7/9/23, 10:28 PM Anywhere Where He Is - Chapter 1 - middle_c - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

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Explicit

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Major Character Death
Underage

M/M

House of the Dragon (TV)

Game of Thrones (TV)
A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra)

Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen

Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra)
Rhaenyra Targaryen
Daemon Targaryen
Jacaerys Velaryon
Viserys I Targaryen
Alicent Hightower
Otto Hightower
Aegon II Targaryen
Helaena Targaryen
Baela Targaryen
Rhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon)
Corlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon
Vaemond Velaryon
Game of Thrones Ensemble
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7/9/23, 10:28 PM Anywhere Where He Is - Chapter 1 - middle_c - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Intersex Omegas
Arranged Marriage
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Dubious Consent
Driftmark Island (A Song of Ice and Fire)
The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen Era
Uncle/Nephew Incest
Enemies to Lovers
Sexual Tension
Medium Burn
Dom/sub
Wet & Messy
Dirty Talk
Dragon Riders
Sex on Dragonback
can't believe that's not a tag. fine. i will do it then. since you are such a coward
AU where Viserys avoided the Stranger for a little bit longer
Mpreg
Targaryen Madness
Politics
Power Imbalance
Codependency
Hedonism
Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Lord of Driftmark Luke
English

Anywhere Where He Is
middle_c

Summary:

In an attempt to strengthen family ties, King Viserys weds Aemond to Lucerys, altering the course of Westerosi
history.

Chapter 1 (http://archiveofourown.org/works/42460728/chapters/106638834) : Prologue: The Wedding Night

The door to their chambers shuts with a heavy finality, and Lucerys, now at last a real Targaryen, bursts into tears.
Aemond expected fighting. He expected icy stares. After witnessing what appeared to be a heated, if whispered,
conversation between the boy and his mother during their wedding feast, he had even expected to be on the other end of a
dagger. Instead, the boy takes one proper look at Aemond and cries.
“Come,” Aemond says, gesturing briefly with his hand.
Lucerys approaches obediently, looking small and breakable in the decadent chemise the serving Omegas dressed him
in. His low sobs are quickly and abruptly muffled when Aemond takes his wrist. He is pressing his lips together tightly
enough that they are losing the pink color the opportunistic high lords and ladies are so smitten over.
Aemond tugs him close, close enough that the warm, shuddering line of him is pressed against his front. A high, wet
gasp bursts out of him, though it is quickly sucked right back up. Aemond runs a hand over his loose dark curls—Harwin
Strong’s curls, he thinks, derisively amused—and revels in the abrupt way he tenses.
Quietly, methodically, Aemond scents him—he rolls the boy’s sleeves up and runs his wrists along the trembling arms,
up to the long pale neck, lingering over where his scent glands are red and aching from the aphrodisiac slipped into his
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7/9/23, 10:28 PM Anywhere Where He Is - Chapter 1 - middle_c - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
wine to ensure a consummation of their marriage. Lucerys watches him, wide-eyed, as he kneels.
“What are you doing, uncle?” Lucerys rasps out.
“Husband,” Aemond corrects him.
“H-husband,” Lucerys repeats, and then a fresh wave of tears comes.
Aemond tugs the chemise up his thighs, far beyond what is decent, but enough to protect the modesty of what lies
between. Lucerys clutches his hands in a surprisingly strong grip, his nails digging painfully into Aemond’s flesh. Aemond
glances up at him.
“I’ll kill you,” Lucerys says, and there is nothing but steel in his voice.
“You may try,” Aemond says, smiling.
Lucerys lets out a sharp cry when Aemond’s teeth sink abruptly into his thigh. There is no blood, but he bites
powerfully enough that it must hurt, for Lucerys lets out a whimper loud enough that it rattles unnervingly in Aemond’s
bones, shaking off the rut-drunk haze that has been fighting to settle into him for the past hour.
Hands slip into his hair, soft as a lover’s touch, and then pain blossoms white hot along his scalp. Aemond squeezes
the back of a supple thigh in warning and does not let go until the grip lessens. His cock throbs painfully. He can smell
Lucerys’ arousal, bright and sweet, like a beacon. If he were to raise his hand, he could likely feel it, too, wet and warm on
his fingertips.
But he does not do that. He continues as he was, scenting and marking until his new husband is trembling like a leaf in
the wind. He rises to his feet. He recognizes something new in those warm brown eyes, amongst the hate and fear. Desire,
open and hungry as anything. It is a victory.
“Your neck,” Aemond says.
Huffing and scowling, Lucerys bears his neck. Aemond takes him by the shoulder, leans in, and bites. He does break
skin this time, and oh, it is sweet, Lucerys’ bastard blood thick and pulsing on his tongue. Lucerys is deathly silent, and as
still as Aemond has ever seen him. Their nascent bond snaps into life. For just a moment, Lucerys’ humiliation is his own.
It is deeply sobering.
Aemond draws back and inspects his work. The bonding bite has taken. The slow ooze of blood is proof enough.
Lucerys sways towards him as Aemond stalks away towards the vanity in the far corner of their room. He’d watched the
Maester place bandages and a healing poultice there earlier. He gathers them up in his hands.
“I can do it myself,” Lucerys croaks when Aemond returns to him.
“Of course,” Aemond says, unable to stop himself from smiling meanly.
As Lucerys shuffles towards the fireplace, Aemond climbs onto the bed. He draws the blankets back, undoes the loose
laces of his trousers, and frees his aching cock. He is sure the Maester of Driftmark has been installed by his father. Neither
of them had been given a choice about consuming the traditional aphrodisiacs. For once in his entire reign, King Viserys
has begun to make decisions, and he is giving no quarter.
It takes only a few joyless, utilitarian strokes for him to cum, his knot plumping painfully at his base, his seed pooling
along the silken sheets. It is a quick, unsatisfying completion.
“Come,” Aemond calls.
He is not looking up, but he can hear Lucerys' stifled gasp. Thankfully, the boy has sense enough to listen and climbs
up onto the bed, ashen-faced.
“I’m going to touch you now,” Aemond informs him.
He can’t help but observe the red blossoming underneath the tightly wound bandages on Lucerys’ neck. The Heir to
Driftmark has been claimed.
“I don’t want this,” Lucerys whispers. “Uncle, if you have any love left for me, you will—”
“Shut up. Would you rather I take you?” Aemond snaps.
“No,” Lucerys cries, startled by the rise in his voice.
“Then come. They will be looking. With any luck, this will ensure you will be with child, and we’ll never have to do
this again,” Aemond hisses.
Trembling, Lucerys shuffles forward. Aemond gestures for him to widen his knees, which he does with a look of pure
distress.
Aemond’s left hand is covered in his own seed, and it is this hand he slips between Lucerys’ thighs, finding his cunt
hot and slick. He swallows, his throat abruptly dry.
Lucerys whines, dropping his forehead onto Aemond’s shoulder.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” Aemond asks. An incomprehensible murmur is his only reply. “Louder, damn
you.”
“Yes,” Lucerys bites out. His breath bursts heatedly over Aemond’s clavicle, sending goosebumps rocketing across his
skin. “But never—I never—”

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“Never did this?” Aemond asks, and he slips a single finger inside, meeting no resistance.
“Gods,” Lucerys whines.
“No?”
“No!”
His hips buck forward, greedy, and Aemond, who had only planned to press his seed inside and abscond to the
adjoining bedchambers, pulls his finger out and trails it up to the boy’s throbbing clit.
“Oh,” Lucerys says, and his voice is full of such wonder and discovery that it draws a disbelieving laugh from
Aemond’s throat.
“You like that.” He says.
He uses two fingers, circling the hard little nub until Lucerys gusts out a small moan and shakes through a quiet,
trembling orgasm. Aemond scoops the fingers back over his palm, gathering his seed where it rests, and slips his fingers
back inside, thrusting insistently. He works Lucerys through the fluttering contractions with a sleepy sort of satisfaction, the
kind of settled Alpha instinct that he has not indulged in for some time.
“There,” Aemond whispers, into his ear. “What a sweet little quim you have, Lucerys. Who knew this is what it took
to tame you?”
“I hate you,” Lucerys moans.
“But you will love my child,” Aemond says.
His thumb takes the place of his fingertips on Lucerys’ clit, and the boy lets out a loud sob and cums again, wet
gushing along Aemond’s hand, hips rocking back and forth. He clings to Aemond tightly enough that it would hurt from
someone bigger, hungrily chasing his release. He’s a sturdy, well-exercised prince, but he will never boast the sheer size of
an Alpha.
Aemond waits until he calms to pulls his fingers out. A wet noise reaches their ears. He is darkly amused by the way
Lucerys’ face twists in shame. He takes his hand, tack with both their release, and rubs it along his inner thighs and his
belly. His hand gazes over the boy’s soft cocklet, and his brows raise to find spend there, too. Lucerys jolts, but does not
move away.
“Where is your weapon?” Aemond asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucerys says.
“It would do you well to remember I can tell if you are being untruthful,” Aemond says, mildly.
“It is underneath my pillow,” Lucerys says, after a beat of silence.
Aemond cannot help it. He throws his head back and laughs. “Did you think to seduce me? Slit my throat in my
sleep?”
“I thought to take your other eye,” Lucerys says, visibly seething.
“Again,” Aemond purrs, “You may try.”
He reaches beneath the many pillows and retrieves a dagger. It is not Valyrian steel, but it is finely made, with a
gorgeously ornamental pommel made in Velaryon aquamarine and white. It makes Aemond laugh all over again.
Still chuckling, he rolls up the sleeve of his linen shirt. Quickly, he swipes a cut along his wrist, his blood bubbling in
a neat line. He squeezes his hand into a fist and carefully directs a few fat drops onto the bedsheets. Lucerys watches him
openly, his expression, for once, unreadable.
“Sleep well, nephew.” He says.
“Husband,” Lucerys says, tilting his chin up defiantly.
Aemond smiles mirthlessly. “Sleep well, husband.”
Close (#)

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