Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (3/?)
Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bed slave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.
Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), non-canon storyline
Author's note: Short little chapter but at last, an update!
By the time Aemond had made all his reports, listened to the yappings of all the council members and sat through hours of further strategy planning, he wanted to rip out each strand of his hair.
It was hard for him to focus already, the worries over his precious bed slave and her madness over their, over his, sons had all but consumed every part of his mind, and yet, odd stares from his mother and grand maester Orwyle made him all the more restless.
Finally, the council meeting was concluded and the Lords left the room. Aemond would watch in silence as Criston helped the struggling king to his feet and down the stairs.
Aegon had been burned and injured gravely during the battle at Rooks Rest over a year ago where Meleys had ingulfed him and his dragon in dragonfire, but he was growing more and more capable these days and managed to attend the council meetings from time to time.
Still, Aemond remained the prince regent, but would sit opposite of the king’s seat at the foot of the long wooden table whenever his brother was in attendance.
From there, he watches as neither his mother nor Orwyle made any attempts to move from their seats, just as he didn’t.
Sitting in tense silence for several moments, Aemond eventually fixates on the elder man to his right. Glaring at him, his voice is little more than a growl, he asks,
“Care to explain to me what is going on with my mistress?”
Orwyle takes a moment to answer, shifting nervously in his seat and glancing to the dowager queen sitting opposite of him before turning his attention back to the prince regent.
“Your mistress, my prince, would appear to suffer from some sort of birth induced mania. It happens from time to time, unfortunately.” He states before carefully adding. “Mothers of such circumstance… they should be separated from the child. They are unable to care for the babes and may harm them during manic episodes.”
Aemond’s face hardens, his jaw clenching. “She is perfectly capable to care for my sons. I have gone to meet her already. I do not believe for a moment she suffers from true madness.”
“She does.” Alicent speaks up. “She would chase anyone out of her room, preferably with the nearest sharp object in hand. Your whore is incapable of caring for your sons.”
“That is a lie!” Aemond snaps his head to her. “What would you even know of this? She and what I do with her is none of your concern, I have told you so a hundred times already.”
“I am your mother. Mind your tongue when talking to me.” The red-haired woman hisses before continuing. “I am also the dowager queen and queen mother. With the queen still occupied in her grief, the Red Keep is my responsibility in your absence. That makes your whore and her spawn my responsibility as well. I needed to deal with the drama she caused. Had she not locked herself away I can assure you, this matter would have long been settled already.”
“Settled?” Aemond scoffs. “And what would that have looked like? Taken my sons from her? And then what?”
“Most certainly. And she must receive treatment-“
“Treatment? What would your great treatment entail?”
“Treatment varies from individual to individual. It remains to be seen what methods work best on her. Is that not right, grand maester?” Alicent urges Orwyle to speak up.
“…yes. Yes, your grace. It is difficult to predict which treatments will work best on her.” The man nods softly.
Aemond was well aware of how maesters would attempt to cure madness. Their methods would be torturous. His own methods of bringing her into full submission when he first claimed her would seem tame in comparison. His stomach turns at the thought of what they would have done to her in his abscence had she not kept her door locked at all times.
“You will do no such thing.” Aemond growls. “No one but me touches her. No one but me will make any decision on any treatments. She is not mad. The babes are healthy. There is no need to intervene.”
“Now they are. But they weren’t always. Your children should be supervised by maesters not by some deranged lowborn.” Alicent retorts.
Aemond furrows his brows, looking at his mother in disbelief. His y/n hadn’t said anything of the sorts. “Now? Now? What is that supposed to mean?”
After another nod from the dowager queen, Orwyle explains, “It… appears we might have miscalculated the day of conception. The babes came early, it seems. Weak, very small, frail. It borders on a miracle the boys live, my prince.”
Aemond stares at him dumbfounded. He held his sons just a few hours earlier, they seemed well. Plumb, full of life. Not just that, he himself had been there when they conceived. He was sure his seed took the very first night that he dragged her to his bed near a year ago. He had watched her belly swell even before he brought her here to the Red Keep.
It made no sense the babes were born sickly when not a single issue had been encountered before. Not even when she was going about her duties of tending to him with little struggle. Well, as long as she could sit down, lay on her side and not have to bend over, that is.
The maesters voice brings him out of his thoughts. “It is best the babes be closely supervised by maesters and raised by experienced nursemaids and wetnurses. Your… mistress should not have them. Mad or not, she will not be able to provide your sons with the care they need to survive.”
Aemond had always been a stubborn man. Perhaps it was his thick head that made him refuse the maesters urging, or perhaps it was his trust is his little bed slave that did so. She was a pure hearted woman, her heart soft. She had learned her new place in life quickly, she had not once betrayed him or given him any reason to doubt her.
She had nothing to gain from lying to him but everything to lose.
She was so convinced of the maesters wanting to steal their children, it could not be a mistake. She would not beg him for help and forgo all formalities with him unless she was truly afraid.
Aemond’s thoughts and emotions were in turmoil now, struggling to discern the truth between y/n’s words, the words of his mother and the grand maester, and the facts he knew to be true.
Staring off at the empty king’s chair in the distance, his voice is little more than a murmur when he asks, “What do you even care for? She’s nothing but a whore in your eyes. You see my sons as bastards only. Why do you care for what happens to them?”
Aemond freezes at his mother’s following shameless reply. He can’t believe she would just state something like this as if it was nothing unusual. It would seem little more than an odd phrasing of words to some but with his suspicions in mind, it's all the confirmation he needs.
“She is a whore, yes. She has seduced you so she can live in luxury far above her station. You’re just a foolish young man with no control of his urges. But… the fact remains that you have no heir. With only a daughter and no sons, they could be of good use to you had you done your wife the courtesy of putting them into her belly instead.”
His gaze cold as ice, he stares at her, never once looking away as he growls. “So it’s true what y/n says? That you plan to steal my sons from her and give them to Floris?”
Alicent seems taken aback, her surprised expression shortly finding Orwyle’s startled one before quickly moving back to her son. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Y/n.” Aemond says firmly. “She says she has heard someone say it. That you tasked the maesters to take my sons from her and give them to Floris.”
Alicent remains quiet for a while before her own face hardens. Straightening her posture and keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her on the table, she begins to lecture her son.
“You have a lady wife, Aemond. A respectable, honorable lady wife of high birth. Princess Floris has given you a daughter already and served you faithfully.” She begins. “The only thing you still need is a legitimate son. With your wife’s recent stillbirth during your absence, it would be easy to arrange so. Give your whore’s sons to her. Or just one, even. You can pass him off as hers and have your-“
“ENOUGH!” Aemond roars, his fists slamming onto the table as he stands up, the chair loudly scraping across the floor.
“I will not hear of this! How DARE you try and steal my sons from y/n!”
Alicent’s face remains resolute, her chin held up high in defiance, while Orwyle looks like he wants to vanish beneath the floor.
“I did what needed to be done. Stop coddling your whore, Aemond. Let her pay back for living on the crown’s cost and causing your lady wife distress. Let her produce the boys and you make them heirs, as the sons of you and Princess Floris.”
Mouth hanging open, Aemond can barely believe what his mother is saying. “If anyone has gone mad here, it is you, not her.” He says firmly. “I cannot believe you would betray me like this. Go against my orders, willing to harm my y/n.”
He glares down at his mother as he continues, “Floris will not have my sons. She does NOT deserve them. She has failed me. Failed as my wife, failed as a woman. My mistress has done within a year what that bitch of a wife could not manage in five. Y/n will keep my sons and all other children I will put into her belly and all of them will be made my heirs. Not as Floris’s children, but as y/n’s. I will legitimize them at once and have them declared as my heirs.”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Alicent is the one yelling now. “You cannot do that! Think of the shame that it would bring to your wife! Of how it will disrupt our ally with the Baratheon’s!”
“She is the one that brings shame to me!” Aemond shouts back, his face filled with pure rage and hatred. “It is her failing that has made me the laughingstock across the realm! Made me the maimed prince whose cock does not work! Now they will no longer laugh, now that I have my sons! Lord Borros praised me her fertility but delivered a woman unable to carry a child properly. It is his own doing our alliance has faltered. He will not speak against my y/n or our sons. He will accept them as my heirs. He will remain loyal to our side or I will personally fly south and turn Storm’s End into a second Harrenhal!”
With that, Aemond throws the nearest cups and parchments off the table before turning on his heel to make his way out the door, curses at his mother and wife flowing out his mouth as he does so.
In his rage, Aemond makes his way to the training yard, the urge to stab one of the dummies repeatedly or challenge one of the poor squires to a duel overwhelming him.
