echos-muses asked:
aemond falling in love with a musically gifted woman and every time they’re getting ready to sleep he asks her to sing to him 🥺 this thought JUST popped up in my head. like imagine he hears her before he sees her. like she’s singing for some event or something but aemond gets there too late and only sees the back of her head. it could be a whole thing where he’s trying to find her because her voice intrigued him that much.
This fic took ME on a ride
I have been waiting to do this one for too long and I made it Yule-themed as well…reader introduces Aemond to some winter traditions hehe
Aemond x fem!reader | Aemond reluctant to take part in festivities | harpist!reader | cheeky banter | mistletoe kiss
You fingers plucked the strings of your harp, constructed of the finest walnut wood, filling the dining hall with lovely music as you accompanied the other musicians. Your keen eyes swept the dance floor, taking note of all the noble lords and ladies swirling about, strung to the music you were creating.
All were dancing and making merry, save one obvious exception.
Aemond Targaryen. The silver-haired enigma. The young man who had all the ladies gossiping and giggling as they whispered behind hands, surreptitiously glancing at the rigid form of the prince.
As if he felt your gaze upon him, while he sat at the long table, his eye flicked to meet yours. Neither of you broke eye contact, you watched as he studied you and the instrument you played. A pleasant shiver prickled the back of your neck, he seemed interested in you. A small smile tugged at his lovely lips, curved and plush as they were. You longed to run your fingers along the shape of them.
Your fingers stumbled, you lost the beat of the music and faltered.
“Come on now, Y/N.” The fiddler beside you chided. “Keep up! Don’t let pretty princes distract you.”
You mumbled a curse at him, steadying your fingers upon the harp strings once again and reentering the melody. You shot a quick glance back at the table, Aemond was grinning slyly at you now.
Your face burned, and you had to look away before you messed up the song again.
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
She was quite a lovely sight, seated before the wooden harp, fingers so dexterous as she conjured music as though it was magic.
Aemond was loathe to admit it, but he was entranced at the sight. The harp perched between your legs, a rather intimate instrument he mused.
With long fingers grasping his pewter goblet, Aemond raised his cup to his lips, pretending to drink the wine therein, still observing you over the rim.
“See something interesting, brother?” Aegon prodded his shoulder, rousing Aemond unpleasantly from his contemplation of your form.
“Is there no one else for you to bother?” He cast an annoyed look at the elder prince, appraising his unkempt state. “Did mother not instruct you to wash before the Yuletide feast?”
“I’m presentable enough.” Aegon defended, tucking a greasy strand of silver hair behind his ear.
“You look like an urchin.”
“You have the look of a man who sees a woman he likes.” Aegon wiggled his eyebrows at Aemond, his cheeks ruddy from all the wine he’d consumed. “Go talk to her.”
“She’s busy at the moment.” Aemond actually took a sip of wine this time, almost choking as Aegon clapped him hard upon the back.
“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.”
“What are you-?” Aemond’s eye narrowed as he watched Aegon cross the dance floor, almost getting clotheslined by a waltzing couple as he did. “Oh no.” He murmured, rising to stand, bemusement and bewilderment furrowing his brow.
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
“Excuse me. Harp lady. Stop playing a moment.” You looked around, your hands stilling upon the vibrating strings. The last person you expected to be speaking to you was Aegon Targaryen, the eldest son of Viserys and Alicent. Yet here he was, his cheeks red from the influence of wine as he grinned down at where you sat. “My brother would like a word.”
“I’m sorry my prince.” You bowed your head. “I have been commissioned to play for the royal feast.”
Aegon was having none of it. You made a disgruntled noise as he took you by your elbow, guiding you ungently to your feet. You steadied your instrument as it teetered, jostled by the abruptness of your movements as Aegon practically steered you away.
You looked guiltily over your shoulder at your fellow musicians, giving them a little wave of apology as you were dragged toward the long dining table.
Aemond stood as Aegon approached, his hand still gripping your arm.
“Let her go, Aegon.” Aemond’s voice was terse but still held a quality that made your skin tingle pleasantly.
“Talk about a first-class delivery.” Aegon chortled, smacking you between your shoulder blades, making you stumble slightly forward.
You noted how Aemond raised his hands as if prepared to catch you should you need assistance. Luckily for you, Aegon wasn’t that rough.
“I’m not a Yuletide package.” You grumbled, straightening your skirts and giving Aegon a displeased glare before curtsying to Aemond.
“Indeed not!” Aegon agreed, crossing to pour himself another generous glass of wine. “Aemond here is the one with the package for you.”
“That is quite enough.” Aemond hissed, his jaw clenching as his lilac eye cut from you to his brother. “My lady.” He gave you a curt bow and held out his arm for you to take. “Allow me to escort you elsewhere, the better to escape my inebriated brother.”
“You can thank me later, Aemond!” Aegon called after the two of you as Aemond guided you away.
You had to remind yourself how to breath properly, the feel of Aemond’s leather jerkin smooth beneath your fingertips as you entwined your arm with his. He smelled lovely, a combination of smoke, leather and spiced wine.
“I do apologize.” Aemond intoned, inclining his head toward you as he spoke softly. “I do not even know your name.”
“Y/N.” You answered, your voice almost catching in your tightened throat.
“Y/N.” He repeated, your name sounding sinfully good on his lips. “My brother gets certain…ideas in his head and will not be dissuaded once his course is set.”
“What idea inspired him to lead me to you?” You asked, a mischievous spark lighting in your chest. “My prince.” You remembered your manners at the last second.
“Please, call me Aemond.” The two of you stepped together out onto a moonlit terrace, complete with rosebushes and archways covered in vines.
The night air was brisk, you subconsciously pulled Aemond’s warm body closer to your own. You noted how he had not answered your question. “Aemond, then. I noticed you didn’t seem a fan of the festivities.”
“I enjoy feasts well enough.”
“But not dancing?”
“No, not dancing.”
You stood at the railing now, under a mossy archway, overlooking the red roofs of King’s Landing, now bathed in silver light under the night sky. The waves of the sea far away sparkled merrily, catching your eyes momentarily before you turned to face the silver prince.
“What do you like, then?”
Aemond clasped his hands behind his back, his profile sharply illuminated by the moonlight. His eye flicked to your face, he was very close to you, closer than you had ever imagined you would be to a prince let alone a Targaryen.
“I enjoy reading. Swordplay…” He hesitated, turning away from the urban vista to give you his full attention.
You arched an eyebrow, a small smile playing along your lips. “And?”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head at you, shining silken hair falling over his shoulder. “I enjoyed watching you play your harp.” His eye widened slightly, as he straightened, catching himself leaning closer to your enticing smile. “That is to say, I enjoyed the music you were making.”
“I’m surprised you heard it.” You leaned an arm on the balcony railing afraid your knees were about to give out. “Harps are notoriously hard to hear in a setting such as a feast.”
“I heard you.” Aemond was still studying your face, seeming to like the little changes in expression he saw as your lips quirked up, your eyes crinkling at the corners, the scrunch of your nose. “You are quite skilled. Perhaps you would play for me sometime?”
“So long as Aegon isn’t there.”
Aemond chuckled at that. You wanted him to laugh again, it was a sound that sent shockwaves straight to your center.
“You’re biting your lip, Y/N.” Aemond’s eye had found your mouth, lingering upon your lips as you wet them with your tongue.
“I just noticed something.” You pointed to the space above your heads, a strand of foliage hung from the apex of the archway, white berries nestled amongst sprigs of green.
“What is that?” Aemond asked, looking up to where you pointed.
“You don’t know what mistletoe is?” You looked aghast, pressing a dramatic hand to your heart. “It’s a Yuletide tradition.”
“I believe we’ve established I don’t give much credence to festive traditions, Y/N.” He seemed to like saying your name, waiting for you to explain what it was.
“When two people stand under a bundle of mistletoe they have to…” You trailed off, your boldness turning to sudden shyness as you realized what you were about to say and who you were speaking to.
“They…what?” Aemond prompted, looking again at the plant, sudden wariness upon his features.
“Kiss.”
Aemond looked at you in surprise. “I’m sorry?” He chuckled. “That’s a tradition? You’re having me on.”
“I promise you I’m not!” You blushed furiously.
Aemond seemed to be enjoying making you squirm. “You’re making this up.”
“I am not!”
“A clever scheme.”
“I will bet you money that it’s true.” You felt lightheaded from the embarrassment. “Ask anyone inside.”
“Kiss me then.”
“I am not lying-what?” You must have misheard, you had to fight not to gawk up at the prince as he looked imperiously down at you.
“Since you’re so adamant this mistroe forces two people to kiss…”
“Mistletoe.” You corrected quickly.
“Then make good on your claim.” He leaned into your space; you felt his breath upon your face. “Or else I suppose we will be stuck here for eternity, held captive by this plant.”
“Aemond, we don’t have to…” Your words caught in your suddenly dry mouth as Aemond hooked a slender finger beneath your chin, pulling you gently forward.
“I want to.” He breathed, waiting for you to close the final distance separating you.
Your eyes roved across his angular features, his lilac eye turned silver in the moonlight, the leather eyepatch covering his other eye, a vertical scar running up his forehead and down his cheek. Your gaze fell to his lips, the very lips you had been daydreaming about not an hour earlier.
Your eyelashes fluttered, a sudden rushing sound filling your heated ears as you leaned forward, Aemond’s finger on your chin moving trace your cheek as his lips parted.
As if guided by an invisible force your lips brushed against his, a wanton moan escaping your mouth that he captured as he pressed harder against you, pulling you by your waist flush against him.
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
You tasted like starlight and mulled wine. Your body warm against his. Aemond could feel the soft well of your bosom flush to his chest, the enticing scent of you filling his lungs as he breathed you in.
Thank the gods for mistlewhatever, his mind was too full of you within his arms for him to think clearly. Aemond drank down your sighs of pleasure as he greedily moved his lips with yours, only pulling away slightly when the both of you needed to catch your breath.
“Did we satisfy the tradition?” He asked, his eye crinkling as he smiled at your eager expression.
Your hair was a little mussed from the intensity of your embrace, Aemond smoothed an unruly tress and tucked it behind your ear.
“I’m tempted to say ‘no’.” You quipped, finding your voice at last.
“I would like for you to play your harp for me later this evening, before I retire.” Aemond kept his hands upon your waist, loathe to let you go. “Perhaps we can revisit this,” he reached up, plucking the sprig of mistletoe from where it hung. “later.” He pocketed the plant, relishing the way your cheeks flushed pink as your lovely intelligent eyes followed his movements.
“Where should I find you, my prin-Aemond?”
Aemond let his hands fall away from you at last, only to clasp your hand formally and press a warm kiss to your knuckles. He lingered there, enjoying the feel of your soft skin on his lips. He had to suppress the urge to flick his tongue out to taste you.
“The sitting room adjacent to the library. I will find you there after the festivities adjourn.”
His gaze lingered on your upturned face, softly taking in your lovely expression.
“You’re not going to ask me to dance?” You gave a mock pout, drawing his attention back to your enticing lips.
“Oh no, my lady.” Aemond chuckled dryly. “Enchanting as you are, I do not indulge in dancing.”
“Maybe I can change your mind one of these days.”
He gave a pause, feeling the bundle of mistletoe inside his jacket. “I wouldn’t rule that out as a possibility.” He extended his arm to you. “May I escort you back to the feast?”
You shook your head. “Thank you, no. I need a moment…that is, I would like to enjoy the view a little longer.”
Aemond watched as you turned back to the scenic vista of the sprawling city below. He allowed himself a moment of weakness, his eye trailing down along your body, taking in the way your skirt shifted in the light breeze, accentuating the curve of your hips and your full…he needed to depart.
With a final shallow bow Aemond turned briskly upon his booted heel and strode back toward the Yuletide festivities, silently wishing he could get away with remaining at your side for the rest of the evening and perhaps even longer. He had been gone from your presence for mere seconds and already craved you.
Aemond would never admit it out loud, but Aegon had been correct.
Aemond desired you.
And what he desired, he claimed.
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