Before the union of Rhaenyra with Ser Laenor Velaryon, an event etched forever in memory took place when Daemon claimed Rhaenyra's innocence in the hidden corners of a brothel, planting a seed of life within the princess rightful to the Iron Throne...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I've seen he deepest darkness and wrestled with Gods Ride the noble harness, for raining Cats and Dogs
As the sun began to set, the training session in the courtyard came to an end. Aemond, his silver hair catching the last rays of sunlight, lowered his training sword and offered a hand to Rhaella. She was panting, her cheeks flushed, but the spark in her violet eyes was unquenched.
"That's enough for today," Aemond said, pulling her up.
Rhaella smiled, her heart pounding in her chest not from the exertion, but from the intimate proximity. "I think I am doing well!" she said, her voice a little breathless.
"You did," Aemond agreed, his hand squeezing hers. "You have improved over the past hours. You are quite the natural."
Instead, she tilted her head up, her gaze meeting his. Their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling. It felt like the world had stopped, the only sound being the beating of their hearts.
And then, Aemond leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a soft, sweet kiss. It was their first, a moment they shared countless times before, but it was different now. It was as if everything else ceased to exist, their shared world narrowing down to this single, breathtaking moment.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths still hitched. "Now, about more training in the chamber."
Rhaella's heart fluttered. "You are fierier than the dragons, love." she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
The heavy wooden door creaked open and Rhaella and Aemond slipped into their shared chambers, their faces flushed from the exertion of sword training. The last rays of the sun filtered through the window, painting the room in soft hues of orange and gold.
Aemond was the first to break the silence, a teasing glint in his eyes as he turned to Rhaella. "You've improved, Rhaella. You almost had me there."
Rhaella chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Almost is not good enough, Aemond. I intend to best you someday."
Aemond's eyes softened at her determination, his heart swelling with pride and affection. He moved closer, his gaze flickering down to her lips for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I have no doubt you will," he said, his voice lowered to a husky whisper.
Rhaella's breath hitched as she felt Aemond's hand gently brush away a loose hair from her face. She looked up at him, her grey eyes reflecting the warmth of the fading sun. She was not unaware of the tension between them, the sparks that seemed to fly each time their hands brushed or eyes met.
"I hope I am there to see it," Aemond added, his hand lingering on her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw.
Rhaella reached up, her hand covering his on her cheek. "You will be," she assured him, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'll be right there, standing beside me."
Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing hers as he whispered, "I look forward to it."
And then he was kissing her, his hand sliding into her hair as he deepened the kiss. Rhaella's arms wound around his neck, her body leaning into his. The world outside faded away as they lost themselves in the kiss, the taste of sweat and the thrill of the sword fight still fresh on their lips.
The tension from their training session dissolved into the warmth between them. Their swords may have clashed in the training grounds, but in their chambers, they found a different kind of connection, a different kind of battle. One not of steel and strength, but of hearts and love.
After their passionate kiss, Aemond pulled away slightly, his breath mingling with Rhaella's. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs gently brushing away the sweat that trickled down her cheeks. His eyes, usually so bright and teasing, were now darkened with a deep, burning passion.
"You are extraordinary, Rhaella," he murmured, his voice a tender hum in the quiet room. "Not just with a sword... but in every possible way."
Rhaella's heart fluttered at his words. She reached up, her hands covering his. "And you, Aemond," she said softly. "You are the one who inspires me."
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. There was no outside world, no responsibilities, no wars to fight. There was only them, in their little world, lost in each other.
Aemond moved first, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss, deeper and more intense than before. His hands slid down her body, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Rhaella responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body pressing against his.
The kiss was a dance, a perfect harmony of give and take. Aemond's hand found its way to the small of her back, pulling her even closer. Rhaella gasped into the kiss, her hands gripping his shoulders for support.
Slowly, they moved towards their bed, their bodies never breaking contact. Aemond gently laid Rhaella down, his body hovering over hers. Their lips never parted, their breaths coming in shallow pants.
Aemond broke away, his eyes roaming over her face, drinking in every detail. "You are beautiful, Rhaella," he whispered, his hand gently tracing her collarbone.
Rhaella blushed under his intense gaze, her hand reaching up to touch his face. "And you, Aemond, are the man I love."
The confession hung in the air, a quiet declaration of their feelings. Aemond's eyes softened, his lips curving into a soft smile. "And I love you, Rhaella," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection.
On the other side of the castle, the small council of Greens sat as the air thickened in the Small Council chambers as news of King Viserys's death spread. Otto, the Hand of the King, was the first to speak, his voice echoing in the silent room. "Let ravens be sent to our allies, Riverrun and Highgarden.
There was a bitter edge to his voice, a hint of accusation. "Am I to understand that members of the small council have been planning secretly to install my son without me?"
The Queen, a silent observer until now, stiffened. "My Queen," Otto continued, turning to her. "There was no need to sully you with darkling schemes."
Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "I will not have this," he declared, his voice filled with outrage. "To hear that you are plotting to replace the King's chosen heir with an imposter!"
Tyland, the Master of Laws, countered. "His firstborn son is hardly an imposter."
"Hundreds of lords and landed knights swore fealty to the Princess," Lyman retorted.
"That was some years ago," Tyland replied, his voice calm. "Most of them now dead."
Jasper Wylde, the Master of Whispers, intervened. "You heard the Lord Hand. Plot or no, the King changed his mind."
Lyman rounded on Jasper, his face red. "I am six-and-seventy years old. I have known Viserys longer than any who sit at this table. And I will not believe that he said this on his deathbed, alone, with only the boy's mother as a witness. This is seizure! It is theft! It is treason!"
Otto's voice cut through Lyman's tirade like a knife. "Mind your tongue, Lyman." His eyes, cold and unyielding, swept over the council members. The room was once again filled with a heavy silence, the echoes of Lyman's accusations still lingering in the air.
