Aemond Has So Many Traumas And Insecurities That Prevent Him From Being Able To Fully Open Up To You.

Aemond has so many traumas and insecurities that prevent him from being able to fully open up to you. Not only about his appearance or about what he hides under the patch, but it goes deeper; he grew up surrounded by people who made him lesser for the simple fact of not having a dragon of his own, he had to endure mockery and hurtful jokes, beatings and even punishments for defending himself from his own family.

Aemond ended up getting used to those treatments, he ended up normalizing them as part of his daily life and to fight with them so they could not hurt him even more, as well as he learned to ignore the looks of disgust and terror of the people who crossed him in the corridors when he walked without anything to cover his eye, and even when he wore his eye patch, that did not avoid the contemptuous glances of the ladies of the court.

Aemond had become so accustomed to those looks and the cold treatment, that when he met you he was astonished by your attitude; he never saw even a glint of terror or disgust in your eyes when you saw him, never a grimace or an expression of discomfort in his presence. On the contrary, you were nothing less than kind and sweet to him, you were attentive, gracious and Aemond was sure that you only treated him that way out of pure courtesy, it was almost impossible for him to believe that a lady as beautiful and sweet as you could be interested in a crippled and incomplete man like him.

He would soon discover that he was wrong, in fact. Aemond was someone reserved, of few words and with a cold attitude that managed to turn anyone away from him. But he couldn't keep you away.

Soon he would get used to your presence by his side, following him wherever he went as long as he felt comfortable, you slowly learned his likes and hobbies, and the more time you spent by his side, the more confident he became. The time he spent with you became his favorite without a doubt, he longed for every moment together to last forever, by your side he learned what it is truly to be cherished, loved even. He slowly learned to accept that you cared for him as much as he cared for you, to let you love him as much as he loved you. Aemond had never felt so comfortable with someone by his side, he had never felt so loved and cared for, so safe in your arms every time you hugged him, so calm every time you left a soft kiss on his forehead, so loved every time you took off his patch and kissed that scar that brought back so many bad memories.

He had given himself to you, body and soul, he loved you so much that it hurt, he longed for your touch and treasured your words as if they were a prayer. Aemond was devoted to you, because his life felt truly full only when you came into it.

personal space – aemond targaryen x reader

If Aemond wanted personal space, then that was what you would give him.

warnings: none. just fluff as always.

this was based on this request. it’s short but i hope you like it! english is not my first language so i’m really sorry if there are any mistakes here.

The wind was breaking through your hair and your heart was pounding. Aldrus, your dragon, was flying fast as always. The fastest dragon alive, that was how people called him. Vhagar was after you and you could hear Aemond tell her to go faster, which made you laugh.

You and your husband once got into an argument about which one of your dragons was better. He said Vhagar was invincible because of her size. You said that it didn’t matter if she was big if it made her slow. Aemond took that to heart, apparently, and said that she could be as fast as Aldrus.

So there you were, winning a bet and proving that it didn’t matter how much they tried, Aldrus would always win when it came to speed.

When you landed on the ground, you had a proud smile in your face. You came down from the dragon and looked at the sky, waiting for Aemond and Vhagar. When they landed, you saw the angry look on your husband’s face.

“I’m sorry, were you saying that Vhagar was fast?”, you provoked him as he came down from her.

“It was not fair”, he said as you walked to him. “You left first.”

“Oh, did I?”, you laughed.

Before you could get to him, Vhagar roared. You stopped and looked at her surprised. She usually was very kind to you. “I guess someone doesn’t know how to lose a bet.”

“She does, actually. She just likes it when people respect her personal space”, Aemond said. “That is one thing we have in common.”

You knew Aemond didn’t exactly like showing affection in front of other people, and you always respected that. Why would he say that then? Did he want you to stop being so close to him?

“Really? So, you’re telling me you don’t like it when people approach you?”

He walked until he was right in front of you. You had that defiant look on your face that he loved so much. “Maybe.”

His eye stared at your lips and he got closer to you. He leaned to give you a soft kiss, but you took a step back. “I see.”

You turned away and without looking back, you left. He liked personal space? Then that was what you would give him.

The day passed and you kept away from your husband. During the supper with his family, even Helaena noticed that you decided to sit on the other side of the table, far from Aemond. No one said anything, of course. Also, you didn’t care. You were too stubborn to care.

But it was too much for him when he went to his bedchamber, the one that you two always shared, only to not find you there. He went to your old bedchamber and opened the door, completely ignoring the guard standing outside, who didn’t dare to say anything.

There you were, sitting in front of your dressing table while brushing your hair.

“Are you done?”, he asked.

You looked at him. “With what?”

He sighed. “This is ridiculous. Come to bed.”

You tried to hide your smile seeing how desperate and needy he looked. “You can just say that you miss me.”

He blushed. He knew he did because he could feel his cheeks burning and that just made it more embarrassing. It melted you inside. Only you could make him blush, that part of him was only for you. You stood from your chair and walked to him. He hid his face on your neck, putting his arms around your waist.

“I missed you”, he said with a low voice. Only you could hear it.

“See? It was not that difficult, was it?”, you felt him pinch your waist and laughed. Your arms hugged his neck, pulling him closer.

He left a few kisses on your neck before he looked at you. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t”, you whispered.

“No, I don’t, but I should”, he whispered back while staring at your lips. But this time you didn’t take a step back when he leaned to kiss you.

“Come now, I still want to brush your hair before we go to bed.”

He rolled his eye and sighed like he didn’t love it when you did that. You two walked to the other room, the one that you shared. That was your safe space. That was where he could show you how much he loved you. And the best part was that only the two of you knew what happened inside those four walls.

No but aemond has a big praise kink and you can’t convince me otherwise. That boy wants to be appreciated and told he is good and pretty because no one, except alicent and criston cole, has ever praised him.

He also loves hearing you say how much you love him — he has never heard this before, not even from his mother. How can you love him, he thinks, if his own father doesn’t.

When you take off his eyepatch for the first time and say, in a choked voice, with so much emotion, “gods, you’re so beautiful”, he just melts. He can hardly believe it and he kisses you reverently, softly, then it turns greedy as he wants to pull more praise from your mouth, always more praise. When you pull apart and you gently stroke his scarred cheek (that part of his face is numb so he doesn’t feel it but the gesture, the appreciation, the lack of disgust sends him reeling), he closes his eye. “You’re beautiful,” you repeat, whispering into his ear, and he gasps, then wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, peppering the crook of it in kisses. His soul wants to sing because he has never thought he could be considered beautiful, crippled as he was, and here his love is, saying it in a worshipful tone.

When you catch him without his sapphire in in his room, his eye hurting, he turns his back to you, his heart beating fast in his throat. You caught a glimpse of his face and his skin is crawling with the fear of rejection. “Aemond,” you say softly and walk up to him and he angles his face so that his empty eye socket is hidden from you. “Leave,” he responds in a strained voice, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his whole body tense like a wolf that spotted a human in the woods and doesn’t want to be seen. In this moment, he truly feels more like a beast than a human, monstrous and not to be looked at. “Aemond,” you repeat and your fingers slide onto his jaw as you try to turn his face but he wrenches his face from your grip and takes a few fast steps back as if you just threatened him with a knife. “Leave me alone!” he snaps and you reply: “no, I want to see you as you are, my beautiful dragon.” Those words cut right through his heart and rage crashes through him like a powerful wave. He turns to you and advances on you and you stand strong as he leans into your personal space, threatening. “Oh, you want to see me as I am? Then see me, my love, see what the man you say you love, the man you say is beautiful, the man who kisses you and fucks you, really looks like!” he says lowly, dangerously, but it rings through the room like a scream. He is breathing harshly, his hands painfully clenched around your shoulders and he stares into your eyes, fury evident in his gaze but also fear. You just cup his cheek and turn up your face to kiss him. “I want you as you are, Aemond,” you whisper against his mouth and his breath hitches in surprise. He didn’t expect you to say this, he expected disgust, he expected you to turn away from him, not just now but forever. “I am a disfigured cripple,” he breathes out shakily and your heart clenches at the venomous self-loathing in his voice. You kiss him, then, pouring all your love and want into the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth when he opens his and he moans. He pulls you to himself by your waist, then he breaks the kiss and buries his face in your hair. “Do you… do you still want me?” he asks hesitantly, vulnerably. “Of course I do, Aemond.” “Say it, say you want me,” he says and it sounds more like he is pleading than commanding you. “I want you, Aemond, just as you are. You are beautiful still, eye or no eye. I love you.” And something breaks in him and you feel his shoulders shake and then a sob escapes him. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you, radiating shame, his face in his hands. You wrap your arms around his trim waist, your cheek against the back of his shoulder. He weeps desperately, every sob tearing from his throat against his will and he can’t stand that you are seeing him like this, so weak. Fear wraps around his heart and he realises you will now see him as less of a man and he feels like a child again, powerless and mocked and inferior. It’s unbearable and he craves to turn around and seek comfort and this only causes him to feel more disgusted with himself. “I love you, my prince,” you say again, knowing he needs to hear it. “I will always love you.” After a while, he calms down and you gently turn him around. He is avoiding your eyes. “Why did you remove the sapphire, is it hurting?” you ask with worry and he breathes out and nods. “Is there anything I can do?” He shakes his head and you stroke his cheek. “Come, let’s get into bed, I will read your favourite story to you, distract you.” In bed, he lays his head on your chest, the book propped up on his shoulder, and you stroke his hair. “I love you,” you repeat before you start reading and he smiles.

Fool Me Once (part 4)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 4.5k)

Summary: Your paranoia spikes as the safety of your children is put into question. Familiar faces come to King’s Landing as the fight for power continues to grow.

A/N: When I posted the first part, I had no idea this would be the response i get, let alone that I would be making multiple parts. I’m so grateful for all the support I have gotten, and I hope to keep writing hotd stuff y’all enjoy. This part will span events that happened in ep 8 of the show. Ep 9 and 10 will be part 5 🫶🏽🫶🏽. Hope y’all like it, and PLEASE come talk to me. Love chatting about fmo

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You tried to make it to your chambers without disturbing the party. Your father seemed confused by you sudden departure after Jayne pulled you away from him.

Ser Quinton insisted going into the chambers before you. There was a sick part of you that hoped she was in there. Waiting for Aemond; or better yet, waiting for you. At least if you saw her, you would feel less… mad. The descent to insanity may be held off by finally putting a face to worst time of your life. You think about the knife trick Quinton had taught you, and if he was right when he said it led to a slow death.

Your bottom lip wobbles when you walk into the room and see red. Alaric’s cot is smeared with blood. Whoever did this did not go to his nursery, they came here knowing you also have a place for him when he is extra restless in the night.

Quinton gives you a look. He can tell you are about to panic and reaches out for your arm. Lord Larys stands there, a dubious look on his face.

“You know it is quite rude to leave you own party. Mother told me to come get you,” Aegon strolls in casually with a lazy smile, and goblet in his hand. His smile falters when he sees the blood and the look on your face. “Seven Hells.”

“We need to tell the Queen,” Quinton pipes up after a beat of silence.

Your mind strays to what Alicent could have said to her son. What Aemond could have said to Alys. The woman that have haunted your thoughts for moon now being in Red Keep… in the room where you rest your head.

You look down at the bloody box, your hands stained red. Time seems to slow down and speed up as you think of what to do.

“This is your house sigil,” you turn to Larys ignoring Quinton’s request. “She was here. That bastard witch was here. She touched my child’s things.”

There’s a vibrating anger that courses through your body. It was not good enough to have your husband, or carry his child. Now she must resort to messing your child, to trying to goad you into a something.

Well, if that is was she wants…

Lord Larys raises a single brow, looking at the box quizzically. A normally self assured and smarmy man just as put out as you. “Maybe we should follow Ser Quinton’s idea by telling Queen Alicent.”

“Tell me what? The feast is about to start.”

Alicent’s rich tone cut through the room, and the four of you turn towards the chamber doors.

“What is all of this,” she gets a familiar furrow in her brow when she sees the blood stained box in your hands. Her doe eyes going from you, to her son, to Quinton, then to Larys before landing on the bloodied cot near the bed.

Alicent rushes into the room, and over to you. You watch as her face falls when she sees Strong sigil edtched in the box and Alaric’s blanket.

“This does not make any sense,” she mutters, shaking her head.

Your eyes flicker quickly over to Aegon, who has an I told you so look on his face. It sets in that any possible reprimand that Alicent gave Aemond was also met with giving him a chance to repair the situation. He had a chance to make a choice, and still chose wrongs. Your imbecile husband.

It is almost a joke at this point. He must really enjoy making you look foolish. That is the only explanation. Before you ask Alicent what she said to him during their talk, a flash of silvery hair at the door catches your eye.

There had been times you thought about killing Aemond. A slip of poison in the goblet, or smothering him with a pillow. Even more lately since you two share a room again. Not ideas you were ever proud of, especially when you thought about your children not having their father in their lives. Living with the grief of a dead father the rest of their lives.

But there’s something about this moment that makes you think you and your kids would be just fine without him. Just fine away from all these people.

“What is going on,” Aemond cautiously walks in, clearly apprehensive of the collection of people in the room. “Your parents are asking for us.”

“Aemond, you should go ba-,” Alicent starts. She is using the voice you have heard her put on when speaking to members of court. Collected and stern.

“This is your fault,” your voice trounces out hers. You move past Alicent and throw the box at his feet. “Your whore left us a gift.”

Aemond leans down to look at Alaric’s blanket. His shoulders stiffening instantly when he sees the box. He looks over at his mother. You have learned that they have their own little language through looks. A connection that can only be expected through mother and child. It only infuriates you more.

“She would not do this.”

Aemond shakes his head in disbelief, and you throw your hands up in frustration. The blood from them now starting to stain your dress. Your favorite purple dress tainted.

“Is her cunt so magical that it is making you blind in both eyes,” you hiss. “She came into this room, and soaked your son’s blanket in blood. Gods know whose blood.”

“My wife-“

You hold a hand up to stop him.

“You have already shown you have no respect for me, but if you think I am going to let your love affair with her effect my children, you are more foolish than I thought.”

Your eyes drifts down the small dagger around his waist. One slit to the throat is all you need. There’s a strange sense of adrenaline that runs through you.

A blood lust.

“We need to all keep our composure, fighting will do no good,” Alicent steps in between you two. “…. And we must remember our stations.”

She eyes you when she says the last part of the sentence.

“Before we jump to any other conclusions, let’s get one of the maidservants to clean this room up, and I’ll see to it that extra guards are sent to all the living quarters. We will discuss how to go forward after the feast.”

Alicent grabs Aemond’s arm in an attempt to pull him out of the room. Your vision blurs with anger. Jump to conclusions? Playing coy and hurt has gotten you nowhere. Your mother was wrong all those years ago; keeping your head is not the always answer.

“That is not going to work my Queen,” Alicent turns back around with a frustrated look in her eyes. “This a threat towards Alaric. And your son’s disrespect of his marriage is directly responsible; what other conclusion is there?”

She sighs before walking back over to you. Alicent takes your hand softly and lays the other over yours.

“Sweetling, do not let jealousy cloud your judgment,” the sweet tone of her voice makes your throat tight. “Anger will not change what happened.”

There is something about the way she is looking at you that reminds of when you used to go hunting with your father. A hobby you hated, but were forced to do when you were younger. You are the doe or wild sheep being toyed with before being slaughtered. Made submissive once the chase is too much to bear.

She hopes you will eventually grow tired of running. That you will take each blow gracefully… Just like she has, just like is expected of a dutiful wife. Is that not what sacrifice is; to become a cold carcass for the dragons to feed on.

Even with people on your side in the room, you have never felt so alone.

“He’s your grandson,” there’s a desperation in your voice that makes you feel so small. Your eyes move past her to Aemond. “He is your blood.”

Your husband is the one that set this all into motion, and you still have to be the one the beg for sympathy. Sympathy for you, and for your children.

“You know I would not want anything to happen to him,” Aemond addressed you with a low voice. Alicent nods in agreement. You bite your tongue that you taste blood.

“Fine, if you both want to make this right, we can do this my way,” you return the farcical sweet voice.

Alicent’s brown eyes darken a bit. As if she knows where you are going with this. You let go of her hand to turn towards Ser Quinton and Lord Larys.

“I want her gone… permanently.”

Quinton’s eyes widen a bit. There had been hushed whispers in the past. Funnily enough, your chivalric knight had the same idea Aegon did. Kill her before it gets too far.

“Sweet daughter, you are not thinking clearly,” the desperation that was once in your voice has now transferred to Alicent’s.

“She made a threat against the son of a Prince of the Realm. That is treason, and calls for punishment.”

“That is enough,” Aemond raises his voice. An unwavering glare pointed on your direction. “This discussion is over.”

You stare in disbelief as he walks out the room. Alicent looks as if she wants to say something, but just sighs and follows her son out. Lord Larys does not even give you a glance as we walks by, trying to catch up to Alicent. Silence permeates in the room, as you stare at the door. Foolishly expecting one of them to turn back around.

“We can figure something out,” Aegon finally speaks up.

A lump grows in your throat. You look down at the dried blood on your hands and dress.

“Give me the room please,” you mutter to him and Quinton. Neither of them move. “I need to change. Just please go.”

Your voice cracks at the end. They both have seen you cry before, more times than you are proud of. But there is something different about this time. More painful; more humiliating. You do not want to be seen this way.

“I will be outside if you need me,” Quinton says softly.

When the door finally shuts, your legs give out from under you. A sob caught in your throat as you take in the room. Your watery eye land on the chest full of dresses. Some a deep red, others vivid green. Pristine and pressed.

Your life sullied… just like your favorite purple dress.

The feast goes as expected. People dote on Daella and Alaric. Aemond and Alicent keep their distance; Alicent spares you sympathetic glances when she thinks you are not looking. Your mother does not seem to pick up on your discomfort. Your father, on the other hand, continues to give you puzzled looks throughout. Especially when you came back in a different dress.

There was a rush of relief that follows when your father suggest the children visiting your home. Anything that gets you away from King’s Landing is welcomed. Even if it is for a short time.

Your worries seems to get push to the side when news of Lord Corlys Velaryons declining health hits the Red Keep. The Queen, who already spends her days caring for a sick king, must now concern herself with the issues that arise from a sick lord.

Daella and Alaric have not left you sight. Much to her surprise and enjoyment, you even joined Daella in the Dragonpit and in the library for her lessons. The constant vigilance extends to them coming with you to the Grand Sept.

Jayne keeping them company, and Quinton watching on as you kneel in front of the candles.

There is so much for you to pray for, you do not know where to begin. Before you eyes can flutter shut, a voice interrupts you.

“I was hoping to find you here,” the familiar deep timber of Lord Hightower’s voice.

He kneels beside you with a gruff groan. Otto Hightower is not a man you speak with often, and by choice. An intimating man through and through.

“I am glad to see you are well,” he starts blowing out one of the incense sticks. “Especially after what happened at the feast.”

As Hand of the King, and now acting in place of Viserys as his health declines, it should not surprise you he knows. It is his job to know everything, but mentions of your behavior still makes you shift nervously.

“It is a shamed. What bullishness can bring; Aemond has always been too proud for his own good, even when wrong.”

You furrow your eyes, and turn to look at him as he continues.

“You and your children are very important to this family, especially now,” he says softly.

He means your money is important to him. He means the fleet that sits on the outside west of Westeros is important to him.

“So, if you still want that problem taken care of permanently. There are those that would be happy to find her and do that.”

Talk of murder in the sept… the irony is not lost on you. Killing Alys means possibly murdering a child. It was one the reasons why you felt so guilty about what happened at the feast. Larys had told you sick rumors, one about what she does to her children. Though your expectation of her are low, you can not imagine even her doing such heinous things. Her state leaves you utterly confused.

Your silence seems to give him all the answers he needs.

“I will leave you to your prayers,” Otto starts to get up.

Alaric’s babbling grows as Daella rubs his head while Jayne holds him. Your babies.

You grab Otto’s hand before he can fully get up.

“After the deed is done, bury her near Harrenhal. Let her be on her ancestral home,” you say lowly, eyes trained on your children before flittering over to his.

Otto gives you a head and a smile before getting up.

Targaryens take care of their own. It is time you do the same. The Mother will understand.

Aemond is tense, even more than usual. At first you thought he knew. That maybe he could smell the anguish on you. The suspicions of him knowing about you giving his grandsire the go ahead diminished when you learned that Rhaenyra and her family were coming back to the Red Keep.

With the Driftmark claim up in the air, the castle is expecting many visitors.

A part of you can not blame Aemond for being on guard. The history between the other side of his family is bad for obvious reasons. There will also be a divide and uneasy feeling now.

It is the anxious feeling that washes over when you see Prince Daemon walking towards you. Instinctively clutch Alaric closer to you, bouncing him as he begins to fuss. With all the self-assurance in the world, there is something eye catching about the bravado Daemon Targaryen has. His confidence would be a trait you admired if it did not often go hand in hand with his arrogance.

The last time you saw the Prince was at your wedding. A surprise to everyone, especially Alicent and Viserys. The joy Viserys showed when seeing his brother dimmed when Daemon made it clear he was not staying afterwards. Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena, his daughters, sending well wishes and gorgeous jewelry. Pearls from the Driftmark Seas and rubies earrings that you are sure from Pentos. Your family frequented Pentos during the summers when you were younger, the three of you crossing paths briefly during that time.

His appearance at your wedding was a confusing to both Aemond and you, especially since he came alone. No Rhaenyra in sight. A crude choice on the princess’ part your mother remarked.

“Ah there is my niece and my grandnephew,” his smile is bright. Brighter than you expected considering why he is here, and the state his brother is in.

You were expecting a cold reception, one to the match the treatment they received. You exchanged a knowing look with Aegon when all of you were told not to greet them on their arrival.

A fake smile fights to replace the furrowed look on your face.

“Prince Daemon, I hope your trip from Dragonstone was well,” you catch how his eyes instantly go to Alaric in your arms. The Godswood is quiet except for you two, and the sound of chirping birds.

“Would have been smoother on dragon back,” he shrugs. “I am glad to see all is well.”

He holds his arms out expectedly. You blink at him, and his blinks back; realizing he is not one to back down, you gently hand over Alaric. Alaric tiny hand reaches out to touch the shiny material of Daemon’s coat.

Daemon resolves brightens even more when Alaric is placed in his arms. You know him and Rhaenyra have had children, with one on the way. You wonder if that positive disposition has been shown to Baela and Rhaena. Or even to Rhaenyra’s other children.

“He looks like his father,” he gives you a sly smile. This time you can not try to muster up a fake smile. “How is he, your husband?”

He is goading you. Even from the handful of times you have been around Daemon, you know he likes playing these games. Riddles and leg pulling; he likes knocking people on their asses. It is the warrior in him.

“He is doing well,” short and sweet, the best way to go you think. Daemon gives you smirk in return. As if in his head, he is laughing at a joke that you are clearly not in on. You tilt your head in confusion.

“That is good to hear,” he does nothing to squash the curious look on your face. The uneasiness comes back. Thankfully before it can go any further, Helaena calls your name from across the garden, stating that Daella wanted to show you something. You can tell by the smile she gives you, it is a lie. You are once again reminded of why you are eternally grateful to call her sister.

“Duty calls.”

His tone is light but his eyes say something more. What they say is something you are still unsure of. He hands Alaric back to you. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back.

The fleeting happiness you got from seeing Baela and Rhaena came to a screeching halt once the petitions are heard the Great Hall.

Who held the throne of Driftmark after Lord Corlys eventually passes was of no consequences. Everyone knew this was for something bigger. To call Lucerys Velaryon’s claim into question meant calling his mother’s as well. There was a sense of disappoint that tugs at you when the doors swept open to show a hunched, and rotting Viserys. His ability to prioritize Rhaenyra over his other children should not surprise you, but as a mother it still makes you upset. You can’t imagine not fiercely defending both of your kids equally. You see the looks on Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena’s faces; it tells you everything, more than the look on Rhaenyra’s.

You raise a brow at Rhaena from across the room when her grandmother announces her and her sister’s betrothals. She shrugs back at you. You want to let out a sardonic laugh. Another generation of girls bound by what good for their parents, bound by what will be good for others.

Thoughts are broken by Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s angry words ringing out. His actions may not be what you have done, but you understand his ire. There is a irony to House Targaryen, one that fiercely protects its own blood to the point of incest, snuffing out another house.

Daemon has a look in his eye. Much like the one he gave you when he asked about Aemond. He is itching for a reason to say or do something. Vaemond gives the perfect opportunity.

Loud gasp fall over the Great Hall when Vaemond body and head hit the ground… separate from each other. Both Helaena and you instinctively turn away in shock. You do not consider yourself a squeamish person, but there is something about it that makes your stomach churn. Aemond’s hand goes to yours, and he squeezes it. You can’t remember the last time you two have held hands.

It could be the obviously grotesque nature of it all. Or how inconsequential lives seem to those who get in the way of this family. It makes you think of Alys. Are you like that now? Years of being in this family making it easy for you to digest moving pieces on a board?

Vaemond’s body gets carried out, with Rhaenys following closely behind. The Queen Who Never Was; life riddled with loss, and now her good brother can be added to the list. You wait for Aemond to let go of your hand, but once Rhaenyra and Alicent finish watching Viserys leave the Great Hall, she sets her eyes on you.

“I was hoping we could have tea,” she eyes Aemond who makes no effort to move from semi in front of you.

Rhaenyra is a hard person to say no to, and she clearly knows it. So, when you simply nod, she gives you smile. She holds out her arm for you to take it. As you two walk out of the Great Hall, you look back. You expect to see Aemond or Aegon looking at you, but instead your eyes catch Alicent’s.

A sad look of longing etched into her pretty face.

“They are darling,” Rhaenyra remarks in a hushed tone as you two watch Daella interact with little Aegon and Viserys. Alaric resting near the two of you.

Jayne had made sure tea and mini tarts had been brought to the Princess’ chambers.

“I am secretly hoping this one is a girl.”

She smiles softly at you, rubbing her swollen belly. You know she must crave that bond between mother and daughter, especially after the untimely death of her own.

“I was surprised you wanted to have tea,” the small talk was sweet, but you knew it was leading to something else. Your walls up even more after your conversation with her husband.

“I was worried that you might have took me not coming to your wedding as… a slight on you,” she starts. “That was never the case. I just felt that it would be best for me and my children to stay away.”

Outside of the snide comment made my your mother and Alicent, her absence did not concern you. You keep that you think Aemond was happy she was not there to yourself. It had been years, and you could count on one hand how many times you thought about it.

“Jacaerys was quite upset with me,” she laughs a bit. “I think he wanted to see if it was actually happening. Uncle Aemond getting married to pretty girl from court.”

You did not return the laugh. You little of her oldest boys, the only things you have heard came from Aemond and Aegon. Not positive representations you are sure.

“As we move past that, I want to say that if you need anything, I am here. If you need any help… any advice or a place to stay. You are welcome at Dragonstone.”

The words make your wandering eyes snap to hers. Rhaenyra gives you a look. The Realm’s Delight sitting across from you in all her glory. Her form of intimidation is different from her husband or her half brothers. A presence that is hard to come by, and even more difficult to replicate.

They know.

You don’t know how, but they do. They are dangling it in front of your face. Taunting you, and your crumbling marriage. Showing weakness at this point will do you no good, not until you have proof or an explanation.

“Thank you Princess,” you lean over to pick up Alaric gently. You need to get out of here. “If I need any advice on fickle men, I will come to you. I know have your fair share of experience with that.”

Rhaenyra’s confident look flatters a bit. She hums softly.

“Daella love, let us go see how grandmother is doing,” you pick an excuse to leave. The mention of Alicent makes Rhaenyra frown. Her light eyes darkening with sadness.

As you leave the the Princess’ chambers, it comes to you. How the hell did Aemond and Alys even meet?

You have seen first hand that being around her grandchildren is the only time Alicent happy. Unabashedly sweet and warm; dimples on full display. The two of you had not had a real conversation since the feast, but you knew better than to keep your kids away from their grandmother. It was the quickest way to anger her.

“Rhaenyra would not do that,” her tone reminds you so much of her son. So certain, as if it was an insult to question the virtue of the people they… love. “Maybe she actually wants to help.”

“They both know. I cannot explain it, but they know about Alys or they at least know she was here.”

Her shoulder slump as Alaric reaches out to touch the large seven pointed star dangling from her neck. Alicent’s ability to defend Rhaenyra will always leave you a bit speechless. If one of the boys ever said something disparaging about their half-sister, Alicent was the first to give them a warning look. She was allowed to be upset, they were not. A fractured relationship being held together by longing.

“I understand it…. How hard it is,” you shuffle closer to her. “Having your mind consumed by someone who does not extend that same grace for your feelings.”

“I did not think she would go after the children,” Alicent whispers. “I get why you would want her…”

She trails off. Her big eyes get glassy, and she swallows thickly. She does not say anything as she looks into fire. She reminds you of a painted tapestry. Beautiful and tragic.

“Princess Rhaenyra may not have orchestrated anything. But do we put it past Prince Daemon?”

“We will figure it out,” Alicent says after a bit of silence. “You are right, something is off.”

A thought comes to your mind. “Do you know what Prince Daemon for Aemond as wedding gift?”

Daemon never got you a gift, simply giving you the ones Baela and Rhaena sent. But you vividly remember him getting Aemond something. Alicent thinks for a second for her brows raise in realization.

“A book of stories about warriors from the across the Realm,” how was he putting that to good use, “Oh, a map of the red keep. I silly wedding gift if you ask me.”

She shrugs. Your eyes go to fire to. A map seems inconsequential enough, but as your growing paranoia seeps into everything it becomes clear.

You must find this map.

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not to be nsfw (it's not i promise) but we all know how respectful and dutiful aemond could be, and what kind of era he's living in.

do you think he would've be feral at the sight of a woman's ankles? like- they're all dressed modestly and aemond isn't like aegon so he doesn't actively look for any sight of skin

but WHAT IF- he's people watching like he always does, sees sweet (y/n) parading around and he's already entranced by their beauty but that curtsey? how sturdy and low she bows to his mother? he can already feel his palms sweating

how modest she's dressed? not a sight of skin to let any lingering thoughs of sin creep into a man's head? oh you're making him dizzy

and when you dance and how your skirts lift up slightly and the skin of your ankles show? he's damn near about to pass out

bonus : aegon judging him from over his wine cup like "i took you to a brothel with naked women at every corner and an ANKLE is what turns you on?"

"you wouldn't understand."

"...larys strong would."

Sub!Ageon ii Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

Omg I spent so much more time on this than I expected to?? I kind of forgot people don’t usually do this entire template in one go but here we are, and I spared no expense in thinking through any one of these, I promise you. I started working through it a few days ago and just sat down decided that I’m finishing it all tonight. I didn’t anticipate how soft and sappy this would get at some points, so here is some very very good boy Aegon, enjoy!! 

Also, requests are open and appreciated!!!

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