#daeron shade

[albiorixsims]

[daeiron]

✨Daeron✨, Luthíen calls, her dogs following close on her heels.

@anthxlogy

Inbox Answered---

--- Daeron's playing halts and his eyes slide to where his sister walks. "Hm. . ." He drops from his perch and trails slowly beside. "Wherever are you headed, sister?"

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Much as I theoretically understand why fandom glomped onto the possibility of the tragic Daeron and Addam romance, it genuinely doesn't seem like the closest explanation the text itself offers. One of the biggest implications people see for this is the paragraph wondering about Tessarion's motivations for intervening in the Vermithor vs Seasmoke fight:

Vermithor’s size and weight were too much for Seasmoke to contend with, Lord Blackwood told Grand Maester Munkun many years later, and he would surely have torn the silver-grey dragon to pieces…if Tessarion had not fallen from the sky at that very moment to join the fight. Who can know the heart of a dragon? Was it simple bloodlust that drove the Blue Queen to attack? Did the she-dragon come to help one of the combatants? If so, which? Some will claim that the bond between a dragon and dragonrider runs so deep that the beast shares his master’s loves and hates. But who was the ally here, and who the enemy? Fire & Blood Chapter 17: The Dying of the Dragons — Rhaenyra Overthrown

People tend to focus a lot on the love aspect and basically ignore the alternate possibility offered up, which is hate as a motivating force.

As happy as I am for people enjoying the concept of Daeron/Addam, let's acknowledge that they have neither actual on page interactions nor as much as implied aquaintanceship, and GRRM is the opposite of subtle when it comes to "hinting" at these things for implied same sex entanglements. One line about Addam, who canonically served on his mothers trading cogs, having previously traveled as far as Oldtown, or Daeron enjoying spending his off - time at Oldtown's or prior to his fostering King's Landings harbour or shipyards would have been sufficient, but instead there's absolutely nothing.

Whereas Daeron and Hugh Hammer, dragonseed and rider of Vermithor, do have canonical interactions, both on page involving dialogue and implied by their close proximity, that develops into a plot relevant enmity, culminating in Hugh stating he'll claim Daeron's birthright for himself, as rider of the largest surviving dragon, and Daeron approving the Caltrops assassination of Hugh in turn.

With his brother Aemond slain as well, the greens found themselves kingless and leaderless. Prince Daeron stood next in the line of succession. Lord Peake declared that the boy should be proclaimed as Prince of Dragonstone at once; others, believing Aegon II dead, wished to crown him king. The Two Betrayers felt the need of a king as well…but Daeron Targaryen was not the king they wanted. “We need a strong man to lead us, not a boy,” declared Hard Hugh Hammer. “The throne should be mine.” When Bold Jon Roxton demanded to know by what right he presumed to name himself a king, Lord Hammer answered, “The same right as the Conqueror. A dragon.” And truly, with Vhagar dead at last, the oldest and largest living dragon in all Westeros was Vermithor, once the mount of the Old King, now that of Hard Hugh the bastard. Vermithor was thrice the size of Prince Daeron’s she-dragon Tessarion. No man who glimpsed them together could fail to see that Vermithor was a far more fearsome beast. [...] The lords and knights of Oldtown and the Reach were offended by the arrogance of the Betrayer’s claim, however, and none more so than Prince Daeron Targaryen himself, who grew so wroth that he threw a cup of wine into Hard Hugh’s face. (...) Lord Hammer said, “Little boys should be more mannerly when men are speaking. I think your father did not beat you often enough. Take care I do not make up for his lack.” The Two Betrayers took their leave together, and began to make plans for Hammer’s coronation. When seen the next day, Hard Hugh was wearing a crown of black iron, to the fury of Prince Daeron and his trueborn lords and knights.

[...] Though Prince Daeron was not present at the council, the Caltrops (as the conspirators became known) were loath to proceed without his consent and blessing. Owen Fossoway, Lord of Cider Hall, was dispatched under cover of darkness to wake the prince and bring him to the cellar, that the plotters might inform him of their plans. Nor did the once-gentle prince hesitate when Lord Unwin Peake presented him with warrants for the execution of Hard Hugh Hammer and Ulf White, but eagerly affixed his seal. Fire & Blood Chapter 17: The Dying of the Dragons — Rhaenyra Overthrown

Which seams like a far more (meaning: at all) established backdrop for that musing about sharing loves and hates to me.

Tldr; Less "love wins" and more "haterism transcending death" for Daeron the Daring.

[fioiswriting]

Muña | one shot

Summary : Marrying your bastard nephew to mend fences between your families wasn't exactly what you had planned. But when you realise that Jace has grown into a strong and handsome man, you might be ready to rethink your plans.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Aunt!Reader (Reader is Alicent and Visery’s daughter. She’s one year younger than Aegon)

TW : p in v sex, mommy kink, sub!Jace (kinda), Dom!Reader (but they both switch tbh), inappropriate use of the word muña, oral (f receiving), afab reader, incest, unprotected sex, not proofread

Words count : 8064

AN : hi everyone!! I’ve been very busy lately so I haven't had time to update BUT I’ve been working a bit on various fics. Sorry to all my Aemond girlies but today it’s time for some Jace x reader. It’s a fic I’ve written for my gf who’s turning into a Jace girlie 🤭 It's full of indecency and inappropriate things.

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

The gardens had become your refuge over the past few days. Under the shade of the trees, on the soft grass, you had found a peaceful haven away from the excitement caused by the arrival of your half-sister and her herd of bastards. The Red Keep made you feel suffocated. And seeing your mother pacing back and forth, running left and right, didn't help. You had to calm her down. You had to keep an eye on your older brother, making sure he didn't slip away into the maze of Flea Bottom for the umpteenth time. You had to hold your family together, and you were tired. 

You almost envied Daeron, in Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle of the court.

At least no one would think of looking for you where you were now. And you could enjoy a moment's respite, poring over the thick book you had borrowed from Aemond's library. Had he known that you had entered his room without warning, had he known that you had dared to disturb the perfect tidiness of his precious bookshelves, he would probably have threatened to feed you to Vhagar. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, you could perhaps find a way to pay him back later. 

For now, you just needed to be left alone.

You stretched out, arms reaching for the sky. The sun's rays crept through the leaves, their warmth leaving a pleasant sensation on your face. Summer was back and you were delighted. The gentle breeze that ruffled the corners of your book and occasionally lifted the silver curls around your face gave you a sense of freedom. You deftly kicked off your shoes and lay back for a moment, your eyes closed.

Footsteps echoed on the cobbled floor, and you sighed in annoyance. You didn't have to open your eyes to see who it was. You recognised his footsteps. So, you kept your eyes closed. With any luck, he would continue his way and leave you alone to find someone else to annoy.

"Hey, my favourite little sister," Aegon exclaimed as he landed heavily beside you, his body brushing against yours. You opened one eye to acknowledge him, then closed it again, your arms crossed behind your head. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me?" he insisted when he saw you weren't answering him. "You know, make sure I don't run off or end up drunk somewhere…Stuff like that. Which our mother probably asked you to do."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was true that Aegon was terribly annoying. But of all your siblings, Aegon was still your favourite.

You resigned yourself to rolling onto your stomach, your chin resting on your hands and your head tilted sideways to face him.  "My dear brother," you replied sarcastically. "Unable to occupy yourself, as usual."  He rolled his eyes before reaching out to remove a leaf that had gotten caught in your hair. He subtly ran his fingers through one of your curls, his touch as light as a feather. "And why have you decided to come and disturb my moment of peace, tell me?"

He blew the leaf away and you watched as it flew away on the breeze. Your big brother's eyes shone with mischief. "Why would I need a specific reason to spend time with my favourite sister?" he added, and it was your turn to roll your eyes. He moved to lie next to you, his body practically pressed against yours. 

If you moved a few centimetres, your elbows would touch his. 

You'd always been inseparable, and the habit had stuck over time, even when the teenage years had driven you apart. But in those moments, you were like two children again, ready to run away from Septa lessons to get into mischief in the castle.

“Because you always have a reason for everything,” you replied, and he looked at you with a fake hurt look that was greatly exaggerated. With Aegon it was easy. It had always been easy.  He wasn't as serious as Aemond, he wasn't as strange as Helena, and he wasn't as far away as Daeron.

"I just wanted to make sure my little sister was all ready to meet her betrothed tonight." He paused. "And also, that she hadn't suddenly decided to become a pious woman and follow the path of the Seven." His voice lowered. You poked him in the ribs. "See? I'm a caring big brother. I care about you."

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied. He laughed. Then he rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, one leg bent, and he closed his eyes. The golden rays caught in his long lashes made him look like an angel. 

Everything he wasn't. 

'Well?' He added. “Excited to see Jacaerys Strong?”

You sat cross-legged. The bracelets on your wrists clinkled. Aegon knew how much the idea horrified you. You had no desire to marry Jace, to sacrifice your freedom for your half-sister's bastard eldest son. You had no desire to leave the Red Keep, to follow him to Dragonstone and spend your life bearing him children. It was your mother and Rhaenyra's idea, of course.

The union of the eldest daughter of one and the eldest son of the other, as a way of repairing the rift that has grown between your families over time. 

As if you were destined to mend fences, to undo the mistakes of your own parents.

It wasn't that you hated Jace. But he was your older sister's son, a bastard who had pretensions he shouldn't have precisely because he was a bastard. He was the model son, the perfect son, the prodigy son, the one who always did everything right. It irritated you. He irritated you with his brown curls and his awkward posture.

 It wasn't fair that your father showered him with praise when he could barely remember your own name.

You stood up, smoothing the folds of your red dress to make yourself more presentable, and you caught your brother's eyes on your body, his eyes riveted on the thin fabric that revealed your delicate shapes. God, you loved to play with that. You knew how to get men wrapped around your finger with your sweet, innocent air, and Aegon was the first victim. You approached him and held out your arm to help him up, which he accepted by pulling himself to his feet heavily. After putting your shoes back on, you bent down to pick up the thick book in your arms. If you lost it, you could be sure that Aemond would be angry with you. And that was a risk you didn't want to take.

 "Perhaps you're right, lēkia. I'd better go and make myself more presentable for my betrothed. I wouldn't wish to disgrace our family." And with that you turned back, your hair swirling in the air behind you as Aegon watched you go with a small smile on his face. 

You knew how much Aegon hated being ignored, and even more so when it came from his little sister. You knew that he would return with his tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face. Between his constant whining and his dirty jokes, he gave you little respite, but it was a game that had developed between you; a game that, deep down, you enjoyed.

He was so predictable. 

“If I had known you liked strong men, I would have dyed my hair,” you heard him shout from behind you. Aegon wasn't the least bit shy. You shook your head, your silver locks bouncing.

"Get lost, you moron," you replied without even turning around.

The meal in honour of your betrothal promised to be exciting.

*** 

As soon as he saw you, your nephew rose to pull the chair beside him in a gallant gesture, and you found yourself watching him. Really watching him. His long, broad fingers on the back of the chair. His dark locks falling around his face. His precise features; his straight nose and deep eyes and square jaw. You hadn't realised how much your nephew had changed. He'd grown up too, and he was now a good head taller than you. 

He had become a strong man, indeed.

But you refused to admit that Jacaerys Strong had become quite pleasant to look at.

"Princess," he said, pushing the chair back for you to sit down. Fingers brushed the skin of your partly bare shoulders. The touch had lasted a fraction of a second, enough to make you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination. 

"Lord Strong," you replied in greeting. If the words hurt him, Jace didn't show it. Always the perfect son. What would it take to push him over the edge? To crack the shell he'd built around himself? To shatter the image of the gentleman?

To your right, Aegon was already seated. He was holding a glass of wine between his fingers while Aemond seemed to be lecturing him about something you couldn't understand. The exchange between you and Jace had obviously not escaped his notice, and the corner of his mouth had already curled into a smirk. You knew what it meant. 

His silence was full of implications, louder than any words. 

Your mother had lectured him before dinner, warned him to behave because that was what was expected of him, and she was counting on you to make him obey. 

But your older brother didn't say anything. He simply raised his glass in your direction, his lips forming a word that you couldn't read. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.

You looked at your nephew. He had donned a gambison in the colours of the Velaryons, and you couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. 

After all, a bastard in blue was still a bastard.

"Enjoying King's Landing?" you asked your betrothed, in an attempt to start a conversation. His attention turned to you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. 

“It's quite different from what I remember,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, his warm eyes meeting yours. “But of course it all depends on the company you are with."

You hesitated, suddenly unsure.

You hated what the sound of his voice did to you. You hated the way his eyes suddenly made you feel vulnerable. 

Fuck.

“It all depends on the company, indeed. And do you find yourself in good company tonight, nephew?" You gave him a defiant look, as if to judge his reaction. 

As if to unveil what he held within himself. 

“I'm not quite sure. Should I?” He paused, one eyebrow raised. He had taken the bait. “What would yousay?”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't the malice you usually found in Aegon's eyes when he wanted to tease you. It wasn't the gleam that animated his mind when he came up with a new plan for you to cover. 

"I would say I'm in pretty strong company," you replied as you took your cup, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you hid behind the glass. 

You were cruel, giving him no respite, you knew. But you admired his composure. He hadn't cracked yet. 

You knew men who were less patient.

Jace leaned towards you. A slight tilt of the head, just to make sure you were the only one to hear him. As if he wanted to share a secret with you. “Careful, Aunt,” he began, his voice suddenly quieter than before. It was almost a whisper. “I might begin to think you enjoy my company.”

You know I don't, you wanted to reply, but Jace had already straightened up as if nothing had happened, his head turned away from you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Baela give him a questioning look, and an unfamiliar sensation stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

An unpleasant heat. 

A hint of irritation.

You were annoyed, and you didn't know why.

“Look how handsome your betrothed has made himself for you,” Aegon sneered as he reached for the decanter and leaned in close to your ear. “A true Velaryon, isn't he?” He huffed.

You wanted to slap him on the thigh, make him swallow his mockery. 

“If you think he's so handsome, I can happily leave him to you,” you replied, and Aegon's eyes widened. You saw him take a sip of wine, and something deep inside you told you he probably wasn't opposed to the idea. His usual mischievous smile was hidden behind the wine glass, but there was no mistaking his eyes.

Aegon had that tendency to give himself away, and you could read him like an open book.

The meal proved to be as boring as you had imagined. Small talk exchanged over fake smiles. An illusory moment in which everything seemed to be going well for one evening.

You weren't fooled, and you knew it was all a facade. You knew your family well enough to understand that the slightest spark could set things alight. You knew your brothers well enough to realise that all it would take was a simple glance between them to liven up an evening they found dull.

You just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble tonight.

To your left, Jace was still deep in conversation with Baela. They had that kind of complicity that made your blood boil inside; a shared laugh that sounded in your ear like the squeaky music you hated. You frowned. It was you, his betrothed. It was you, not Baela, and you didn't understand why that statement was suddenly so important. 

After all, you despised this union. You hated Jace. You had no desire to promise him the rest of your life.

Jace was a bastard, and you deserved better.

So why did the sight of him touching Baela's hand cause a twinge of jealousy in your body?

His fingers brushed over hers absently. A light touch on her knuckles. 

And all you felt was fire.

And then. Then, your fingers slipped under the wooden table. 

You knew you were playing with fire. And you knew that if anyone paid too much attention to what you were doing, they would see that you weren't exactly behaving like the perfect Princess Targaryen you were supposed to be.

But you didn't care.

You let your fingers wander, running along the outside of Jace's thigh before moving up to settle in the hollow that connected his thigh to his hip. With a faint touch, your fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh, and then lower, tracing small circles through the fabric that was already beginning to tighten. 

Jace almost choked. 

He spat out the contents of his glass, his dark gaze fixed on you. Everyone had fallen silent, their heads turned towards him. Rhaenyra's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

And you hadn't removed your hand. 

An innocent smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You wondered if Aegon could read you. If he could see that look on your face, so similar to his own. That distinctive feature you shared. 

Deciding to play with your prey a little longer, you put on your best fake concerned face, pretending to be worried about his health.

"Are you all right, Jacaerys?" you asked, your voice a little higher than usual as your nails dug into the fabric of his breeches. Not to hurt him, of course. Just enough to wake a certain part of him, just enough to remind him that you were his betrothed.

He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I swallowed wrong,” he replied. 

Your fingers crept a little higher, trying to explore his upper thigh, where you knew your nephew would be sensitive. You didn't want to be rational tonight, you wanted to let the fire take over and consume you. 

You wanted to let the sleeping dragon within you awaken.

The taste of the forbidden was divine, and the heat spreading through your lower belly was too delicious to stop now.

"Be careful, mandianna. We're not married yet." you said.  We're not married yet and look where I've got my fingers. You kept your thoughts to yourself. "I wouldn't want to find myself a widow already," you replied in High Valyrian, amused, and Jace looked at you with his big brown eyes, somewhere between anger and excitement, embarrassment and curiosity. 

Under the table, out of sight, your hand brushed the stretched fabric where you could read the confirmation of what he was feeling, the manifestation of his desire.

He was hard.

Perfect.

It was you who provoked this. 

He responded to your touch.

You felt a familiar breath on the back of your neck and realised Aegon was leaning against you again. He was pretending to serve you some of the vegetables that had just been brought in for the starter, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear as he did so well. "Try to be more discreet, little sister," he chuckled softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper to make sure no one heard you. Discreetly, he nodded to where your hand still rested on your nephew's thigh. He tilted his head. "Rhaenyra is right in front of us. Do you think she can see what you're doing to her son under the table?"

He put on his best disinterested face. As if the words exchanged between you were nothing more than banalities. 

As if he weren't commenting on the indecent deeds you were doing under the table, unworthy of a girl of your rank.

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. You didn't want him drawing any more of your family's attention to you, especially when you hadn't finished playing.

Your big brother gave you a knowing wink, as if to promise you that your secret was safe with him.

And you decided to continue entertaining yourself with the new game you'd invented.

You were bold, and you decided that if Jace didn't already know it, he would find out soon enough.

*** 

It wasn't that Jace was disappointed with his betrothal. You were divine, and the dress you wore made you so regal that he couldn't keep his attention anywhere but on your body, on your cleavage so gracefully offered to his gaze.

It was precisely why he had turned to Baela, why he had tried to distract himself with their conversation, why he had desperately tried to find something else to hold on to.

Because you were making him lose his footing. And that was a feeling he hated.

No, Jace did not regret his betrothal. You were everything a man could want; you were beautiful, you were regal, you were clever, and above all, you were a Targaryen. A princess. The king's daughter.

The only problem was you were distant and elusive.

Jace remembered your pretensions and mockeries from his childhood. He remembered the little brat you were, following in your older brother's footsteps. He remembered a little girl with a strong temper, who knew what she wanted. He remembered the pranks, not just the ones he'd taken part in, like the Pink Dread, but the ones that had turned against him because of you and Aegon, too.

It was clear that the little girl you had once been, taller than him, with long silver curls and an air of self-assurance far too confident for her young age, had grown into a beautiful young woman. 

And that was something Jace hadn't considered.

He couldn't concentrate on his conversation with Baela, not when your fingers were digging through the linen of his breeches into the flesh of his thigh, as if to remind him to whom he had been promised.  

Your fingers, slender, light, burning against his inner thigh. 

He clenched his jaw.

All around him, the words and faces of the guests mingled in a swirl of sound and colour. Fuck.

Fuck.

His breeches were really becoming too tight.

You'd dared to do that. You'd dared to slip your fingers under the table, in front of everyone, and Jace didn't know whether to admire your audacity or wrap his fingers around your wrist and force you to take them off. 

Suddenly he felt hot, a familiar warmth spreading between his loins. 

He wasn't sure he could get up, not with his member pulsing between his thighs. 

Fuck. You weren't supposed to make him feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel such a desire for you when you weren't officially married.

This dinner was about officially declaring your betrothal, not consummating a union not yet pronounced.

He was trying to calm down. He tried to ground himself back into reality. Perhaps by staring intently at the contents of his plate he could ignore the sensation of your fingers rising dangerously high; the desperate need to finally have your fingers wrapped around his manhood.

His knees slammed into the table in a sudden movement.

Your fingers had just brushed the bulge that had formed between his thighs. 

And he needed more, infinitely more.

You couldn't have the cruelty to arouse such lust in him and then leave him like that. He would never forgive you.

"Stop that," he growled in your direction, low enough for no one else to hear. 

But you still had that damn innocent smile, that damn audacity to act as if nothing had happened. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, mandianna." Nephew. The sound of the High Valyrian rolling off your tongue sent a wave of heat between his legs. Seven hells, you were going to be the death of him. 

He wanted more. 

He needed more. 

More of your fingers around him, more of your tongue against his length, more of that innocent look on your face as you knelt before him, more of your tight cunt.

Jace was on the verge of losing it. You'd made him a slave to his own desire. You had closed your claws around him and he knew there was no turning back now.

“If you play with fire too much, you might get burned, muña," Jace retorted, leaning towards you, and he felt the imperceptible movement of your hand twitching at the threat. Aunt.

Despite his dwindling strength, King Viserys tried to make a speech about family, betrothal, and a whole host of other undoubtedly honourable values, but neither you nor Jace paid any attention. You were caught up in your own game.

Then Jace stood up, forcing you to remove your hand. 

You could see he was uncomfortable, for you knew where to look, for you knew what you had done. 

You knew he had a painful erection between his thighs, and it was all because of you.

But you could only admire your nephew's composure. 

“To my uncles, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have fond memories of our shared childhood.” His glass between his fingers, he raised it in the direction of his uncles, then turned to you. "And to my sweet and beautiful bride-to-be, who I'm sure will never cease to surprise me with her daring and surprising side. May our marriage be filled with joy and satisfaction".

The toasts continued, as did the meal. The servants had brought the rest of the dishes consisting of steaming meat and tasty garnishes. It was almost too joyous, almost too happy to be real. As if there was a threat lurking somewhere in the corner.

But Jace still had to teach you a lesson.

The music started, the sound of instruments filling the room. Jace apologised to Baela and walked over to his aunt. His other aunt. Your sister. 

And you felt the anger return; the same inner turmoil as before. 

Jace had held out his hand to Helaena and led her to dance a little further away. You immediately exchanged a questioning look with your brother, who had also stared at Jace in disbelief as he had walked away on your little sister's arm.

"So?" Aegon began. "It seems your betrothed didn't appreciate your little game?" You glared at him, but he just scoffed. "If he changes his mind... You know I like it." 

You wondered if you could do the same. You wondered if you could ask Aegon to dance and if Jace would feel the same bubbling inside him, the same jealousy coursing through his veins.

You hated that feeling. 

You shouldn't feel that kind of emotion, especially not for him.

You obviously didn't see it, too focused on your own annoyance, but Jace kept glancing in your direction, as if to make sure you saw him. 

He wanted to make you jealous. He wanted to fuel the feeling he'd identified in you. He wanted to catch you at your own game. And one thing was certain, Jace hadn't played all his cards yet.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

After a moment that seemed an eternity, your betrothed returned to sit beside you, Helena going back to her own seat. You were less and less able to hide your annoyance, and no doubt Jace noticed, for he leaned towards you, a satisfied look on his face. "Your sister is very sweet," he murmured. He knew very well that this simple phrase would be enough to send you over the edge. 

You liked attention. You liked compliments. You liked to be praised. 

You said nothing back. But Aegon had his trademark grin, the one that stretched his lips when he had a devious plan, and he was already getting up on the pretext of serving Baela some wine so he could whisper in his nephew's ear.  "I know my little sister can be particularly demanding.” He paused. “And difficult to tame. So if you ever need any advice... Or demonstrations…"

Jace was fuming, but he knew he had to keep his cool. It was Aegon, typical Aegon, to push his buttons, to succeed in making him suddenly unsure of himself, to make his mind confused. His fingers closed around his cup, his jaw clenched, and it took all his self-control not to throw the contents in his uncle's face. 

He didn't even look at Aegon, who had returned to his seat with a triumphant smile.

But you felt something under the table. Something slipped between the folds of your dress, along your skin, discreetly, lightly, a delicious touch against your skin that made you want more.

Your eyes widened.

Jace. 

Jace the perfect son. Jace the model son. 

Jace slipping his fingers under your dress, touching the skin of your thigh, rising dangerously high where you could already feel the wetness forming in the crease between your thighs. 

This was the moment he snapped, you knew it. You hadn't heard your brother's words, you had only seen him lean towards your betrothed, but you knew he must have struck a chord with Jacaerys Velaryon. That he had probably touched his weak spot. 

Or perhaps you were just getting your comeuppance. After teasing him, after making him hard and desperate.

Jace moved his hand, tracing the space where your skin was soft and tender, all the way up your thigh, with a slow, gentle touch. His hand moved further towards the centre of you, where you were sensitive, and he brushed against your crotch. He didn't even need to apply any pressure with his fingertips to tell that you were wet.

Your hips automatically moved towards his hand in search of more contact, causing you to wiggle in your chair. All you wanted to do was grab his wrist, force him to slide his fingers under the fabric separating you, force him to touch you right here. But you were still at dinner and the game was becoming far too dangerous. 

"I told you to be careful," Jace whispered as he withdrew his fingers and resumed his serious gaze, his fingers fidgeting on the wood of the table. “Two can play at this game.”

And then perhaps the Seven heard you. Perhaps they were offering you a way out. To be honest, you weren't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. For Aemond had risen, and he had done what he did best; he had made a mocking and provocative speech to his nephews. 

Everything happened quickly. Jace and Luke leapt to their feet to answer the provocation, Aemond and Aegon were ready to fight back, and even Baela and Rhaena were prepared to defend their family. You had no time to move, no time to react, for dinner was already over, and so was your little game of cat and mouse with Jace.

This was your way out, you knew it. You were tired of sitting around a table listening to boring speeches. And the entertainment that had consisted of sliding your fingers under the table to push Jacaerys Strong over the edge had now turned against you.

"I shall rest," you warned your mother, who was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra, her features wrinkled with worry. "Tonight's events have left me somewhat tired. And I think a night's rest would do me a world of good."  She nodded, stroking your hair, and you knew instinctively what she was thinking. Always the perfect daughter.

And as you passed through the heavy door of the dining room, you hurried off in a direction that was not that of your room.

Oh, but if she knew.

*** 

Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the slightest desire to run into a guard who would ask you where you were going or escort you to your room for security reasons. 

Your steps were as discreet as possible on the stone floor, like those of a small mouse. You moved quickly, stealthily, almost on tiptoe.

Only the crackle of the fire broke the heavy silence between the cold walls, where the dancing shadows of the flames distorted.

You slowed your pace. You had a doubt. You weren't sure which door was the one you were looking for. 

And then suddenly, as you reached the end of the corridor, you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you against the wall, away from prying eyes. A strong grip, as if it didn't want to let you vanish again.

Jace was holding you between the wall and his own body. Despite the darkness, you could see his eyes shining in the candlelight, fueled by a devouring hunger you didn't know he possessed. He stared at you for a moment. His eyes in yours. A tension hung between you, burning, ready to consume you both, and you were completely willing.

Gently yet firmly he turned your body. Your chest against the cold wall, your back against his warm chest, and you pulled your hips back to provoke him. You wouldn't succumb so easily, not to Jacaerys.

He pressed himself against you, moving his pelvis forward so you could feel his hard member against the top of your buttocks.

"Do you feel what you're doing to me?" Another thrust of his hips. "Can you feel the effect you're having on me?" He pressed harder against you. Through the layers of fabric between you, you could almost feel him throb. Gods, he seemed big. "Teasing me all evening... Such a tease, aren't you?"

If it wasn't the consequence of your own actions.

You stifled a moan with your arm so as not to attract any patrolling guards. What you were doing was dangerous. At any moment you could be caught. At any moment you could be in big trouble.

But you couldn't stop now. Not when the best was yet to come.

You moved again, seeking more contact, seeking to make Jace harder and more painful than he already was, and you turned your head to challenge him. "What if it's you who's just too weak?"

You felt his hoarse breath against the back of your neck, at the base of your hair. He seemed to be hesitating, thinking. About what he was going to do to you, about what he was going to do to make sure you were responsible for your actions. Again he turned you so that you had your back to the wall, facing him, and you recognised the gleam of desire in his eyes.

Towering over you, he lowered his gaze to you, your faces inches apart. For a moment he let his eyes devour you, wandering from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your breasts, visible through the fabric of your dress. He wanted to keep this image printed behind his eyelids; your half-open lips, your pleading gaze, like that of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

You looked ravishing.

"Tell me to stop," Jace murmured. And you knew it was the sensible thing to do, you knew it was better to stop everything now, while it was still possible to turn back. For you weren't married yet. 

But you had no desire to be responsible.

His fingers curled around a lock of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, waiting for your answer before continuing.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you replied, your eyes locked with his. He felt your hand against his cheek as you detailed his face, tracing his well-sculpted cheeks, and he longed for more contact, his face seeking the warmth of your palm. 

You put your arms around his neck to draw him closer, to close the distance between your lips, to feel his warmth against your body.

To quench this desire, this need that was becoming uncontrollable.

And your lips met in a feverish, urgent kiss. He pressed you further against the wall, his fingers running down your sides, brushing against the breasts he so craved.

He found your hips and his fingers worked frantically up the bottom of your dress in a crumpled ball of fabric to reach your core. "Look at how wet you are." His fingers brushed your folds through your undergarments. "All of this just for teasing me." He pressed one hand against the wall, still leaning against you, but not giving you what you wanted: his hand had stopped, and you tried to wiggle your hips to force him to continue, to force him to give you what you wanted.

Deep down, you loved the way he was losing control. 

You loved that side of Jace you didn't know. 

So you grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers under the last barrier that separated his skin from yours. 

The sensation was delicious. 

The touch of his warm fingers against your folds sent a wave of heat from your lower belly through your entire body. You didn't want him to stop. "Here." You breathed against his lips. "This is where muña needs you." Aunt. He tensed beneath you, and you wondered if it was the ambiguity of the family tie, uttered in High Valyrian, that had such an effect on him. 

You let your lips brush against his.

He collected your wetness on his fingers, exploring the slit between your folds up to your little pearl. You were soaking wet. And you desperately needed him inside you. 

His fingers slid down to your opening where he applied a little pressure with the tip of his index finger without ever penetrating you.

"I know," he murmured, drawing small circles before abandoning your opening to return to your bud. "But I can't give you what you want now."

You whimpered under his cruelty, against his lips. 

You could see through his game. 

He wanted to make you beg, but you weren't the kind to beg. You were the one with the power and you were going to show him.

"We shouldn't stay here," you muttered, rubbing yourself against your nephew's hand. "If someone catches us..."

Jace nodded his head in agreement, withdrawing his fingers glistening with your juice, which you guided to his own lips, spreading the stickiness against his lips. 

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me."

And with that, he pulled you into his room.

*** 

Lying on the bed where you'd pushed him, Jace watched as you removed your dress, his prominent erection stretching the fabric of his breeches. The dress fell to the floor, forming a red puddle that you stepped over, one foot after the other.

Your nephew couldn't look away from your hypnotic figure, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to your breasts. You'd seen him glancing at your cleavage all evening, you could tell he wanted to run his fingers over your soft flesh, his lips over your nipples, and now that you were completely naked in front of him, you could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You walked up to him. He clenched his jaw when he saw you. You, and the perfection of your shape, your little pointed nipples, the tantalising path that led from your chest to the space between your thighs where he knew you were soaked for him. 

The flat of your hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down between the pillows. He complied, never breaking the eye contact between the two of you, and you took your place on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. His husky breath escaped through his parted lips, lightly caressing your face.

You were naked, he was still dressed, and you had infinite power over him.

You lowered your hips against his covered crotch, the essence of your desire staining the linen of his breeches as your hips began to move slowly.

You leaned down and traced his jaw with the tip of your lips, planting kisses along his throat. Underneath you, his member twitched. Mimicking what he'd done earlier, you let your fingers rest on the painful bulge between his legs and whispered, "I know." You applied a little more pressure, drawing a moan from between his lips. "I know it's painful. But I can't give you what you want right now."

Jace growled. He wanted to turn you over, slam you against the mattress, pound into you and make you swallow your insolence. But he wanted to see how far you were willing to go. He wanted to see you keep control for a while longer.

You deftly undid his breeches to make it easier for your hand to slip through. You found his hard member, warm and heavy between your fingers.

It was a new sensation. As a model princess, you'd never ventured into this territory, saving your maidenhood for your future husband.

But Jace was your future husband.

You closed your fingers around him, your thumb collecting the sticky beads that had already formed at the tip of his cock and spreading it along his length. 

"First I want to come on your tongue," your lips articulated against the skin of his throat as the hand that was in his breeches moved up his torso to close around his jaw, your thumb caressing his lower lip to emphasise your words. "Will you let me?" you added. In response, he let the tip of his tongue slip between his lips, touching the pad of your finger. "Let me show you," he whispered.

And indeed, Jace worked devotedly between your thighs, his tongue tracing the length of your slit, drinking in your essence as it flowed from your entrance like a delicious nectar. His tongue tickled your little knob, his thumbs spreading your folds to gain access to the treasure he coveted.

One of his fingers found your hole clenching around nothing, tracing small circles against it to force you to voice what you wanted. "Do you need me here?" he whispered against your flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending shivers through your core. Your hands buried themselves in the dark mass of his hair and you moved your hips against his face, urging him to maintain the contact of his mouth against you. "Use your words, muña," he added, despite his nose being buried between your folds.

When you gave him the answer he was waiting for, he let a finger enter you in a delicious stretch. You held back a moan, your fingers digging deeper into his hair, not caring if you were hurting him or not. He continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, like a thirsty man, like a devoted man.

You wouldn't last long, your release close.

Jace then added a second finger. The sensation of his fingers inside you, against that rough spot, combined with that of his tongue between your folds, against your pearl, was simply divine. 

"Go on," Jace started, but you immediately cut him off. "Shut up." You didn't want him to speak. You wanted him to continue with his damn tongue, with his broad fingers inside you. You didn't want him to stop. "I am... I am close."

And your climax washed over your entire body like a wave of warmth. Your legs closed around your nephew's face.

It was probably one of the best sensations you'd ever experienced.

Still between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs, Jace collected your arousal on his tongue, sending shivers of overstimulation down your spine, and your whole body shuddering in a brutal spasm. You straightened up, knees still bent, your hand returning to your nephew's hair to guide him over you, his face close to yours. You stroked his cheek gently, as if to let him know he was a good boy, and your thumb picked up the sticky fluid that was smeared all over the bottom of his face.

You were both out of breath. You from the intense release you'd felt, he from the dedication he'd shown.

A smirk formed at the corner of your lips, and you pressed your thumb between his lips to ensure he didn't waste anything. Jace tilted his face close to yours. "You taste divine," he breathed, turning your cheeks red. "But now I need to be inside you."

His fingers slipped between your thighs, where your centre was pulsing, still far too sensitive from the ministrations he had given you. 

"You can give me another, can't you?" He asked, and you nodded, so sore.

After he undressed, Jace pushed on your shoulders to make you lie down, but you skilfully changed positions, taking him by surprise.

You were unwilling to give him the power he wanted, not yet.

Straddling him, you moved your hips to rub your crotch against his erect manhood, spreading your wetness along his length. Beneath you, his torso rose and fell rapidly, and the grunts he let out conveyed his need for more. So your hand sought his hard member, guiding it to your entrance without letting it penetrate you. "So?" you asked playfully. "Do you think you've been a good boy ? Do you think you deserve to be inside me?" You wanted to make him beg, and Jace could see right through you. "To be the first?" you added, lowering your voice slightly, as if you were telling him a secret.

But he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer.

So he capitulated, giving you the defeat you'd been waiting for.

"Yes." he breathed. "Please." Your victorious smile stretched your lips and you guided him further against you, pressing his erection against your opening. Fuck. He was massive.

He was about to breathe a sigh of relief, ready to feel your velvet walls tighten around him, but you blocked his hip movement. 

It wasn't enough.

"Please who?" you asked, your fingers moving back and forth around his manhood. He glared at you. You were gloating. "Please, muña," he finally begged, and you gave him what he wanted.

You lowered your hips to let him slide into you in a long thrust that stretched you around him. He was indeedmassive, and the new sensation of having him inside you was a delicious mix of dull pain and burning pleasure. You stood still for a moment to adjust to his presence inside you, your core throbbing around him. The initial pinch gradually dissipated, replaced by a pleasant sensation that sent a wave of warmth through your body. 

And then he began to thrust in and out, pushing up to sink into you. "Fuck...fuck, you're tight," Jace growled. Your loose hair cascaded down either side of your face, tickling his cheeks, and he caught it in a messy bun to hold it behind your head. 

You could feel the same pleasure as before building up in your lower abdomen. 

Gods, you could feel him so intensely. So deeply too. Bouncing rhythmically against that particular part of you. 

You buried your head in his neck, his woody scent filling your nostrils.

It was primal. Animal, between the two of you. All that mattered was the here and now. Your body against his, the sweat beading between you, the moans filling the room.

Jace tugged at your hair, causing you to throw your head back, freeing access to your chest, and he straightened up into a sitting position, his member still deep inside you, to find your breast. He buried his face in it and your hand instinctively found the back of his head to stroke his hair. Jace's lips traced a trail of kisses down the valley between your breasts, following the curve of your flesh before closing around your nipple, which he sucked gently. One of his arms wrapped around you to hold you tight against him, his other hand resting on the breast he wasn't devouring.

You stayed like that for a while, your legs on either side of him, his mouth seeking solace in your breasts, the divine sensation of being full, with him inside you, in the softness of the night, the flames rocking your lovemaking.

One of Jace's arms finally found your back and in one swift movement he reversed position. He desperately needed more, sensing that he wouldn't last long. 

He pinned you beneath him, against the mattress, your legs immediately closing around him and the pace quickened.  His thrusts became more messy, more sloppy because of your two combined essences.  "You're mine, now" he grunted, and you shivered. His index and middle fingers wandered between your folds, caressing the spot where you were joined before moving to the pearl hidden at the top of your slit. "Am I?" you replied teasingly. You could feel him throbbing inside you. "Then be a good boy now and give muña your seed."

That was the spark that ignited the fire. Jace quickened the rhythm of his hips, his fingers still buried between your folds, his movements erratic. With each of his thrusts, you felt his member hitting that sensitive spot against your spongy inner walls. You tensed and for the second time that evening, your release flooded your entire body.  You were followed by your nephew as Jace spilled into you, his seed painting white ropes against your womb.

He lay still inside you for a moment, his cock softening as you both caught your breath, your hands in his dark curls, his head at the nape of your neck. 

You winced as he withdrew from your still sensitive core, his now cold seed flowing between your thighs. Jace dropped down beside you, satisfied. Then you turned to him. You grabbed his wrist one last time and guided his fingers to your centre, where your folds were smeared with the remnants of your lovemaking.

"Look how much you've left inside me," you whispered into his ear, making Jace collect his own seed on his fingertips and push it back into you. "I'm going to keep it all inside me, would you like that, sweet boy?" you whispered again.

And Jace pulled you against him to kiss you, his member stirring between his thighs, against you. It was true that he'd given you the upper hand this time. But he was ready to show you what he could do. You snuggled up against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.

"Perhaps…We should bring the wedding date forward."

And he smiled.

[swordgrace]

& 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and your husband decide to take advantage of the quiet gardens near the red keep.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: drabble — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 4.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught, semi-public sex, gwayne is a switch, cunt-drunk gwayne, sex in the red keep gardens, teasing, hair-pulling kink, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, groping, making out, dirty talk, mild praise kink, p in v sex (unprotected), mild scratching, soft ending.

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am on the Gwayne train right now, I just adore writing for him. This is a smaller story, and I think writing some drabbles might do me a bit of good! I hope that you all enjoy! ❤️ Thanks so much for the love & support!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚.

The smell was akin to a perfumed dowager, the air thick with roses and honey, petals drifting along in the evening breeze. It was a stark contrast to the pungent scent of the rest of the city — perhaps that is why you favored the gardens.

Orange tendrils of a waning sun spread across the leaves, verdant and bright, turning the gardens all sorts of colors — shades of emerald and gold, intermingling with the many flowers there.

Most souls that had occupied the gardens had made themselves scarce, turning it into a paradise that only you shared with another. You often admired the general splendor even when it was crowded, but now, it gave you a rather unobstructed view.

The various palette of the gardens, particularly any deeper shades of forest-green, matched that of your husband’s doublet, embroidered with golden thread. It was strange to see Gwayne removed from his armor, his silvery vassal that kept him well-protected.

In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, there were days spent in respite, much to your delight. Though, war would steal him away from you again — you intended on making the most out of each moment, beseeching him to remain by your side. He obliged you, fortunately, and you never objected to it.

A golden hour, brightest before dusk, painted you in shades that Gwayne had committed to memory, your features bathed in dying light. You were swathed in gowns of cerulean, a deeper shade of azure that had brought him to heel when you emerged with it on.

Merrily, he often touted that he had the most beautiful wife in all of the realm, and such a sentiment didn’t change nor waver. It was resolute, done with a fondness that made its way to you.

“Perhaps, once this conflict comes to a close, you and I shall return to Oldtown,” Gwayne’s gallant resonance cut through the contented silence, his timbre often filled with regality, the elegant poise of a well-learned Knight. “I’ve grown surfeited by this grisly place.”

If Gwayne had not been so proficient with a blade, you suspected that a quill and his sharp tongue would’ve done him a world of good in another lifetime. His flowery speech had charmed you time and time again, and you were left captivated.

Oldtown had become your home, a sanctuary of which you and Gwayne had built a peaceful life together. With Prince Daeron in your care, it was something of a family — one that you suspected would grow in the near future.

“As have I,” With a gentle sigh, your fingers danced along his velvet-clad forearm, your arm interlaced with his as he led you through the teeming labyrinth. At twilight, it had become wonderfully quiet, a place of solace away from the bustling hum of the Red Keep. “It is a dour place.”

Dour was a mere understatement — Gwayne knew what harm this city could do, crushed beneath the oppressive weight of the Red Keep. Even in its architectural splendor, it remained a shadow, haunting your every step as it loomed above the both of you.

Even in the sanctuary of the Gardens, one could not escape it. He did not envy his sister for being sequestered here for most of her lifetime — he imagined that it likely led to a path of misfortune and frustration. Being in Oldtown, he could afford many liberties, freedoms that weren’t permitted in King’s Landing.

As you continued on your path, a stone terrace opened before you, a comely overlook with a sizable gazebo, marked by dimly-lit torches. Save for the picturesque view of Blackwater Bay, it was surrounded by foliage and flora on all sides.

Gwayne felt your concern in waves, an unspoken sentiment, knowing that he would be called to leave again. Cole’s armies were rallying to march to Harrenhal, and he was summoned to ride alongside him, the second-in-command. You had made your disdain for this known, and Gwayne couldn’t fault you for it.

“I would sorely dislike it if our time together was to be spent in silence,” He watched you through cerulean hues as you rounded the gazebo, moving toward the overlook. Waves gently lapped at the outcropping of rock, breaking upon it, saltwater kisses peppering your cheeks. “I have a duty, dearest.”

A begrudging sigh tore past your lips, and you staved off the sudden onslaught of turmoil. You had come to-terms with the inevitability of his departure — you had dealt with it once before, but the sting never lessened. “I understand. I loathe you and love you for it.” You murmured, your smile threadbare.

Your answer retained a twinge of lightheartedness to it, in the face of a bleak future. Gwayne couldn’t help but scoff, visage dancing with amusement as he stepped toward one of the massive walls of gardenias. Plucking a pale blossom from its stem, he crossed the stone to you, a gesture of affection.

“Loathe me, is that it?” Gwayne wouldn’t have your last moments together spent in melancholy — and you seemed to be in agreement. He placed the blossom behind your ear, carefully tucking it into place. “Have I vexed you so easily?”

Planting a palm against his chest, you allowed your fingertips to trace across plated velvet, dancing toward the Hightower sigil, embroidered into the collar. He was resplendent in noblemen’s garb, painfully handsome and fresh-faced, save for the healing cut upon his lip and bruised brow.

A taut, muscled arm moved to snake around your waist, effortlessly caging you in against him. Your saccharine scent invaded his senses, swarming around his head like a thick haze, one that he delighted in. Beneath the evening sky, he made his ardor for you known, a real and living thing.

“You are swift to credit yourself, husband. I may resort to knocking you from your pedestal.” You teased, tender voice growing softer, a mere purr to his ears. Gods, you were wonderfully divine — Gwayne brazenly squeezed your hip through your gowns, auburn brows lifting in amusement.

Instead of puffing his chest with a playful retort, Gwayne could no longer resist the tempting curve of your lips, craning down to kiss you. It was a sweet mingling of mouths, slow and exploratory, happy to take their time with one another.

The first inklings of an amorous heat crackled between the both of you, a rapturous hunger that hadn’t been sated since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You simply could not get enough of your beloved husband, hands clamoring from his plush doublet to his mane of copper tresses, gripping them tightly.

Even with the thicker material of your dress, Gwayne greedily grasped at your curves, able to feel the pliant swell of your physique beneath. You had already seduced him with your steep necklace and ample bosom — sometimes, you were more of a salacious minx than you were a maiden. He enjoyed you both ways.

Your chambers in the Red Keep seemed so far away, and neediness began to take root, desire flourishing where propriety could not. As you insistently tugged upon his auburn locks, Gwayne felt his cock stir to life within his trousers, twitching as if to remind him of his carnal need for you.

“Incomparable, I must confess,” Gwayne exhaled, hot breath fluttering across your visage. Hints of wine retained their presence upon his tongue, skin smelling of woodland musk and fine soaps. “Not a single wandering eye to find us here.” His timbre dropped into a delectable purr, lips pressing themselves to the curve of your jaw.

Exhilaration struck at the pit of your stomach, coupled with the familiar wave of arousal, its inklings slick and warm between your legs. “What are you implying, husband?” You asked, breathy and wanton, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

A low, teasing hum slipped betwixt his lips, mouth molding to your flesh, gliding across the slender column of your throat. One hand dropped to cup your derrière through the thicker material of your dress, longing to see it around your feet, instead.

A sheepish moan tore past your mouth, unabashedly stoking the fire that simmered between the both of you. Gwayne greedily lapped at your sweet skin, like a thick honey upon his tongue. “It is just you and I, sweetling. Might you indulge me?” He hummed, desperate to have you now that desire had taken hold.

Gods, you wanted him terribly.

It was a fascinating twist, with Gwayne wanting to have you here, given the publicity of the locale. He was often a man to take you to your chambers in the name of chivalry, but this daring, yearning side to him — you quite enjoyed it, his change of heart.

“Gods, I love you.” You sighed, feeling him relocate the both of you towards one of the thick, stone columns that held the gazebo aloft. It was rough against your back, but you cared little for it, hastily unlacing the bodice of your dress. The silken smallclothes you wore beneath would suffice.

A low, stifled groan escaped Gwayne’s mouth, cerulean hues sharp and amatory, roving over you with a thinly-veiled desire. “Seven Hells, you drive me to the brink of madness, wife.” He murmured, swiftly relieving you of that mound of azure velvet.

The simple slip you wore beneath clung to your curves, accentuating your physique in pale shades of ivory, nipples peeking through the thin material. His hand slithered beneath, seeking to find the slick heat of your cunt, pushing your legs apart with his thigh.

Gathering your slip within your hands, you tugged the material up, until it pooled around the swell of your hips, giving him unhindered access. Gwayne careened forward, mouth colliding with yours, lips desperately craving every fiber of your being.

His other hand moved to cup your breast through your gown, thumb languidly swiping over your pebbled nipple, teasing the bud as he rolled it between his fingers. A sharp, noisy gasp escaped you, followed by the unrestrained sound of a moan.

Your hands clamored to perch atop his shoulders, sinking down into the velvet, longing to see him naked. If you closed your eyes, it was easy to imagine, but you desired the real thing. With haste, your digits slipped toward the line of golden clasps along the front, aiming to get it unbuttoned.

“You minx.” Gwayne panted into your mouth, digits beginning to stroke along your slit. Much to his delight, you were already warmed, wet and honey-thick upon his fingers. Lips twined in hot clashes, and he never allowed it to devolve into something sloppy. Each kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you.

As you unclasped his doublet, he moved his arms enough to relinquish the stuffy weight of the fabric, musculature lean and taut, his skin pale and glittering in the gentle twilight. It let you squeeze his shoulders, tracing over the freckles there, reveling in his bare flesh.

Gwayne released a few breathy ‘I love you’s’ into your lips, before he relocated to the sensitive column of your throat. He spoke with reverence, as if he had come to worship his goddess, lay himself down at your feet. Your fingers wove themselves against the nape of his neck, tugging on his copper locks.

Practiced, dexterous digits continued to caress along your cunt, before pushing past your folds. He grazed your clit, sending a rush of goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. “Gwayne,” You moaned, the sweetest melody to his ears as you rocked forward, desperate for any shred of friction. “Please!”

His cock twitched again within his breeches, aching with something powerful, needing to be inside of you. Patience was his virtue and his agony — he still wanted to taste your first. He continued to knead into your breast, evoking another blissful whine from you.

Despite wearing his honor and chivalry like a coat of armor, he cared little for the consequences of potentially being caught. He would ravish his beloved wife here in these gardens — there was no sin in such an act. Kissing along your jugular, he felt you grip and pull on his hair, filling him with an excitable fire.

“Gods, I must taste you,” Gwayne groaned, voice tinged with an alluring husk, palm continuing to caress the plush swell of your breast. The thin, silken strap of your slip began to sag, and he did not fix it, exposed to the unblemished plane of your collarbone. “If you will permit me to do so.”

“You needn’t ask, husband,” A wanton whimper left you when Gwayne’s digits abandoned your cunt, though it would soon be replaced with the fine heat of his greedy tongue. Through a lovesick gaze, you observed in rapturous silence as Gwayne sank to his knees, as if he were preparing to pray. “I belong to you.”

Watching his auburn crown move towards the apex of your thighs was a most tantalizing sight, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Molten heat surged within your belly, churning with a violent anticipation as you braced one hand atop his shoulder.

A sight to die for, to kill for — Gwayne would’ve fought a thousand battles if it meant that you were the reward at the very end, a resplendent maiden in all of your glory. He would’ve endured torture unimaginable for you, razed down armies, destroyed cities all for you.

The first lap of his tongue caused your knees to buckle, raking hot embers across your cunt. He wedged his way in between your legs, shoulders keeping you apart just enough. Gwayne was quite candid about his enjoyment of tasting you — thoroughly cunt-struck.

A groan stirred within his chest as your fingers grazed through his copper tresses, finding their purchase near the base of his skull. He did not relent, tongue carefully splitting past your folds, greeted by the saccharine onslaught of your arousal.

“Gwayne.” A breathy sigh tore past your parted lips, lulled into subservience from the steady, exploratory laps of his tongue. He was sluggish, allowing the anticipation to mount, nose brushing along your mound.

Your taste was ambrosial, thick and heady, like a haze that he had no desire to escape from. There were many moments where he’d dreamed of this, on the march to Rook’s Rest, sprawled across his cot, fantasizing of you again and again.

He quite enjoyed the way in which you sighed his name, passion bubbling forth from your chest, head rolled back against the stone column. Careworn palms reached for your haunches, delighted to take their fill of you, caressing along the backs of your thighs.

“Exquisite,” Gwayne exhaled, catching his breath to press a string of kisses all along the inside of your thighs. “By the Seven, you taste divine.” He groaned, drunk and dizzy from your cunt. A soft moan escaped you as you coaxed him back, and he willingly obliged.

With another hot, eager lap of his tongue over your core, your knees rattled like leaves in the breeze, feeling his shoulders bully their way between your legs. A brusque, warm breeze fluttered throughout the gazebo, bathed in the waning light of the sunset. Stars began to glisten overhead, unhindered by the clouds.

Gwayne’s eagerness was palpable, able to be felt as he buried his face into your cunt, cerulean eyes fluttering shut in an expression of bliss. A groan stirred within his throat, fluttering throughout his chest as you fisted his auburn tresses, soft beneath your palms.

You could not get enough of him, keeping your hands on him in whatever way you could, chest heaving with wanton sighs. Carnality and desire permeated the air, the atmosphere thick with desperation. You always treated each moment as if it would be your last.

His mouth fervently worked against your slick cunt, sending pleasant shockwaves into the pit of your stomach. Goosebumps danced along your spine, followed by a shiver that made you moan. Your hips rolled forward, shamelessly grinding yourself into your husband’s waiting lips.

With a flick of his tongue, Gwayne sought the pearl of your cunt, lips eagerly kissing their way to your clit. He planted feather-light kisses around that sensitive clutch of nerves, causing you to tremble, digits tightening within his hair. Your grip was ironclad, but it was pleasurable for him, knowing you were enjoying yourself.

“Gods, Gwayne,” You whined, listening to the lewd noises of your chivalrous paramour suckling on your clit. Another onslaught of molten heat swirled within your stomach, seeping into your bones, manifesting as arousal between your thighs. “Do — Do not stop!” The urgency in your voice had increased exponentially.

If there were any evening stragglers in the Royal Gardens, you prayed to the Seven that they would not stumble upon the both of you.

The sight itself was inherently sinful, with you haplessly pressed against the stone column, gallant dress strewn across the ground, slip sagging along your physique. Gwayne’s emerald doublet had joined your garments below. You reveled in the sight of his head between your thighs, causing you to whimper.

Gwayne could detect when you were accelerating towards your release, able to feel the twitches and tremors in your thighs. He soothingly stroked along your silky flesh, interchanging between the greedy suckling of your clit, to long, broad strokes of his tongue.

His lips glistened with a sticky sheen of your nectar, of a finer stout than many, more delectable than any wine that had befallen his mouth. Gwayne worshiped you, kissed the ground you walked upon, and he did not feel an ounce of shame in it.

His cock throbbed with a desperate ache, precum slick around the head as it strained against his trousers. Your own satisfaction spurred him on, and your delightful noises only sent him spiraling into the depths of depravity. You hadn’t a clue of the things you did to him.

In a brazen maneuver, his tongue prodded against your entrance, gingerly thrusting inside of you. You gasped, biting at the inside of your cheek, digits raking through his auburn locks. You let your grip loosen, hips careening forward into his mouth again.

Gwayne ravished you, with the ravenous appetite of a starving dog. He moved back just enough to lap at your cunt, making a blazing trail from your entrance to your clit. “I’m close,” You huffed, issuing some warning to him before the dam had burst altogether. “Gwayne!”

It was the only word you knew in the present, his name — it rolled from your tongue in a delighted cry, laced with ardor and reverence. You reached your peak, shamelessly spilling yourself upon his tongue, and he was enamored with you.

With careful, sluggish strokes of his tongue, he delicately cleaned the mess he made of you, allowing you to bring yourself down from your peak. Even if the intensity had made you burn at a fever pitch, you were far from finished, tugging on Gwayne’s tresses to get his attention.

“Take me, husband,” It wasn’t a request — it was a demand, a command made upon a yearning wife. Desire glistened like a thick sheen within his cerulean eyes, which happened to widen at the sight of you. “Please.” You didn’t have to beg — Gwayne wanted you just as terribly.

He swiftly rose from between your legs, pupils dilated with lust as he steered you toward the stone bannister of the overlook, wide enough to support you. You sat down, hastily fumbling with the leather ties of his trousers. Gwayne parted your legs again, bending over you as he sought your mouth.

The taste of arousal — yours — fell heavy upon your tongue, lips clashing together as you desperately sought to free his cock from its confines. “I need you,” Gwayne husked against your mouth, pearlescent teeth briefly snagging on your lower lip. “Gods, how I’ve missed this, missed you.”

“Gwayne,” A moan escaped you, intermingling with his husky pants and sonorous groans. His forehead nudged against yours, lips hot and needy, and you were more than happy to reciprocate. “I need you, I …” Your voice tapered off when his cock slid against your folds.

He kept you steady, hands caging you against the bannister, the stone biting into your back as he kept you at an angle. Silk gathered around your hips, friction wafting between the both of you as he thrust forward, cock sinking into you.

Hitching a leg around his waist as best as you could, your hands roamed to his chest, nails digging into his collarbone as he began to find an erratic pace. He was loving and passionate, even still, but there was something inherently quick about his rhythm.

Perspiration glittered along his brow from the warm evening, yet it did not stop him from pounding away at you. His cock filled you perfectly, providing a delectable stretch that made your toes curl. It wasn’t an intimidating thing, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him.

Through his clenched teeth, Gwayne sang your praises, savoring the way in which your cunt constricted around him, as if drawing him in. “Seven Hells, your cunt is perfection,” Such lewd, crass words sounded so eloquent coming from his lips, as debonair as a Prince. “I cannot get enough of you, sweet wife.” He groaned.

Despite his crudely-spoken compliment, you were lost within the throes of your own pleasure, body rocked into submission by each snap of his hips. His cock bottomed out within you, movements swift yet punctuated, as if every thrust possessed meaning.

You loved Gwayne unconditionally — perhaps too much, if such a thing were possible. Your chest heaved with sweet, passionate sighs and gentle moans, forehead occasionally brushing against his. His hands kept themselves firm along your waist, curling into the silk of your slip.

His cock battered away at your slick cunt, aided by your mounting arousal. Everything felt so feverishly warm, as if you had been set ablaze, nerves feeling like they were steeped in fire. “More,” You moaned, and it effectively caught Gwayne’s attention. “Gwayne, please.” He was weak to your soft pleas.

Your beloved husband lacked harshness when it came to intimacy, something you adored about him. Even when his thrusts became desperate and erratic, chasing after his release, he never resorted to using you. His lips sought the column of your throat, nose brushing along your jugular.

A string of kisses peppered themselves against your sweet flesh, with the occasional suckling of his lips to your neck. A myriad of throaty whines and whimpers continued to leave you in droves, cunt pathetically clenching around him.

Buckling forward, Gwayne planted one palm against the stone bannister, the other caging in around you as he continued to pound away into your needy cunt. He kissed you wherever he could, dwindling into desperation and the innate desire to taste your sweet flesh.

His lips parted slightly, a strained grunt escaping him as he thrust forward again, until there was nowhere left for him to go. Gwayne pulled back just enough, the head of his cock still inside of you before he moved forward again. The friction made you shiver, fingers grasping at the nape of his neck.

His name continued to slip from your mouth, over and over again, like a whispered prayer. Your nails left behind red crescents upon his skin, sharp brands of your lovemaking. Gwayne groaned against your throat, desiring to kiss you once more, lips laying claim to yours with a fervor.

With another snap of his hips, Gwayne shuddered, nearly collapsing into you as he reached his peak. Hot ropes of seed brazenly spilled inside of you, warming your insides as he attempted to catch his breath. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing with him, allowing your hands to slack.

Gwayne politely removed himself from you, mindful of your garments as he fixed your gown back into place. The slip itself was disheveled, but he ensured its tidiness before you got dressed again.

“How divine you are,” Gwayne hummed, planting gentle kisses along the side of your face before it ended at the curve of your jaw. “Beautiful beyond comprehension.” He murmured, using two digits to delicately place the strap of your slip back upon your shoulder.

“You flatter me, husband,” Your smile was warm and amiable, the brightness of springtime, bringing a rosy flush to his features. “I quite enjoyed your brazen streak.” Through a smitten confession, Gwayne kissed your brow, lips twitching into a debonair smirk.

“I am not ashamed of ravishing my wife, be it in our chambers or in the garden,” He replied, reaching for his velveteen doublet and your azure dress. It was easy for him to slip back into the stuffy material, and he was more than happy to assist you. “I cannot get enough of you.”

His words were tantalizing, as if intended to bring about another string of salacious thoughts. Gwayne stood behind you as you stepped back into your dress, helping to lace your bodice up again. He planted a kiss along your exposed shoulder, and then to the crook of your neck.

You reached for his hand, letting it drape across your shoulder as you pressed a delicate kiss against his bruised knuckles. “You shall have me, Gwayne — for as long as you desire me.” You sighed, feeling his nose brush along your cheek, the warmth of his body pressing in behind you.

With a kiss to your temple, one oozing with such fondness and ardor that you feared you might melt, Gwayne’s lips hovered near the shell of your ear. In the twinkling dusk, he held you close. “Forever, then.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Knight

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Gwayne Hightower Couple - Gwayne X Reader Reader - Visenya Hightower (Daughter of Rhaenyra and Wife of Gwayne) Rating - 15 Word Count - 1715

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch, me again! Can I request again in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? I really love the Oscar Tully I requested, how you write it is simply divine! But now I’d like to request a Gwayne Hightower story. Wherein he is married to Rhaenyra’s sister named “Visenya” (many years after Alicent’s marriage to Viserys) to have a stronger bond between Hightower and Targaryen. But the thing is that they both resided in Old Town. They both had their first child, a girl the same age as Daeron and now expecting another one. No spice please, just Gwayne being the best husband and father ever, being really clingy and touchy, showering sweet words and kisses to his wife exactly like a simp haha. I am a million times grateful if you do this request, thank you! <33

Gwayne rides into the stables, pulling up and dismounting his horse bag slung over his shoulder. He tries to hurry his way inside fast and easy but finds the Maester pestering him as he walks

"Ser, Ser, A raven from your sister," The short man bobbles about following Gawyne around the yard,

Gwayne lets out a sigh, “What does my sister want?”

"She requests for you to take coach and begin the road to king's landing, Ser."

Gwayne grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “By the gods do I need to spell it out for her… no. I am not going to Kings Landing.”

"But Ser-" He began,

Gwayne held up his hand, stopping the man there. “What part of “no” are you unable to comprehend? I will not be going to that viper’s nest, I do not care for how much my sister begs and nags, nothing she can say will change my mind.” Gawyne sighed once more, "I will not risk such a movement, I will not do it. Visenya could begin her labours any day I will not risk taking her on the road in her condition much less to Kings Landing just to please my sister. Visenya will remain here, in our bed-chamber, with her maids and maesters while we wait for the baby. and I will be here. By her side."

The Maester began to argue more but at this,

“Do. Not. Push. Me.” Gwayne turned to face him, a growl upon his lips.

the Maester froze like a deer in the headlights at this, his legs going still and his lip quivering slightly as he nodded his head. The maester grumbled but relented, knowing he was not going to get any further than that, “Very well, ser, I shall inform your sister… again.”

Gwayne let out a scoff, running a hand through his hair in a bout of frustration. “I would not waste your birds on my sister… I’m certain she has a mind to flay you alive if you say “no” once more.” Gwayne heads inside the Hightower, heading up the many stairs to his chambers, already he felt a giddy smile as he opened the door.

The balcony doors open letting a soft breeze blow in from the sunset sea, the sweet canopy bed shaded by wooden screens. And there she lay Visenya his beloved wife. Long hair messy from her rest, wearing only her long white nightgown and her socks, her baby bump ripe and ready to pop any day. She hums softly as she slowly sews little baby clothes.

Gwayne stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her with a soft smile. He thanked the gods she was his, and questioned whatever luck he had been given for the brief time just to call her his own. He could have watched her forever, until Oldtown and the Hightower sank into the sea. But he moved further into the room, closing the doors behind him. He sets his bag down beside the bed, walking over and sitting on the edge. He looks at her sewing before his eyes move up to her face, his smile only growing. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, then her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, then her jaw, then her collar, then her chest, then her bump, where he finally stops. He reaches out, resting his hand on her belly, rubbing it softly with a gentle smile. “Are you working on the clothes again, my love?”

she nodded "Mhm, I made our little knight some little socks to warm his tiny toes,"

Gwayne chuckled softly, grinning at the thought of their child and their tiny little toes ripe for kisses and tickles, “How shall our little night shall be to have such tiny socks, why I could fit the whole knight in my sock,”

“And poison the poor lad,” she joked,

“You are cruel to me my love,” he teased giving her another kiss, “You know not yet if it is a boy or girl, love…”

"No, we shall have to be surprised."

Gwayne smiled softly, taking her hand in one of his and intertwining their fingers. “Indeed, though regardless, I’m certain they will be a gorgeous and strong child. They have us as parents, after all…”

she nodded with a giggle in agreement,

“And I spent the day in the Old Town gardens and I gathered you enough Moonblooms for a whole batch of soap.” He cooed glancing to his bag, “As soon as your hungry let me know and I will make it myself for you,”

“Thank you darling,” she cooed, "What did the maester want, he came looking for you earlier"

Gwayne let out a sigh, he laid down resting his head on her bump in such a way he could still look at her face, “Ummm have I ever told you how beautiful you are,”

“Yes you have,” she smiled, “Maseter… wanted… what?” She reminds,

“You know just staggeringly beautiful,”

“Gwayne!” she complained, “Don’t just avoid the topic,” She warns, “You are causing me distress,” She teased rubbing her belly,

“More ravens from my sister, demanding my presence in Kings’ Landing… I once again refused, I will not take you on the road with you in your current state. It is not fair to you, nor the babe.”

"You know she will not stop her asking until she feels the babe in her arms"

He let out another sigh, “I do not care how many ravens she sends, I will continue to refuse her. I will not risk you or our baby for my sister’s whims.” he explained, “It is three months ride to kings landing, swiftly and you are in no condition to travel for that long, let along be on any swift movements. Our babe will be born by the time we arrive and I will not risk you and our baby’s health to have your labours in the back of a coach. No. You will be here. With all the citadel’s maesters to aid you, all your handmaidens. And I by your side. In your own bed, with your own views, Visenya,” he took her hand in his holding it to his chest,

"But don't you want to take your beautiful wife, swollen heavy with your babe to court to show off?" she teased

Gwayne chuckled, bringing the back of her hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it.

“While seeing you in court would be wonderful, you are more important then any lords, ladies or my sister. You are my wife, my love, my Visenya.”

He shifted once more so he was lying partially on top of her, his body mostly on her side, his head now against her torso. He wrapped his arms around her waist, He listened to the sound of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart, and most importantly the sound of the little pitter-patter of their child’s own delicate little heartbeat. Everything was perfect, here in this moment in his mind, often he whispered sweet cooes to her and peppered her with kisses telling her and their baby how much he adores them,

Suddenly the door to the chamber flies open

"Did I miss it!" Lianna yelled in panic, standing at the door in her green gown, fresh from her library session with her cousin Daeron,

Gwayne nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden shout from the doorway, not expecting his daughter’s sudden appearance. The surprise was soon replaced with a sigh and a chuckled at the girl’s question. “Miss what, Lianna?”

"My baby brother!" She bolted over jumping onto their bed with excitement

Gwayne chuckled, shaking his head, his hands going to her little arms to prevent her from accidentally moving the bed too hard, knowing Visenya needed to be on her back most of the time these days. “Lianna, you’ve asked this every day for two months, and it’s always the same answer. Your brother has not arrived yet.”

"Why not?"

Gwayne sighed, smiling at his impatient, and at times, irritatingly stubborn daughter. “Because these things take time, sweetling. Give it another month or two, you’ll have your baby brother to dote on and bother all the time.”

lianna nodded, and pulled a bundle of flowers from her back "For you mama," She offered the flowers to Visenya,

"Awww thank you my sweet girl," she cooed taking the flowers from her, setting them in a vase beside the bed with the flowers’ Lianna brought her yesterday, but keeping one out to rub on her belly to soothe the little baby within,

Gwayne scooted over, The sight made him smile. Lianna was so sweet, though a handful at times. “Those are beautiful Lianna, you did well with them,”

“Lianna, would you like to feel your sibling move? I can feel our little knight right now…”

Lianna immediately came to rest her hands on Visenya's belly "I feel him! I feel him!"

Gwayne chuckled softly, watching Lianna rest her hands on her mother’s belly, a smile upon her face. He reached out, gently resting his own hand over Visenya’s stomach, smiling at the feeling of their child moving around in there. He could practically feel Lianna’s excitement, and he smiled softly at their daughter’s enthusiasm for the little one.

Visenya chuckled, placing her own hand over her Gwaynes, both of them now resting on her stomach.

“See? He’s a little knight indeed. He has been very active lately, moving around in there quite a lot.”

“Umm, I think he is almost ready to join us,” He smiled,

“I think so too,” 

[meganmeyers]

POMEGRANATES & WINES

ACT ONE: DRIFTMARK

jacaerys velaryon x aunt!targtower oc

word count: 4k

masterlist: intro

act two: driftwood throne

warnings/includes: bastardphobia, blood, fighting, death(mentioned), lost of innocence(?)

Summary: Princess Averillia Targaryen was the 5th born child of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower in 117 A.C. Close in age to her nephew Jacaerys Velaryon a close friendship formed in between the two vicious families.

Note: Hello everyone! Just a warning! I haven’t written a fan fiction in a VERY long time. Like it’s been YEARS! So, I may be very rusty in the writing department. Another note: This will be a three-part story. It would be too long to make into a one shot. Also, this part deals with a lot of character building/ setting up the story.

The second princess to King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Consort Alicent Hightower was born just a bit more than a year after her brother Daeron Targaryen. The babe was shown to the courts in long and frivolous christening gowns and wrapped in the beautiful, embroidered blankets, a true look of a royal princess. The only thing not matching on the babe was her constant screams and crying when she was dressed in such gowns and wrapped in the blankets. Ear piercing screams were heard in the court rooms. A restless child truly, the restless of the five babes Alicent Hightower birthed.

As the princess grew, she began to grow a thick head of restless curly honey like blonde hair. A good resemblance to the late Queen Alysanne Targaryen and the early ancestors of the Hightower bloodline. The princess would have been mistaken for a Hightower if she didn’t bear the old Valyrian facial features and the lilac irises of the Targaryens. A stark difference to all 5 of her other siblings and her own father. Her restless hair only grew as restless as her for the continuation of tantrums she had. The toddler would argue in childish gibberish when she had on the fancier court dresses and when she was forced to attend the nursery with all her siblings and nephews. The child was content with being alone and in simple nightgowns day and night.

As a child she behaved in proper fashion, but the courts heard about the princesses' distastes in certain dresses, hairstyles, and colors. The dresses were all of simple styles and simple embroidered designs. The dresses were in shades of blues, purples, and creams. The biggest tantrums she had thrown were over the queen’s insistence in the color green. Oh, how the princess detested the color green. An entire collection of dresses was made for the princess in simple cuts and designs in all shades of green. The small girl had taken them all to the dragon pit and tried to have her elder sister's dragon, Syrax burn them. The princess Rhaenyra had quickly intervened when she found out the girl's intentions and had commissioned her to have new dresses made in shades of blues, purples, and creams. The Queen Alicent had finally given up the losing battle she was fighting with the Princess.

The courts had dubbed the young princess, “The Simple Princess” just as they had dubbed the Princess Rhaenyra, “The Realms Delight”.

When the princess reached the age of six, she demanded her father take her to Dragonstone to claim her own dragon after her nephew Prince Jacaerys, had bonded with his own dragon Vermax and told the little princess about it. The king Viserys had told the girl that she was too young to claim a dragon of that size that were living on Dragonstone. The princess let out cries after cries about how she’s not too young and that she should be able to have a dragon. The king, tired of the princesses' tantrums, decided that the entire family will spend some time on Dragonstone. The king was also hopeful that his son Aemond, would also have a chance to claim a dragon being the only other one of his children to not have a dragon.

While on Dragonstone it had taken no less than 5 hours after arrival for the Princess Averillia to go missing, also included the Prince Jacaerys to go missing as well. Everyone had searched for the Princess and Prince till after nightfall. A dragon keeper had found them deep in the dragon pit sleeping shoulder to shoulder under the wing of a relaxed Silverwing. Trying to retrieve the children was a hard challenge. Silverwing had been awoken by the royal family and dragon keepers entering her area of the pit. As if the children were eggs, she’d almost burnt a dragon keeper alive when she went to retrieve the children. The children remained there all night under Silverwing’s wing and the watch of three dragon keepers. Once the children had awoken, they were stinking of dragon and also gotten the most serious scolding from Rhaenyra on how dangerous and reckless they were. A family holiday wasn’t as thrilling being kept under watchful eyes the entire time.

Back in King Landing the Simple Princess quickly fell into the habit of being found constantly in the dragon pit with her dragon mount. The keepers constantly found her practicing her needlework, working on her High Valyrian, or working on her studies. Soon Prince Jacaerys became her partner in crime. Where Averillia was, Jacaerys would follow. Vermax also became familiar with Silverwing being his rider was constantly in close proximity with her rider. Being the ill-tempered beast he was he had thrown his own dragon tantrum and Silverwing had burnt a small bit of his tail scaring the young dragon. The children had broken into fits of giggles and laughter during the event.

The princess Rhaenyra had soon given birth to Prince Joffrey Velaryon. The young princess remembers seeing maids clean up blood along the halls from that day but didn’t know the reason. She also hadn’t known the reason for her friend to be leaving her. The little princess was distraught by the news of Jace and his family leaving. The little princess had puffy eyes during the departure of her sister's family, fearing she’d wouldn’t ever see them again.

The funeral hadn't been as gloomy as she thought they were supposed to be. She wasn't upset by the death of Laena Velaryon but also, she didn't know her. Averillia had only known her as her uncle Daemon's wife, also Jace and Luke's aunt though their father, Laenor. Many people from court also attended the funeral, they didn't seem to upset by the death of Laena Velaryon either. Averillia had found it a bis distasteful. If you didn't care for the one in the coffin, then why attended the funeral? The little princess had hoped that when the stranger comes for her that she'll be laid to rest by only her close relatives. Not made a spectacle about because she's from a powerful family.

She shouldn't worry about that now, since that's still many, many, many years away. Even if Lady Laena did pass away in childbirth meeting her end faster than when it was probably planned out for her. Averillia did have the fear of that being her fate, or more so her sisters. Helaena wasn't too much older than her and their mother had already started the planning on marrying her to Aegon. She found out after overhearing Aegon and Aemond's bickering over Helaena and her.

“Our silly sister, she confines herself to the womanly arts of needle work and etiquette then with anyone else. She’s a foolish girl, should have been sent to Oldtown with Daeron. She would have been made of better use there than here."

Hearing those words did hurt her feelings, she had known her brothers didn't favor her, but she wasn't useless. She had quickly left the funeral afterwards telling her mother she was feeling awfully ill. Which indeed she did start having an awful feeling in her belly, but she was confined to her bed for the rest of the evening or just left staring out the window of her room looking out at the landscape of Driftmark.

Once the sun had fallen behind the waves, she had decided she was done being couped up in her bedroom. She grabbed the bottom of her robe and nightdress and slowly made her way outside.

She walked along the stone paths to the beaches along the island. The air was indeed cold on the island, maybe a robe with sleeves would have been a better choice of clothing for this adventure. The princess had found her spot on the stretch of beach by the water. She picked at the small pieces of rocks and shells in the sand while taking in the colder air and salty smell.

"Illia?". The princesses head snapped around to find Jace standing by the edge of the line where the grass meets the sand. "Jace?", she answered. confused by him being outside. He was still dressed in his funeral clothes. "I didn't get to see you at the funeral today?", "I wasn't feeling well after we arrived, I guess I got seasick.". Jace had made his way up towards the princess as she answered him on her disappearance. "My brother gets seasick as well, and he had the shorter boat ride out of us." He sat down, next to the princess and she had gotten a good look at him and saw the puffy redness around his eyes.

"Have you been crying, Jace?", her hand reached up to move the bangs from his eyes for a clearer view. He immediately jumped back away from her hand, "Gods Illia, you're freezing!". The prince had been quick to remove his cloak and wrap her up in it. The princess had taken the extra layer without a second thought but still wanted an answer to her question. "You didn't answer my question, Jace.". Jace tightened his into a thin line before speaking. "Should you grieve for someone who's not your family?". Illia was a bit taken back by the question, "I suppose if you'd care for them enough, but there isn't a reason why you shouldn't. What has happened, Jace?".

"Sir Harwin. He died after he left. I shouldn't care, he wasn't related to us but still I-", "You shouldn't feel ashamed for that, Jace. You cared for him, and he very obviously cared for you. Theres nothing wrong with that.". Jace had sighed at her words. He knew she meant well but knew she hadn't realized the darker secret in his words.

"I have missed your company, Illia." He had turned to look at her when he said that. She gave him a small smile, "I have missed yours as well, even more now than ever...". Her eyes casted down to the darker water. "You seem to be the only person I'm not foolish too.". Illia had rested her head into her arms on her knees, hoping to hide her saddened look from Jace. "What on earth are you speaking of Illia? Who thinks you're foolish?", He moved closer in hopes of hearing her words more clearly over the sound of the waves.

"Aegon and Aemond, I heard them speak about it today at the funeral. Aegon said I'm a foolish girl who should have been sent to Oldtown, just as Daeron has. That I am of no use to the family, just a waste of space. I'm afraid that he may be right, I'll just be a useless girl who'll be married off to some old lord miles and miles away to solve father's political issues, in turn then birth the awful man heirs until I meet the stranger in a childbed - Illia had tears in her eyes at the words she repeated and of the fears she shared - or worse, I'll have to marry Aemond or Daeron. Just as mother has done with Aegon and Helaena." The little princess hides deeper into her arms only to see her golden hair wrap around her shoulders and arms.

"Is that why you had left the funeral early? Because of your foolish brothers? You know my mother wouldn't allow that Illia; she loves you. I also don't think you're foolish. You're just a girl. Aegon is a drunk who picks upon his siblings because he can't ever even try to do anything right. You bonded with the good Queen Alysanne's dragon mount at the age of six years old just because you didn't have a dragon, without the help of the dragon keepers either. -- he shakes her shoulders a bit to make her look at him -- You're an extortionary girl, Illia. A simple but extortionary girl.".

Illia's eyes have long dried, and she had started to smile more. "I truly did have an upset stomach though. But I have also truly missed you Jace." As soon as the girl had ended her sentence the screech of a dragon had been heard overhead of the prince and princess. Both looked to the night sky and seen the dragon of the late rider taken to air. A small but vivid outline of a person on the back of Vhagar.

"Jace... Who's claimed her?"

Both the prince and princess had run to the dragon pit to find an answer. They walked slowly into the pit to find Vhagar has landed and her rider dismount. "Who are you?", Jace's voice demanded into the hall of shadowy darkness. Slowly the figure walked into the light and revealed himself. "Aemond..."

"It's him!"

Behind them Rhaena, Baela, and Lucerys had walked into the pit. "Vhagar was my mother's dragon!" Rhaena had exclaimed, a look of pure anger was on the girl's face. "Your mother is dead! Vhagar has a new rider now." "Aemond! How can you be so cruel?", Averillia asked. "She was mine to claim!". "Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride - the boy looked from each prince to look right at Rhaena - it would suit you.". "Aemond!", Averillia screamed as Rhaena went to shove the blonde prince. He had thrown her to the ground, before he could turn back, he was hit hard across the face by Baela to which he returned the harmful action.

Averillia knew she shouldn't get involved but her brother had gone too far. The princess was fast to come to the aide of the two female cousins and go at her brother. She had gone for her brother's shoulders in a successful push, but she hadn't expected the boy to get a handful of her skirt and cause a tear in the gown's fabric. The boy had dragged his sister to the dirt in the action and quickly climbed on top of her. He had swung a quick hit to her head before being thrown off by Jacaerys. The boys fell back in the dirt and had swing after swing at each other.

Aemond had been able to roll them so that Jacaerys had been on the bottom rather than the top. Averillia had scrambled herself to stand up to see the turnover. Little Lucerys had decided to catch a taste of the fight and jumped right onto Aemond's back wrapping his arms around his neck. The blonde prince had stood up and shook his body trying to get the little prince to release his grip, in turn walking back into the blonde princess stepping upon her gown and causing the three to fall to the ground. Hitting the wall being the last one in the pile and little Lucerys had screamed at the impact of being sandwiched between the blonde siblings.

Jacaerys had grabbed the blonde prince and thrown him back to the ground throwing punch after punch. The two girls joined in the punching or at least Averillia thought they had; all she could hear was grunts and the sounds of thumping. Hair clung to the girls' face blocking her view from the ground. She heard someone fall to the ground and some more wrestling before a scream had been heard.

"You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!"

"Bastards"

Averillia had started to lift herself up and move her hair to see the sight of Aemond holding little Lucerys by the neck with a rock above his head. "My father is still alive!", Lucerys had cried. Hardly eligible with the snot, blood, and tears the small boy had all over his face.

"He doesn't know, does he, - Aemond had turned to Jacaerys - Lord Strong?". A smirk spread across Aemond's face at his final sentence. "Aemond... stop-", "Shut up Averillia! You're useless!". Aemond had spit back at the girl. Aemond had thrown the young prince to the ground before going at the elder brother. Averillia heard swishes of a blade cutting through the air before a loud thump was heard. Jacaerys had fallen right next to her in the dirt, "Jace?".

A rock suddenly came into view as Aemond smashed Jacaerys across the forehead with it. "No!", Averillia yelled as she had thrown dirt into her brother's eyes before giving him a good shove back. She turned her attention quickly to her only friend and head his bleeding head against her chest in hope of some sort of protection.

She heard the screams from behind her. A blood curdling scream. She lifted her head to find Aemond clutching his face and Lucerys standing above him.

Blood, dark blood mixed with the dirt under the blonde prince.

The halls of nine was quite dark no matter how tall the fire was. The small sounds of Aemond's flesh being sewn together was the only consistence of noise in the large hall.

"How could you allow this to happen? I will have answers!"

"The princes and princesses were supposed to be abed-'

"Who was on watch?"

"The young prince was attacked by his own cousins and sister, Your Grace."

"Averillia?"

Across the floor Averillia sat on what seemed to be a cushioned footstool as Jacaerys sat next to her; being held against her chest and Lucerys was on the floor hiding behind her exposed leg as if her leg would stop anymore danger to come to him. Her forehead had a nasty gash in her forehead from Aemond's ring and the back of her hair felt sticky. Her white nightgown was in ruins by the dirt, sand, water, blood, and the extreme tear along the side exposing her entire leg. Jace's blood was the major reason her golden robe was turning a dark red color. If her stomach hadn't hurt today, it surely did now in this very moment with her father and mothers intense staring at her.

A loud sound of the doors opening was heard and running footsteps were heard soon after getting the attention off of her and to whoever had walked into the room. Now the bloody blonde princess and dark-haired princes sat alone in the room.

"Jace?"

"Luke!" Fast foots steps were heard as Rhaenyra rushed towards her sons. "Show me.", Luke had rushed towards his mother fast as she crouched down to the princes and princess's level. "Oh gods, Illia!". Rhaenyra rushed to examine Jace and Illia's heads and faces through the blood and dirt. "Who's done this?"

The room bursts into screams from accusations from each child. Illia wanted to cry from her sorehead as she felt the pain of it all now as the room got louder.

"Silence!"

"He called us bastards..."

"Averillia. I want the truth of what happened."

"What else is there to hear? Your son was maimed, and her sons and our daughter were responsible." "It was a regrettable accident."

"The prince brought a blade to the ambush! He meant to kill my son!"

"It was my sons and sister who were attacked and forced to defend themselves! Vile insults were levied against my sons."

"What?"

"He called them bastards, Father.". Attention had turned to the young bloody princess sitting holding the elder equally as bloody prince. Aemond's eye had a scowled look in it before Rhaenyra had stepped more in front of all three of children after the attention shifted.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons."

"You tell me boy. Where had you heard such insults."

"Where's Sir Laenor?" "I don't know, I had gone out to walk because I couldn't find sleep. I had found Illia's shoes and Jace's cloak on the beach shore and thought something must have been wrong."

Eyes were again on the bloody prince and princess as they slowly stood behind Rhaenyra. "You tell me Aemond. Where did you hear such slander?"

"From the Prince Jacaerys himself, Your Grace. He had confessed to Averillia right on the beach."

Gasps were heard across the room, all eyes turned to the bloody pair. "That's not true! Mother that is not what happened!", "Illia. Did my son tell you this?". "No, he did not Sister. I swear upon the old gods and the new."

"Of course she'll defend him! I wouldn't be surprised considering the fact that she had given herself to him on the beach. Look at the blood down her legs!"

"You lie! Mother that didn't happen!" Rhaenyra looked down and saw the bright red blood trickling down her young sisters exposed leg pooling at the floor. "Illia?". The young princess let out an ear-piercing cry at the sight. "You foolish girl! You ran around and decided to just give your virtue to some boy! You ruin yourself for your future!".

"That's not true. I didn't do it. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't."

Alicent continued to scream at the little princess in front of the entire room. Rhaenyra had taken to comfort her young sister. It was far too much blood for it to be her virtue. The young princess had gotten her first course. "Father! You must cease this!", Rhaenyra cried to try and aide her younger sister. "It wasn't her virtue; it's her monthly course, father. Please cease this!"

The room has gotten silent except for the small princess's cries.

"This matter has finished. As your king I demand it. Whoever decides to spread such accusations of my grandson's parentage or my daughter's condition; shall have their tongue removed."

"Sir Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon. If the King decides to ignore the transgression the Queen will not. He can choose which eye to keep; a privilege that wasn't granted towards my son."

Illia was shoved behind her sister at the demand. Illia had never truly been scared of her mother until this moment. More yelling had been heard before the ear-piercing scream of Luke was sounding in her ear drum.

Alicent, her mother. Was charging right at them with her father's blade. Illia was then pushed back by someone before tripping over the footstool she had been sat on earlier. Falling back to hit the floor hard.

"Illia?" "Illia, wake up! Oh gods! Call the Maester. Now!"

Averillia woke up in a room that wasn't hers. "Illia?"

Averillia opened her eyes more and saw her sister and nephews standing above her. Fabric had been shoved up Lukes's nose and Jace had his head wrapped in fabric as well. "Thank the Gods you have woken up Illia." Rhaenyra ran a hand over her head and held her chin after this. "You had taken a nasty fall last night, Sweet Girl."

Illia's eye just stared widely at Rhaenyra before getting increasingly glassy with tears. "Boys. Leave us at once. Go tell the Maester that she's awakened." A door closing had broken the small princess to fly into Rhaenyra's arms in chest wracking sobs. "Illia, sweet girl. What's the matter? What troubles you so badly?"

"I- I- I- n- n-noth- nothing hap- nothing happened between Jace and I sister! Pl- Please believe me!" The girl got out through hiccups and cries. Rhaenyra just sighed and cradled the girl closer to her, giving a gentle rocking as if she was a tiny babe. "I know that, Illia. The Maesters had confirmed last night that you did indeed start your womanly cycles, and also Jace told me what actually happened on the beach. I've raised Jace to be a more respectable man then that."

The little princess let out more cries, "I'm so-sorry, Rhae-", "Shh. Relax sweet girl. You've gotten nothing to be sorry about. Just try taking deep breathes. You're safe."

endnote: Thank you for reading! please let me know what you think of the story so far!

[babyblue711]

Surrender

(Modern AU) Aegon II Targaryen x Female!Reader x Aemond Targaryen - Part 2 (read Part 1 Here) Summary: Having spent the week at the Targaryen's countryside estate, you find yourself pulled into an unexpected tryst when Aemond confronts you about your mixed signals. Words: 5K

Warnings: NSFW, Sexual Content 18+, Smut, Language, Alcohol, Threesome, Lots of Sexual Shenanigans A/N: As requested by popular demand, here is Part 2! I think this was the most fun I've ever had when writing a fic. (And please, for the banner, let's pretend Ewan has one eye for Aemond's sake 😅) I hope you all enjoy! 🔥

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Various forms of tension now fill the house and you can’t help but feel responsible. There is a magnetic attraction that lingers in the air between you and Aegon, but your playful text to Aemond had clearly not been well-received; he had never bothered responding and was now resolutely ignoring you. In return, you mirrored his behavior, determined not to let it affect you.

On Sunday morning, Helaena approaches you with an enticing offer: to extend your stay for the entire week. With your laptop in tow, the prospect of working remotely from their opulent estate is exciting, especially since it means you can continue spending time with Aegon.

Luckily, neither Helaena nor Daeron knows about your hookup with him. For the rest of the week, he visits your bed each night and it is the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. He’s a generous lover, prioritizing your pleasure before his own and his attentiveness afterwards is always exceptional, although he never spends the full night with you. Mindful of Aemond’s text message, you try to tone down your lusty moans of rapture, but you still feel like he knows what’s going on regardless.

On the last full day before you are set to return to the city, you and Aegon make plans to go for another trail ride. However, after lunch he starts to complain of a stomach ache leading Aemond to step in and offer to take you riding instead. This unexpected turn of events leaves you feeling momentarily stunned, given Aemond has been doing a very good job pretending you didn’t exist up until that moment. Despite your reservations, you agree to Aemond's proposal, still feeling a little wary of his sudden change of heart. 

“You can ride on Sunfyre this time,” Aegon groans from the couch, referring to his grey gelding, as you and Aemond head out the door. 

At first you are unsure of what to expect, but soon find yourself embarking on another memorable riding adventure, only this time with Aemond. It quickly becomes apparent that he shares your love for horses and the great outdoors, if not even more passionately than his brother. You make a bit of small talk as you ride, but most of the time, the gentle plodding of your horses’ hooves and the swish of their tails are the only things that can be heard.

The day was hot and humid, though cooler in the shade of the woods along the trail. A few miles into your ride, you come across a babbling stream with crystal water and decide to stop to let the horses rest and take a much needed drink. 

“Thank you for letting me ride Vhagar this week,” you say sincerely, taking a refreshing gulp of water from your canteen, “She’s a good horse.” Aemond offers a small smile, affectionately patting his mare on the neck. 

“No problem,” he replies casually, “She seems to like you and, to be honest, she doesn’t warm up to most people. Typically bucks them off within a few minutes,” he glances up to gauge your reaction. “I figured that’s why Aegon had you take her out, so he could laugh when you fell off,” he adds nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw Aegon under the bus. 

Your expression falters briefly, causing you to second guess your perception of Aegon if what Aemond is saying is true but you quickly regain your composure.

“Fortunately, that didn’t happen,” you manage to say as Sunfyre starts to paw, splashing water everywhere and soaking your boots. You urge him from the stream before he decides to roll in the cool water and Aemond follows on Vhagar; you swear you think you see a small, smug smile tug on the corners of his lips. 

As you head back home, the mood seems to lighten and you finally feel like you have a small breakthrough with Aemond. Unlike his brother, Aemond’s nature is more naturally reserved, but you are growing to appreciate his calm demeanor in contrast to Aegon's chaotic behavior. He isn’t as quick to laugh or make jokes either, but you manage to coax him into opening up by asking about his interests, particularly books. He eagerly shares insights into the history of the Targaryen family and their estate, keeping the conversation lively until you reach the barn.

You hand Sunfyre off to the attending groom once more, feeling hot and sticky from your ride, eager to get back to the house to take a cool shower. Aemond falls into step beside you. 

“So you and Hel are headed back to the city tomorrow?” Aemond inquires casually.

“Yeah we are, have to get back to the grind,” you say with a sigh, a note of reluctance in your tone. The week spent away from the city, immersed in fresh air and nature, had been incredibly rejuvenating and you weren’t ready to leave just yet. Fortunately, Helaena is also your flatmate, and the prospect of returning to hectic city life isn’t as daunting when you have a familiar companion by your side.

“What are your plans?” you ask him in return, aware of his involvement in the family business and his regular trips to the city too. 

“I have a flight to catch to New York tomorrow. Work trip. It’s always hard to leave Vhagar…” he trails off with a slight hedge to his voice and you sense he may have more to share, but something seems to be holding him back. 

“Hmm,” you murmur noncommittally, letting the moment ride out, feeling if you were patient, he would speak. It works a little too well. He takes a deep breath before he begins. 

“That text you sent a few days back…” he starts and your heart instantly leaps. Oh god, here we go, you think, now deeply regretting how shameless you had behaved in the moment.

“Did you mean it?” he asks curiously, catching you completely off guard. You had thought he was about to scold you and you certainly didn’t expect him to be inquisitive instead. Your previous words seem to swim in your mind: [Join us next time, then?]  

Did he think you had been serious? You really had only meant it to tease. Regret bubbles in your stomach. 

“I still hear you every night,” he says quietly, gently, not like a reprimand at all, and you continue to feel more unsettled with each passing moment. You blush, embarrassed that you were having this conversation in broad daylight with Aemond of all people.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, truly, I…I tried to be more quiet…” you stammer, trailing off as he takes you by the arm, turning you to stop and face him. You stare up into his crystal blue eye, so much lighter than his brother’s, noticing how much taller he is than Aegon too. Up close, his beauty is so breathtaking, the leather eyepatch that covers his left eye only serves to complement his perfect appearance and intrigue you further. Aemond never spoke about what happened to his eye and you were too intimidated to ever ask. 

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off abruptly. “Your offer, did you mean it?” he asks more insistently and you feel like you could shrink under the intensity of his stare. Did you really want to have a threesome with him and Aegon? Cowardly, you opt to take the easy way out.

“It would be up to Aegon, I suppose,” you manage to choke out, feeling confident that Aegon would never agree. The way he possessively devours your body, like he is trying to consume your very being when you are together makes you think he isn’t the type to share.

Aemond nods, seeming satisfied with that answer as he abruptly resumes walking back to the house and you can barely keep up with his long strides. What the hell was that about? 

Feeling refreshed from your cold shower, you open your bathroom door, still wrapped in only a towel to see Aegon sprawled across your bed, giving you a calculated stare. Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected presence in your bedroom and he has a look in his eye you don’t think you’ve seen before. 

“So,” he says lightly and gets right to the point, “You want to have a threesome with Aemond?” 

You gape like a fish out of water as you backtrack. “I - I didn’t say that. Aemond mentioned it to me on the way back to the house,” you mumble, trying not to feel like you’re in trouble.

“Oh really?” he raises an eyebrow, glancing down at his phone, scrolling as if he’s looking for something, “What’s this then?” 

He holds out his phone and shows you a screenshot of the message you had sent to Aemond earlier in the week, inviting him to join you and Aegon. Aemond clearly has shown Aegon proof of your “offer”, the traitor. Clearly, your lighthearted jest has taken an unexpected turn and signals have been crossed between these two brothers. 

Aegon cannot contain a look of triumph as your guilty eyes flash back to his face. Before you can explain more thoroughly he smirks, “I didn’t know you were also into my brother…”

“Aegon, it was just a joke, I was teasing him,” you try to clarify your intentions and prove you aren’t trying to hide anything, now thoroughly wishing you had been this direct with Aemond too. You didn’t foresee it coming back to haunt you like this. 

“Really? Because that’s not what Aemond said,” Aegon counters, “So do you want to? It would be hot watching my brother fuck you,” he adds provocatively and your breath catches in your chest at his words. 

So many emotions whirl through your mind in an instant. Shock. Guilt. Bewilderment. Confusion. Hurt that he would give you up so easily to another man. Excitement. Lust. Desire. Simultaneously, another thought tugs at your heart: a mixture of determination and defiance. You had been so sure that Aegon would be the one to tell Aemond ‘no’ and you were starting to question his attachment to you, if indeed there had been one at all. If he was so willing to share you with someone else, perhaps you should make him regret this decision. The thought of making Aegon insanely jealous ignites a spark of mischief within your chest.

“Fine,” you say coolly, lifting your chin. “I’d love to fuck your brother,” you taunt seductively, pretending not to care more deeply about Aegon than you do and deliberately trying to push his buttons, but Aegon only gives you a devilish grin. 

“Brilliant. I’ll tell him then,” and with that, he springs off your bed, his earlier stomach ache seemingly forgotten, and bounds out the door in search of Aemond. 

You were a nervous wreck the whole rest of the day. What had you just agreed to? You curse your need for revenge on Aegon. 

That evening, you opt to quietly observe Aemond, feeling a need to familiarize yourself with the person that you would soon be sleeping with. While Aegon could be abundantly charming when he wanted to be, Aemond was simply grace incarnate. You pay particular attention to his interactions with each sibling: he is tolerant of Aegon’s antics, patient with the youthfulness of his younger brother, Daeron, and generously kind to his sister, listening to her discussions about various bugs with genuine interest, as if her words are the most interesting thing in the world. Coupled with his ethereal beauty, you start to question that Aemond might actually be the better of the two brothers. Boyfriend material flashes through your mind. 

At last, you bid the group goodnight for the evening and retire to your room. As soon as you shut your door, you sprint to the bathroom, rushing to brush your teeth, apply more deodorant and fix your hair, trying to make yourself as presentable as possible for perfect, proper Aemond. You aren’t sure why you were doing this; why do you care what Aemond thinks of you so much?

Finished with your “prep”, you put on your usual pajamas, wishing you had brought something a little sexier than an oversized t-shirt and shorts and sit on your bed to wait. Soon a soft knock comes from your door and you know instantly it’s Aemond. Aegon never knocks.

“Come in!” you manage to squeak out, voice unusually high, feeling nervous. Aemond enters, looking entirely unruffled, carrying something behind his back. He approaches the bed and reveals his surprise, holding out an expensive bottle of champagne. 

“I figured there’s no hurry,” he remarks casually with a shrug as he opens the bottle and takes a gulp, handing it to you. Feeling a bit unconventional drinking expensive champagne straight from the bottle, you take a sip, enjoying the tangy liquid that runs cool down your throat. 

You both sit in the middle of your large bed facing each other, talking softly while taking turns swigging from the bottle. Soon, you find yourself relaxing and enjoying his company, forgetting that Aegon was supposed to be joining you. You didn’t even wonder where he was. 

When the bottle is empty, you start to feel properly tipsy as Aemond lays a large, warm hand on your leg. You stiffen instantly, unable to help yourself, glancing up into his intense, one-eyed stare.

“I just want to ask, one more time, if you’re sure you want to do this,” he says with soft sincerity. 

This is it. Your way out. You didn’t have to sleep with Aemond. However, you were finding yourself more and more drawn to him as you discovered his admirable traits. You believed deep down that Aemond was genuinely kind, one of those "nice guys," so to speak. Moreover, defiance still pounds in your heart at the thought of making Aegon jealous, if he decided to show up at this point.

“Yeah, I want to Aemond, truly,” you respond genuinely, placing your hand overtop of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He nods and seems to relax, his sensuous mouth curling into a true smile.

“Should we start without him?” you whisper, alluding to Aegon. 

“Yeah, fuck him, I’m not waiting,” Aemond replies boldly before grabbing you by the ankle and pulling you across the bed so you’re right next to him. You slide easily on the soft satin comforter and giggle in delight. Aemond’s lips meet yours and you sigh into his mouth as you melt into him immediately. 

Aemond's kiss ignites a fire within you; while you considered Aegon a skilled kisser, a few moments with Aemond had you wondering who was better. His kiss is effortless, your lips fitting together flawlessly, his gentle tongue playfully exploring your mouth, as you take turns sucking on each other’s bottom lip. You moan softly as you instinctively grasp his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. Already you can feel your core getting slick with desire and an ache forming at the apex of your thighs.

Aemond maneuvers you to lay on your back and settles overtop of you, lightly pressing you under his weight and you surrender once more to a new man, but this one you think might be more worthy than the last. Still clothed, you are fully immersed in battling his tongue when you hear a low whistle.

“You fuckers started without me,” Aegon growls, low and deep, and you jump, startled since you hadn’t heard him come in. You break the kiss with Aemond, turning to look at Aegon standing beside the bed, seeming completely unfazed seeing his younger brother on top of the girl he’s been fucking all week. Aemond ignores him completely as he kisses your exposed neck, pretending like there’s been no interruption. You notice Aegon is holding his own bottle of champagne and a bag of popcorn, now grinning like a barn cat that has just caught the biggest mouse; he moves to sit in the corner and waves his hand for you to continue. 

You roll your eyes and return your attention to Aemond, who is now sucking a hickey onto your collarbone. You decide to get things moving before you lose your nerve now that you have an audience. You slide Aemond's shirt off, taking a moment to appreciate the contours of his fit physique by tracing your fingers across his chest and along the defined muscles of his back. It's almost like a choreographed dance as you and Aemond smoothly help each other out of your clothes, moving with such synchronized ease that it feels like you're perfectly attuned to each other.

As you remove his shorts, his cock springs free, large and heavy against his thigh. Taking him in hand, you give him a few experimental pumps, making him grunt appreciatively; you find yourself absentmindedly wondering who is bigger, the Targaryen men are clearly blessed in this particular department. 

You try to ignore the sounds of Aegon chewing popcorn as you and Aemond settle back onto the bed, completely unclothed now. Aemond doesn’t seem to mind being naked in front of his brother and you take his lead as your heart flutters nervously, still mindful of having a witness. He bites down onto the fleshy part of your breast, sucking with enthusiasm and you don’t even care about the mark you know it’ll leave. He moves on and takes one of your nipples into his mouth next, rolling the other between his fingers as he works his way down your body, finally settling between your thighs and licking your soaked pussy like a lollipop; you both groan with pleasure. You spread your legs wide for him and start to knead your own breasts, putting your body on display for Aegon, feigning more confidence than you felt in the moment. You glance over and see him watching you and Aemond hungrily. 

Aemond’s lips lock around your bud and he sucks harshly causing you to buck your hips into his face and cry aloud, your breath picking up as pleasure courses like electricity through your body. You feel him slip a finger inside of you followed by another and he crooks them against your sweet spot all while continuing to suck on your bud like he is trying to slurp the thickest milkshake. 

It’s not long before your thighs are shaking around his head as you wail in ecstasy, your orgasm ripping through your core, pussy clenching tightly down onto Aemond’s fingers. You no longer notice Aegon’s presence and you secretly hope he’s burning with jealousy at the way Aemond is unraveling you thoroughly. Aegon clears this throat as you come down from your high and return to your senses.

“I want her on top, Aemond,” he commands from the dark corner of the room. You think Aemond will refuse as he isn’t the type that usually takes orders, and especially not from Aegon, but he lays on his back and positions you to hover above him. Achingly slow, still sensitive from your climax, you spear yourself on his hard, thick cock, sinking inch by delicious inch, savoring the stretch of your soft velvet walls. You breathe through your nose as you try to relax and welcome Aemond into your body, joining as one.

You both groan in unison when you finally sit flush against him, his cock buried deep. He gives you a moment to adjust and lets you set the pace. Knowing Aegon is seated behind you, you lean forward slightly, bracing your hands against Aemond’s chest, arching your back as you ride his cock, letting Aegon get the best view of Aemond’s thick length sliding in and out of your tight pussy, no longer feeling insecure about being watched. In this position, your sensitive bud rubs consistently against Aemond’s pubic bone and you can already feel another orgasm mounting deep in your belly. You toss your hair and moan loudly in pleasure, uttering filthy words to Aemond, knowing full well Aegon can hear you too. You want to leave him without any doubt just how much you are enjoying his brother. 

Beneath you, Aemond looks like a fallen angel. His one eye is hooded and dark with lust, the angles of his exquisite face are sharp in the low light, his sensual lips are parted slightly as he pants softly while you move up and down on his length. His luminous blonde hair is splay out on the bed, creating a sort of halo around his head.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in your life.

Spurred on by your passionate words of lust, Aemond grasps your hips and picks up the pace, fingers digging into the soft flesh and you hope for bruises. Taking control, he fucks up into you from below, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. You start mumbling nonstop again, like you always do when you’re about to cum.

“Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock, sweet girl?” Aemond says in a low growl as he watches your tits bounce above him. 

“A-Aemond, don’t stop,” is all you can manage as your peak crashes over you with the force of a hurricane and Aemond groans as your pussy tightens like a vice around him. He rides out your climax, sustaining your pleasure as you soar into oblivion. Finally, feeling like jelly, you topple off of Aemond and onto the soft bed, breathing heavily and trying to recover from your second mind-blowing orgasm. 

“My turn,” suddenly, Aegon stands on the edge of the bed, totally naked and stroking his hard, thick cock. Now that the two are visually out for comparison, you think Aemond’s might be a tad longer, but they are both just as thick.

Your brain feels fuzzy, swirling with endorphins from the rush of your climax. Despite your haze, excitement pulses through your chest when you see that Aegon has finally come to play, hoping he got tired of watching Aemond fuck you so thoroughly. Although being with two men at once is entirely new territory, you trust them completely to take care of you properly and not abuse their positions of power. With a new sense of confidence, adrenaline surges through your veins and you decide to take charge.

“Lay on the bed,” you direct at Aegon and he obeys you instantly, climbing onto the bed and laying his head on your pillow. You crawl over to him, swaying your hips seductively and meeting his dark blue gaze.

“So, did you enjoy watching that?” you purr innocently while taking his cock in your hand and squeezing. 

“More than you know,” he manages to respond before you lower your head and take him in your mouth. Maintaining eye contact with him, you put on a bit of a show as your tongue teases the sensitive tip.

Realizing Aemond is watching from afar, you look over your shoulder at him while continuing to pump Aegon with your other hand. You consider him for a moment, impressed with his endurance as he still hasn’t cum himself, despite riding out your orgasm while buried deep within your body. 

“Aemond, I need you too,” you whine, tossing your hair over your shoulder and bringing your ass in the air, giving him a pointed look; his lips lift in a devilish smirk. 

As Aemond comes to kneel behind you, there is a kinetic sort of energy that passes between the brothers as their eyes meet and you feel a shift as the energy in the room suddenly becomes charged. The hair stands up on the back of your neck and you aren’t entirely sure why; all you know is that you suddenly feel like a lamb caught between two apex predators. Undaunted, the thought makes you chuckle; Aemond has already begun to pick you apart with absurd precision and you feel ready for more. 

You take Aegon into your mouth again as you feel Aemond spread your ass cheeks apart with a firm grip, taking a moment to admire the view before re-entering you from behind, moving slowly to help you adjust to this new angle. You moan in pleasure as Aemond’s cock hits your sweet spot perfectly in this position. Aegon grunts as your moans reverberate around his dick and you hear him whisper “yeah, that’s it,” as your head bobs along his thick length. With one hand wrapped around the rest of Aegon’s girth that you can’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh, trying to hold yourself steady as Aemond’s hips snap roughly into your backside. 

“She really does have the most perfect cunt, brother,” Aemond rumbles, grunting in appreciation as he watches his fat cock slide in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. “You were right.”

“I told you she could be our perfect little slut,” Aegon groans in agreement and gives you a dark smile. You try to ignore the fact that they are talking about you like you aren’t even there. Despite your senses being fully enveloped in a primal sort of lust, you feel a small prick of unease. How much did they discuss about you before today? Have they planned this all along?

You hardly have time to consider further before Aegon takes you by the hair and earnestly starts to fuck your mouth, spit dribbling down your chin as he thrusts in and out. You hollow out your cheeks and try your best to take him, choking at times as his cock touches the back of your throat, all while Aemond continues a steady pace fucking your pussy from behind. Tears prick your eyes and Aegon wipes them away with his thumb, murmuring “good girl” softly and encouraging you to keep going. You watch as his abs contract in pleasure as your tongue swirls around the sensitive tip; you find it becoming more difficult to focus on Aegon as Aemond brings his hand around and starts to play with your bud, rubbing tight, fast circles. Your breath is caught in your chest and you let out a sultry moan. 

For a moment, all that can be heard is heavy breathing, grunts of pleasure, skin slapping erotically, and a juicy sucking noise from your mouth as your orgy progresses. With Aemond’s expert attention on your bud, your walls start to flutter again and you redouble your efforts to suck off Aegon, determined that you both should cum at the same time; his breathing is becoming labored and you know he’s close. Within a few more moments, the three of you climax together in unison; Aegon grunts as his girth pulses in your hand, shooting his seed down your throat just as Aemond’s cock pumps his into your pussy, emptying deep inside you. He gives your ass a hard slap and you wail once more as mind numbing pleasure courses through your belly as your pussy milks Aemond dry.

Swallowing your mouthful, you collapse, exhausted, onto the bed next to Aegon, completely worn out by your third orgasm. Aegon pants softly beside you and Aemond plops down on your other side, the only one to still seem composed despite the sheen of sweat on his chest from his own exertion. 

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence as your breathing returns to normal. Aegon rolls to his side and captures your lips between his own. You think he’s just giving you a sweet sort of kiss as a “thank you” for a great time, until he takes your leg and swings it over his hip, reaching down and playing with your sensitive bud. You buck you hips away from his hand and whine pathetically, telling him without words that you are almost too sensitive to touch at this point. He shushes you gently and you feel him reach down to your entrance and gather Aemond’s spend that’s leaking from your pussy, bringing it up and circling your bud with a featherlight touch.

You feel Aemond move until he’s spooning you from behind, trapping you. He brushes your hair to the side as he starts to pepper your neck and shoulder with kisses while his large warm hand caresses your back, moving down to squeeze the ample flesh of your ass. Despite your exhaustion, you feel yourself getting aroused again at their attention. Aegon’s skin is burning as you lay facing him, chest to chest, and Aemond is just as hot against your backside. You feel caught between two flames, like you could catch fire entwined around the brothers.

Aegon continues to kiss you slowly, circling your bud, your leg still hooked over his hip when you feel another set of digits come to play at the entrance of your pussy. You flinch slightly, but Aemond doesn’t enter you digitally, instead seeming to gather more fluid on his fingertips. Without warning, you jump when you feel him spreading his spend on your asshole. Aemond hushes you sweetly, kissing right below your ear, as he starts to push ever so gently on your puckered hole. 

“Come now,” Aegon whispers against your lips, “You didn’t really think we would be done with you already, did you?” His hand moves up to tightly grip your thigh around his hip, holding you in place as Aemond slowly starts inserting a digit into your ass, causing you to moan and arch your back, unfamiliar with this new intrusion.

“Hmm,” Aemond hums appreciatively, nibbling on your earlobe as Aegon watches your face. The pressure is mounting as Aemond pushes his thumb into your ass and realization dawns that they are far from finished with you. They aren’t going to stop until every last bit of you is sore from stretching around their thick cocks repeatedly; their intention to possess you both at the same time becomes abundantly clear as Aemond works to open your tight puckered hole and you know they’ll continue to cover your body in bite marks, hickeys, and bruises, effectively marking you as their own. They haven’t even begun to truly consume you yet. 

“Yes, sweet girl,” says Aemond, an authoritative edge to his tone, “We’re just getting started.”

The story continues in Part 3

Tags: @rhaenyslay, @elizarbell, @aemondsscar, @peonamay, @cyeco13, @quinnquinn317, @multyfangirl, @myfandomprompts, @thekinslayed, @pandemonium105, @fan-goddess, @vencuyot

[albiorixsims]

... people I`d like to know better💕

Tagged By: @kvashaa спасибо за отметку 😘! Мне это напомнило анкеты, которыми обменивались в детстве, где-то у меня до сих валяется такая тетрадочка)) И как обычно, краткость - не моя муза.

Last Song: The Chordettes - Mr Sandman (музыку слушаю редко, я больше визуал, точнее визуало-кинестетик - сначала рассмотреть как следует, а потом еще потрогать надо хдд. Но мелодия сэндмена в голове застряла на днях и не отпускала, пока я ее наконец-то не послушала. И вот теперь она опять у меня в голове 🤪)

Favorite Color: смотря на чем)) последнее время люблю приглушенно-припыленную палитру в естественных тонах, как ниже, но определенного любимого оттенка н��т.

Last Movie: мульт "Хранители снов" (пересматривала, оч люблю, смотрю практически каждый год в январе), а сейчас в процессе просмотра второго сезона "Игра в кальмара".

Last Book: фанфики считаются? хдд "Shattered Pieces" by ashestocrows (потому что естественно после мульта я пошла читать фанфики по Кромешник (ака Питч Блэк, я в оригинале смотрю)/Джек Фрост (и ничего мне не говорите про разницу в возрасте - Фросту за 300 лет!)

А вообще, я столько перечитала литературы в юности, что последние лет десять, наверное, пресытилась, и мало что цепляет. Если говорить прям о книжке, которая официально публиковалась, то "Гойда" Джека Гельба (псевдоним, на самом деле автор - молодая девушка), псевдоисторический роман о Федоре Басманове и его жизни при дворе и отношениях с Иваном Грозным.

Хотя изначально книжку заказала больше из-за обложки от Кориандр, с первых глав очень понравился слог автора и сама история зацепила, в итоге я бросила бумажную, отце��зуренную версию уже где-то на 1/5 части книги и нашла изначальный вариант, который автор выкладывала когда-то на фикбуке (сейчас он естественно удален, поэтому пришлось хорошенько порыскать в интернете). И вот, получается, что по сути, это тоже фанфик😅😅😅))) Что я считаю плюсом, ага. А "книжки", пожалуй, как раз и не читаю последнее время из-за беспощадной цензуры, потому что весь смак вырезан.

Sweet, Spicy or Savory: острое и кисло-сладкое (люблю азиатскую кухню), но и от сладенького не отказываюсь)))

Last Thing I Googled: внезапно, Марди Гра 2024 (сама не знаю зачем, увидела в Игре в Кальмара и, наверное, хотела вспомнить что это за действо такое)

Current Obsession: новые сюжеты для двух геймплейных историй, хотя нет трех, или даже четырех 🤨 (короче, я как обычно в своих фантазиях, которые, надеюсь, вскоре выльются в блог, а то одна история вообще аж с прошлого нг терзает, а другой сюжет, в общем-то, даже отснят почти полностью (пришлось заранее из-за ограничения по времени события с подарками Смерти), но перед ним должны быть типа события до, которые пока не могу отскринить из-за беспорядка в СС...)

Больше ничего не расскажу пока что, но все скрины, которые я вставила в пост - это спойлеры, (а то давно ничего не постила, стыдно даже 😁 нет) и на них есть парочка новых персонажей, которых я никогда еще не показывала (почти), но очень-очень хочу показать в скором будущем🤞.

Looking Forward To: когда наконец-то доразберу свои завалы СС... Занимаюсь этим уже больше месяца, из-за чего не могу ни играть, ни новые истории скринить, только notion заметками засоряю(((

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Smut, violence, swearing

1.08

You stare at the hot wax dripping onto the surface of the scroll in Alicent’s hands; the colour of the wax nearly matches the green shade of her gown. As always, the queen’s hair and clothing were immaculate; however, the smugness on her face was tainting her natural beauty.

You had gone to speak with Gwayne at his quarters due to his request to speak in private, but moments after you arrived, three members of his house appeared, and now you had to fake interest in anything they had to say. You found it awfully odd they came instead of meeting him elsewhere.

Alicent’s lips curve into a smile, but her brown eyes remain still as she says, “I do hope we haven’t interrupted anything.”

“Of course not.”

“Actually," Gwayne stands behind you and places his hand on your shoulder. “I was hoping to have some alone time with my wife before the celebrations for Prince Daeron’s name day start this afternoon.”

Lady Lynesse giggles, “we shall leave you to it; after all, one cannot perform their duty with an audience.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks.

Still forcing a smile on her face; Alicent remains seated while her two aunties stand to leave. “When are you going to Winterfell princess?"

“Tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” her eyes move from you to her brother. “I thought you may have been joining the princess on her travels. You haven’t been introduced to the lord and lady of Winterfell yet.”

“I’m sure Lord and Lady Stark’s attention will solely be on Princess Meera,” Gawyne pats at your shoulder lightly. “And from what I’ve heard, they dote on her.”

The look on the queen's face is hard to read. Smoothing out the skirts of her dress after she finally stands, she addresses her aunt Lynesse, “Lord and lady Stark are still reeling from the death of their eldest son, Lord Edric.”

You swallow down the bitterness burning at the back of your throat at the mere mention of Edric. Clearing your throat, you get to your feet. “Speaking of my daughter, I should be going. She should be finishing her lesson right about now and is yet to pick a dress for tonight.”

Gwayne gives you an apologetic look.

You kiss him on the cheek, “I will see you tonight for Daeron’s name-day celebration.”

—

Grinning, you continue to grind your clit against Criston’s cock. You let the knight slide the tip of it between your folds, coating him in your slick but not allowing him to go inside you fully.

It would be a few hours until Raya arrived to help you get dressed for the festivities, and since Rhaenyra had taken your daughter to her son's nursery to play, you were taking full advantage of having Criston all to yourself.

“…Princess… please…”

Kissing the side of his neck, you fake innocence and ask, “please what?”

“I can’t wait any longer,” he whines. “I need to be inside you.”

Deciding that you had teased him enough, you lower yourself onto him, panting in high Valyrian as his thickness stretches you out. He moans into your skin. Your fingers curl into his thick dark hair while he holds onto your hips, keeping your body close to his while thrusting up into you.

“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m almost—there.”

“I know; I can feel it.”

A slurry of incoherent words falls from your mouth when Criston lets go of your hip and brings his hand between your legs to rub at your sensitive clit.

“Gods—fuck!”

Pressing your lips to his, you can feel him smirking into the kiss, probably because of the way your thighs were shaking. Only moments after you come apart, Criston reaches his peak, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he comes inside you.

Tenderly, you stroke the back of his head, your fingers threading lightly through his hair. You stay like this until the position starts to cause an aching pain in your legs, making you finally move off him.

Soon as your back comes into contact with the soft mattress, Criston rolls to hover over you. He lightly pecks at your lips, “I’ll need to leave soon.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could stay here, with you.”

“I know.”

A look you couldn’t pinpoint as anger or disappointment crosses his features. The knight gets swiftly to his feet and starts to redress in silence. Sensing his change in mood, you do the same, which seems pointless since you’d be changing shortly, but to keep up appearances, you would put the gown you had on previously back on.

When you’re finally about to tie the fabric at the back of the dress, Criston loops the small pieces of fabric round his fingers and starts to lace it together. His nose brushes against the back of your neck as he asks, “What if there was a way for us to be together more freely?”

“I wish there was, but as we’ve discussed before, there isn’t.”

—

The fake smile that has been plastered across your face for hours finally causes your cheeks to start hurting. Each time you attempted to find your sister, a member of house Hightower would stop and, in different variations, ask why you’ve not had another child yet. As they rambled on, the only thing you cared about was Meera; the hour was late, and she would need to be settled for bed soon.

Letting out a deep breath through your nose, you struggle to hide your irritation as Hobert Hightower and his wife are the latest to quiz you; it’s not until you spot your sworn shield that you finally break away.

You approach the sidelines of the hall with a genuine smile spreading across your face as you watch Rhaenyra dancing with your daughter.

“Ser Criston.”

“Princess.”

There’s a coldness in his voice that makes him sound almost unrecognisable, but it was him. Criston keeps his focus straight ahead, not glancing even a look in your direction.

“Have you—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Gwayne comes over and offers you his hand. “May I have this dance, wife?”

“Of course.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the middle of the dance floor. It takes Gwayne a few moments before he speaks again, “you handled my sister and aunts well today; I know that it must be challenging. But I— is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you smile politely at Gwayne, keeping your eyes firmly on him instead of trying to find Ser Criston among the crowd of moving people. The chill in the air wasn't due to the sun disappearing behind the clouds; it was a sign of something amiss. A change in the atmosphere. “My apologies, I got distracted.”

“It’s alright,” he smiles softly. “The suggestion I made previously about you and…”

“Gods, now is not the time.”

As he keeps in time with the music, Gwayne spins you around and then pulls you back towards him, showing a bit more affection than necessary, which causes you to press against his chest. “I’ve changed my mind. You’ve already got a daughter, and I would be content with that. I don’t feel the same desperation for an heir that my father does. I… at least for a little longer… Perhaps the stress from others breathing so heavily down our necks is what’s causing a delay. When you and Meera return from Winterfell, I want you to join me in old town.”

A piercing scream rips through the hall before you can answer him.

The music stops.

The dancing stops.

The happiness stops.

Gwayne holds you close to him protectively, preventing you from getting knocked over by the mass of people barging by to get to the far side of the room where the commotion is coming from.

“Can you see Rhaenyra? Meera is with her. I need to find them.” Stepping out of his grip, you frantically look around for any signs of them. “Rhaenyra! Rhaenyra!”

“Over there!” Gwayne points to a nearby table that your sister was standing on, holding Meera in her arms.

Guilt smacks you in the gut full force; you should never have allowed your daughter to attend. Several people bash into you as you shove your way through the crowd, and it doesn’t take you long to be separated from Gwayne, who was following behind you. You’re momentarily stunned when an elbow collides with your nose, but Meera’s screams distract you from the pain of it.

Rhaenyra grabs your hand and helps pull you up onto the table, and you take Meera from her arm and into yours. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” You kiss the crown of her head, then look up at Rhaenyra, “I’ve lost sight of Gwayne.”

“He got out of the crowd with Otto. I don’t know where Laenor is. He wasn’t with me when the incident started. Father is safe, though.”

Looking in the direction she is pointing, you see your father, Alicent, your brothers, and Helaena being guarded by the Kingsguard.

As the large crowd dwindles, the blood splattered across the floor becomes more obvious. Rhaenyra grips your wrist tightly, her face displaying a horrified expression as she asks, “Who is that?”

You feel your heart sink; you finally realise why there was such chaos. Criston was brutally beating Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, his eyes wide with a rage you could never have imagined in him.

—

There was a dampness in the air. The wetness from the grass soaks the soles of your thin shoes that are only meant to be worn inside as you walk across the grass to reach the weirwood tree.

Criston was kneeling in front of the tree; even in the dark, you could see the tears in his eyes as he glanced up at you. He swallows thickly, “princess.”

“I’ve spoken with my father. You’re still a member of the kingsguard and will remain my sworn shield, but you aren’t permitted to leave the red keep, for now at least.”

Chewing on your lip, you look away. If you spoke, your voice would break, and you feared the stream of tears threatening to spill wouldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry.”

“What happened?”

Criston gets to his feet and takes a step towards you cautiously. “He knew and was taunting me for it. I hit him once, then he withdrew a blade—”

“Stop,” you sob. “I don’t wish to hear anymore.”

When you turn to face him, Criston’s brows pull together as he takes in the swelling on your face and the dried blood underneath your nose. “What happened to your face?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You wipe at the tears on your cheek with the sleeve of your nightgown. You weren’t crying because he killed a man; it was scaring you that, despite Criston killing a man, you still yearned for him.

—

When the carriage goes through the gates of the courtyard, you feel a sense of dread, a sickness you couldn’t get over. It’s not until you are finally sitting across from your father in his private quarters that you feel a sense of calm.

“You were in Winterfell much longer than intended. Does this have anything to do with what happened on your brother's name day? Do you wish to change your sworn protector?”

“It’s nothing to do with that night,” you answer truthfully. “So much is changing that I’d really appreciate having the same sworn shield as before. There is nobody I trust more than Ser Criston to keep my daughter safe and…” you pause and place your hand across your stomach. “And he will be a fine protector to mine and Gwayne’s child as well.”

Instead of looking delighted, the king stares at you concerned. “have you been ill because of the pregnancy?

“The day before we intended to come home, I had a dizzy spell in the presence of Lady Stark, who summoned the maester, who came to the conclusion I was unfit to travel, and for the first moon I was vomiting violently, but it has since settled.”

“You’ve been there for nearly four moons.”

You tug at a strand of your dress, feeling a sense of shame. “Finding out I’m pregnant in Edric’s home felt wrong. I owed it to the Starks and to Meera to stay longer.”

“Oh,” he places his atop yours. “I’m happy as long as my daughter is happy. Every child is a blessing.”

“I am happy, as I imagine Gwayne shall be.”

“Does Rhaenyra know yet?”

Your mouth goes dry before the lie even comes out, “no, nobody else knows yet.”

The first thing you did when the maester suggested you may be pregnant was write to your elder sister. You responded back and forth a few times, but as always, everything was kept a secret between the two of you.

As you rise to leave, you kiss your father on the cheek. “If you excuse me, I’m going to find Gwayne and inform him before Meera blurts it out. She’s very excited to have a sibling to boss around.”

“I suppose you’ll be needing to tell your shield as well,” your father says. “So that he knows how vulnerable you’ll be soon.”

You smile and nod as you leave, hoping your father is as blind to you as he is to Rhaenyra.

—

Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to Criston, and it didn’t take you long to find him. You were informed he was in the white sword tower after doing a night shift; he would probably be sleeping, but you wanted to tell Criston in person before he found out from anyone else.

You knock on the door lightly, and a few moments later, it swings open, and a heavy-eyed Criston stands in front of you.

“Princess?”

“Ser Criston.”

He looks stunned for a moment and then scans the area for anyone else that could be watching. Stepping aside, he lets you by before closing the door behind him. “Forgive me; if I had known you were returning today, I wouldn’t have volunteered for the late shift last night.”

“I’ve missed.” It was no lie; you thought about the night every day.

“I must admit I didn’t expect your absence at court to leave me feeling so hollow.” Gently, he cups the side of your face and says, “Do me the favour of not venturing so far and for so long next time without me; I could not find peace wondering if you and Princess Meera were safe and well.”

Smiling, you take his hand and rest it on your stomach.

“Are you…”

“I’m expecting.”

You don't need to exchange any more words at that moment; the look you share is enough to know that you've found each other again.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.

“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.

“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.

Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”

“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”

Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”

“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”

Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”

Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”

“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”

“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.

Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”

“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.

You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”

Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.

Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”

Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.

“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”

“Finless porpoises,” you say.

“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”

“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.

Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”

“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”

“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”

“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.

You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”

“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”

Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”

“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”

Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.

“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.

Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”

He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.

You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”

Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.

You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”

“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”

“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”

Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.

“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.

“Oh.”

“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”

“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”

“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.

A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.

Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”

“The sculpture?” you say.

“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”

Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.

Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.

“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”

Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”

“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”

“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.

“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”

There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.

“No luck?” Daeron asks.

“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.

“Seriously, dude, what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”

“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”

Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.

Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”

“We’ll find gas somewhere.”

“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”

Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”

“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.

“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?

“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.

Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.

“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”

“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.

Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”

“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.

Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”

Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”

“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.

Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.

It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.

“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”

You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.

In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.

“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”

You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”

“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”

“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.

“I want to try too,” Daeron says.

Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”

“I want to try!”

“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”

“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”

You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.

“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.

You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”

“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.

“No scopes?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet.”

You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”

“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”

“Exactly.”

“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”

“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”

“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”

“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”

Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”

You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”

Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”

You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”

Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”

He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”

You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”

“Like throwing a football.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”

“What a formidable tree.”

“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”

Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.

“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”

“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”

“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”

Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”

Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”

More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.

You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”

He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”

“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”

“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”

“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”

“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”

“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”

You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”

“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”

“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”

“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”

You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.

What?? Who??

“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.

Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”

Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”

“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.

Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”

Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.

“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.

“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”

Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”

“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.

“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”

You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”

“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.

He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”

There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.

“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”

“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”

There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”

“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.

“What?!” Luke exclaims.

“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.

Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”

“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”

“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.

“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”

“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.

Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”

“Fine, I think.”

“Hurts?”

“Just a little.”

“Dizzy? Double vision?”

“No, nothing like that.”

He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.

“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”

He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.

“Are you serious?”

“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”

“I’m fine!” Luke insists.

“Great. Then pick a card.”

“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”

“Pick it with your mouth.”

“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.

“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.

Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”

“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”

“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”

“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”

Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”

“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”

“Then stop picking bad cards.”

“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.

“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”

Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.

“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”

“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.

Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.

A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”

You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”

Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.

[jelloholic]

Team green characters at the beach

Alicent:

Wearing a beach robe while judging other women for their immodesty

Made sure everyone had everything they needed, all fav snacks, drinks, and sand toys packed

Otto:

Reads in the shade and enjoys the breeze

Indulges the young ones and Halaena in their conversation of choice

Criston:

Barbecued super well, the hotdogs were so good Jaehaerys asked to have some everyday for the next week

Acting like a simp towards Alicent, bc she's slaying in her swimsuit, much to everyone's annoyance and/or amusement

Gwayne:

Reminding his nephews and his niece to reapply sunscreen regularly, bc he knows Targs burn easily in the sun (reapplied it himself on the twins)

Went to get everyone some milkashes and smoothies at a boardwalk cafe bc he wanted some, and no one else would get up to do it

Aegon:

Flirting with the beach babes

Went to every tourist trap and found a gag gift for each person (he insists it's for a joke, but he wanted to give them lil gifts)

Halaena:

Walked along the beach to spot bugs in the sand

Taking lots of pictures of everyone and everything to remember the day fondly

Aemond:

Wears a baseball cap, stays in the shade and keeps reapplying sunscreen on his face to avoid getting a sunburn in the shape of his eyepatch

Fav beach snacks are Alicent's homemade sandwiches paired with sweet fruit juice

Daeron:

Spending a good chunk of the day in the water with his sister and her children, helping her teach them how to swim

Joined Gwayne on his errand run to take a break from the fam for a bit

Jaehaera:

Stayed by her momma on her walks and collected sea glass, shells, and pretty rocks

Rambled on about what shapes she thinks the clouds are to Otto

Jaehaerys:

He's that kid that digs a huge hole in the sand and shows it off to his family

Joined other kids at the beach in a game of tag and got whiny when he was 'it'

(Requested by @mrs-starkgaryen )

[pumpkincentaur]

Decuntification affects millions every day. Donate now to help a bad bitch in need get their cunt back.

Y'all I ...

What's the opposite of yassifying ... they've naurrified him

[midnight--sadness]

i love the way that a dragon's coloring is sometimes connected to its rider's family.

meraxes had silver scales and was ridden by rhaenys. rhaenys' son aenys had a dragon named quicksilver, and though we don't know her coloring, given her name and her pale white fire, it is probably silver as well. aenys' daughter alysanne had silverwing, described as a silvery dragon.

three generations of rulers who had silver she-dragons.

jaehaerys i rode vermithor, the bronze fury, and his son baelon the brave rode vhagar, who was described as bronze.

aemon and alyssa, brother and sister, both rode red dragons, caraxes and meleys, respectively.

rhaenyra has the yellow-gold syrax, and her son lucerys who rides arrax, described as having yellow fire and gold eyes and crest.

(could even connect this to aegon ii's sunfyre, who is golden and has pink membranes, matching to rhaenys' meleys and rhaena's morning, who is fully pink.)

helaena and daeron, also brother and sister, rode dreamfyre and tessarion, both blue dragons (although in different shades).

although we dont know his coloring, stormcloud, based on his name, was probably (dark) grey, which would match with the (light) grey color of seasmoke, who belonged to laenor, aegon iii's stepfather.

and of course, there is the connection between the conquerors' dragons balerion, meraxes and vhagar with dany's children drogon, viserion and rhaegal.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 17 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Valeana meets Daeron the Daring for the very first time; as does Aemond; as does Shyla. Word Count: 3848 CHAPTER WARNINGS: None, but Otto isn't happy.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Aegon’s crapulous remedy surprisingly ended up helping Valeana. It was a weird combination, one that required her to gargle lemonade and rub mint leaves all over her tongue, teeth, and cheeks to rid the smell of pickles and vinegar from her breath. Though, it didn’t matter if it helped or not, she suspected her headache would reappear by the end of the day, when she returned from yet another dreadful dinner. 

She barely knew Otto Hightower. During her childhood, it was Lyonel Strong that was the Hand of the King, and personally she preferred him over the self-serious, suspicious and calculated father of Queen Alicent. If she had to take an educated guess, it was him who convinced the king to replace the Targaryen sigils that were set in the masonry with the Seven Pointed Star. However, he was still the Hand of the King, and with Viserys gone in Dragonstone, he was the highest power in King’s Landing… even higher than the King’s eldest son. So, if she was going to intrude on his family’s dinner in his own tower, she’d at least dress respectfully. 

Naturally, Valeana chose green. A deep shade, like an evergreen tree, with a embroidered high square neckline, a corset with subtle floral embroidery that flattened her chest with its stiff boning. Even after Aegon’s assurance, she still felt incredibly self conscious of her body, and she used the Hightower’s pious and chaste morals as an excuse to cover up as much as possible. The sleeves of the dress were long and slim as well, covering up her arms and ending in a point at her hand. The skirt was thick, but not boisterous like her other dresses. It was comfortable, modest, and did not reflect the extravagance that Celtigars were generally known for. 

Rosey had been fixing a matching crescent hood upon her head when the door opened, and Ser Hardy grumbly announced Aegon’s return. Val suppressed a groan as she willed herself upon her feet to go and begin her harrowing evening with the Hightowers. 

“Well, aren’t you a vision…” Aegon tilted his head, examining her attire as he struggled to find the words. “Of my mother.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

He seemed to contemplate that with a scrunch of his brow and a prolonged ‘uhhh’ spilling from his gape. Finally, Aegon shook his head, “I rather not say, to be honest. Some things are better left tightly packed in a trunk and pushed off the side of a cliff.”

Val didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but she was far too anxious to linger on it. The sooner they left, the sooner this night would be over with. Before leaving, she informed Ser Steffon that she will return promptly after the end of the supper, and to let her sisters know where she would be. 

As they descended down the grand staircase towards the main antechamber of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aegon briefed her on his cousins. Ormund was a decade older than his mother, and had four children with his late wife. Three sons, and a young daughter, who remains in Oldtown. Ormund had remarried to Samantha Tarly, who was not much older than his eldest son, who was ten and six. Ormund had raised Daeron, alongside his late wife, his uncle Gwayne and was surrounded by what Aegon referred to as his “Circle jerk posse of sycophants.” 

Before they were able to exit the Holdfast, the doors pushed open and they were greeted by Shyla, who immediately asked where they were off to. Before Val could give an excuse, Aegon nonchalantly admits that they were on their way to sup with the Hand of the King, his brothers and cousins. 

“Oh! How delightful!” The girl bounced on her heels, “I believe it is high time I meet the rest of your family, my Prince. Afterall…” she leaned in with a secretive smile pursing her lips, and then said in a whisper. “They will be mine one day soon.”

In any other circumstance, Valeana would have been overjoyed at the addition of her sister. It would offer her ample entertainment to watch Aegon squirm under Shyla’s unwanted advances. However, her self-admittance to the evening would do nothing to ease the Hand’s mood. He’d be annoyed just by Valeana’s invitation alone, but now he’d also have to find room for the other Celtigar girl. 

  When they reached the Tower of the Hand, Val felt a wave of nausea as the door swung open. She could hear the sound of chatter from the floor above, which likely meant that everyone was already in attendance. They were escorted by a white cloak, who briefly eyed the two unwanted guests, but remained quiet in his judgement. Shyla practically skipped up the stairs, whilst trying to discreetly grab Aegon’s hand, but he evaded it by swiping it away from her. Valeana softly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a very long night.

“Grandfather!” Aegon greeted as he entered the large oaken doors that lead to the dining area, “I come with gifts.”

As Valeana and Shyla entered behind him, Otto’s face visibly dropped. From behind his shoulder, Val could spot an unfamiliar head of pale silver hair, cropped short and impeccably styled. Instantly, she knew without a doubt that it was Daeron Targaryen.

Otto glanced at both girls, but he saved his glare for his eldest grandson as he strode over to him, “Aegon, this is–”

“Brother!” 

“Hold that thought, Grandsire,” Aegon patted the old man’s shoulder and with all the fraudulent charm in the world, met Daeron halfway. “Daeron, my baby brother! Gods, look at you… all arms and legs.” 

Otto and Valeana shared a look before he stepped to her side, turning his body towards the direction of his family.

“Why are you and your sister here, Lady Valeana?” His question was low enough for only her to hear, but their attention was pinned to the reunited brothers. “This is a family affair.”

“Apologies, my Lord Hand. Aegon invited me and my sister, and had not told us it was a private supper,” she surprised herself at how reserved she sounded in her improved lie. “If it pleases you, my Lord, we can turn back and–”

“I would like you to meet someone, Daeron. Someones, in fact,” Aegon’s voice carried to them. 

Otto casted a glance at her, “It is too late now. We will just have to accommodate an additional three people to our table.”

Valeana furrowed her brow, but before she could ask him why three, Aegon sauntered over with his youngest brother, and Otto left them to converse with the servants. 

“Daeron, these two lovely ladies are the Celtigar sisters, Lady Valeana, Lady Shyla. Ladies, this is my little brother–”

“Daeron,” the boy, no older than six and ten, approached the two young women with effortless grace and charm. His smile reminded Valeana of Aemond’s, wiry and captivating, and ending like two fish hooks at his dimpled cheeks. He also had Aemond’s jawline, but Aegon’s nose and chin. The one thing that was uniquely his own, were his pale lavender eyes, mute in colour in comparison to Aegon’s saturated violets and Aemond’s vibrant lilacs. His hair, light and featherly, and impossibly white, was shortly cropped, smooth and glossy like satin. 

Oh, he was very, very attractive indeed. Inherited all the alluring attributes of his two eldest brothers without harbouring any of the negatives. He was what romantic tales were made of. Valeana had a difficult time calming her grin when he took her hand and planted a kiss upon the back of it. When he moved to do the same to Shyla, Val forced herself to pry her eyes off of him, only to immediately catch Aegon’s utterly disappointed leer. He frowned deeply, crossed his arms and shook his head at her. Her response was a coy shrug and a little smirk. 

“It is a pleasure indeed to meet you ladies. I heard much about you, though…” Daeron trailed off to glance at Aegon curiously. “I was told there were three of you.”

“Oh, yes, Lady Floris,” Aegon answered, and the mere mention of the name perked the younger prince up. “Grafton. She was not available this evening, but you will likely see her. She’s always skulking around, somewhere.”

Daeron’s shoulders visibly sunk at Aegon’s clarification, but his charming smile never wavered when he turned back to the Celtigar sisters. 

“I seem to have been robbed of a childhood growing up alongside you lovely ladies. I wish I had visited,” his smirk widened flirtatiously, “Seeing such beauty would have likely forced me to stay.” 

Aegon’s face soured with every word spoken by Daeron, forcing Valeana to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. 

“Perhaps you should have,” Valeana eagerly added, pursing her lips to contain her grin. “If only to sweeten our pallets from our otherwise bitter friendships with your brothers.” 

Daeron cocked his head, “Oh? Were they that troublesome?”

“Ah, Prince Daeron, if only we had the time. A day could not even cover the bullying we had to endure at the hands of your elder brothers and nephews.”

Daeron tisked, and threw Aegon a look with a shake of his head, “For shame, brother. Bullying such sweet creatures? We must treat all young ladies as if they are the Maiden Herself, and as women, they are to be regarded respectfully as they are the image of the Mother. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Valeana, Lady Shyla?”

“Oh, yes, I very much agree,” Val nodded, and then turned to her sister. It was at this moment she realized how strangely quiet she was being. Once her eyes landed on Shyla, it became evident as to why that was. 

Her sister was absolutely, unequivocally, positively, without a doubt besotted. 

Shyla looked upon Daeron as if he was a new god that chose to present himself to her. Valeana could always recognize when her sister fell in love with a man — it happened annoyingly often. Though during the recent weeks, she had forgotten how fickle her sister’s heart was, because so far she had not wavered from Aegon since the moment she laid eyes on him. 

Until now. 

“O-oh! Yes, yes, I agree…” Shyla bounced back to life. Her hands clasped in front of her skirt coyly, big eyes batting her lashes rapidly. “You’re so wise, Prince Daeron… I’d agree with anything you’d say.”

Daeron’s response was a polite smile and nod, though his confusion over her choice of words was exposed by his raised brow. Shyla didn’t notice at all, of course; she was already leagues into her delusions by now, and only saw him regarding her with an alluring smile and lovestruck eyes.

When Valeana looked at Aegon, she could actually see every emotion and thought pass through him. Annoyance, confusion, then realization, followed by an epiphany, and lastly, elation. He was free from Shyla’s claws, and he was more than eager to throw Daeron to the vultures, a win-win situation. 

A vague thought reminded Valeana of how Floris Baratheon was keen on Daeron, having shared correspondence, and how she and Shyla had grown into friendship since her arrival. This new development would surely complicate matters, and if Valeana was a better person, she would have tried to steer her sister in another direction. As it happens, she already knows what it’s like trying to direct Shyla’s attention onto someone else; it was like trying to pull a hungry dog away from a bone. She will get bit. Not even figuratively.

“Come! Everyone is here, and I’d like you to meet my cousins,” Daeron motioned for them to follow him. Shyla sprung into action like a dutiful servant, her shoulder pressed against his once she reached his side. 

Aegon reached out blindly to put a hand on Valeana’s arm, “Did you see that?”

“Yes… I did.”

He tore his eyes from the back of Daeron’s head, “Oh, Valeana, my dear delectable Crab Cake, you have no idea how happy I am.” 

“You do realize that Floris Baratheon is in love with him, right? They share love letters, and are yet to meet.”

Aegon shrugged, grin undeterred, “Not my problem. I am free, that is all I care about. I was honestly pissed frightened that I would have to marry your bloody sister.”

Valeana raised an amused eyebrow, “And here I thought I’d have a prince for a goodbrother.”

Aegon pulled away from her, moving over to a servant with a tray, “Thank the Father that will never happen. Gods, I need a damn drink. I must celebrate.” 

Aegon was predictably late, but in his absence, Aemond was able to properly meet his younger brother for the first time since infancy. He couldn’t quite make an opinion of him, other than he was overly pleasant; so much so it was difficult to believe they shared blood at all. Alas, the resemblance was there, and his Blue Queen was proof enough of their relation. Though, despite Daeron’s uncanny ability to turn every conversation to himself, Aemond found he liked him for the sheer fact that he knew Aegon absolutely loathed him. 

“Oh, look at me,” Daeron chuckled, “Rambling about myself. Quite improper in front of a lady.” The young Targaryen turned to Aemond’s guest, “Lady Maris, I take it you are one of Lady Floris’ elder sisters, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Maris stole a glance at Aemond, as if trying to silently communicate something. “She in fact talks about you in length. Have you had a chance to finally meet her?”

Daeron looked down, “Not yet. I was accosted by my grandfather the moment I stepped in the Keep. Would you kindly relay a message to her? In the morn, I would love to break fast with her.”

“Of course, my Prince.” 

Maris had been inordinately polite and careful with her words since their arrival, something that felt out of character in his eyes. Maris was a talker, though that wasn’t reflected presently. He deduced that she may have wanted to give a good impression to his family, though the Hightowers did not have as much influence on Aemond’s life. It would be his mother she would have to impress, and even more so his father. 

Aemond hadn’t intended to bring Maris to his grandfather’s planned Hightower supper, but his impulsive invitation came with benefits. Being seen with her as much as possible would put much needed distance between him and Valeana. The more witnesses seeing him court Maris, the less speculation about him and the Celtigar maid he was once friends with. 

But then Aegon arrived. From where he sat on the settee with Lady Maris, he could not see his elder brother, but he could hear him as he announced he had brought a “gift”. Once Daeron swept over to greet him, Aemond could overhear just exactly what that “gift” was.  

“Daeron, these two lovely ladies are the Celtigar sisters, Lady Valeana, Lady Shyla. Ladies, this is my little brother–”

“Daeron.” 

Aegon, what the hells are you doing…

Aemond subtly moved in his spot so he was able to see the entrance, but both his brothers were in the way. Until Daeron bowed his head over to kiss each hand, that’s when he caught a glimpse of Valeana’s face, rosy coloured cheeks, wide smile, and eyes sparkling as she looked at the young prince. 

He was lucky that Maris was in a conversation with Samantha Tarly, his cousin’s new lady wife. Otherwise she would have seen how dark his eye had gotten, and how tightly he was clenching his teeth. 

Aemond was forced out of his seething by a question asked by Lyonel, the eldest of Ormund’s sons. Daeron’s head blocked his view once again, but he still flickered his eye in that direction every so often as he spoke to his cousin.

To see Valeana so soon after last night’s events, and even after he spent the better part of that afternoon abusing his cock to her memory, Aemond found that he wasn’t mentally prepared to face her. Especially now, with her face looking like she just had the world’s largest diamond gifted to her.

Did she even remember? Did she feel just as ashamed as he did, or was this all a part of this game of hers? Her very presence there was a good indicator that that was the most logical answer. Otherwise, why on earth would she succumb herself to being an uninvited guest to the Hand of the King’s family affair? No doubt Aegon also had a hand in this as well, particularly for his own devious intentions. 

Then Daeron announced that he wanted them to meet the cousins. Aemond straightened in his spot, and turned his blindside towards them, pretending to listen to the conversation that Lady Sam and Maris were having. Though he could not see, he could plainly hear the greetings as Daeron filtered through each cousin. 

“Cousin Ormund, this is Lady Valeana and her sister, Lady Shyla.”

“Ah, my dears, it is a pleasure to meet you. Y’know I once met your mother, Lady Valeana. You do look so much like her, though I suspect you get that often.” 

“My father had mentioned that you were a contender to my mother’s hand,” he heard Valeana speak.

“Ah yes… but your father had bigger jewels and many ships, and she had a fondness for emeralds and the open sea.” 

Valeana softly chuckled, a sound like honey and warm milk to Aemond’s ear. “That is where she and I differ. I prefer sapphires and low tide.” 

Daeron went on to introduce them to Lyonel, Martyn, and then young Garmund, who all greeted them both with chivalry and politeness. Not one of them questioned their presence, as they hadn’t with Maris.

Then Aemond could hear the wood creak from their movement closer to their area, this time Lord Ormund approaching the settee to collect his wife to introduce her to the two additions.

“Pardon my intrusion,” Ormund smiled kindly as he gently pulled his lady wife to her feet. “Come, my dear, I’d like to introduce you to Lady Valeana and Lady Shyla Celtigar. Bartimos’ girls, you remember?” 

Tarly must have some trades business with the Celtigars, because Samantha’s voice lit up with recognition. She greeted the girls as if they were old friends, yet by her own words, they had not even met in person. 

“Lady Maris,” Shyla spoke with delighted surprise. “I did not know you were friends with the Hightowers.”

Maris smiled politely before standing up to meet the two newcomers as a show of polite etiquette. Her action, however, forced him to turn in their direction. He only ascended from his seat when he caught the heated glare of his grandfather, silently berating him for his lack of manners. 

“This is the first time I’ve formally met them,” Maris explained, completely unaware of the tension that grew around her. She turned around just as Aemond got to his feet, “Prince Aemond had invited me.” 

“Invited you?” Valeana asked, surprising even herself at her blunt question.

“I did,” Aemond took his place at Maris’ side, hands clasped behind his back while he did everything in his power not to look directly at her. It helped that he kept his blindside to her with his chin inclined.

“Does that surprise you, Lady Valeana?” It was Maris who asked the question, which equally took him off guard as much as it did Valeana. 

Alas, she took it in stride, “Only by a little. I was not aware Prince Aemond had friends.”

At that, Aemond had no choice but to look at her. Far be it for Valeana Celtigar to say something so passive aggressive in polite company. However, he regretted turning his attention to her the moment he did. She was quite the vision in forest green. He realized now that he had never seen her wear it, at least that particular shade. She looked regal, almost like a queen with her crescent hood of matching colour, and her thick hair collecting in a twisted half bun at the back of her head, while the rest of it fell down over her shoulders and her back until it reached her hips. Another distinction, he noticed, was how secure and modest her bodice was. Aemond’s eye landed there immediately, but just as quickly tore it away. If he looked too long, he would remind himself of how his lips and hands were on them not fifteen hours ago.

Aemond smiled sardonically, “Hm, a reasonable assumption, Lady Valeana. Though, I merely am conservative on who I call friend nowadays. One cannot always be certain of another's intentions in court. And…” He trailed off as he regarded Maris with a little flirtatious smile, “Lady Maris’ presence has been such a delight that I did not wish to part with her this evening, so I had no choice but to invite her.” 

“Oh, well is this not a sweet sight?” Samantha commented, hands clasped at her front as she turned to Ormund. “His Grace did promise a season of love matches, did he not?”

Ormund chuckled deeply, then swept his hand over the shoulder of his young wife, “Ah, my dear, the season has only begun! Who knows who will marry who by the end of it? Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Otto’s presence was that of a judgemental cat, sitting on a ledge like a gargoyle, assessing everyone with a scrutinizing stare. Once acknowledged, the Hand tried his best to withhold his eye roll, suddenly longing for the presence of literally anyone else. 

“I believe dinner will be served soon,” the Lord Hand successfully dodged the question, then moved over to the table. “Let us sit down before we miss it?”

With Ormund’s eager agreement, the group shuffled over to the grand round table. Aemond made a point to splay his hand on Maris’ back as he guided her over. Once he reached a chair, he pulled it out for her, and held her hand delicately as she sat down. Her face was aglow as she looked up at him, and he down at her with carefully placed fondness upon his features. 

However, the moment he tucked her into the table, he looked up just in time to see Aegon doing the same with Valeana. The sight paralyzed him long enough for everyone to take their seats about the table, and when Aemond realized he had not moved to do so, he also saw the only seat available was to Valeana’s left.

As he descended in the chair, he was overwhelmed with her scent once more. Under the faint aromas of lemon and mint, he could still make out her distinct smell, the very one in her sweat that coated her breasts that morning. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN SNEAK PEAK Shyla craned her neck to look around Aegon and Val to see Aemond, “Is that what that whole business was about that other day in the training yard?” “What business?” Maris tilted her head at Aemond.  “Aegon and Aemond were sparring viciously in the training yard,” Shyla giggled, “For a second I thought they were going to maim each other.” Daeron laughed, “I wish I witnessed that. I did not think you a fighter, Aegon.” Aegon’s head whipped in his direction, “I am just as fearsome as Aemond. In fact, I bested him that day, did I not, Lady Valeana?”  Valeana was leaning back in her chair with her fork twirling in her fingers when she was acknowledged. Aegon held her gaze for a moment after the question was directed at her, and then she moved her eyes around the table before landing on Aemond.  “He did.”

Notes: I'm going to try to get the next update out soon, because I know not much action took place in this chapter, but the next one...ouf. Poor Otto. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my version of Daeron. I feel like he'd be the most spoiled out of the four kids, and he would def have youngest kid syndrome.

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