PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

+ . jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

synopsis. a spoil of war and unhappy bride to the lord commander of the kingsguard - aemond "one-eyed" targaryen - your loving and fair husband offers you a deal six months before the coronation of the heir to the iron throne. give him the death and or ruin of the bastard jacaerys velaryon before he can sit upon the throne, and he will give you your freedom and much more.

3 + . contents. no use of y/n or any variation. canon-divergent. there was no dance of dragons!au. blood mention. abusive relationship. mentions of past character death. slavery. enslavement. 4.3k words.

notes. this is going to be a series, cross-posted on ao3 here. if you wish to be part of a taglist please comment down below!

The morning begins as it always does.

You awaken in your chambers alone, the space on the bed beside you has grown cold with the lack of body shaped into it and the room is empty with the exception of your ladies maids. Despite sleeping a full night, you still feel exhaustion pulling at your insides and threatening to click your eyes shut forever. A gentle sigh escaping your lips when you crawl out of bed in your nightgown and stretch limbs. Popping and cracking filling the air of the room you’ve memorized every single speck of as the familiar and routine noise of servants fixing and preparing your bath joins the noise of your limbs being stretched out.

Then you’re guided over to the tub, offering gentle greetings and kind inquiries of wellbeing to the ladies who smile at you fondly and return responses and inquiries of their own. Truth be told, being around them is one of the little highlights of your days in the beautiful and expansive Red Keep of King’s Landing. Talking with them of various things they’ve kept their ears on within the walls and corridors as they bathe you with gentleness and care. You’re grateful for them, one of the few lights of the Keep usually so dark and dreary for your soul and body.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

And soon, you’re being dressed in silence when a handmaiden specifically plucked by your dear and darling husband enters to oversee your day as always. The fabric put onto you feel stuffy, the fabrics expensive and of gorgeous materials but nothing you enjoy – not a fucking thing. As if the color didn’t bring bitterness across your tongue just the same. Dark blacks with pretty lace and eyelets. To say it wasn’t beautiful, to say the gown you adorn and rubies you’re bathed in, aren’t beautiful would be untrue, yes…but they’re all of Aemond’s choosing. Down to the style in which your hair is done. You always refuse to look in the mirror when all is done.

Then the morning continues with your meal in your marital chambers. Breaking your fast on your lonesome without the loving and gentle handmaidens chosen by Queen Rhaenyra for those within the Keep but chosen by your husband to keep an eye on you when he is away. As always, you’re uncomfortable as you eat while reading a book you’ve earned the privilege to read by no longer being yourself entirely. At least the “worst” parts of you. Eating the food is uncomfortable, you eat so quickly that your stomach will ache later and you know it but you want it to be over with.

Already three years of marriage and you thought you’d be used to all of this by now, accustomed to circumstances beyond your womanly hands. Unfortunately, you’ve not grown used to this part of a loving wife to a young prince and Lord Commander because you know that if given the chance you’d slit his throat and escape in the night. If only there wasn’t concern of your neck lying upon a slab of stone the next day.

Walking down the corridor with perfect posture and chin high, your hands folding down against your navel, handmaiden close behind, your eyes looking along corridors and walls you wish to never see again. Your heart thumps softly and gently, a lullaby in your head to keep you calm in such an atmosphere and life you’ve found yourself in. Though, it’s difficult when you pass open corridors and catch the forever gloomy weather of King’s Landing. Every cold breeze and scent of rain, it’s a reminder that you’re forced to swallow and stomach.

Every day is the same. Every morning is the same. Every afternoon. Every night. Every week. Every month. Every year. Every fucking second.

There are some good moments, some breaths taken by you. And as you nod to the guards with a soft smile, you enter into one moment of fresh air. Your eyes immediately fall to the white-haired children playing with toys as their mother sits on a beautiful seat of golden stitching against green fabric. “Good morrow, Helaena.”,you greet the white-haired oddity who embroiders with steady and gentle hands. Her round lilac eyes flicker up and she smiles upon seeing you, you walk over, handmaiden waiting near the door. And you breathe in softly as you sit down beside her.

“Good morrow.”,Helaena greets you, smiling softly as she looks along your features,”Did you sleep better with the tea?”,the sweet butterfly of the Keep asks with a gentle tilt of her head. Her voice is so soft and gentle, quiet.

Your eyes look at the children who giggle and babble, playing with one another with wooden and metal figurines. A bit guilty to shake your head, you do so and then turn from the adorable little children to look at Helaena who’s smile falters a bit. “I regret saying no. I slept just as restlessly, sister.”,you speak softer and easier than you do around others with her. Helaena sighs softly, her expression melding into one of sympathy as the handmaiden’s of her chambers bring you your unfinished embroidery. “Thank you.”,you tell them before turning to Helaena and shaking your head, eyes casting down to the uncolored butterfly embroidery on a baby blanket. “But it is no matter, what do I need slumber for?”

Helaena hums softly, she nods before she looks away from you. And as routinely for this day, you and Helaena embroider in silence with the occasional look to the children and the occasional word of small talk between you and her. Though none of it is awkward or tense, in fact – you cherish these moments of silence with Helaena because you know this will be your only moment of entire comfortability and relaxation until you see her in two days again. Because even during your bath, you’re in the room you despise wholly.

Soon, you stand and hand your things to the handmaidens of Helaena’s. Ready to simply leave Helaena in silence as you always do, you pause when you hear her call you. Only three steps away, you turn and look at her with a gentle tilt of your head and gentle smile. Her big doe eyes flicker along your face, needle with embroidery thread between her pointer finger, middle finger, and thumb while her other hand holds the hoop itself. Helaena seems to hesitate, or rather pluck her words, before she speaks and she nods gently.

“I…will miss you if you go left.”,Helaena says, her eyes flickering between yours and fingers fiddling with the needle.

Your brows twitch, you blink softly at the odd words. “I…will be back, Helaena.”,you try to reassure her with a soft smile, nodding gently. Helaena shakes her head, parting her lips to speak before she shuts her mouth. Then she slowly but subtly nods, slowly sitting herself down. Some concern and worry dip into you, your eyes flickering to her handmaidens who look just as puzzled. You’re unable to do as you wish, to comfort her or pry more when your handmaid calls your title to attend the next duty of yours. Glancing at the old woman, you look at Helaena and smile. “I will see you soon, sister.”

Then you leave.

Walking down the corridor, you already begin to discuss in your head what you’ll be reviewing in the study of High Valyrian you find oddly fascinating and maybe even fun to learn. If not for the expectations bestowed upon you, your fluency is never quite enough for that of your husband that looks forward to teaching his children the language beneath two parents of the languages fluency. Gods bless those children.

“Oh!”

Round a corner you turn, you exclaim softly when you slam shoulder first into something a bit soft yet firm. The smell of grass and the slight sour of the salty sea wafts into your senses, strong hands grab your biceps to give you purchase and balance where your hands grasp broad shoulders. Slowly, you lean back and your eyes meet the brown almond ones of none other than the heir to the Iron Throne himself. Jacaerys Velaryon, his expression one of surprise as she gently eases you from his chest with a tilt of his head down to you.

“Forgive me…” And Jacaerys trails off as his eyes seem to absorb your features. Perhaps recognizing an unfamiliar face he’s surely only ever seen in passing and during one very brief greeting during your wedding to Aemond. You blink softly, looking along the prince adorned in the garment that suits that of a man training with the sword. Armor half gone, lightly freckled skin sweaty, and dark curls tousled and messy. A splash of pink taints his cheeks and a nasty swelling forms around a cut through the apple of his cheek. No longer than a pinky but drawing blood still. “F-Forgive me, my lady.”,he smiles as he apologizes, clearing his throat and slowly settling you from the close proximity.

With a soft smile for the prince you’ve heard both good and bad of, you nod gently in a half-bow of your head. “No, forgive me, your grace. I was lost in my thoughts.” Pulling from Jacaerys who fixes his loose fitting deep red shift darkened just a bit with sweat, your eyes flicker along his face. The cut through his cheek draws concern, your brows sewing up ever so slightly. “That is quite the scratch, are you to see the maester?”,you ask, fixing your gown and looking along his features before settling on those warm brown eyes.

Half-smiling, Jacaerys shakes his head. “I’m simply to take a bath and ready for a meeting with her grace. It’s only a scratch, nothing to bother them with.”,he reassures you with his voice as deep and smooth as always.

You exhale softly and shake your head, hesitating before you look at the bit of dirt. “Allow me to assist you, your grace?”,you request. Jacaerys blinks softly, his lips part only to shut and offer response in a small smile and gentle nod. Nodding yourself, you turn to look at your handmaiden. Always so stone-faced and monotonous. “I will tend to my duties after I assist the Prince, take your leave and I will see you when I am finished.” The handmaid bows then walks away. You know Aemond will hear of this and not be too happy but you don’t necessarily care.

In fact, you feel it’s perhaps why you’re even offering.

Walking with Jacaerys to your quarters, the prince you hear of being capable of great conversation is oddly silent. He walks beside you, still slightly out of breath from his training and continuously runs a hand through or over his dark curls. You walk beside him in the same silence. With all you’ve heard of the prince, the only negativity to spill from lips have been those of Aemond and Aegon. A drunk and a cold man child. Everything else of Jacaerys has only been glowing, Helaena herself speaks fondly of the alleged bastard. Such a negative word and yet you’ve never quite understood the depth of it.

Silence continues until Jacaerys is sitting down across the unlit fireplace and you sit beside him with the necessary supplies set onto the expensive and heavy table. You break it as you grab a cloth and gently pour a clear fluid onto the soft round.

“How did you come upon such an injury? Is Ser Criston so rough with princelings?”,you ask with a bit of a playful tone, a slight smile on your lips as you gently begin to clean around the cut itself.

Jacaerys seems a bit tense. But you presume it to be the injury and your care of it, even if you are gentle it surely must sting. He chuckles a bit in the face of your remark at least, it’s welcoming to your ears and eyes. Such a light smile and expression of ease. “He can be – especially with the likes of I, but I’m afraid the reasoning is far more embarrassing.”,he confesses, muttering softly as you set aside the cloth to dampen another. You smile at him, tilting your head with brows in your hairline. Silently imploring him to continue and the prince is gracious enough to do so with a soft exhale. “I…ran into the door on my way back into the Keep.”

And you’re unable to stifle your moment of laughter, Jacaerys joining in his gentle chuckling as you clean the cut itself. “Goodness.”,you hum with amusement and humor in your chest, a smile spread across your lips as your eyes focus on the cut. His brown eyes flickering between yours. “Well, I suppose it is not prince’s that are known for their grace, yes?”

He laughs, a laugh that shakes his broad shoulders, hands going up in a defensive manner on either side of his head. “Precisely. I’m meant to possess strength like a boar not grace like a swan.”,says Jacaerys as you set aside the cloth and you hum softly with an amused smile. When your hand gently cups his jaw to inspect the cut closer, he inhales a bit sharply. But he then speaks so quickly, you wonder if you imagined it. “How did you come to possess what the maester’s do and know how to use such?”,he asks. You shift your hand away and turn, gently folding objects back where they must be in a small woven basket.

“I’ve known longer than I’ve resided in the Keep. I know it is unbecoming of a lady, of a now Princess, to be informed of such matters but my husband saw it useful. For moments he does not wish to let the Keep see his business.”,you explain. Voice fond before it dips into something a bit more exasperated.

Listening attentively, Jacaerys nods and he smiles lightly. “I think it’s quite impressive, whether people think it unbecoming or not.” You hum softly, looking at him when he nods gently and pats the piece of cloth over the cut. “Thank you, princess.”,he says with a soft sincerity. And you nod, smiling at him.

“Of course, your grace.”

The doors to your marital chambers part and you turn to the guard holding open the doors. When your eyes catch the beautiful vision of white in black, your jaw tightens and eyes narrow. Slowly standing, you bow and Jacaerys stands with a gentle nod of his head to Aemond. The One-Eyed Commander looking from you to Jacaerys, then to the little patch work on his face. “Forgive me, I did not realize I was intruding. I could not find you in your studies.”,Aemond apologizes, stepping down the steps with that stoic expression and hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword.

“There is no need for apologies, I was simply assisting Jacaerys.”,you explain with a bit of sourness in your words, then you turn to the prince and smile,”Have a pleasant bath and meeting, your grace. Do take off the cloth when you get into the water.”

Jacaerys smiles at you and bows. “Thank you, princess.” And he rounds the couch, walking past Aemond once he nods in acknowledgement.

When those doors shut behind Aemond boring his lilac eye into you, your smile falls and your eyes narrow at Aemond. Turning away, you grab the woven basket and walk along the floor of stone. “You surely did not leave your duties to scold me for missing my High Valyrian lesson, did you, husband?”,you speak sharper in his presence, walking over to an armoire and setting the basket within. Aemond hums in acknowledgement and you turn around once the wooden doors shut.

“Normally, I would wait until we were reconvened to “scold” you but I was told the reason you did not attend your duty and found interest.”,your husband speaks smoothly. Each word from his lips is that of calculation and purpose. Never does he speak without something to be traced in his words.

You look along his handsome face and raise your brows, he’s silent. He’s doing what he often does, what used to intimidate you, being silent. But it only irritates you and tires you now, you slowly walk towards him. “Does it bother you so that I attended to one you hate?”,you ask, tilting your head while meeting his lilac eye. You notice his eyepatch seems a bit out of place and his long silvery locks slightly mussed. He must have rushed.

But…oddly – very oddly, Aemond doesn’t seem to be angry. Not like the time you gently cradled Lucerys when he took a hit to the head while training with Ser Criston. No, right now, as you approach him he looks like Vhagar. In his lilac eye there seems to be something purposeful and in his smile he seems to look as if he’s gotten something he wants. You reach out and gently smooth his soft locks, fixing the leather patch as he stands with his hands folded behind his back. Something bad sinks into your stomach when he grabs your wrists and pulls you to the furthest corner of the room. Gentle, but firm and quick. You try to remain cool and composed.

Even if it feels like bile is tickling your throat.

“Do you recall when I called you useless?”,Aemond hums, releasing your wrists once he has you between him and the corner of the chambers. You exhale sharply and nod, brows furrowing in irritation and eyes flickering along his face. “It seems all has just changed…and–”,Aemond offers that cat-like grin as his lilac eye narrows,”...you don’t even realize it.”

“What are you on about? Why are you whispering?”,you question with confusion and that sickening feeling only worsening. Aemond hums, you hate it when he does that. It always feels like a bell in your head. An automatic reaction to tense up.

“I believe you should like to spend more time with my nephew.”,he replies, voice low and quiet as he flickers his lilac eye between yours. Your lips part in surprise and your brows slowly furrow in tighter confusion. That sickening feeling in your stomach worsens, you swallow hard. Aemond continues. “Jacaerys has been slipping in his duties since her death, the first two weeks you heard of how he did not leave his apartments, as of late he’s missed council meetings and spends more time than not being a dummy for Ser Criston Cole. Perhaps he’s punishing himself–”

“What–is your point, Aemond?”,you interrupt him sharply, hotly with glaring eyes. Exposing your cards to him that his thinking aloud and quick but fluid purposeful words are burning into you.

Aemond nods. “Yet, he smiled so sincerely at you and let you tend to him.” Then Aemond nods again. “I wish for you to see him, spend time with him. Perhaps entertain him with those borish stories of your homeland or play the damsel in distress. I do not care, just seep beneath his flesh.”

The implications of what Aemond is asking of you is as clear as day in your head. Disgust curls at your features, eyes glaring hotter up at him as you shake your head. For as long as you’ve been Aemond’s, he’s sought for that damn throne. Despising Jacaerys as the heir, for his bastard status, and despising the Queen for her “whore” nature. Aemond speaks so openly of it with you, he speaks so freely of it with you because of what he harbors against you with that sword and Vhagar just outside of the city. Were it your own life, you would have happily shouted through the corridors of the treacherous cunt that Aemond “One-Eyed” Targaryen truly was. But it isn’t just your life. It hasn’t been for three years.

But this. To use a grieving widow’s weakness and softness he believes he sees in Jacaerys towards you, it makes you feel sick.

Immediately, you scoff and shove past Aemond. “No.”,you sharply state, turning and facing him with a furious expression,”I will not be involved in this petty rivalry of the crown because you believe what defines a king is his blood and not his person. Whatever plan you believe you may have stumbled upon like a gold, I will not partake.”,you speak sharply, in a soft and hushed manner with fists clenching at your sides so tightly your hands tremble. “I am not a whore that would so easily ruin such a man because you order it s–”

“I will free you.”

The moment those words leave Aemond’s lips, your face falls. Your eyes widen and your eyes flicker along his features, smug and cat-like grinning. Slowly, Aemond steps towards you while your head tries to figure out if you’ve truly grasped the words you never thought to hear from him. Ever.

“You…find a way to ruin Jacaerys…find a way to bring him to his death or a ruin so tragic he will have no place upon the throne and I will free you.”,Aemond speaks lowly, softly. One of his hands comes up, when he’s close enough, to gently hold your chin between his thumb and curled pointer finger. Your skin crawls and your blood feels cold, a shuddery breath leaving your lips as you look along his features in shock and appall. “Should you succeed in ruining my nephew or bringing about his corpse, not only will I free you but I will take you home and you have my oath…you will never see me again. Not me, not any man to trade flesh.”

“A-Aemond–”,you choke out softly with wide eyes growing glassy. It feels as if your entire body is numb, your face screws. “I…I could not kill–”

“You have and you could again.”,he hums with a tilt of his head. You swallow bile at the horrid memory. His hand slides to cup your cheek,”But here I am being fair. Giving you the option between madness or death, he is close already with the death of Baela – he merely needs a push or a pull.”

“How…c-can you even know it would be you to take the throne?”,you whisper softly, your brows furrowing tightly.

Aemond nods. “I’ve done good to appeal to my half-sister and mine own uncle…with no other heir but Lucerys sworn to the Tides already and three babes long dead – well…”,he trails off, then he gently shrugs,”Should I need to use force I will but we have six months, I do not wish for war, I wish for what I know must go to Targaryen blood.” And Aemond gently wipes your tears. When did you start crying? “Will you be a dutiful wife and give me what I feel you capable of? Or will you be confined to the Keep for the remainder of your days? Your people being traded and taken from–”

His words meld into nothing. Your head circles and shakes with the offer presented to you on a silver platter. Routine has been shattered and now you’re being offered the chance of what you’ve always desired and what your people have desired for so long. So long you’ve yearned to hear the wind of the palm trees, feel the warmth on your skin from a sun forever present in the sky, and to see the depths and colors of the butterflies that coast along the salty sea. No routines for survival, no fear of a child never seeing their mother again when a ship pulls to harbor…you would finally be home and it would only be that.

Home.

At the cost of a man Aemond believes you – of all people – capable of bringing to his knees based off of a singular moment Aemond was not even present for. Jacaerys Velaryon, a man still mourning that of his betrothed and cousin who died not three months ago. Six months. Twice of time – that is what you are given to somehow ruin or…Gods forbid kill a man that Aemond despises merely because of the blood he had no control over when the Gods created him. The cost of one for the cost of you and your family. Could you even do it? Could you even manage – would Jacaerys truly be so weak? Is he so out of his self and identity that you could find a crack in his skin to crawl beneath?

Does any of it matter when you can almost feel the warm tropical breeze on your skin and feel your mother’s embrace again – if she is even still there. If any of your family is. The longer you stay here the least likely you will ever see them again, right?

“Writing.”,you interrupt him sharply, his mouth undeserving to utter your beautiful and warm homeland. Aemond’s brows slowly raise and you pull from his touch with a shuddery exhale. “I must see it in writing, signed and approved by that of a higher power. You swear to take me home, to ban the trade of flesh there…I–will do it. I swear it.”

The white-haired Lord Commander nods, he leans down and cradles the back of your head with a smile of pure happiness you’ve never seen before. He plants a kiss to your forehead before he brushes past you.

But you stop him, turning with a shake of your head.

“He is a good man.”,you try. Perhaps you’re saying it to yourself. Not to him. Trying to salvage an innocent despite the many you once knew. Speaking to your heart that’s been freezing steadily with Aemond’s hold.

Aemond hums. “He is a bastard.”

Then he leaves and you exhale deeply, placing a hand on your forehead and one over your stomach.

How will the Gods punish you for this?