new family. You were more than a wife, you were also a sister-in-law, an aunt and a niece. You weren’t alone, you were with your family.

Soon enough you were deposited in a warm, comfortable room you’d never seen before with a large bed and a roaring fireplace to keep out the chill. Your overdress was slipped over your head and taken away, leaving you in only your slip, and more grateful than ever for the warmth of the fire. Someone squeezed your shoulder comfortingly and then you were alone.

You looked around, tracing the details of the room until you heard the click of the door and Aemond stepped inside, looking just as windswept and disheveled as you were sure you did. Someone had stripped him of his embroidered tunic, his boots and his thick chain, leaving him in a white blouse and his dragon riding pants. You could hear womens’ laughter and caught a flash of white blonde hair as Rhaenyra pulled the door shut behind him, leaving you alone with your husband. Aemond chuckled to himself and turned, freezing when he saw you standing there. You watched his breath falter, watched his eyes widen as they took you in, something more than love dancing in their midst as he struggled to compose himself. Without meaning to, you felt yourself flush with pride. The fact that you had this effect on Aemond, that a man with enough willpower to subdue a dragon older than the realm itself fell to pieces at the mere sight of you made you feel like more than a woman, more than a queen. It made you feel like something divine.

“Hello there, stranger.” you said simply.

Aemond chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he slowly stepped towards you.

“Am I a stranger, Lady Targaryen?” he asked, his voice low and seductive.

You shivered, letting his voice caress you and send a rush of anticipation through you.

“Lady Targaryen,” you repeated softly, before continuing, “it sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

Aemond stepped into your space, reaching out to run his knuckles across the skin of your cheek and down your throat, echoing the way you had touched him in the sept. Instinctively, you let your hands settle on his waist, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin cotton shirt.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke,” he replied in the same, deep voice “am I a stranger, Princess Y/N Targaryen?”

You giggled, “No, I suppose you’re not, Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

He smiled fondly, “Though, if it pleases you, I’d sooner call you wife, for tonight at least.”

Aemond’s eyes were dark and dangerous, promising something you couldn’t vocalize but knew you wanted. Despite his clear desire, Aemond didn’t kiss you. He didn’t press his body against yours and claim you the way you’d expected, instead he simply touched your face and neck, letting his fingers dance along your skin softly. He was restraining himself, you realized, moving slow, taking his time to simply be with you. He wanted more, but he wouldn’t ask you for it, wouldn’t make assumptions, wouldn’t assume you could want the same thing. You swallowed hard, feeling a swell of love join the flurry of butterflies swirling around in your chest. He wouldn’t push you, his eyes promised, nothing would happen in that room that you didn’t want, that you weren’t aching for as much as he was. Nothing has changed, he seemed to be saying silently, I’m still me, I’m still Aemond. Nothing needs to change.

Only, things had changed. Everything had changed, and wasn’t that the point of all this? Wasn’t that why you were here? Why you’d chosen Aemond in the first place?

“Call me wife,” you replied, slipping your hands under his shirt so that they rested on his bare skin, “call me Y/N, call me darling, call me whatever you want.” you took a deep breath, “But kiss me first, alright?”

—

Aemond’s voice caught and his heart was like a kick drum against his fragile ribs, so he did the only thing he could, he obeyed. The feel of your hands on his skin was driving him mad, making the creature in his chest sing with delight and ache with the effort of holding himself back from you. The way you looked, bathed in firelight, your slip framing the curves of your body that had haunted his mind for months, it was almost enough to ruin him, to strip Aemond of the last few remaining strands of his sanity. He wanted to touch. He was sick of wanting and waiting and dreaming, he wanted to be with you more than he wanted to breathe, more than he wanted to see the sun rise in the morning. If he’d been given the choice between you and the day, he would live his life in eternal darkness and count himself lucky.

You sighed into his kiss, letting him tilt your head up as he cupped the back of your neck with his hand. He could feel your nails against his sides, ticklish and sharp and he shivered with pleasure, deepening the kiss and pulling your body flush against his. He was hard. Fuck, how was he already hard? Aemond could feel his arousal coursing through his blood like a second skin, simmering beneath the surface, urging him to get closer, to claim every inch of your body, to take you for his own until you were both spent and satisfied, but he held back.

You weren’t a battlefield he could stomp all over and lay claim to. You weren’t just some woman either. You were his wife, his lover, his partner. He wanted to be good to you, to be good for you. He wanted to take his time. He’d waited months for this, he could wait longer, he could wait forever if it was what you needed. Your fingers slipped beneath the band of his trousers and his resolve faltered.

“Y/N,” he breathed against your lips, “I don’t-we don’t have to-”

You growled, pulling away so that he could see your flushed skin and the look of hunger in your eyes. Your chest was heaving. So little separated you now and he wanted you so desperately that his body was rebelling against his brain. Why was he hesitating? Why was he still holding himself back?

“I can wait,” he told you honestly, “if-if this is too much, if it’s all been too sudden. We have the rest of our lives, darling, so if you’re not ready, I can wait.”

Aemond was afraid, he realized. He was afraid of hurting you, of causing you pain, of you waking up in the morning and realizing that this had all been a massive mistake and really you would rather be with Rohar. He was afraid of needing someone the way he needed you, afraid of being rejected, of being told that he didn’t measure up. Deep down, Aemond was still afraid that you might change your mind.

Something in your eyes softened, as though you could hear his thoughts, but the hunger remained and when you leaned forward to kiss him again, it was soft and slow and sensual, like poured honey. You pulled him into you, winding your fingers into his hair and nudging his lips apart with your own, sending shivers down his spine as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You kissed him like you had time, like there was nothing else to do but hold him close and kiss his doubts away and it made him practically whimper with pleasure.

“Aemond,” you started, pulling away and resting your forehead against his, “do you believe that I love you?” Aemond nodded and he felt you sigh with relief, “Then listen to me now, alright?”

“Always,” he promised.

You slid your hands down his neck and across his chest, drawing a sigh from his lips as he felt the drag of your nails through the fabric.

“I want you,” you whispered into his ear, “I want to be your wife, tonight, tomorrow, every day for the rest of our lives, I want you.” You promised, letting your hands drop to his trousers, “And I know we have a lot to talk about, and a lot to work out between us but, for tonight, all I want is for you to treat me like your wife.”

You looked nervous. Fuck, you were so damn beautiful, Aemond thought to himself. Had he told you? Gods, had he even told you? In one fluid motion you reached down and touched him through his trousers, cupping his cock in your hand and his knees almost buckled at the delicious lick of pleasure that shot through him like an arrow. The sound Aemond made should have been embarrassing, it was more of a whine than any prince of Westeros should ever make, but he didn’t care-couldn’t care when you were the cause. When he was already hanging on to his sanity by the skin of his teeth and the object of his wildest desires was right there, just waiting for him.

Aemond Targaryen had always been a patient man, but even patient men have their limits.

Chapter Text

Gods above where had that come from? What were you doing? You felt as though your body was acting on instinct, but the noise you’d pulled from Aemond’s lips made you feel powerful. It stoked the fire in your belly and, when he tugged you close enough to his body for you to feel the hard line of him against your stomach, you wanted more. You gripped him through the fabric of his pants, feeling his length and marveling at how even such a simple touch made his hips buck and his breath falter.

“Fuck-” he breathed, kissing you hard before trailing his lips along your jaw and down yout throat.

Cautiously, you stroked along his length again, squeezing a little harder as you went. Aemond moaned against your neck, whispering your name in between pressing firm kisses to your throat. You could feel your skin flushing as your husband’s hands gripped you tight, sliding around your waist and down over the curve of your ass until they settled on the backs of your thighs. He hoisted you into the air and you gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he carried you to the bed. It was almost effortless, like you weighed nothing to him, and the new angle meant your core was pressed directly to his covered cock, making you flush with the urge to grind down, to feel a little more of that delicious friction and hear the sounds of Aemond worshiping you as you did.

He lowered you gently onto the bed and propped himself up, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head, his long white hair falling around his face like snow. Your stomach was awash with nerves and a kind of desperate excitement. It was like you were a new person, an older and more sophisticated person, a woman. A wife. A princess of the realm. After a lifetime of being kept distant, of monitoring your every look and action, you could finally just react. You could reach out and touch. You could be touched, and by a man who had given you everything, who had risked everything for you.

Aemond nudged your legs open, claiming the space between them and-fuck-you wanted him so badly. You reached up, slowly tracing his lips with the tip of your index finger. You wanted to remember everything about the way he looked right then. The smoothness of his skin, the glow of his hair in the firelight, the way his eyes seemed to drink you in. The leather of his eyepatch was a harsh black barrier hiding your husband from you and, in that moment, you hated it more than anything else in the world. So you slipped it off and tossed it away, not even vaguely caring where it landed. In fact, sincerely hoping that you never saw it again. Aemond chuckled, leaning on his left arm to allow his right to trace down the length of your body, sending shivers through your skin. You cupped his face with your hands and pulled him into a kiss, urging him on as best as you could. He kept tracing the length of your shift which, at this point, felt fucking oppressive against your flushed skin. When Aemond reached the end of the fabric, where it hung around your shins, he paused. He looked to you for permission and found you practically writhing with pleasure. He smiled, pressing his lips to the side of your neck in a way that was both ticklish and devilishly pleasurable. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aemond slid his hand under the hem of your thin slip and you couldn’t help but let out a choked gasp. His hands were calloused and rough from years of swordplay and clutching the reigns of a dragon, but that just made the drag of them over your bare calf feel even better. Aemond looked down at you like you were magic, tracking the way your body curved into his touch as his hand moved further up your calf, grazing the back of your knee and to your thigh.

“You can’t imagine how many nights I lay awake imagining this,” Aemond admitted.

You wanted to answer, would have even, if at that very moment Aemond hadn’t reached your stomach, his hand splaying out over your rib cage and making you moan with frustration. This was the closest another person had ever been to you, with nothing between their skin and yours. You kept waiting to feel embarrassed, or ashamed, but there was nothing but anticipation, nothing but desire. No one had ever touched you like this, in a way that made you want more. Your slip felt like a frustrating barrier, his shirt and pants were your mortal enemies and all you wanted was for Aemond to pull you close and kiss you until you melted into one another. You bucked up, and tangled your hands in his shirt, pulling Aemond’s body to yours so you could better chase the friction you craved. You moved your hands down his chest, letting your instincts take over as you pulled his shirt over his head and finally-finally-got to touch his bare chest. You wondered if it felt the same to him, if he was filled with the same boiling, burning ache that you were, if his body yearned for you the way you yearned for him. Aemond didn’t resist you, letting you take the lead, his pale skin flushing under the feeling of your fingers tracing down his chest, his abs flexing as you moved lower, lower, lower, lower.

“Seven hells,” he whispered, his voice a keening whine as you slipped your hands beneath his trousers and stroked him again, “Y/N-”

You captured his lips with your own, letting his moans urge you on as you started to stroke him up and down, up and down, slowly. You could feel Aemond’s shoulders shaking as he bucked into your hand, and you knew that he was straining not to lose control. Here was one of the most influential men in the realm, rider of Vhagar, a son of king Viserys and the legacy of Targaryen greatness melting in your hand. It was a powerful feeling, one of the most powerful you’d ever experienced and you wanted more of it. More of him.

Aemond slipped his right hand beneath your slip again, dragging it up to your waist and over your head. Again you waited for the shame, some self-consciousness over being completely naked, but it never came. Instead you simply watched your husband want you, watched his eyes trace the curve of your breasts, the softness of your stomach and the shape of your thighs as though you were the only truly precious thing left in the world. His fingers glanced over your skin, tracing down from the column of your throat to the top of your thighs, shaking as you kept a hold on his cock. You were breathless with want as Aemond dragged his fingers up your inner thigh until he reached your core. As he dipped a finger into your folds you felt a shock of pleasure. Your back arched and you bit back a gasp, your fist instinctively clenching around Aemond’s cock.

“Seven he-” he stuttered, bucking into your hand again, “fuck-Y/N that’s so good.”

He slipped another finger into your cunt, his thumb brushing a bundle of nerves that made you feel like you were on fire and you tried, in vain, to not moan. His fingers felt different than your own did, bigger, rougher, more punishing against your clit than you’d ever imagined.

“Don’t hide from me, darling,” Aemond said breathlessly, “be as loud as you want. Give me all of you.”

His thumb started to rub slick little circles on your clit and his index and middle finger slipped into you, curling up in a way that made you shiver and moan. His fingers started to move, pumping in and out of you in time with your hand sliding along his cock. The pressure in the pit of your stomach started to build with each circle of his thumb, each jolt of pleasure that drew pitiful little groans from your lips like prayers. Aemond brought you closer and closer towards your own bliss. He took you apart slowly, purposively, like there was nothing he wanted other than to see you collapse.

You wanted that too, wanted to see him fall apart because of you. You watched your own hand, mesmerized by the effect you were having, the string of connection, the trust. Tentatively, as he curled his fingers up and made you shiver, you picked up the pace of your attentions on his member. You let your thumb run over the head of Aemond’s cock, squeezed tighter as you stroked down and were rewarded with the most broken sounding whimper of pleasure that sent a rush through you. Aemond followed your lead, his thumb circling your clit faster, and you cried out. You repeated the motion, circling the head of his cock, with his precum lubricating your strokes. It felt like your insides had turned into molten sunlight and, as he touched you, you couldn’t help but to tremble with the sheer white-hot blinding pleasure of it all. It was too good-he was too good and you knew you were fast approaching the edge.

“Aemond I-” you whined, your mind short circuiting as the sensation became too much, “I’m going to-fuck-Aemond-I-”

“Come for me, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, “I’ve got you, you can let go, darling. Come for me.”

And just like that, too much became just enough. The spring that was coiled in the pit of your stomach snapped and you tumbled over the edge of the cliff. You cried something that might have been Aemond’s name. The world went white as your orgasm ripped through your body like a tidal wave and, for a moment, you forgot where you were, what was happening, everything except Aemond.

—

Aemond whispered words of praise into your hair as you came back to yourself slowly, mesmerized by the way you shuddered and sighed under his touch. He felt a sweetness, a bone-deep fondness and desire that made him feral with wanting. He could barely think, barely formulate anything other than need for touch, for sensation, for you.

You caught his eye and smiled breathlessly, that spark of hunger barely diminished as you leant up to kiss him. Aemond melted into your lips without resistance, pressing his chest to yours. He felt you shiver as he pulled his fingers out of you and broke the kiss so that he could lick them clean. You tasted sharp, with a hint of sweetness, like a strawberry on the verge of being ripe and he knew, without a doubt, that he would never get enough of that taste. He would chase it for as long as you’d let him. Your eyes fluttered with arousal as you watched him lick your juices from his fingers and, almost instinctively, you reached for his cock. Aemond felt the rush of pleasure like a drug and it took everything in him to pull away. You whined, pouting in a way that made him want to kiss you even more, but he held firm.

“I want-” you started, “Aemond, please.”

Aemond laughed breathlessly, kissing you hard enough that he hoped it would leave a mark. He wanted you to feel how desperate he was for you, how long he’d waited, how long he was willing to wait, how completely devoted he was to you.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he replied.

You sighed with frustration, “You! I want to-” you breathed, almost pleading, “I want to make you feel good.”

Oh fuck. Aemond had not been prepared for the way those pretty words went directly to his groin and made the dragon in his chest flare into existence and keen for him to take you. He could feel the blood rushing to his already throbbing cock and, again, had to fight to not simply pin you to the bed and claim every inch of your body as his own. He watched as a hint of mischief slipped into your eye, watched as you saw him need you. Aemond saw you reveling in his desire and he loved it. He loved you. He loved that you knew that he was yours, that he would give you whatever you wanted, that he would do anything-anything to make you happy. He leant down and kissed you again, hot and heavy in his desire, his cock brushing your stomach in a way that made him breathless and needy.

“Do you not want me?” You teased, arching your back to press yourself further against him.

Aemond laughed, “You know I do, but if you touch me right now I won’t last long enough to get to fuck you, if I don’t get to fuck you I think I might die.”

You smiled and your laugh, breathless and incredulous even in such a heated moment, made Aemond flush with love and pride.

“You know, I think I might die too,” you teased, pulling him in for another long, slow kiss, “so I think you should hurry up and fuck me already.”

Aemond let out a shaky breath, more turned on in that moment than he’d ever been before. He propped himself up on his forearms and hovered over you, searching your eyes for any hesitation.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

—

You looked into Aemond’s eyes, the sapphire glinting in the firelight as he took you in, still maddeningly cautious. This was the last chance to pull back, technically until the marriage was consummated, it didn’t exist. If you wanted to run, now would be the time.

You let your legs fall open, pulling him into the cradle of your hips so that his cock was nudging up against your entrance. There was a nervous anticipation, a childlike fear of pain that flashed through your mind before being dwarfed by desire. You nodded at Aemond and pulled him in for a kiss, arching your back to pull him in closer, to chase that need to melt into his body and become one being.

His shoulders tensed beneath your hands as he slowly pushed into you and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt yourself stretch. Aemond swore under his breath, still trembling as he eased himself into you one centimeter at a time. He was big, bigger than you had anticipated, and you were fuller than you’d known was possible. The pain was sharp and bright but, as the moments passed, it morphed into something…else. The feeling bordered on pleasure so closely that, when it tipped, you barely even noticed the change. It was painful for a moment and then it was everything.

After a few moments Aemond bottomed out, holding himself still as you adjusted to the fullness, to the pleasurable stretch that had you writhing with the need for more. You could tell that Aemond was holding himself back, forcing himself to be gentle and patient where he wanted to slam into you and make you his and so, to egg him on, you acted on instinct, rocking your hips down and then back up into his. Aemond’s breath stuttered in his chest and he moved against you, thrusting hard and making you see stars. You gasped and Aemond whimpered.

“Fuck, sorry I-did I hurt you?” Aemond asked, his voice wrecked with the effort of staying still.

You shook your head, hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders as you chased that feeling of fullness.

“No, Aemond-fuck-no it’s good.”

“It’s good?”

“Fuck me!” you nearly screamed, half mad with frustration.

Thankfully, Aemond didn’t push for more answers, instead he just thrust into you. The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt, it was warm and sharp, a pleasure stretching deep into the marrow of your bones as he moved inside you. The pleasure built as you adjusted to the feeling of being full, and Aemond responded in kind, shuddering as you breathed his name.

“Seven heavens, Aemond,” you breathed, “ah-yes-yes-”

“You alright, darling?” he asked.

“S-so big-” you replied, eyes fluttering shut.

Aemond let out a bark of breathless laughter, shallow thrusts keeping you on the verge of insanity.

“What a good wife you are,” he teased, “already stroking my ego like you stroked my cock.”

“Fuck you,” you laughed, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You already are,” he teased back.

He thrusted into you and you gasped, raking your nails down his back so hard that he hissed. Just like that it was like his inhibitions snapped and he started driving into you, hard. Quick, rough, deep thrusts that made your back arch and you clench around his cock. You rocked your hips against his, chasing the sounds of his pleasure, which made your skin flush with pride. Aemond moaned your name between desperate prayers in High Valyrian that you couldn’t understand. It started to become too much, so much more than anything you’d felt before, than anything you’d ever imagined. It was too good, too much, too all encompassing and you started to worry that you might burn up with the need for it. You pressed your face into the crook of Aemond’s neck, as though he could shield you from the storm that was building inside of you, and pleaded with him to fuck you harder, faster, to never stop, to never ever stop.

Aemond reached between you, his thumb brushing your clit and sending shocks of pleasure through you that made your bones feel like they were on fire.

“Avy jorrāelan,” he said, pressing his lips down the column of your throat.

“I love you,” you breathed, “f-fuck. Fuck-Aemond,”

“Shh,” he panted, “I know-me too, fuck, darling me too.”

“It’s too much,” you nearly sobbed, “too good, I-I can’t-”

“You’re doing so good, Y/N,” he assured, one hand warm against your ribs while the other held himself up, “fuck, you’re always so fucking good for me.”

Something about the tone of his voice, the praise dripping from his lips like sweet wine as he gave himself to you so completely made you clench around his cock, drawing a broken moan from his chest.

“Just want to be yours,” you said, barely coherent with pleasure, “just yours. Just-just you-”

“All mine, Y/N,” he agreed, his thumb tracing little circles against your clit, “and I’m yours, just yours.”

The pressure in your stomach was a constant burning ache, driving you towards the cliff at breakneck speed. In the end it was his kiss, hot and firm against your lips that tipped you over the edge. With a scream of his name, the dam burst and the edges of your vision went black as the white-hot pleasure of a thousand suns burst through you for the second time. You’d never had two orgasms so close to one another before and your body felt overwhelmed. Aemond fucked you right through the pleasure, drawing it out as you cried and whimpered his name. It was overstimulating in a way that made you want more, your cunt constantly clenching as the tremors of your orgasm made its way through you. Aemond whimpered your name against your lips, thrust into you hard a few more times and went still, his shoulders trembling beneath your hands.

“I love you,” Aemond whispered, burying his head in the crook of your neck as you carded your fingers through his hair.

You were both sweaty, spent and clinging to one another for dear life. You stayed like that for a long while, basking in the glow of perfect togetherness, of having no separation from the person you loved. As the time passed and the aftershocks of your first sexual encounter started to fade, the emotions of the day started to filter back in. It was almost unbelievable that everything had worked out the way it did, that you had made it here, to this bed, with this man. The months of waiting, of turmoil, of the torture of being apart were over. It was such a palpable relief that you felt yourself start to laugh. Aemond gave you a fond look, joining in on your laughter until the sound echoed off the stone walls and filled the room with joy.

“We’re married,” you giggled, still playing with Aemond’s hair.

He hummed with pleasure, “Yes we are.”

“We’re married,” you repeated, “like actually married, in front of people.”

Aemond chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Forever.”

“Forever,” you agreed, letting your hands trail down to his arms.

He sighed, slowly detangling his body from yours and leaving you feeling empty, aching and satisfied. He pushed himself from the bed and made his way to a nearby side table where wine, food and clothes had been set out for you to use. You felt some of your happiness start to subside, being corroded by an undefinable uneasiness. There was a practiced way to how Aemond moved around the room, grabbing a cloth to clean himself off before he made his way back to you and did the same. He was gentle, but you could tell that he had done it before, many times, probably with many different women. Logically you knew that Aemond had had other lovers, most men his age had. It didn’t mean anything. It was a natural part of growing up for men, or so you were continuously told. You’d never considered it before. It had never bothered you before but now, naked in your marital bed, you couldn’t help yourself. How many women had touched him the way you had? When he had peeled off your clothes and laid you down was he expecting more? Was he comparing your body to those other women? Would your inexperience bore him? When Aemond found the small bloodstain on the top blanket there was no shock, no momentary look of concern like you may have expected. He simply tossed it off the bed and pulled another from underneath. You were clearly not even the first virgin.

Aemond turned his back on you, folding the bloodied sheet and leaving it on top of the washer basket, for the maids to collect in the morning. You suddenly longed for clothing. Instinctively, you pulled your legs up to your chest, covering as much of your nakedness as you could as you shifted underneath the blanket. You took the opportunity to study his body, the lines of muscle, the moles, the scars that you’d never seen, all the parts of Aemond Targaryen that had been secrets up until now. That still was a secret, really. How many women in the world knew more of your husband than you did? Was there someone special in his past? Princes had mistresses, didn’t they? Did Aemond? It was a sort of discomfort, like you were with a stranger again but a stranger you knew you loved. When he turned back something must have reflected on your face because he frowned with concern, reaching out to touch your knee.

“Are you cold, my love?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You shook your head, feeling silly and childish and vulnerable and wanting, more than anything, to get back to the joyful little bubble you’d been in before.

Aemond tilted his head, “Then what’s happened? You seemed so happy a moment ago.”

You opened your mouth, whether to soothe his fears or tell him the truth you weren’t sure, but closed it again when you realized that you had no real idea of what to say. Aemond leaned in closer, touching your chin gently so that you were forced to meet his eye.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, seriously, “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head.

“Are you angry with me?” he continued.

You paused and then shook your head again, “It’s silly.”

“There’s nothing you could say that I would find silly, Y/N. I’m your husband, I want to know how you feel, what you think about things and all that.”

You nuzzled into his hand, breathing in the scent of warm skin and comfort so that it could ground you, the way Aemond always seemed to be able to do. You reminded yourself of how he’d looked when you walked down the aisle, how his hands had shaken and the obvious joy on his face when the septon had declared you man and wife. He loved you, there was no reason to doubt or deny that, so what could be the harm?

“I was expected to be a virgin until I married,” you eventually said slowly, trying to parse the mess of emotions in your chest, “all women are.”

Aemond gave you a confused smile, “That’s true, but we are married. No one could expect you to maintain your virginity now.”

“Of course not,” you agreed, “but you weren’t expected to be a virgin, were you?”

At that, his smile faltered slightly, “No?”

“And you weren’t, were you?” you pressed.

Aemond went quiet, something like embarrassment flicking across his face before he answered, “No, I was not.”

You’d known that it was coming, but it still felt like a dull blow to your stomach. You let out a breath slowly, swallowing your embarrassment as you pushed forward.

“I just worry, I suppose,” you said.

“About what?” Aemond asked, “I can’t change my past, Y/N.”

“Nor would I want you to,” you assured, “but I can’t help but wonder whether I…stack up, I guess? I will never be with any man but you. If I was, I’d likely be hanged for treason. The only person I ever kissed before you was Kevan, and considering I was 11 and he’s gay it hardly counts. But you…”

“I’ve been with any number of women,” he finished, “and I can continue to do so without consequence.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded, “Exactly.”

Aemond sighed, leaning back against the headboard of the bed and inviting you to follow suit. He turned his head to face you, tracing the planes of your face with his eye.

“I wish I could go back and make different choices, Y/N, but I had no idea that I would meet someone who I love the way I love you,” he eventually said, “for my whole life I was primed for the idea that my marriage would be a political one. My mother would make the match suddenly to boost my brother’s military campaign and that would be that. I would be lucky if we met before the wedding. So there was never a reason to save myself.” he explained, “If you have concerns about my fidelity-” You shook your head to stop him, but he just touched your cheek gently and continued, “if you have concerns about my fidelity, all I can say is that I love you. I don’t want any other woman.”

“But I don’t know anything,” you insisted, “if you tire of me-”

“Y/N I’ve had a not insignificant number of lovers in my life and I swear to you, sex has never felt the way it did tonight,” he interrupted, “I have never wanted a person the way I want you, I doubt I will ever want anyone the way I want you.”

“But I-”

“Drive me to insanity,” he suggested with a laugh, “are the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, make me feel as though I might die if I can’t touch or hold you. Is that what you were going to say?”

You flushed with pride and leant against Aemond’s chest, resting your head against his shoulder and letting the blanket slip from your arms.

“I feel boring and inexperienced,” you admitted, “like I can’t compare to your past lovers, or like I might be a disappointment. They have so much more history with you than I do.”

Aemond tilted your head up so that he could press his lips to yours, pouring every bit of love and devotion that he could into his kiss. It was like he was smoothing away your fears, wrapping you in the golden light of his love.

“I told you once, my love, as far as I’m concerned, you have no equal.” Aemond insisted, “My past, whatever you may think about it, is in the past. You are my first love, my only love. From the moment we met there was no one else who could possibly compare, and that includes in our marriage bed.”

“If you say so, husband,” you smiled.

“I do say so, wife,” he replied, kissing your forehead again, “and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you believe it. Whatever questions you have for me, I’ll answer.”

You gave him a look, “Any question?”

He nodded, “Any question.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “who was your first?”

“A whore named Melissa on the street of silk. Aegon forced me,” he responded, “I believe I was 13 at the time.”

You felt your eyebrows raise in surprise, “That’s awfully young.”

“It was also just generally awful, I do my best not to think of it.”

You nodded and pressed a kiss to his neck nervously, still not quite sure what you were allowed to do. You could feel Aemond’s heart beating in his chest, steady and powerful, a beat that you were willing to bet your future on, that you could depend on for the remainder of your life.

“What’s this from?” You asked, running your fingers along a thin white scar that ran along his right bicep.

“Sparring with Aegon,” he replied immediately, the hint of a smile in his voice, “the first time they let us practice with steel blades.”

“I hope you made him pay for that,” you teased.

Aemond chuckled, “Oh believe me, I did.” You sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Aemond carefully wrapped his arm around your back, ghosting his fingers along your spine.

You watched him study your body and realized, with a start, that he was likely doing the same thing you were, cataloging the parts of his new wife that he hadn’t seen before, putting your past together in pieces and maybe even wondering whether he stacked up. It was a somewhat comforting thought that, even in this, you were not alone.

“You can ask me anything too,” you told him, “I’ll answer.”

Aemond gave you a thankful smile, fingers still dancing along your back in a way that made you shiver.

“Where did you get this scar from?” he eventually asked, fingers tracing the sickle shaped line on your left shoulder blade.

“When I was 5 I tried to ride my father’s horse,” you explained, smiling at the memory, “I got bucked, obviously, and landed on a hook meant for tackle to be hung from. The maesters thought I might die from the infection.”

“But you were too tough.”

“Too stubborn more like,” you countered, “as soon as I was well I got right back on that horse.”

Aemond laughed again, “Of course you did, and this scar here?” he touched a spot on the back of your head.

“Whacked by the boom when Daerra and I were sailing together.”

He hummed, “You were quite the adventurer, weren’t you?”

“I suppose so,” you agreed.

“Still are it seems,” he continued, “running away with a strange man on dragon's back in the middle of the night.”

“Well, when you say it like that,” you smiled, leaning up for a kiss, “it does sound rather reckless and romantic, doesn’t it?”

“Whatever our families say, the bards will love us,” Aemond said by way of agreement.

You sighed, feeling reality encroach on your perfect bubble of happiness again, “Our families…”

He squeezed you tight, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Don’t let it worry you tonight, my love. We’ll face the world tomorrow.”

“I think it already is tomorrow,” you countered sadly.

Aemond glanced out of the window and noticed the sun beginning its slow creep towards the horizon with a deep sigh.

“I’m afraid,” he said softly.

“So am I,” you admitted, “but they can’t keep us apart now, no matter what your mother or my brother might want.”

Aemond worried at the inside of his cheek, his handsome face twisted with worry, “They could send me away on patrol, or on a mission to Esos and then ferry you away in the night.”

“Then I’d steal a horse and run back to the North and, when you found out, you’d fly in on Vhagar and rescue me,” you insisted.

“They could throw me in the Black Cells,” Aemond said fatalistically.

You gave him an incredulous look, “Then I would fly in on Vhagar and rescue you.”

He chuckled fondly, “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, “I’m an adventurer, remember. Too stubborn to die.” You met his eye, cupping his face gently and letting your thumb ghost over the scar on his right cheek, “No regrets.”

“No regrets,” Aemond agreed, “now get some sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow?” you asked through a yawn.

Aemond gave you a devilish look, “Phase two.”

Chapter Text

The morning came sooner than Aemond would have liked. He was awoken by the sound of the door opening as the maids came to collect the various towels and clothing from the night before. His eyes flicked to the bloody sheets and he knew his sister would make sure those were saved, as proof of the validity of his marriage. It made him feel exploitative and manipulative to think that way, to be more focused on those sheets as evidence of a wedding than of his wife’s privacy, but he knew it would be necessary. His adversaries were brutalistic, intelligent and ruthless and so he had to be the same way if he was going to beat them. Your life was too important for him to take any chances.

Aemond gave himself a moment to push those thoughts away, to just enjoy the warmth of the sun, the softness of the bed and the simple joy of having you in his arms. He looked down at you, your eyes shut with sleep, your hair rumpled up from a night tossing and turning and felt his heart swell with love. Whatever else happened, he had this. He had his wife, his stubborn, adventurous wife who trusted him above everyone else, who had risked her whole life for him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, stroking his knuckles against your skin, “Princess Targaryen, it’s time to wake up.”

You grumbled, burrowing further into his chest in an attempt to hide from the rising sun. He nudged you gently, drawing you out of your slumber bit by bit. You were very clearly not a morning person. It was adorable, another piece of the puzzle that was Y/N that he could store away like a secret to sustain him through the upcoming trials. Sickle shaped scar on your left shoulder blade from a bucking horse, mast boom to the back of the head, not a morning person.

“Aemond,” you whined, “it’s early.”

“I know, love, but I have to leave or I won’t get to the New Castle in time.”

Just like that, your eyes flew open, blinking away the remnants of sleep as your brain tried to connect the pieces.

“The New Castle? Why are you-what?” You asked, pushing yourself up and wiping your face with your hands.

The sheet fell from your shoulders, exposing your naked chest to the morning sun and knocking the wind right out from Aemond’s lungs. He couldn’t quite fathom that you were real, that the body in front of him was his wife. He remembered the previous night, the feeling of your skin under his hands, your lips on his throat, the burning pleasure-pain of your nails sliding down his back, and fought down the urge to pin you to the bed and have his wicked way with you right then and there. He thought back to your fears, how you worried that you might not be enough for him, and felt the rush of incredulity again. The idea that he could compare you to any of his past lovers and find you lacking was beyond him. Even though time was of the essence, he gave himself permission to simply trace your body with his eyes for a moment, every soft curve, every freckle, every dimple and fold that he would spend the next sixty years of his life exploring and memorizing. He gripped your waist, pressing his thumbs into the skin beside your hip bone and marveling at the way your skin warmed with a blush.

“I must go and throw myself on your brother’s mercy, my love,” he said, injecting humor into his voice to try and soothe the worry on your face, “I have to tell him that I’ve married you and beg his forgiveness. Without his support, all of this will be much more difficult.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” you said, pushing yourself out of bed and beginning to rummage through cupboards, “where are my clothes? Can you help me dress or should I call for a lady’s maid?”

Aemond sat up, “Y/N you don’t need to-if we go together it’ll be too slow.”

“Vhagar can’t carry us both?” you asked, pulling a clean shift over your head.

“She can, but-”

“Well then I’m coming,” you repeated, giving him a look, “it’s my home, Aemond. If you show up there without me, announcing that we had a relationship that justifies us getting married in secret, Coren might assume that you’ve had me kidnapped. It’ll be better coming from me.”

Aemond thought it through, factoring in the additional weight of an extra passenger to make sure that Vhagar could still make it there and back in time. As usual he could find no flaw in your argument.

“I wanted to spare you his anger,” Aemond admitted, standing and wrapping his arms around your waist, “for at least a little while. It won’t be a pretty sight, Y/N.”

You tilted your head fondly, resting your hands on his chest, “I know that, my love, but it’ll be a lot worse if he thinks that I can’t even face up to the choice I made. Even if he doesn’t like it, he’ll accept it if it comes from my lips, and what sort of wife would I be if I let you take this first step on your own?”

“One who obeys her husband?” He suggested with a smile.

You scrunched up your nose, “Now where would the fun in that be?”

Aemond hummed, pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss. You wound your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, nudging his lips open with your own and dragging your teeth over his bottom lip. He moaned softly into the kiss, feeling the blood rush to his cock as you arched into him. Again, Aemond felt the pull of your body like a drug, urging him to forget the plans and spend the day between your thighs, where he belonged, but he pushed on.

“You’re right, if I had wanted an obedient wife I would’ve married anyone else,” he joked.

“But you didn’t,” you smiled, “you married me, and that means we face this shit together, right?”

“Right,” he said softly.

There was a sort of softness in his chest, like crushed velvet. In all his years of life, no one had ever offered to stand beside him like this, to face the coming darkness together as one unit. Always, Aemond had been the shield. He was the guard dog, he took responsibility for the messes and put himself on the line. That was his role, that was who he was. It made him feel needed, but it also left him alone, always alone. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be protected by someone else, or to share that burden when his instinct was to shove you behind his back and kill anyone and anything that threatened to come too close. But he would try. For you, he would try.

You kissed him again, softly this time, sweetly, before returning to the closet and tossing him the first pieces of clothing you saw. He laughed, pulling on a pair of breeches and walking to the nearest doors.

“Oh my love, you must remember that you’re royalty now,” he said before turning back to the corridor and calling out, “my wife requires attendance, prepare her for a flight, please.”

Three women slipped into the room immediately, two of them carrying clothing, the third carrying a tray with food and breakfast.

“Will you require dressing as well, Your Highness?” one of the ladies asked, trying to catch his eye.

Aemond shook his head, still fixated on you, “I’ll dress in my chamber, thank you. I’ll be back soon, Princess.”

“I’ll be counting the seconds,” you teased, already lost in the whirlwind of dresses, petticoats and finery.

“As will I,” he laughed, slipping from the room.

After pulling on the flying clothes he had prepared and ensuring he had the document folded and stored safely, Aemond ran through his plan again in his head, adjusting it for the addition of you. He stopped by the kitchen to grab extra food and drink, and went to make sure that Vhagar’s saddle was outfitted with additional padding to keep you comfortable. It wasn’t a terribly long flight, roughly six, maybe eight and a half hours with an additional passenger, but you weren’t accustomed to flying for more than ninety minutes and he didn’t want you to end up sore. The idea of you being in any sort of pain distressed him more than he could verbalize, and he found himself double and triple checking the padding. He fussed for so long that soon enough he could hear footsteps echoing on the stones and he turned in time to see you striding out into the courtyard. You looked fearsome and royal, decked out in Rhaenyra’s riding gear, all harsh lines and Targaryen colors, with a thin gold circlet braided into your hair. When you saw him, your face lit up and you skipped towards him, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him in greeting. You then turned to greet Vhagar like an old friend, giving her your scent and lighting up even more when he gave a deep rumble of greeting.

“How many seconds was it then, my love?” Aemond asked when he couldn’t bare your attention being away from him anymore.

You laughed, “Too many, though I got to see more of the castle and Rhaenyra stopped by to see how I was getting on.”

“To make sure I hadn’t hurt you, you mean,” he said.

You tilted your head, conceding the point with a sheepish smile, “I told her you hadn’t, of course.” You assured him. You looked around, checking that no one was close enough to hear as you whispered, “Everyone keeps bowing and curtseying to me.”

“You’re a daughter of the king now, love,” Aemond reminded you gently, “almost everyone will bow to you.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead and let out a breathless laugh, “It all seems so strange.”

He shrugged, feeling a rush of pride at having made you the princess he’d always known you were, “You get used to it.”

He extended his hand to you, helping you mount Vhagar’s leg and clambering up to take his seat behind you. Technically, he knew he should seat you behind him, but the chance to have you pressed against his chest was too tempting to pass up, so he’d just fly carefully. Vhagar was a pretty intuitive flier anyway. He felt you let out a nervous breath and reminded himself that this was only your second flight ever, you must be petrified.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he said softly, “you don’t have to do this. I can go on my own.”

You shook your head, gripping the pommel of the saddle hard, “I can do this, let’s fly.”

“I love you, you stubborn thing.” he replied, signaling to Vhagar that it was time to go.

The mighty dragon shifted her weight, heaving herself into the air with three flaps of her giant wings. The wind whipped at your hair and he heard you whoop with delight, your laughter cutting through the buffeting of the wind as Dragonstone got smaller and smaller and they got further and further away. He held you tight, afraid for a moment that the wind would rip you out of the saddle and send you hurtling towards the ground. He’d never worried about the safety of flying before. If anything, he felt safer in the air, but he also cared for your life more than he did his own. Now, with the person he cared for most in his life between his arms, hundreds of miles in the air, he felt the precarity of their existence and recommitted himself to protecting you as well as he could. Vhagar let out a roar of enjoyment as she glided on the wind, and your laughter rose to meet it.

“Enjoying yourself?” He called over the wind.

You nodded, smiling so wide that it made Aemond ache with love. He could already see how the rest of your lives would play out with Vhagar. Long flights together, chasing adventure across the world and filling the hours just listening to one another talk. It was such a beautiful picture of a life shared that it reinvigorated him.

“Would you like me to teach you about flying?” He asked.

You twisted to look at him, your eyes wide with excitement, “Yes! Absolutely yes!”

The time passed quickly from there, as he talked you through negotiating drafts, designing saddles and the importance of proper claw and wing care. He told you about the history of dragon flight, and the places he’d seen from Vhagar’s back. He explained how fighting on dragonback was different to regular fighting, and how to properly understand using dragon breath as a weapon without draining your dragon. You asked good questions, he noted, and seemed genuinely interested in learning more. If anything, the longer he talked, the more in awe of Vhagar you seemed, and Aemond couldn’t help but flush with pride. The topic of conversation gradually shifted to more general aspects of Westerosi history and geography, with you introducing him to histories from the North that had never made their way into Aemond’s curriculum. You were possibly even more well-read than him, which was saying a lot as sometimes it felt as though all he ever did was read, train and fly. It felt so good to simply talk with you that, when Vhagar started to descend and the high, beautifully carved stone walls of the Manderly’s ancestral home came into view, Aemond was almost disappointed. He squeezed you tight, leaning forward to whisper in your ear.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked.

You nodded, swallowing hard, “I-um-I just didn’t know if I would ever see this place again.”

Aemond frowned but, before he could press further, Vhagar dipped into the final stretch of her descent, which meant her wings were buffeting too much wind for you to reasonably talk. She landed with a solid jolt just outside of the castle, close enough that no one could mistake Aemond’s intent but far enough away so as to not come off as a threat. He could feel you trembling against his chest, but whether it was from nerves, the surprising chill of the northern wind, or excitement he couldn’t tell.

“What now?” you asked softly, your eyes still trained on the castle with a look of childlike wonder.

“Now, we wait for them to send out riders,” he explained.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will,” Aemond said with certainty, standing to help you off of Vhagar’s back.

As you clambered off and waited together, Aemond still could not quite understand the extent of your reaction. He began to worry that being here, being back in your ancestral home, was changing your mind about the marriage, about being with him at all. You let out a shaky breath and Aemond found himself speaking without meaning to.

“What did you mean, about not thinking you’d ever come back here?” he asked, as the castle gates swung open and a group of riders emerged.

You shrugged, worrying at the inside of your lip as you watched the figures approach from afar.

“I went to court to find a husband,” you explained, “if I ended up with a man from the South, or someone who didn’t want to let me travel then I’d probably never have seen the North again.”

“Surely you could visit,” Aemond suggested.

“Only if my husband allowed it,” you replied, giving him a resigned smile “many don’t. The truth is, I exist at your pleasure, like all women do. I own no land, no titles, nothing that doesn’t flow directly from my father or from you. If you decided that you wanted me to remain in King’s Landing for the rest of my life I would have no choice but to obey.”

Aemond’s stomach twisted with guilt, mentally hitting himself for his own tactlessness. He knew that women were expected to suffer the control of their husbands and male family members, but he had never really considered what that meant for your physical freedom. Mixed with that there was a tiny flame of defensiveness in his chest that he knew wasn’t fair to put on you.

“But I would never do that to you, you do know that, don’t you?” he asked gently.

The look you gave him was almost pitying, “Yes you would.”

He recoiled as if he’d been hit, “How could you think that of me?”

“If you thought I was in danger,” you continued, “I don’t believe there’s anything you wouldn’t do.”

That knocked Aemond’s outrage down a peg as he processed the truth in what you were saying. As usual, you had captured the truth of him in a way that made him uncomfortable, not only because it was more proof of how well you understood his nature, but because he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry about this aspect of his character. You were simply right. He would lock you in the tallest tower of the Red Keep if it meant keeping you from harm and no matter how much it made you hate him, it would be worth it to keep you alive.

“It won’t come to that,” he said simply, hoping beyond anything that it was true.

You merely hummed, watching the riders approach with a faraway look on your face that made Aemond’s chest pinch with concern.

“It looks like it’s time to face the music,” you said, turning to brush some dust from his tunic, “are you ready?”

Aemond lifted your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly, “Ready.”

—

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you rode through the gates of the New Castle, clutching the reigns of your horse for dear life. Every version of this scenario you’d worked through in your head ended different kinds of badly, and you hadn’t accounted for how much being back in your home would affect you. It was like the different parts of you were warring with one another, the guilt and shame at having gone behind your brother’s back going head to head with your love for Aemond and belief that you had the right to choose your own future. You knew you had pulled away from Aemond slightly when the riders had arrived. You could feel his confusion and concern radiating off him like rays of the sun, masking a palpable hurt. It made you feel guilty, of course, but you needed a moment to process what was about to happen, the enormity of the situation you were walking into. As lord of White Harbour, Coren had every right to banish you from his halls forever, to cut you off and disown you for what you had done. If he did, you would never see Kerran or Camylla again. You would never see the New Castle again. So, while you felt bad for Aemond, you had no trouble taking the time you needed to grieve the life you might be losing in private.

You also couldn’t help but compare the person you were today with the person you had been when you last walked these halls. The girl you had been would be horrified with your behavior. She had been fiercely dedicated to her family, to the silver council, to the job of protecting Westeros from the war that was inevitably coming. What would she say to the woman you’d become? The woman who had fled King’s Landing, fled a match with a prince of Dorne to marry Aemond “One-Eye”? What would she think of the way you had tossed your plans aside for love, a luxury so few ever got the chance to experience, and that you yourself had long since accepted you wouldn’t find? Naively, selfishly, you hoped she would understand. Realistically, you knew you’d betrayed her, and Y/N Manderly had never been quick to forgive betrayal.

As proof of that very fact, the sight of your brother, Coren, waiting with a retinue of Northern nobles, sparked a flash of indignant rage in your chest. You had not forgiven him for going behind your back to make the match with Rohar and a small, vindictive part of you was proud that you had managed to flip the tables on him. Kerran was there too, taller than he had been when you saw him last and far less adept at hiding his anxiety and confusion than you had been at his age. His presence gave you some comfort but still, you felt sick as you watched Coren’s dark eyes flick immediately to Aemond, something like concern hidden poorly under a look of welcome and then, a second later, land on you. Heartbreakingly, you watched your older brother’s eyes light up with pleasant surprise for a moment, and you saw him start to say your name, before the rest of the circumstances clicked in his mind. You watched him take in your clothing, the red Targaryen dragon emblazoned on the shoulders of your riding coat and the blood red rubies that hung from your neck. You watched him glance between you and Aemond, the closeness of how you rode even when on separate horses and, finally, you saw his eyes flick to the circlet of gold that Rhaenyra had insisted you wear braided into your hair. The pieces fell into place. His eyes went cold and dark and your stomach dropped so fast that you felt faint with fear. You watched Coren’s thoughts go to his nobles, to how he could twist this in his favor to not seem like a fool and you mentally berated yourself for putting him in such a precarious provision. Not only had you gone against his wishes, now you were all set to make a fool of him in his own court. Suddenly, following your hearts and facing the consequences with Aemond at your side didn’t seem like such a romantic notion.

You felt, rather than saw, Aemond notice your reaction and begin acting in response. His hackles were rising. You could feel the air crackle with tension as your fear made Coren Aemond’s enemy, and you started to panic. In an effort to diffuse the situation you smiled at your brother, waving in greeting as though this wasn’t strange. As soon as you were close enough, you slipped from your horse and walked quickly towards your brother, still smiling and extending your arms for an embrace

“Coren, oh I’m so sorry for arriving so early. The maesters at Dragonstone were concerned about a storm, so we thought it best to leave while we could,” you lied easily, “of course we thought of sending a raven, but what raven could hope to outfly a dragon?” you continued, earning a few relieved laughs from the gathered nobles.

Coren’s eyes were inscrutable, but he recognized a lifeline when he saw one.

“Of course, sweet sister, an early arrival just means a longer visit and what brother could ask for more.” He replied, “I trust the journey was a safe one.”

“Y/N!” Kerran boomed, throwing himself into your arms and nearly bowing you over, “I’m so pleased to see you. I-”

He opened his mouth to keep talking, but Coren gently pulled him back, silencing him with a look that was all too familiar to you.

“I believe we ought to bow, Ker,” Coren said pointedly, shooting you a look, “considering that we’re in the presence of royalty.”

Subtle. He wasn’t necessarily acknowledging you as a royal and thus validating your marriage, but nor was he outwardly denying it. Clearly some of Kevan’s skill had rubbed off on Coren.

“That you are,” Aemond agreed, appearing at your side.

His face was a mask of neutrality and you felt the growing tension, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Aemond had come to beg Coren’s forgiveness, but he couldn’t do that here, in front of a group of Northern nobles who had no real experience with him. Here he had to be a prince of the realm, above it all and above approach, not humble and penitent. Similarly, Coren couldn’t truly process what had happened, or hear your side of the story while maintaining his authority here. If this was to end without bloodshed, it would need a very delicate touch. The group of clustered nobles bowed, greeting the prince with varying degrees of pomp and ceremony and, after a barely perceptible beat, your brothers did the same. Coren kept his eyes locked on Aemond, his face barely concealing a look of deep suspicion and resentment. Just then a shock of white hair caught your eye and your heart leapt into your throat.

“Dae?” You called incredulously.

Daerra’s stood from her curtsey, her eyebrows raised incredulously as they flicked between you, Coren and Aemond and you could tell she was itching to laugh. Lord Byron Redwyne was at her side, similarly amused and looking as though he couldn’t wait to see how this played out. They looked good, you noticed. Happy, well rested and connected in a way that communicated, without words, that they were a team. It was such a relief to see Daerra, to know she was well, that you momentarily forgot your position and pulled her into a hug, which she returned immediately.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” she said fondly, squeezing you tight, “are you well?”

“I’m well,” you promised quietly, so that only her and Lord Redwyne could hear, “I hadn’t thought to see you for a good long while yet. Are you well?”

“Better than well,” she admitted, “especially now that you’re here.”

“Don’t speak so soon,” you warned, releasing her to turn to her new husband, “Lord Redwyne,” you greeted, “it is a pleasure to see you and your wife looking so happy. Marriage suits you.”

He bowed again, deep and purposefully, before taking your hand to kiss. You realized, with a start, that you may have an ally in Lord Redwyne.

“I thank you,” he replied, “Prince Aemond, it’s an honor to see you again.”

“You as well,” Aemond replied, and you could visibly see his shoulders relax slightly, “I hope the honeymoon tour has been enjoyable thus far?”

“Oh it’s been wonderful,” Daerra gushed.

“It has,” Lord Redwyne agreed, giving Daerra a loving look before he turned back to you and Aemond, “we were so pleased that you agreed to join us for this visit. I hope it hasn’t caused too much trouble for you.”

You felt the knot in your chest loosen and you shot Lord Redwyne a grateful look. Another lifeline.

“No trouble at all,” Aemond assured, “Y/N was ecstatic at the idea of seeing Daerra and her family again. I can’t tell you how deeply she’s missed you all.”

“I’m sure,” Coren said, audibly unconvinced.

There was a long moment of silence as you tried to think how to diffuse the tension, but you were so mixed up with your emotions that there seemed to be nothing to say.

“But listen to us, droning on and on while you must be dying to rest,” Daerra eventually said, breaking the painful silence.

“Yes, why don’t we go inside,” Coren agreed, “we have much to discuss.”

“We do indeed,” Aemond seconded, falling into step beside Coren as Coren led the way.

You ended up beside Lord Redwyne and Daerra and, in the chaos of the crowd dispersing, you gripped their hands and squeezed tight.

“Thank you, Lord Redwyne,” you whispered, “I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“Byron, please,” he whispered back, “any friend of my beloved, Daerra is a friend of mine. Plus, this is hardly surprising.”

“Isn’t it?”

Daerra scoffed, and Byron chuckled along with her.

“Absolutely not at all,” Daerra confirmed, “we’re with you, Y/N.”

Your heart swelled with affection and you longed to pull them both into a hug, but you restrained yourself, barely.

“It was lucky that you arrived when you did,” Byron commented under his breath, “Daerra and I are set to leave in two days.”

“You’d have thought we planned it,” Daerra agreed before shooting you a look, “did you plan it?”

You shook your head, your footsteps echoing on the stone floors as Coren led your now much smaller party to the great hall. It was an intimidation tactic, but a transparent and expected one. No one would bat an eye at a prince being welcomed in the great hall.

“Aemond handled all the planning,” you admitted.

“You’d better go to him,” Byron suggested as you entered the cavernous room, “best to present a united front.”

You nodded, seeing the wisdom in his words, and picked up your pace, slipping your hand into Aemond’s and causing him to give a subtle start. He recovered quickly and gripped your hand tight, his whole body tense like a coiled spring.

“Did you know Daerra and Byron would be here?” you asked under your breath.

Aemond gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, “I knew they were heading north for the start of their tour. I had hoped they might be close enough to hear of our visit and start spreading the word, but I never imagined…” his voice trailed off and you could hear the faint relief in his tone.

You squeezed his hand comfortingly, “It seems we have more allies in this than we’d hoped.”

He gave you a rueful smile, “It seems we do.”

Just then the doors to the great hall closed behind you and even the serving staff filtered out, giving you complete privacy. Daerra and Byron stood behind you, a silent support. Amalie, Coren’s wife, took her seat, looking between you and her husband nervously. Kerran stood at the base of the dias where the Lord and Lady’s seats were placed, the seats you still considered your parents’, though you knew they now belonged to Coren and Amalie. Coren stood before the dias with his back to you. You could imagine how his face must have looked, trying desperately to school his features into something neutral, tamping down his anger, his fear, and your heart pinched with guilt. He waited for the room to empty and you fought the urge to step away from Aemond, to create distance in the hopes that it would calm Coren’s wrath. You knew that was the child in you, the little girl who had clung to Coren for protection whenever anything went wrong, who feared nothing as much as she feared losing her family. The woman you had become knew that Aemond was also your family. That you couldn’t cower now. The last serving person slipped from the room, pulling the side door closed. The sound echoed too loudly, bringing back the rush of nervous nausea as it sealed you in like a tomb. For a long moment no one said anything.

“Tell me you haven’t fucked him,” Coren eventually said, his voice low and dangerous as he turned to meet your eye.

“Lord Manderly-” Aemond started.

Coren raised a hand to silence him and you watched the onlookers flinch and Aemond tense. It wasn’t Coren’s place to interrupt royalty.

“I’m talking to my sister right now,” he said, ignoring Aemond entirely and continuing his interrogation of you, “Y/N, tell me that you didn’t disregard my instructions, waste weeks of effort and insult Prince Rohar by running away with this man behind my back.” You opened your mouth to answer but, before you could, Coren continued, “Tell me you weren’t foolish enough to throw your future away-our future away-on the promise of a man you barely know.”

“I’m warning you, Lord Manderly, I won’t tolerate any insult to my wife,” Aemond said with a dangerous edge to his voice.

Coren let out a bark of humorless laughter, finally turning to Aemond, “Your wife? Don’t make me laugh. Unlike my sister, who has always been trusting to a fault, I am not new to the games men play with women. Let me guess, a secret wedding, last minute, somewhere far from King’s Landing?” He sneered at Aemond, “Vows made in the dark that can be easily tossed aside in the light.”

“And yet the sun has risen and here I am,” Aemond countered, his voice dripping with venom, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, “the only person in this room who tossed Y/N aside is you, Lord Manderly, when you sold her to Dorne and left her alone and at risk in King’s Landing.”

You shot Aemond a look and he flushed, relaxing his posture while still keeping in his gaze trained on Coren.

“I thought you were a man of honor, One-Eye. I trusted you to keep her safe in King’s Landing, not to seduce her and ferret her away from a man who crossed the seas to meet her.”

“I still intend to keep her safe,” Aemond insisted.

“How is dragging her good name through the mud keeping her safe? How does ruining her chances at a true marriage keep her safe?” he countered, “From this moment on, all she will ever be is a cheap mistress or a scandal.”

You felt your stomach drop again, “Coren it isn’t like that, I-”

“Then what is it like?” He asked, his voice tinged with desperation, “Explain it to me. Explain what could possibly have possessed you to be so reckless.”

“I love him!” You replied, raising your voice to match his, “And he loves me! We tried to stay away from one another, Coren. We tried to keep our distance and do what our families wanted us to but we couldn’t do it. We were married on Dragonstone in front of a crowd of people. Seven hells, Princess Rhaenyra gave me away herself. This wasn’t some back alley ceremony with a drunken septon and no witnesses.”

He met your gaze head on, both of you searching for some answer in the other. You really were so alike, you thought to yourself, so clearly related that it was almost a joke. His emotions were clear for you to see, because you knew his face as well as you knew your own. You could see the anger in his eyes, his hurt and, underneath it, his genuine fear. Your brother was afraid for you. He was afraid for you because he loved you, he was hurt because you had kept this from him and he was angry because he sensed that you were being taken advantage of. From his perspective, what else could he possibly think? You had given him no reason to see this coming, no chance to come to terms with it. You had blindsided him, just like he had blindsided you all that time ago, when he had announced your next fiance was on his way from Sunspear. And because you were so similar, you watched him come to the same conclusion in real time. You saw the anger dim, caught the flash of shame before it was buried under more hurt and fear, and you knew you had a chance to make this right.

You stepped forward and took his hands, “Coren, I can explain everything to you, I promise, but you have to let us talk, alright?”

He scoffed, but there was no real malice in it this time, and he still took your hands “Oh you’re an ‘us’ now, are you?”

You nodded, looking back over your shoulder at Aemond and shooting him a small, reassuring smile. He looked wary, but when you gestured for him to join you, he stepped forward.

“We are, Lord Manderly,” Aemond said, keeping his tone level and earnest.

You let out a small breath of relief and turned back to Coren, “You two do usually like one another, remember?”

“That was before he convinced my sister to go behind my back,” Coren pointed out, but he didn’t pull away.

“I did it to protect her, Coren,” Aemond explained, “if there had been another option, some other way to go about this and ensure she was safe, I would have done it.”

That got Coren’s attention. His spine straightened and you felt him focus in on Aemond. No aggression this time, no anger, just the alertness that came with a threat to his family.

“Protect her from what?” he asked.

Aemond hesitated. You could see him arguing with himself, loyalty to you and to his mother tumbling over one another. He caught your eye and, for a long moment you just watched one another, until you felt something in him surrender. He let out a breath and turned to face Coren.

“I need your word that nothing I say here will ever leave this room,” he said.

Coren sized him up, cast his gaze over the people in the hall and paused on his wife, Amalie. She was the unknown factor, the chink in the perfect machine that had been built through decades of friendship and trust. She bristled under Coren’s gaze, sensing his suspicion and clearly resenting it. Coren sighed, but turned back to you both.

“Let’s walk.”

He led you through the back corridors of the castle, gesturing for Daerra to follow as he took you up onto the ramparts, where the wind would cover any stray sounds.

“That was poorly handled, Cor,” you said softly, gesturing your head in Amalie’s direction, “she won’t forget that quickly.”

“I will absolutely not be taking marriage advice from you right now,” he countered with an equal mix of irritation and begrudging humor, “So, speak, prince. What kind of danger is my sister in?”

Aemond sighed, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. He looked up and down the bare stretch of rampart, checking for eavesdroppers. When he was satisfied that there were none, he shook out his arms as if to release tension.

“My mother and her advisors,” He eventually admitted, “they wanted Y/N dead. They probably still do.”

Daerra and Coren both took in sharp breaths, their eyes flashing with genuine shock. Even now, with the time you’d had to process, the very thought of it made you run cold. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if to fend off the wind and closed your eyes, partially to soak in the feeling of being home, partially to avoid everyone’s stares.

“Are…why?” Daerra eventually asked.

She touched your arm comfortingly, lending you her silent support. Aemond looked over to you and you sighed.

“Because they couldn’t let me marry Rohar,” you said simply, “it would have threatened their plans.”

Coren and Daerra reacted just how you had thought they would, by swearing incredulously.

“So they would rather kill you? That’s psychotic,” Daerra said.

“It’s no worse than some of the other things we’ve heard,” Coren pointed out, running a hand over his face with exhaustion, “fuck, this is bad. This is so bad.”

Aemond agreed, “I thought that too, but I suspect there may have been another, less rational reason.”

Coren raised his eyebrows, “And what was that?”

He shrugged, “I love your sister. My family knows I love her, and that love makes me harder to control.”

Coren narrowed his eyes slightly, suspicious, “Not to parrot Daerra here but, so they would rather murder her? Isn’t that just a tad extreme?”

Aemond shook his head, “Not for my mother. Not if she thinks that there’s a chance that I’m more loyal to Y/N than I am to her.”

“And is there?” Coren pressed, “Is there a chance of that?”

Your heart pinched and you hated yourself for looking at Aemond, for searching his face for any signs of deceit, of hesitation or regret.

He met Coren’s eye head on, unflinching, “Yes, there is.”

Coren nodded, seemingly satisfied and looked away. Daerra, who had been silently pondering the situation for a while now, gave you an apologetic look.

“I don’t mean to question your intent here, Aemond,” she said carefully, “but surely if the risk to Y/N was as great as you claim, the best thing would have been to send her far away? Send her home. Hells, put her on a ship to Essos, don’t marry her. Now the queen will have endless opportunities to hurt her.”

Aemond flushed but, before he could say anything, you jumped in.

“I couldn’t have left, you know that,” you said, “Coren had decreed that I stay until I was married. Beyond that, where could I possibly go where the queen couldn’t find me? For as long as my marriage was a threat, my life was forfeit.”

Aemond gave you a grateful look, “I would be lying if I said it was an entirely selfless decision. I did want to marry Y/N long before I found out my mother’s intentions. I’d even proposed to her once before, but-”

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” Coren interrupted, more confused than angry, “When in the Seven Hells did that happen?”

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing, “It was the day after the queen announced Aegon and Helaena’s engagement. If it helps, I turned him down.”

“She did,” Aemond confirmed.

“The day after the engagement…that was the day-” Coren’s voice trailed off.

You nodded and took a deep breath, bracing yourself before you launched into the whole story. You told him everything, from your turbulent relationship with Aemond to the incidents with Aegon. Everything that you had been keeping from him from the moment you arrived in King’s Landing came out. To his credit, Coren received the whole thing in silence, never interrupting or judging. It made it easier to admit to everything. As you spoke, the enormity of what you had been through over the past few months started to sink in. When you were done, Aemond contributed his, more limited part, which included his discovery of his feelings for you, one of the conversations he had had with his mother and how he had overheard them sanctioning your death. Coren looked to Daerra, possibly to see how she was handling the news, and swore when he saw how definitively unsurprised she looked.

“You knew about this?” he asked.

Daerra gave him an apologetic smile, “She told me after they’d ended it. Since you weren’t really talking to one another at the time, and since everything seemed so decided I just…”

“I asked her not to tell,” you supplied, “like she said, everything had already been decided.”

“It could have been undecided,” Coren pointed out, lowering his voice and pulling you to the side, “Y/N, you’re my sister. If you were in love with someone else you could have told me that.”

You pressed your lips together, “Could I? I did try to tell you, to get you to slow down and think, but you were so furious with the Hightowers, Cor. It was like you were seeing red.” You paused for a moment, letting him concede the point with a sheepish nod before you continued, “Besides, I didn’t think I was in love with him at the time. Everything happened so fast-my head was a mess. I thought I would just put the whole thing behind me.”

“Well, good job on that one,” he said sarcastically.

You knew right then that the worst was behind you. If Coren had calmed down enough to be sarcastic, you had started to win him over. He looked at Aemond furtively, touching the silver necklace you still wore casually, as though he was just readjusting it, the one that signified your allegiance to the silver council. His meaning was clear, and you gave him a small nod.

“Aem,” you said with a smile, “could I have a minute with my brother, please?”

You almost could have laughed at the look of panic on his face at the idea of being left alone, but Daerra swooped in with the rescue.

“Have you seen the portraits of Y/N as a baby?” She asked conspiratorially, “Ah, you’ll love them. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Don’t go far, prince,” Coren said, “you and I still have things to discuss.”

Aemond nodded, offering Daerra his arm so that she could lead him through the unfamiliar castle.

“Aemond, wait,” you called, pulling him in for an impulsive kiss.

It was sweet and chaste, but still sent a rush through your entire body. It was a kind of promise, a brief reminder that you were still in this together, and you felt Aemond soften beneath your lips.

“I’ll come find you,” you promised.

He nodded, giving you a gentle smile, “Take your time, I’ll be fine with Daerra.”

“He will,” she promised, “we’re fast friends, Prince Aemond and I.”

They disappeared down the nearest staircase, leaving you and Coren behind to smooth over the remaining hurt. It felt so good to be back in the North and feel the cool, fresh air on your skin, but you couldn’t truly enjoy it. Anxiety simmered in the pit of your stomach, compounded by a combination of guilt, homesickness and hope. Seeing your brothers again, being in your childhood home, it just made the ache of what you’d lost all the more palpable. Suddenly, your surprise wedding at Dragonstone felt symbolic of the divide that had creeped its way between you and your favorite people. You weren’t an idiot, you knew it had been growing for some time, but now it was out in the open and neither you nor Coren could ignore it. You stood in silence for a moment, just watching one another, before Coren broke and pulled you into a tight embrace. The moment you felt his arms wrap around you it was like a seal broke and all the loneliness and fear that you had been suppressing for months just came out all at once. You sobbed into Coren’s arms for what felt like a lifetime, tears flowing down your cheeks like rivers as you held one another and grieved the fact that you had somehow become adults.

“I’m sorry,” you said between sobs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry,” Coren countered, his voice also thick with suppressed tears, “I would have come, you know that don’t you? If you’d written for me I would have come for you.”

“I know you would have,” you promised, “but I wanted to do a good job. I wanted to help.”

He nodded, breaking the embrace so that he could inspect your face carefully, “I should never have left you all alone there, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“I should have spoken up,” you replied, “I shouldn’t have just kept my feelings to myself to punish you for Rohar.”

Coren sighed, leaning back against the stone of the rampart, “That was such a fuck up. I was trying to do the lordly thing. I was trying to do what father would have done, but it just made everything worse. You were furious with me, Kevan was…” his voice trailed off, “I ruined things completely with him.”

“By marrying Amalie?” You asked, joining him at the rampart.

He shook his head, “No, that was a different fuck up, but they are connected. Before we left for King’s Landing I promised her that we would start trying to have children when we returned. Afterwards, when we were all on the road together I got drunk and told Kevan that I wouldn’t let him meet them.”

You winced, “Oh, Cor…”

“I know,” he sighed, “I apologized the next day but it was too late.”

Kevan was Coren’s first love, his only love thus far, and you could imagine how the pain of that loss must have been tearing them both apart inside. You felt it even more keenly now that you had Aemond, now that you knew how completely a love like that devoured you and changed the shape of the world. Along with that awareness came a new fear. If Coren could lose Kevan, what was stopping the same from happening to you and Aemond? What would you do if he decided that he didn’t love you anymore, or couldn’t love you anymore? Just the thought made your blood run cold.

“You’ll find your way back to one another,” you said, placating yourself and Coren at the same time, “you have to, you love each other too much.”

He gave you a deeply sad look, “Love isn’t always enough, Y/N.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, fighting with the urge to tell him that he was wrong, that he had to be wrong because, if he wasn’t, what did that mean for the decisions you were making?

“And with Amalie?” You questioned, “Is she…?”

Coren shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, “Not yet. We’ve had trouble with the…with marital intimacy, I should say.”

You laughed gently, “I’m a married woman, Cor, you can say sex. We can talk about sex.”

“I have no interest in discussing the intricacies of my sex life with my younger sister, but I appreciate the effort,” Coren replied.

“I can understand that,” you agreed with a hum.

“Though I suppose we must,” Coren started, visibly uncomfortable as he met your eye, “your marriage, has it been consummated?”

You nodded, feeling deeply embarrassed.

“Has he hurt you?” he asked bluntly, “We can get you out of this. You have options. If this marriage isn’t what you want-”

You shook your head quickly, meeting Coren’s eye again, “I love Aemond, Cor, I really do. He would never do anything to hurt me.”

“You truly believe that?”

You held his eye, “I do. He’s risking as much as I am with this marriage.”

“He’s not,” Coren said gently, “he’s a man and the son of a king. He’s never risking as much as you are, Y/N, never.” He rested his hands on your shoulders, his brow creased with concern.

You sighed, “He loves me. I know you don’t believe that, but he does. It might not be much, but it’s more than I ever expected, and I know that he’d do just about anything to keep me safe.”

“And what of your happiness?” He asked softly, “Aemond is a prince, his place is at King’s Landing with his brother. Married to him you’ll never get free of that.”

You nodded, “But I won’t be alone.” you countered, “And you and Amalie will visit, and Dae and Byron and I’ll make friends. I’ll get through it.”

“Alright,” he conceded, “and the council? Are we officially declaring for the greens, then?”

You sighed, wishing more than anything that you could just forget the chaos of politics and enjoy the small victory of patching things up with your brother. But, alas, the world moved on without your consent and you were forced to consider the choice before you. If the question was simply Rhaenyra or Aegon, it was as clear as day. No one could genuinely consider Aegon a valid choice for succession, but you’d complicated that, hadn’t you? To support Rhaenyra would mean asking your husband to go against his family, but to support Aegon would mean helping a psychopath take the throne of Westeros. You didn’t want to be torn. You knew that both choices would be a betrayal, one of your husband, one of your own moral compass. How could you make such a choice? Did being a wife mean that you were expected to sacrifice your ideals? Would your husband simply expect it of you? Oh gods, what would Aemond even think about the Silver Council? You were lost with how to navigate this situation and, for the first time in a long while, you felt your youth.

“I-I don’t-” you stammered, “I don’t know. Gods, Cor, Aemond and I haven’t spoken about any of this yet.”

“You have time,” Coren assured you calmly.

You shook your head, feeling a mild panic, “The king could die at any minute, this could all become very important very quickly. I-”

“Stay for dinner,” he suggested, “we’ll have your rooms prepared and you can consider your position before you leave.” You hesitated, but Coren waved off your concerns before you could even vocalize them, “stay. It’ll give us time to get to know your new…husband,” he continued, with only a slight bitterness on the word ‘husband’, “Kerran would be heartbroken if he didn’t get a chance to update you on his studies, and it would raise questions with the nobles if you left now. After all, you are supposed to be here to celebrate with Daerra and Byron.” he pointed out, “and I would miss you.”

You considered his offer. You knew that Aemond was anxious for you to return to Dragonstone. You knew that he had planned the necessary series of events meticulously and any deviation might have ramifications beyond what you could see, and yet you were still torn. Some selfish part of you wanted to accept Coren’s offer, wanted to stay with your friends and family for just a little while longer. One night to celebrate your marriage with the people you loved and cared about in a place where you were well and truly safe. The idea alone was too good to pass up.

You pursed your lips, “Alright, if Aemond agrees and we can get some food sent out for Vhagar, I’ll stay.”

—

Wandering around the place that had once been your home, Aemond couldn’t help but feel a kind of nostalgic ache for the childhood he hadn’t been a part of. At every turn there was evidence of the love you’d grown up with. There were portraits of you and your siblings at multiple ages, collections of the letters you had written while living with the Velaryons and pieces of childhood art that your parents had meticulously stored and saved. Every corner seemed to boast some sort of secret, some talisman of your parents’ pride in their children that they displayed for the world to see. It was easy to imagine you here, surrounded by love, learning to ride horses and read histories and slowly becoming the woman he would one day fall in love with. When he tried to imagine himself here the vision fractured. He felt like a splinter, an foreign species bringing darkness into this otherwise bright and clear space. Even with the biting cold of the North, which the many fireplaces couldn’t truly banish, there was a warmth to the rooms in this castle, like it was welcoming you in and inviting you to stay. It felt like how you felt, only this time he couldn’t accept it. With all the fear and anxieties of the day he felt raw and undone. He had no emotional capacity for what he was feeling, and no desire to keep feeling it.

He remembered his own childhood, how he had fought and clawed for every scrap of attention and praise. He remembered the biting comments from Aegon and his mother, the harsh training under Ser Criston, how almost every moment had felt like a matter of life and death. More than ever before, Aemond felt the differences between you, like black ink on white paper. As Daerra shared fond memories and funny stories, Aemond could barely find it in himself to stay present. Everything in his body wanted to run. He wanted to grab you, climb back on Vhagar and leave this place behind. He wanted desperately to go back to your little room, to the perfect bubble of the night before, when the only people in the world who existed were you and him. He wanted to go back to the clearing in the woods before any of this had happened, when he’d first realized that he loved you and there was still time to do things differently. Aemond wanted you to soothe his fears, to kiss away his feelings of inadequacy and assure him that he was enough, that a life with him could be enough. What was happening? Why did he feel like this?

“Prince Aemond?” he heard Daerra call, snapping him out of his stupor, “Is all well?”

He gave a brisk nod, “Yes, of course. Thank you, Lady Redwyne.”

Her returning look was a little too knowing when she replied, “Please, Your Highness, call me Daerra. You’re married to my closest friend now, as far as I’m concerned, that makes us nearly family.”

Something about that was comforting, the idea of a larger family, of becoming part of this tight knit mysterious organism that you had always fit into as easily as breathing.

“Then you must call me Aemond,” he countered. They walked in silence for a while and Aemond knew, intuitively, that Daerra was waiting for him to say something, so he steeled himself and decided to give trusting your friends a try, “I feel…out of sorts here,” he eventually said, “the Manderlys are so different from my own family. I don’t-” he breathed, “I don’t fit.”

Daerra nodded and hummed in agreement, “I understand. I felt much the same way when I first visited.”

“Your family isn’t as close?” he asked, surprised.

Daerra shook her head, “Even with Daerion and I, we’re twins but we were raised pretty separately at first. It was Y/N who brought us together.”

Aemond felt a little glow of pride, “She tends to have that effect.”

“She does indeed,” Daerra agreed with a smile, “they all do. You haven’t met Camylla, but if you saw the four of them together-” she chuckled, “they’re like a beacon for lonely people. Anyone within a hundred miles who feels misunderstood just finds them.”

“Perhaps that’s what drew me in,” Aemond suggested, “like a moth to a flame.”

Daerra gave him an appraising look, like he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out.

“Is that what you think, that you had no say in all that happened?” she asked.

Aemond shrugged, “I believe no man has a say in who he loves,” he replied honestly.

“And you would not have chosen to love Y/N?”

That pulled him up short. Aemond thought back to when you’d first met, how he’d been so sure that something was wrong with you. He’d avoided you at all costs, analyzed your every word and action for signs of malicious intent. You had made him feel gangly and awkward and wrong. Of course he wouldn’t have chosen to love you then. He would have done anything to never be in your presence again. You had made him feel the way he felt right now, and he had been wrong. When he had woken up to the truth, he had loved you completely. He had seen your goodness and your heart. You had accepted him in a way that he had never felt accepted before and had offered him a new home, with you. In everything he would choose you. He could never imagine choosing to love anyone else. So what was the truth?

“Now I would,” he said honestly, “but I don’t believe it would have mattered. No matter how much I fought it, I was just drawn to Y/N in a way I’ve never experienced before.”

“And yet you were the one that kissed her,” Daerra pointed out, “you pursued her.”

Aemond conceded the point, “I suppose that’s true.”

“I don’t mean to interrogate you,” Daerra said, “I merely ask because…well…can I speak freely, Aemond?”

Aemond’s stomach pinched with anxiety, but he kept his face neutral, “Please do.”

Daerra sighed, “You and Y/N have chosen a hard path. You’re going to need one another to get through it. Outside of these walls you are all she has in the world.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Daerra asked with a rueful smile, “If something should happen to Y/N, you’ll be free to marry again. You’ll grieve, of course, but you’ll be free.” she started, “If something happened to you-”

“She would return here,” Aemond interrupted, ignoring the way the words tasted like a lie.

“You know how unlikely that is,” Daerra countered, “especially if you had children. It is far more likely that she would be required to stay in the Red Keep. As a member of your family, Aegon would decide where she lived, how much allowance she would be granted, whether she could see her children and her future marriage prospects.”

Aemond stayed silent, his whole body revolting against the idea of ever leaving you in that position, of ever subjecting you to Aegon’s whims and cruelties. He knew Daerra was right. He knew she was only looking out for your best interests, and part of him loved her for it. Even so, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

“I know,” he eventually said, avoiding her eyes, “I know that.”

Daerra touched his arm gently, forcing him to look at her. Two sets of purple eyes holding one another accountable.

“Then don’t blame her for the situation you’re both in,” Daerra said, “you were never a moth drawn helplessly to a flame. You were a prince, pursuing a girl who you were forbidden to pursue. You made choices. You asked Y/N to make choices and she did, because she trusts you.”

Aemond opened his mouth to respond but, before he could, a porter called them back towards the Great Hall. Clearly, you and Coren had finished your conversation and now Coren had time for Aemond. Aemond’s stomach twisted with a combination of anger and fear. His pride prickled at the thought of supplicating himself in front of Coren, a man who, along with being your brother, was the man who had pushed you to marry Rohar. He was a nobleman, yes, but Aemond was a prince. For his entire life Aemond had been taught to expect and receive loyalty from men like Coren, not to ask for it. He had spent so long rejecting the companionship of men like Coren that even the idea of it reinforced his anxiety. At the same time, he longed to be accepted here. He knew that Coren could be his greatest ally in protecting you, that he was maybe the only other person who would do as much to keep you alive as Aemond would, and that connected them. He needed to focus on that rather than his own insecurity.

Daerra sighed and gave him a tired smile, “Think about if it was Helaena,” she suggested, “what would you want to hear from her husband?”

Aemond imagined the roles reversed, Coren showing up at the Red Keep with Helaena by his side, wrapped in Manderly colors, riding a Manderly horse and insisting she was now a Manderly. He imagined Coren insisting that they were in love, that Aemond had failed to protect Helaena and that it was he, Coren, who was her true family. Now he imagined that Coren was tying her to a viper’s pit, that he was the brother of a man who had rejected Helaena, that Aemond had believed Coren to be a friend. The rage Aemond felt at this imaginary Coren, at Helaena too, was so immediate and powerful that it threatened to physically overwhelm him. For the first time, Aemond was forced to give Coren something he had been stubbornly withholding since he had learned of Rohar, credit. It was a true testament to Coren’s self control that he hadn’t swung on Aemond the moment they arrived.

Aemond chuckled, “Besides his last words, you mean?”

“Besides that,” Daerra agreed, “come on, best not to keep them waiting.”

The portrait gallery wasn’t far from the Great Hall, and so the walk was annoyingly brief. Much was as it had been when you’d all left. Byron and Kerran were in deep, familiar conversation, but stopped when they noticed Aemond and Daerra’s arrival. Amalie had left, leaving her seat empty, and little tables had been brought in for wine and fruit. Most importantly, you were there. Just the sight of you standing at the base of the dias, smiling serenely even with your eyes red and puffy from crying, made his heart soften and some of the tension leech out of his body. You started to move towards him, but Aemond subtly shook his head, determined to face this last hurdle on his own.

“My sister and I have talked,” Coren eventually said, his own eyes also red, but softer than they had been, less like two dark stones, “and she knocked some sense into me. I fear I must apologize for the way I addressed you, Prince Aemond.”

He shook his head, humbled by his brief interaction with the imaginary Coren, “No apology is needed, Lord Manderly. I came here to apologize to you and instead I ambushed you and insulted your honor. There are no words for how ashamed I am of my behavior.”

Coren gave him a small smile, “You’re passionate about protecting my sister,” he said simply, “I can’t begrudge you that.”

“But I robbed you of the chance to advocate for her,” Aemond insisted, “I took your chance to be present at our wedding, to give her away, to grant or withhold your blessing. For that, all I can offer is my knowledge that I have wronged you, and my deep and sincere apology.”

Aemond caught the sadness in Coren’s eyes as he took in his words, “Thank you, Prince,” he said, sincerely, “I won’t lie, not being able to present my sister on her wedding day is a loss I feel more deeply than most. When our father passed on I promised to do my best in his stead.”

“I’m sure he would be proud of the way you’ve raised her and Kerran, Lord Manderly,” Aemond assured.

Coren nodded, “I hope so, but with regards to the wedding what’s done is done. All that matters now is her safety and happiness.” He met Aemond’s eye, some of the steel in his gaze returning as he held the contact, “Can you promise me, here and now, that Y/N is safe with you? That you’ll do everything in your power to not only ensure her physical safety, but to fill her life with happiness?”

Aemond broke Coren’s gaze to look at you for a moment, smiling gently as you both remembered the vows you had exchanged just the night before.

“I swear it,” he told Coren, injecting his voice with sincerity.

Coren smiled, “Then I consider the matter settled. In terms of my sister’s dowry-”

Aemond shook his head, interrupting, “That won’t be necessary.”

Coren’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “It’s a sizable amount, Prince. I’m honor bound to insist that you at least consider it.”

“I wouldn’t accept it regardless,” Aemond replied, “when I made the choice to propose I told myself that her acceptance would be all the dowry I required. To take more now would be wrong.” he paused but forced himself to continue, “All I ask is that Y/N be allowed to take any items of jewelry or home goods that her mother may have left her, and that you consider granting us your blessing.”

Underneath Coren’s expression of shock Aemond could see a glimmer of approval, and he knew he had made the right call.

“If you’re certain,” Coren said.

“I am,” Aemond replied, feeling more confident, “I am a very wealthy man, Lord Manderly. I assure you that Y/N will be well looked after.”

Coren let out a bark of laughter, “Of that I have no doubt, Prince Aemond.”

“Just Aemond is fine, since we are to be brothers now.”

“Aemond, then,” Coren agreed, “and I will be Coren.” he looked down at you and smiled, “In that case, I wish you every joy and I give you my blessing to…I don’t know, keep being married I suppose.”

You giggled, “Thank you, Cor.”

He clapped his hands, leaping out of the seat with renewed vigor and jogging down the steps to pull Aemond into a rough hug.

“Welcome to the family,” he said, pulling away with his hands still on Aemond’s shoulders, “and now I insist you stay the night. We have to celebrate. I’ve already given word for a few cow carcasses to be taken out and left for Vhagar and the cooks have been preparing some of Y/N’s favorite meals. What do you say, brother?”

Aemond’s stomach twinged. He searched Coren’s face for any sign of deceit and found none. He looked over at you, saw the barely suppressed hope on your beautiful face and immediately caved. No matter how out of place he might have felt here, he couldn’t deny you this. Not when you had already sacrificed so much and asked so little. The chance to keep you smiling, to be the source of your joy and prove that he could be the kind of man you deserved, and believed he was, was too good to pass up.

“Of course, brother,” he agreed, “we would be honored to stay.”

Another flash of approval, another little test passed.

“Excellent,” Coren smiled.

Kerran whooped with excitement and nearly bowled Aemond over with another, far more forceful, hug. Aemond started to laugh, so pleasantly surprised that he couldn’t help himself. After Kerran released him, Aemond had barely a moment to compose himself before he saw a flash of Y/H/C hair, caught the briefest trace of your perfume and then felt you as you threw yourself into his arms. He immediately returned your embrace, both of you laughing at the sheer incredulity of the situation.

“I can’t believe this worked,” Aemond whispered through his laughter.

“Me neither,” you chuckled, “I’m so relieved I feel like I might faint,” you joked, “I love you, Aemond.”

“I love you too,” he replied.

“Hurry up, would you?” Coren teased, “We all need to start getting ready for supper. If it seems a little thrown together, remember that that’s literally your fault.”

“We’re coming,” You smiled, “Oh wait, we have nothing to wear.”

“Nonsense,” Coren insisted, “You still have far too much clothing stored in your rooms here, and your husband here looks to be about my size. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“So long as I can keep my own tunic,” Aemond said.

Coren waved him off good naturedly, “Of course, of course. New pants and blouse only, understood.”

Aemond pulled you into a quick goodbye kiss and let himself get hustled off up the stairs and towards the rooms by Kerran, Byron and Coren, who seemed dedicated to keeping up a steady stream of brotherly jokes and conversation. The sound washed over Aemond like waves tumbling over smooth stones. It was comforting in a way that he vaguely remembered from the days when he and Aegon were still somewhat close with their cousins. Even as they dressed the talking never stopped and it was clear that, for whatever reason, the men in your life had decided to trust him implicitly. Coren leant him a pair of thick, comfortable black breeches and a cotton shirt to wear under his tunic, Byron tossed him a gold chain and a pair of ruby cufflinks, and Kerran doused him in perfume that smelled like saffron and tonka bean. All in all, by the time they stumbled back down the stairs and towards the banquet hall, Aemond felt like a new man.

“And there are our lovely dates,” Byron called when they reached the base of the central staircase.

You and Daerra were, as always, visions of loveliness. Daerra was the most beautiful Lady of Redwyne there had ever been in a gown of burgundy and deep blue and her hair braided with sapphires and garnets, and, by her side, was you. Aemond hadn’t registered how much he’d missed your old strange northern dresses. Gods, hadn’t he hated them once? What an absolute fool he’d been. This one was all teal, silver and pearly white, with that strange square neckline and sleeves that puffed in the shoulders but were tight everywhere else. You had left most of your hair down with only the top portion braided to your head and held in place with a pearl net and, to Aemond, you looked like you were glowing, like light was physically pouring out of your skin in waves. He remembered stories about the first king Aegon and his wife, Rhaenys, how he had had hundreds of songs composed about her and none of them were right. How he kept trying even after she’d died, hoping that one would bring a piece of her back into his life for a moment. It had never made sense until you. So many things had never made sense until you.

“You’d think that I would be past this by now,” Aemond heard himself say softly as you made your way down the stairs.

Byron laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, “We are lucky, lucky men, Prince Aemond.”

“That we are, Lord Redwyne,” he agreed, walking up to meet you at the stairs, “hello there, Princess Y/N.”

“Hello, Prince Aemond,” you smiled back, leaning in and kissing him softly, “you look quite dashing.”

“You look radiant,” he replied, “I missed these dresses on you.”

You leaned in so that your lips were right by his ear, “And here I was hoping you prefer them off me.”

Aemond threw his head back and laughed, really laughed. He was so relieved to have you, so relieved to be here, so relieved to have brought you back to your home with him that it was a physical feeling. You slipped your hand into his and pulled him along, radiating a happiness so intense that it was infectious. Aemond tapped the concealed pocket sewn into his tunic with his free hand, comforting himself with the subtle rustle of the paper that meant you and he were still safe and promising himself, again, that he would find a way to see this through.

As Coren led everyone into a grand banquet hall, all warm woods and banners featuring various mermen and tridents in greens, blacks and blues. It was opulent but still tasteful, a display of wealth and power that managed not to cross the line into outright intimidation. The hall was full of people, the nobles who had met you at the gate and many more. You told him quietly that they were probably prominent merchants from the town of White Harbour, invited by Coren to come celebrate Daerra and Byron’s honeymoon tour. Another stroke of luck for your marriage, but it didn’t stop Aemond from freezing a little bit in his tracks. He hated public spectacle, he hated people staring at him and judging him. He hated who he had to be at these events, and the way the oppressive sound of so many voices made his skin itch and crawl. Almost without meaning to, Aemond felt himself shrug his public persona on. It settled on his shoulders like a heavy coat whose weight he was all too familiar with. It was instinctual, like breathing. Aemond, your husband, got packed away and Prince Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen took his place. He was colder, sterner. He stood up straighter and slipped on that look he’d mastered, which was almost a sneer as he began counting the exits and the number of weapons in the room.

You noticed. Of course you noticed. He felt you squeeze his hand and shoot him a worried look as you took your seats at the head table, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to, of course. He wanted to be open and vulnerable, like he always managed to find a way to be with you, but it was different here. In the light of day, surrounded by strangers with their own ideas of who he was and how he was supposed to act, it was an insurmountable challenge. Distantly he could hear Coren making an opening address, the crowd reacting positively to some witty comment. At the right moment he stood, holding your hand, and accepted their cheers of congratulations with a tight smile but all he truly heard was the blood pounding in his ears and his breath, shallow and rapid as he fought not to panic. Four doors, four windows. Twelve swords, one on each of the guards stationed at the doors. There were probably knives too, but it was impossible to tell at this distance. The windows weren’t ideal exits, but they were on the first floor so he could probably get you both out without too much risk of injury. If the windows wouldn’t shatter then-

“Aemond,” he heard you call.

“Hmm?” he asked, forcing his attention back to you.

He braced for the hurt in your eyes, the betrayal and anger that he had always been met with when he retreated into himself, but all there was was a little smile and a sad understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself reply instinctively.

You shook your head, waving his apology away, “It’s alright. You told me once that you never really have fun at these things,” you reminded him, “I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to stay the night. It means a great deal to me.”

“I told you that?” Aemond asked, feeling the smile tugging at his lips despite how anxious was.

“You did, on that first night,” you explained, keeping your voice low so that Aemond had a reason to lean in and stay close to your face, “when Aegon very inappropriately invited us to that family dinner at the Red Keep. After the dancing and the drinking had died down and it was just you and me, you asked if I enjoyed myself,” you continued, “I said I did. I asked you if you’d enjoyed yourself and you said ‘I did, actually’. I asked why you seemed surprised and you said ‘I usually don’t at these things’.”

He remembered then. The buzz of the alcohol in his blood, your hair slightly messy, the sound of the musicians packing up their instruments and a sound he’d never heard before. A quiet, tired sound that had made him feel…warm, and safe.

“You laughed,” he replied, matching your volume, “I made some comment about Aegon I-I can’t believe you actually remember all that.”

“I remember everything about you,” you said with a smug smile.

Aemond laughed, taking your hand in his and kissing it firmly, “Now that I do remember saying.”

Somehow you had managed it again. You’d pulled the blanket up over his head and given him somewhere safe to hide from the world. With that small breath of fresh air he could face coming back to himself, shake off the coldness, the stiffness and just be Aemond for a moment with you.

He kissed your hands again, letting out a burst of nervous laughter, “Fuck, I really hate these things, Y/N.”

“I know,” you said comfortingly, “once we’ve eaten we’ll make an excuse to head to bed.”

Aemond shook his head, pouring you both goblets of wine, “No, we’re here to celebrate. It would be rude to just slip away.”

“Technically we’re here to make sure my family doesn’t start a blood feud with yours, which we’ve quite successfully done I might add,” you replied, “Plus, who would call us rude? It’s our royal and spiritual duty to start making babies as soon as possible, is it not?”

Aemond choked on his wine, his skin flushing red as he spluttered. As he watched you laugh, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes as he mopped the spilled wine off his clothing, he couldn’t help but join in, feeling silly and light, even in the crowd full of strangers. Aemond Targaryen was not known for his ability to take a joke, or for being able to laugh at himself, but with you it was so easy.

“Well, as much as I would hate to shirk our royal and spiritual duties, Princess Y/N,” Aemond joked, “we’re celebrating our wedding and I’ll be damned if I don’t get at least one dance with my wife tonight.”

Your eyes sparked with excitement and he felt his heart pinch with love, “As you wish, husband.”