AN:
Shit is about to turn really dark. Enjoy the blissful Daermond moments!
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The air in Daervon's chambers is thick with tension, a sharp contrast to the silence as he steps in. The first thing his eyes catch is the flicker of the fireplace, the flames casting shadows on the tall, silver-haired figure standing before it. Aemond, always intense and brooding, turns to face him, his expression dark.

"Did you enjoy your time with Lady Shireen?" Aemond's voice is sharp, tinged with something more dangerous.

Daervon raises a brow, noting the bite in his lover's tone. "She is beautiful like the flowers and gorgeous like the moon. A maiden of elegance and grace." He watches with amusement as Aemond's jaw tightens, the jealousy flaring in his single visible eye.

Aemond's expression hardens even further, his lips pressing into a thin line. "What's wrong? Are you jealous?" Daervon teases, unbuckling his boots as he sinks onto the settee, exhaustion settling over him.

"No, I'm not," Aemond replies curtly, though the lie is obvious. His voice is too clipped, his demeanor too stiff.

Daervon chuckles, shaking his head. "It's written all over your face."

Aemond grumbles, the jealousy swirling inside him despite his denial. "No... fine," he sighs, unable to hold back his frustration any longer. "It makes me uncomfortable."

"Good," Daervon laughs, taking Aemond's hand and placing it over his heart. "I like it when you're jealous."

Aemond's tense posture softens slightly at the touch. Daervon's steady heartbeat beneath his hand is a reminder of their connection, the unspoken promise between them. "I've never fallen for anyone other than you," Daervon says, his voice quieter, sincere. "How many times do you want me to tell you that? You are the only one in my heart."

Aemond's eye darkens with emotion as he steps closer, his thumb brushing over Daervon's cheek. "I want you with me. I want you in my bed, next to me, and..." His voice lowers to a whisper, filled with raw desire. "And never let you go."

"Never?" Daervon whispers, leaning into his lover's touch.

"Never," Aemond repeats, his gaze burning with intensity as he sits beside Daervon, their faces just inches apart. His thumb continues its slow, deliberate path along Daervon's cheek, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Daervon, with a teasing smirk, raises a brow. "Sure you won't get sick of me? That's an awfully long time."

Aemond's lips curve into a faint smile. "Still not long enough," he replies, his thumb tracing down to Daervon's jaw, his need for the man before him palpable.

Without warning, Daervon closes the gap, capturing Aemond's lips in a kiss. It's fierce and hungry, both of them losing themselves in the heat of the moment, the weight of their unspoken desires spilling over. Aemond groans softly into the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of Daervon's head as he deepens the kiss.

But it's Daervon who pulls away first, breathless and flushed, his heart hammering in his chest. He avoids Aemond's gaze, his voice low. "Aemond, I... I need to talk to you about something."

Aemond's brow furrows, sensing the shift in his lover's mood. "Speak. I'm listening."

Daervon takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Marriage. It seems to be inevitable. It might not be today, but it will come, and I fear..."

Aemond cuts him off, his voice firm but gentle. "Marriage doesn't have to be the end of us."

Daervon's gaze flickers with uncertainty. "So, that's what you want? To be my whore?"

Aemond's expression tightens at the harshness of Daervon's words, but his resolve doesn't waver. "I'm not proud. I don't care what perfumed noble bitch stands next to you. I want you. And I make you happy. You know I do."

Daervon's fingers brush against Aemond's cheek, softer now, filled with affection. "I can't do that."

Aemond stands abruptly, frustration bubbling to the surface. "What do you mean you can't?! I'm willing to sacrifice everything I have for you, and yet you insist on being this stubborn self."

"Marriage is not just duty, Aemond. It's also commitment and responsibility. If I marry, I won't be an unfaithful husband. Not for my selfish desires."

Aemond's face hardens, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're willing to sacrifice us for marriage?"

"If it comes to that," Daervon replies, his voice quiet but firm. "Yes, I'll be the one to draw the line between us."

Aemond's eye narrows, desperation creeping into his tone. "Then let us wed each other."

Daervon blinks, incredulous. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Yes," Aemond admits, sitting beside Daervon again, pressing their foreheads together. His voice trembles with raw emotion. "I did lose my mind. I am mad for you. For us. You are my maddest obsession."

Daervon's breath catches at the intensity of Aemond's words, his hand trembling slightly as he cups his lover's face. "If you're to wed me, there will be no children, Aemond. Are you certain that is what you want?"

"If it means I can be with you," Aemond breathes, his voice shaking. "I'll swim into the darkest depth of misery. I am yours if you'll have me."

For a moment, silence lingers between them, heavy and charged. Then, Daervon whispers, "Yes."

Aemond pulls back slightly, his eye wide, searching Daervon's face. "Yes?"

Daervon smiles, small but genuine. "Yes."

The grand supper is held in honor of the return of the younger Targaryen twins, Prince Maelor and Princess Rhaella. Daervon has never met them before this night, yet their names are whispered often enough in the halls of the Red Keep.

Prince Maelor, a man of cold reputation, is said to be as cruel as he is calculated. His silver hair gleams under the flickering candlelight, framing his sharp, chiseled features. His lilac eyes, colder than the winter winds, scan the hall with a silent disdain, as though the very presence of those gathered offends him. There is a ruthlessness in his gaze, a storm contained just beneath the surface.

Rhaella, on the other hand, is the mirror of their mother. Gentle in spirit, graceful in every movement, she is a vision of quiet strength. Her auburn tresses flow in soft waves, her brown eyes warm, contrasting her brother's icy demeanor. There is a serene beauty to her, an effortless elegance as she walks beside Maelor, her gown flowing like water.

The twins were raised far from court, spending much of their childhood in Oldtown. By the king's decree, they were wed at five-and-ten, binding their fates together as was expected of their blood. Now, they are younger than Aemond yet older than Daeron, caught between the shadows of their brothers in a house that breathes fire and blood.

Their son, Jaehaerys, is a mere three years old, but already carries the weight of his Targaryen lineage.

As Daervon steps into the dining hall, he sees Aemond seated at the far end of the long table, an empty seat reserved for him. Relief floods through him as he walks toward his lover, but before he can reach him, his father, Daemon, steps into his path, his expression unreadable, though the command is clear.

"Sit beside Lady Shireen," Daemon orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Daervon scowls, his heart sinking. "But father-"

"Do as I say."

With a frustrated sigh, Daervon reluctantly takes the seat beside Lady Shireen, though his gaze constantly drifts toward Aemond, who sits stiffly across the hall, his expression stony.

Throughout the supper, the banter between Rhaenyra's children and her half-siblings grows heated, though it never escalates to the chaos of the last family gathering. Aemond remains silent, uninterested in the verbal sparring, his focus solely on Daervon and the Lady seated beside him.

As Daervon picks at his food, his appetite gone, Lady Shireen's voice breaks through his thoughts. "Ask me for a dance."

"I don't dance," Daervon replies coldly, his mood sour.

She leans closer, her voice soft but firm. "I talked my father out of our betrothal. The least you can do is dance with me."

Daervon blinks, surprised. Relief washes over him, though he feels a twinge of guilt for his earlier coldness. With a sigh, he stands, offering his hand to her. "Alright," he mutters, "I'll dance with you."

Lady Shireen smiles warmly as she takes his hand, leading him onto the floor. Daervon is stiff at first, awkward in the rhythm of the dance, but Lady Shireen's gentle guidance soon eases his discomfort. As they move together, he begins to relax, a rare smile tugging at his lips as he starts to enjoy the dance.

From the edge of the hall, Helaena watches with a smile, pleased by the display. Daemon nods in approval, while Aemond remains silent, his jealousy barely concealed beneath his calm exterior.

The next day, under the looming shadow of Dragonstone's ancient towers, Aemond and Daervon stand before a priest in the presence of Helaena, Rhaena, Vidor, and their dragons. The ceremony is intimate, bound by the ancient customs of Valyria, a wedding marked by fire and blood.

The priest hands them a fine blade of dragonglass, and with steady hands, both grooms cut each other's lips, the sting sharp but brief. Blood wells on their lips, a symbol of their union, as they each take the blade and slice their palms, their blood mingling as they clasp hands. The grooms marks each other's foreheads with their blood, anointing them in the name of old Valyria. The ancient words of their people echo softly in the air as the priest continues the sacred rites, his voice steady and reverent.

Aemond and Daervon, dressed in the traditional robes of their ancestors, look into each other's eyes with an intensity that seems to pull the very air from the room. The weight of their vows, the significance of this moment, is not lost on either of them. Their faces are so close, their breaths mingling as the priest hands them a goblet. Within it is their own mingled blood, the essence of their bond.

With unwavering hands, they each take a sip, the metallic taste of their lifeblood sealing their union. "We are one flesh, one heart, one soul," Daervon whispers first, his voice trembling slightly but filled with emotion. "Now and forever."

Aemond's voice follows, his gaze never leaving Daervon's. "Now and forever," he repeats, his voice low, filled with the same fire that burns between them. His thumb brushes against Daervon's cheek, a soft caress that holds the weight of every unspoken promise.

Their lips meet once more, a kiss not of mere affection but of devotion-fierce, desperate, and filled with all the love they've had to keep hidden for so long. There's no one else in the world in that moment, just the two of them, bound by fire and blood, united as one under the ancient rites of their people.

As they pull apart, Helaena watches with a soft smile, her eyes glimmering with the knowledge of the deeper bond she's always sensed between her brother and Daervon. Rhaena stands quietly beside her, respectful but understanding, while Vidor, ever the silent protector, stands firm, his expression unreadable though his approval is clear in his steady stance.

After the ceremony, the two lovers mount their dragons, still dressed in their marital robes, the wind whipping through their hair as they soar into the sky above Dragonstone. Vhagar, Aemond's colossal dragon, roars as she ascends higher, her great wings casting a shadow over the land below. Gaelithox, Daervon's own mighty beast, with his black scales shimmering in the sunlight, takes flight alongside her.

There's a wildness in the air as they rise together, a symphony of wind and dragonfire as Vhagar lets loose a stream of flames upon Aemond's command. Gaelithox, ever the daring creature, flies straight through the fire, performing a graceful flip in the air, his powerful wings propelling him with effortless strength. Daervon lets out a loud laugh, the joy of their freedom, their love, filling him with a sense of elation he hasn't felt in years.

Aemond mirrors his joy, the sound of their laughter carried away by the wind as the two dragons dance in the sky. For a moment, there's no royal duty, no political machinations, just them and their dragons, wild and free.

They swoop and dive through the air, playing a dangerous game of chase, the world beneath them forgotten in their bliss. Aemond glances over at Daervon, his heart swelling with pride and affection as he watches his lover command Gaelithox with ease, the great dragon responding to his every command like an extension of his own soul.

When they finally descend, landing on the windswept beach of Dragonstone, the sun is low on the horizon, casting the world in shades of gold and crimson. The two dismount, their dragons retreating to rest after the exhilaration of their flight. But the exhilaration within Aemond and Daervon has only just begun.

Inside Daervon's bedchambers, the walls seem to hum with the energy of the vows they have exchanged. The air is thick with the scent of salt and sea, carried in from the Dragonstone shores, but within these four walls, there is only the warmth of the hearth and the closeness of their bodies.

Aemond moves first, his fingers finding the clasps of Daervon's marital robes. His touch is reverent, almost trembling as he unfastens each piece, letting the fabric fall away, revealing Daervon inch by inch. His eye never leaves his lover's face, studying every flicker of emotion that passes through those storm-grey eyes. There's something unspoken between them, a yearning too deep for words, and it makes Aemond's heart beat louder in his chest.

Daervon watches him in return, breath caught in his throat as Aemond's touch ignites the fire that has been simmering within him all evening. As the last piece of fabric falls away, Daervon takes hold of Aemond's own robes, slipping them from his shoulders, letting his hands linger on the silver-haired prince's skin, feeling the warmth beneath his fingertips.

Aemond shudders under his touch, but he's not weak. He's in control, always has been, but tonight there's something different-a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability in the way his breath hitches every time Daervon's fingers brush against his skin.

"Do you know what you do to me?" Aemond murmurs, his voice low, almost hoarse with emotion. He leans in, pressing his forehead against Daervon's, their bare chests touching now, skin to skin. "Every time I look at you, every time you breathe, I feel like I'm losing myself."

Daervon's breath stirs between them, heavy and labored, as if the weight of Aemond's words are too much to bear. His hands slide up to cup Aemond's face, fingers brushing the scar that runs across his lover's cheek. There's no hesitation, no fear, just love-raw, powerful, and consuming.

"I am yours," Daervon whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb strokes Aemond's jawline, his own heart racing. "You've had me long before tonight. My heart, my soul-they've always belonged to you."

The words stir something fierce in Aemond, and before Daervon can say anything more, Aemond captures his lips in a kiss-urgent and searing. It's not gentle, but it's not rough either. It's desperate, a release of every restrained emotion, every desire they've had to bury for the sake of duty and secrecy.

Daervon responds with equal fervor, their mouths moving in sync, as if they've been waiting for this exact moment for years. He pulls Aemond closer, their bodies pressed together now, heat radiating from both of them. Aemond's hands are everywhere-on his back, his hips, his chest-exploring every part of him, claiming him with every touch.

They stumble toward the bed, still locked in that breathless kiss, until Daervon's legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he falls back, pulling Aemond down with him. The weight of Aemond above him feels like the only thing anchoring him to this world, and Daervon can't help but let out a soft moan as Aemond's lips find his neck, kissing, biting, marking him as his own.

"Aemond," Daervon gasps, his fingers tangling in Aemond's silver hair, pulling him closer. His skin burns where Aemond's lips have left their mark, but it's the kind of burn that he craves, that he needs. "Please..."

Aemond's breath is hot against his neck, his lips hovering just above Daervon's skin. "Please what?" he murmurs, his voice low, teasing, but there's an edge of urgency in it. His hand trails down Daervon's chest, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Take me," Daervon breathes, his voice barely a whisper, but Aemond hears it, feels the weight of the words between them.

There's a pause, just for a moment, as Aemond pulls back to look at him. His eye is dark with desire, but there's something more-something deeper. Love. Devotion. A promise that goes beyond anything they've ever spoken.

"I will," Aemond says softly, his hand cradling the side of Daervon's face. "I will always take you, and I will never let you go."

And then they're lost in each other again, their bodies moving in sync, guided by instinct and need. Every touch, every kiss, is a reaffirmation of their bond, a reminder that they belong to one another now, in this life and the next.

Aemond is tender but commanding, his hands sure and strong as they move over Daervon's body. There's no hesitation in his touch, no second-guessing-only the certainty of a man who knows exactly what he wants, and who he belongs to.

Daervon gasps as Aemond's hands explore, his body arching into every touch, every caress. His skin feels like it's on fire, the heat between them almost unbearable, but he doesn't want it to stop. He doesn't want any of it to stop. He wants this moment to last forever, to stay wrapped in Aemond's arms, their bodies entwined in a way that feels as if they've been made for each other.

"Aemond," Daervon breathes again, his voice raw with need, his fingers gripping Aemond's shoulders as if he's afraid to let go.

"I'm here," Aemond murmurs, his lips brushing against Daervon's ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

The words send a shiver down Daervon's spine, and before he can respond, Aemond's lips are on his again, devouring him in a kiss that leaves them both breathless. The world outside ceases to exist as they move together, a perfect rhythm that is uniquely theirs.

It's slow at first, every movement measured, every touch deliberate, as if they are savoring every moment. But soon the need becomes too great, and the pace quickens, their breaths mingling as they lose themselves in the heat of their passion.

Aemond's name escapes Daervon's lips, a whispered prayer, as they reach the peak of their desire, their bodies entwined so tightly that it feels as though they've become one.

When the storm finally passes, they collapse into each other's arms, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison. The silence that follows is not empty, but filled with the quiet hum of contentment, of love, of a bond that no one else will ever understand.

Aemond wraps his arms around Daervon, pulling him close, and Daervon rests his head on Aemond's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's a sound that grounds him, a reminder that no matter what the world throws at them, they will always have this-each other.

"We are one flesh, one heart, one soul," Daervon whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Aemond presses a kiss to the top of his head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "Now and forever," he replies, his voice soft but filled with the same certainty that had guided him through their vows.

They lie there in the dim light of the room, the weight of their love wrapping around them like a protective shield. And in that moment, with the world outside forgotten and the future uncertain, there is only one truth that matters-they are bound together, in fire and blood, now and forever.