#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen
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Helaena × Aemond 💎🦋
Commission by the wonderful @beenc0
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon art#helaena#helaena targaryen#aemond#aemond targaryen#helaemond#aemond x helaena#helaena x aemond#hotd fanart#hotd art#hotd#asoiaf#asoiaf art#asoiaf fanart#f&b#f&b fanart#f&b art#fire and blood art#lyrics#Vermilion pt 2#words#fire and blood fanart#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen#fanart#commission#art commissions
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Ours Never Knew Peace
Pairing: Helaena Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen Warnings: Targcest/incest, explicit sexual content. Word count: ~3k
Summary: Helaena has grown weary of Aemond; though he is a welcome source of comfort outside of a loveless marriage that is for appearances only, he handles her with a gentleness that she knows is not his true nature. A chance discovery from a flower merchant upon the docks allows her to exert the control that, until now, has always eluded her.
Author's note: For @emilykaldwen and written for my Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.
Helaena felt irritable. She fidgeted as Aemond read to her, his soft voice doing little to ease her discomfort as he recited from the pages of Septon Barth’s ‘Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History’. The fingers of her younger brother’s free hand seemed to snag upon every tangle in her hair as they stroked through it, making her wince. It was as though she could feel the very bones of his thighs digging into the back of her skull as she lay with her head in his lap. The mattress beneath her back was lumpy, the fabric of her gown too restrictive, the air itself seemed as though it meant to stifle her.
With a huff of frustration, she reached up, snatched the book from Aemond and snapped it closed, before tossing it carelessly onto the bed beside them. She scowled to herself, clasping her hands across her middle and twisting the rings upon her fingers as her brother looked down at her, his single eyed gaze narrowed in confusion.
“What did you do that for?” he asked, his hand stilling in her hair to rest gently at the crown of her head.
It was a reasonable question, but not one that Helaena had a good answer for. “I am bored.”
She noticed Aemond blink, the faintest twitch of his eyebrow. It would be an expression that would be easily missed by anyone else, but she knew it all too well – his feelings were hurt. She sighed, pulling herself into a seated position and resting against the headboard beside him. “I do not mean you are boring. I just mean…I am restless. I want to go out.”
Aemond hummed in acknowledgement, reaching for the book to place it upon the bedside table before turning to her. “We could take a walk around the gardens, or perhaps we could go flying. If I were to accompany you to the Dragonpit, you could meet me above the Kingswood once I’ve found Vha–”
Helaena groused in frustration, cutting him off, as she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She allowed her hands to fall heavily back into her lap, balling into the soft satin, eggshell blue fabric of her skirts before she spoke again. “I mean out – like you and Aegon do. There is a market at the docks today, I have heard.” She watched as Aemond pursed his lips, his long fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh. He wanted to say no. She would not let him. “I will go anyway if you say no,” she urged, “would you not rather be there to ensure my safety?”
“Fine,” he muttered with a roll of his eye as his shoulders sagged in defeat.
Helaena fought the urge to giggle in triumph. She had known that would work. It always did.
Half an hour later, having ensured that Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were safely still in the care of the nursemaids, and would remain so, Helaena stood in her chambers draped in Aemond’s black woolen hooded cloak. It was ill fitting, almost sweeping the floor by her feet, and somehow much too large in the shoulders, while simultaneously not feeling roomy enough around either the chest or hips. However, if she felt silly then she could only begin to imagine how Aemond must feel having borrowed Aegon’s. She watched, biting back a laugh, as he wrinkled his nose, inspecting a deep, dark stain that smeared down the front of the cloak’s chest – if she had to guess, she would have said it was wine. She hoped it was wine. The hem of it barely reached his thighs, with the ends of the sleeves stopping well before his wrists. He looked like a praying mantis caught in a handkerchief.
“We could swap, you know?” Helaena offered, fiddling with the brass filigree clasp of Aemond’s cloak between her thumb and forefinger.
Her younger brother lifted his gaze to her, features twisted in disgust. “If you could smell this one, that is an offer of trade you would soon retract.”
He kept his hand at the small of her back as he ushered her through the passageway in the stone wall, only stopping to move in front of her and take her hand as he led her down the spiral staircase, and out and away from the Keep. He remained as her shadow as they picked their way quickly and carefully through the winding streets of King’s Landing, towards the docks of Blackwater Bay. Aemond and Aegon usually did much of their creeping out of the castle by nightfall, so had to be less careful when obscuring their appearance, as the darkness did much of the work for them. In the blazing sunshine of the day, Helaena longed to throw back her hood and let the breeze ruffle through her long silver hair, however, eager to keep their identities hidden, Aemond stopped at every corner to ensure that her head still remained fully covered.
Her younger brother’s protectiveness of her was a curse as much as it was a blessing. Her marriage to their elder, Aegon, had been one of duty – neither of them had wanted it – and she had expected to feel the same way about their child when she had learned she was expecting. However, when Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were born, Helaena had been filled with a love she did not know she was capable of. It spread through her body like honey, viscous and seeping into the very cracks of her soul. It had not been until after the twins were born that anything romantic had blossomed between her and Aemond. She had known that he had always desired her, he had expressed his wish to marry her on more than one occasion to their mother, but as Aegon was heir it had to be him she would be married to, his children she must bear.
Aegon did not touch her again once their children were born, considering his duty to both her and their family fulfilled. Lonely, and feeling self conscious about the changes that birthing twins had wrought upon her body, Helaena had sought comfort in the willing arms of Aemond, and it was nice – at first. He was protective and respectful, gentle and careful with her in a way that Aegon never was. He looked at her with such adoration as he coaxed tender pleasure from her body that it made her feel as though her heart would burst with the intensity of it. Over time, she grew bored of it. Helaena did not wish for devotion, or to be handled as though she was made of spun glass. She did not crave lovemaking. She wanted to know what it felt to be desired, to experience the raw, primal hunger of unbridled lust. She wanted to be fucked. She had seen the way that Aegon ogled the pretty young maid servants of the Keep and it made her feel envious – not of the broken vows that lay between them; they were as meaningless to her as they were to him. Helaena envied the maid servants because they knew what it felt like to be lusted after. She had attempted to guide Aemond’s hand on more than one occasion – presenting herself to him on all fours, or taking his hand to wrap it around her throat, he had maneuvered her onto her back, pulled his hand away, a look of concern on his face as he had uttered “I do not wish to hurt you.”
It seemed that Helaena was destined to remain unfulfilled – that was until she stepped into the market upon the docks.
The briny sea air carried with it the squall of swooping gulls upon the shoreline, their cries piercing through the thrum of the busy market. The scent of spiced meats being cooked over open flames carried with it a thick smoke, the tendrils of which stretched outwards before being carried towards the horizon. There were stalls selling more herbs than Helaena dared to count, silk merchants offering spools of fabric in numerous lurid shades, and jewellers peddling hammered brass jewellery inlaid with jewels that glittered in the sunlight. Each stall holder’s shouts to entice customers seemed louder than the last. Helaena walked slowly through the crowd, which parted wordlessly for her, all intimidated by the hooded spectre at her back. She was blissfully unaware of Aemond’s looming, silent presence though, too wide eyed with wonder at the sights, sounds and smells. All of her earlier overstimulation was long forgotten, replaced by burning curiosity which propelled her forward in earnest, she wanted to see everything.
As a trader pushed their overfilled wagon out of the way, Helaena had a clear view across the market, and her gaze was immediately drawn to a flower stand. Breaking free of Aemond’s grasp, she moved swiftly before the crowd could close in upon the gap that had been created, making her way towards it. It was not the colourful array of roses, gillyflowers or lavender that attracted her attention though – she had interest in only one flower. The full, frilly petals of large, white blossoms held her transfixed. She had only read about them in books, and seen them illuminated by maesters in the pages that presented their information to her. She knew they were used in perfumes, and their scent and pollen held a potency that when administered had a drastic effect on a person’s carnal desires.
“May I help you?” a woman with a thick Lyseni accent asked, stepping towards her. When Helaena finally tore her eyes away from the flowers, and looked at the merchant, she saw a kind face, framed by ebony curls pulled into a loose braid that draped over one slender shoulder. Her eyes were dark, vibrantly so in contrast with her golden brown skin. The steel bracelets upon her wrists tinkled gently with each movement of her hands.
“Are these spiceflowers?” Helaena asked, nodding towards the white blooms upon her cart.
The woman glanced over her shoulder at the flowers, then turned back to Helaena with a smirk. “Very well spotted. They are.”
Helaena grinned, excitedly rolling up onto the balls of her feet before settling firmly back on her feet once more. “I will take them all.”
The woman’s eyes widened momentarily, before she tilted her head. The sun caught her irises, turning them to pools of honey, making her seem almost feline as she regarded the princess with keen curiosity. “Are you aware of what these flowers…do?”
Helaena smiled wryly, casting a quick look behind her to ensure Aemond had not yet found her, then turned back to face the older woman. “Why else would I want to buy them?”
As she turned away, now cradling a large, parchment wrapped bouquet of spiceflowers, she collided with the chest of someone much taller than her. She lifted her eyes, met by the furious stare of her brother, his stern face partially obscured by both the hood of Aegon’s cloak and his eyepatch. “You must not run off like that”, he hissed, grasping her arm hard enough to make her wince in pain. He released her the moment he saw both her discomfort and attempt to shrink away from him. Aemond was thoughtless when angered, but even he knew that touch was a privilege that his sister did not bestow upon many, so it was not one he would abuse without consequence. His voice and demeanour softened in silent apology. “I was concerned for your safety.”
“We can go now,” she told him with an easy shrug, “I got what I wanted.”
“You made us come all this way for flowers?” he asked, unable to hide his sneer of derision as he looked down at the bouquet she held.
“The flower that follows the sun does so even on cloudy days,” she murmured to herself, gazing fondly down the pretty white bundle she held in her arms.
“Mmm, if you say so,” Aemond sighed, his touch now much gentler as he laid his hand upon her shoulder to guide her through the crowd and away from the docks.
His dismissal did not bother Helaena, she was used to it. Their mother, their grandfather, Aegon, no one in their family seemed to fully grasp the meaning of her words when she said them, choosing instead to wave her off as moon eyed and fanciful. She was happy to let them think that. Their underestimation of her was of little consequence to her when she knew exactly what she meant to say, and the importance of it. Perhaps after today, at least Aemond would finally hear her.
She lifted the bouquet to his face as they walked back the way they had come, giggling as he grimaced and spluttered, pushing the flowers away as he fought back a sneeze. “Stop that, you will draw attention to us,” he scolded quietly.
Helaena allowed her thoughts to consume her the rest of the walk back to the Keep. She thought of all the things she could do with her purchase – she could grind the flowers into a poultice to be brewed into a tea, or steep the petals with cinnamon to make perfume. She smiled to herself, imagining dabbing the concoction upon her wrists and using it to entice her brother to be more bold in his claiming of her.
By the time they made it back through the passageway in the wall of Helaena’s bedchamber, Aemond was visibly trembling, his breaths shallow, with sweat visible upon his brow. She knew that it was a warm day, and even she felt close to being too hot draped in his cloak, however, she saw no reason for him to be so affected. Aemond was physically fit, a walk from the Keep to the docks and back was not enough to exert him.
Realisation dawned upon her as she looked into his eye, seeing the way his pupil was blown wide, the way he watched her with almost predatory interest. It sent a shiver down her spine. She had not realised the flowers would have an effect on their own. Placing the paper wrapped bundle down upon a side table, she moved towards her brother, unclasping the cloak he wore and allowing it to drop from his shoulders – an attempt to cool him from the effects of the pollen he had doubtless inhaled on their walk home. In response, Aemond grasped her waist, pulling her to him. This time she did not try to shrink away; she welcomed the press of his arousal against her thigh, the roughness in his touch. Butterflies danced in her lower belly at the heat that radiated from his skin. There was something primal in the way that his body curled around hers, how he looked at her as though he meant to devour her. And despite it all, Helaena knew she was in control – for the moment.
“On your knees,” she uttered softly, reaching up to cradle the back of his neck.
Aemond needed no further instruction as he dropped before her, pushing her back against the edge of her vanity table as he parted the cloak she wore. Bunching fistfuls of satin in his fists, he pushed her skirts above her hips, dipping deft fingers beneath to drag the smallclothes down her stockinged legs, tossing them over his shoulder. She gasped, her back arching as he dove between her parted thighs, licking at her with the ferocity of a man starved. Helaena was not gentle as she tangled her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as she ground her hips, using him for her pleasure. He groaned, and the sound reverberated through her body, setting every nerve ending ablaze, as the ache within her grew to become near intolerable. She wanted the feeling to last, to keep his cheeks pressed against the plush softness of her inner thighs forever, but as he lashed at her pearl with the tip of his tongue, she came undone with a violent shudder. She yelped as her legs shook, bucking against his mouth as the hand not buried in Aemond’s hair scrabbled for purchase against the wooden surface of the vanity table.
Far from sated, her shaking hands met Aemond’s, helping him as he rose, his chin shining with the evidence of her arousal. He tugged at the lacings of her gown, pulling it from her shoulders and down her body. Her hands moved to the clasp of his cloak at her throat, but he stilled her.
“No, leave it on,” he commanded, voice gruff with unfettered lust.
Helaena trembled, a mixture of excitement, nervousness and pure need coursing through her as she sat bare before her younger brother, draped only in his cloak. He looked more beast than man, and as she reached to guide his face back between her thighs, he pulled away. His obedience had run its course, as had Helaena’s domination of him. She bit her lip, eyes wide as she braced herself against the table, sending glass bottles toppling over. He freed himself, and she had never seen him in such a state, so hard it appeared almost painful, the tip of him weeping with his own desire.
Aemond grabbed her, the predilection to be gentle long since past as he turned her swiftly, pressing her front flat against the surface upon which she had previously perched. As the blunt head of him pressed insistently against her slick entrance, Helaena lifted her gaze to the looking glass, a dreamy smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched. Her brother was a man possessed behind her, his fingers creating indents in the swell of her hips as he pulled her back towards him.
Finally, Helaena knew what it meant to be desired, and ensured it was a feeling she never went without again. Less than a year later, she gave birth to her son, Maelor.
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“It just felt like Helaena felt safer with Aemond than she did with Aegon and that they've got something, some affinity there.” — Phia Saban about Helaena’s relationship with Aemond.
#helaena targaryen#aemond targaryen#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen#helaena x aemond#helaemond#house of the dragon#hotd#asoiaf#pro helaemond#phia saban#ewan mitchell#hotd ep 5#aemond one eye#team green#season 2#hotd s2
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. ‧ ° . ⋆ ☾ ⋆ . ° ‧ .
#Helaemond#helaena x aemond#aemond x helaena#aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen#hotd helaena targaryen#helaena hotd#hotd helaena#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond hotd#hotd aemond#hotd#fandom stuff#helaena targaryen#aemond targaryen
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Глава 6 Из дневника: Я нахожу достаточно сложной задачу – попытаться изложить свои мысли на этих листах. Я не знаю к чему приведут амбиции Эймонда, пока это скрыто от меня. Моя голова сейчас полна мятежных мыслей, а сердце — любви и тревоги, я считаю, что мне необходимо кому-то доверится, и потому я пишу на этих страницах задыхаясь от нежности, которая меня переполняет. Я не смогла сдержать своего физического желания и склонила Эймонда к связи со мной, хотя являюсь супругой Эйгона. Эта связь с Эймондом – мой грех. Эймонд вернулся и от него пахнет ветром, кожей и Вхагар и у меня голова кругом идет. Какая я ужасная. Я сняла с себя нижнее белье и сорочку, прижала его к полу и приняла в себя будто он мой муж, а не Эйгон, и увлеклась до исступления, до того, что потеряла голову в похоти, в его проникновении до боли и крови, потому что желала, чтобы все мое нутро принадлежало Эймонду. Моя некрасивая грудь обнажена была перед ним и являлась объектом его внимания, хотя и скрывалась за снегом моих волос, и я больше не могла сохранять самообладание. Я кричала и у меня случилась постыдная разрядка, неожиданная для меня. Этот неистовый темп с характерными шлепками, пробегал по моей спине, позвоночнику и заполнил уши. Мои стоны наполнили покои. Сам того, не понимая он довёл меня до состояния дрожи и задыхающегося возбуждения. Воздух был наполнен нашими смешанными запахами — горячими и немного кислыми. Раскрасневшаяся от стыда и удовольствия я еще возбуждена, но и почти уверена – я понесу от Эймонда. Его семя горячее как пламя дракона еще ощущается внутри меня, и я совершила переход. Я – жена Эймонда, а не Эйгона перед Богами старой Валирии.

#русский tumblr#русский блог#helaena x aemond#fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon art#helaena#helaena targaryen#aemond#aemond targaryen#helaemond#aemond x helaena#hotd#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen#фанфикшен#фанфики#книга фанфиков#my fic#fic writing#hotd cast#aegon x helaena#haelena targaryen#queen helaena#hotd gifs#helaeana targaryen#helaegon#helaemondedit#helaena gifs#helaena targaryen icons
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Poor delusional Viserys 😔
#hotd#viserys targaryen#king viserys#harry lloyd#house of the dragon#asoiaf#fire and blood#rhaenyra targaryen#alicent hightower#emma darcy#olivia cooke#rhaenyra x alicent#rhaenicent#daemon targeryan#matt smith#aegon ii targaryen#tom glynn carney#helaena targaryen#phia saban#jacaerys velaryon#harry collett#baela targaryen#bethany antonia#rhaena targaryen#phoebe campbell#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#lucerys velaryon#elliot grihault#daeron targaryen
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alicent, aemond and helaena in the season finale.

credits for this art drawing to @paiges_of_art
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd s2#tv shows#team green#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond one eye#hotd s2 spoilers#hotd spoilers#hotd art#alicent x helaena#alicent x aemond#targtowers#green siblings#phia saban#queen helaena targaryen#helaena targaryen#hotd helaena#hotd alicent#hotd aemond#olivia cooke#alicent hightower#queen alicent hightower#helaemond#aemond x helaena#the greens#fanart#hotd fanart#drawing
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when my girl talks,you listen to her!
#listen to her#my poor girl#please let me save her#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd spoilers#house of the dragon spoilers#helaena targaryen#queen helaena targaryen#helaena the dreamer#aegon ii targaryen#alicent hightower#dance of the dragons#team green#aemond targaryen#team black#rhaenyra targaryen#viserys targaryen#daemon targaryen#rhaenys targaryen#baela targaryen#rhaena targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#lucerys velaryon#house of the dragon x reader#hotd s2#hotd meme#hotd x reader#hotd season 2 spoilers#hotd season 1
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the one
pairing: aegon ii targaryen x targ!reader
synopsis: thrown into madness, not one person can comfort the king of his thoughts. his sister wife left to deal with her grief. his mother for chooses not to heed his needs. his brother, gone in silver of the night. yet you, left forgotten stand in front of him, teary eyed.
notes: i gasped loud this episode!!
content warning: spoilers obvi for s2ep2, themes of grief and inferiority, targcest; if you are uncomfortable, please do not interact.

The death of Jaehearys exhausted you.
Nothing prepared you for the shock and emotional consequences. It felt as though a giant sea storm had swept away your emotions and feelings of sense. Because in a way, you felt numb and unable to comprehend what you were feeling. It was either too strong or your denial in it that made you feel out of it. In the confidence of your home, the grand kingdom of your father and his grandsire before, suddenly you feel apprehensive about where you resided and the castle itself. Who to trust and not as a moment noticed in your head as your mind spirals down a rabbit hole.
Your nephew, a kin of your own, was dead.
He was murdered in cold blood. In the sanctum of your home, in the privacy of the royal rooms. It was your fault you were not by Helaena’s side. Oh, your poor sister, the turmoil she must’ve endured in the small moments last with her son. A small piece of purity and semblance he brought into your little life and a beacon of what you strived for every day. Yet now, it has all turned to blood and dust. Used and tossed away like the sacs of bodies they would throw off dead soldiers in the aftermath of a tiring battle.
There you sat with a half cup of wine, undrank. You dared not step out of the chambers of your comfort. Not for long, your presence would be reminded of the council. You insist on every meeting that your presence would bestow better acquisition. In most eyes, the men divert their gaze from you.
In contrast, your wretched mother opens her mouth agape with hardly any words being supported. Your grandsire contrasts, always with an excuse that you should be needed elsewhere other than the higher discussion. How benign of you, dear granddaughter. But you are unfit for a position at court.
Otto Hightower would never speak those words directly. But you know in your heart and his intuition, the words are nearly there. You don’t need an interpreter to translate what is said by the councilmen. Even if they are unaware, you understand all that is said. A tragic incident, Your Grace. The Kingsguard are doing their best to inspect all the members in the castle as we speak.
“I will have it! They will pay for this!”
The dried tears that swept down your cheeks felt sticky and annoyingly guilt-ridden of the events that had happened. You would not allow them to witness them. They were not worthy of your sadness. In grace, you hiked your dress over your feet to climb up to the doors. From where you were, you could discern the murmurs of Aegon and his hysterical yelling, absolutely mad with anger and rage. Respectfully so, the loss of his child was an unexpected and stressful one.
When the chambers open, the rest of the councilmen stop for a moment. Before you begrudgingly make your way to the center. “Gentlemen,” You are at fault in giving away your tearful expression, the candlelight's of the chandeliers do your angelic features justice. And no noble would dare to speak upon its beauty and sorrow. All while, your lady in waiting, trails timidly behind you, head pointed down in respect. “Your Grace,” You address, and finally for a blind second, a glint of relief flashes on Aegon’s face. Finally, he must think, someone he trusts abides in the room.
“Princess,” The Hand levels his chin, leaving a steady foot of your unforeseen appearance. Beside him, your mother lays agape in both deary and fortification.
The Queen stumbles on the syllables of your name, quietly. As if she was citing a wrongful plea of desperation. “Is- Is Helaena?” Of course, the last she saw you was in her bed chambers, coming in to console your sweet sister and her child. Alicent was running amuck, pulling on the fabric of her dress to prevent you from witnessing her privacies before. Luckily you didn't have to witness that.
“She is with Ser Arryk and Jaeheara.” You breathed out, soft and mellow. You can tell by the exhale of your mother and grandsire's shoulders that deflating meant that their worries were at least accomplished. And a slight corner of your eye, your brother too relaxes in caution, aware of his wife and daughter’s whereabouts.
“Good good,” Alicent frantically nods as if trying to reassure herself that her child and granddaughter were safe. Ser Arryk was a noble knight, one who betrayed his twin to stay beside the king’s side. That alone was enough to prove his loyalty and servitude. “Thank you, my daughter.” You swallow with a gaping hole in your throat. The whole room felt the compacting of the many eyes directed at you and the Queen Mother.
“And what might be the reason for your intrusion on this council meeting, princess?” Otto’s voice somewhat triggers a fight or flight response in you. You’ve dealt with similar situations before, wanting to be included in the war business. However this was different, the council was discussing matters of potential betrayal and the killing of your kin. You suddenly felt targeted for the offense of interrupting something crucial and overriding.
However, you know you should have a say in this matter. “Shouldn’t I be present when the death of my nephew has been informed to me merely hours ago?” There was a snap in your voice that many of them knew. Though some such as your mother and brother were accustomed to that sound more often.
“Perhaps it is best if the princess were with the Queen to rest away comfort and grief,” Maester Orwyle suggests only to infuse your temper.
In a quick turn, your lilac orbs strike an alarming resemblance to vexation and hostility. “Why?” Your tone was sharp and accusing just as it was. The Queen Regent could only watch and stare mutely at your grueling pettiness. Lord Tyland and Ser Criston Cole dare not to look at you but at the maester. While Aegon, all the more slightly frustrated at Maester Orwyle’s comments, stops and waits for your dreadful retaliation like a venomous viper. Otto couldn’t look more disappointed in you.
“The death of your nephew is a tearful one, princess. And maybe you should stay within the quarters with the Queen for safety.” The maester does not falter in his reasoning, knowing how quick and ill-tempered you are similar to your brother was to retaliation. But his expression flickers in doubt shortly after you are seen to lay your palms on the edge of the end of the table. It’s hard wooden material, clenched tightly around your hands as you glance up at the councilman with fury in your eyes.
“I am more capable than you think of me, Maester Orwyle. And I would be damned to sit in silence and pity for this horrendous murder!” You snarl, a frown forming at the edges of your lips. You were livid beyond this. Only when you want to be present in the decisions regarding your kin, did the council decline your way. It’s insulting. “My nephew should be avenged! To whoever ordered the murder!”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” The Hand’s inclusion is an attempt to bring a truce between the others who felt your presence as much of a disturbance. “But we should not be hasty and leave every opportunity out in the open.”
“This is my son we are talking about,” Aegon’s hand came down with a thump on the table. He’s since calmed down but you know there is still rage in his heart. The fuel of it burning and churning for the desire to find and kill whoever brought out the murder. “We must search the grounds for traitors, find anyone who leaves the Red Keep, and capture them immediately!”
“Of course, Your Grace but we should consider what this would be for Rhaenyra,” Alicent reminds the room when she scans everyone’s thoughts and faces. On the other hand, you stand uncomfortably, with the sense of your legs growing numb.
“That bitch queen of bastards will pay!” The King screams, pointing with an accusative finger. “She is on her throne, laughing at me for this! For the death of my son, I want her dead!” It’s like a fire has been lit in your brother’s mind. It flashes and flickers rapidly as he manages to strike and spit out outrage of his growing vengeance on the Black Queen. However quick his temper simmers and rises.

The coming morning of Jaehaerys funeral drags his body to the Sept to be burnt in Targaryen tradition. More importantly, it is to sway the people’s opinion of Aegon’s claim and blame Rhaenyra for the tragic death. Spurs of propaganda flourish in the crowds as the chariot drags the casket of the fresh body, followed by the Queen and her Regent. What felt like discomfort and suffocation for Helaena only her no semblance through the entire morning. She is grieving and mourning in her own way. No one can understand the loss of a mother of her children. It is the tragedy she has felt for the first time and it stings her to her stomach. For most of the ride, Helaena could not breathe or look at the folk people, afraid of what they might do. She’d never left the Keep like this before, presented all fragile and glorious as the new Queen officially.
Even so, she knows you are more suited for the role. Helaena has thought of it many times where you should’ve been wife to Aegon instead of her. She knows why her mother and grandsire chose her. It was because she was compliant and willing to do her duty as a lady wife. While you had no sense of duty. More or less, so did Aegon but at least she would elevate his image as King with her kind personality.
“Helaena,” You spoke, interrupting her thoughts amid her sewing. Your sister pauses and then looks at the piece she has been working on. It was a picture of purple lily flowers, something you had mentioned wanting to see from the grounds of the Highgarden. She thinks of you and subconsciously starts to sew a new patch of thread. She’s sweet to you like that, and you forever cherished that side of her. And it's a shame her softened voice always now came with a stutter and droop of a sob.
Helaena wakes up from her daze and greets you with a warm yet sombreros smile. “You are well?” The question itself leaves bitterness off of your tongue because you should be asking her that. You know Helaena isn’t one to openly express her emotions and thoughts proudly. As her sister, you honor that but also can become the maternal figure she needs within seconds.
“I should be asking you the same,” You smile, looking smug and all. And your sister’s droopy eyes slowly lighten with glee. Her small frown turns upside down and suddenly you feel your heart fill with warmth and joy. “What has the Queen been sewing all this time?”
“Purple lilies,” She gently shows you her work and focuses on your excitement. What she appreciates is your fascination with her skill with a thread and needle. You had no talent in it, much to your mother’s display. But you would gladly watch your sister sew for hours for the fun of it. “I remember you mentioning them a while ago. And I thought it would be pretty to make for you,”
“How thoughtful of you,” You plead with your gentle eyes, resting a hand on her thigh. You looked like you were going to burst into tears out of happiness for her nonsensical act. You act differently around her and the children, sometimes Helaena thinks you have two personalities. One with her family minus Aegon and another with everyone else. You were mushy and caring, nothing like yourself hours earlier in the morrow in the councilroom. She had heard you burst into a meeting, enraged by them claiming you as a disturbance to their discussion. Like the stubborn person you were, she knew you would rather stay and argue with them for hours. And that you, for her boy.
The Queen hums, delighted by your soothing presence in her slightly dimmed room. The room had been cleared of children's beds and toys. Now it lies barren with little to no furniture. The curtains did not change, they were arranged simply to allow some light into the chambers to let the children wake. But now, there would be none and it is left abandoned.
“How is Jaeheara?” The whisper of your voice is the only thing she’s heard after minutes of silence. Helaena does not reply immediately, knowing her thoughts are too invasive and terrifying to think about. The black gown she still has on feels tight and makes her uncomfortable. She doesn't want to remember the funeral. It was too much for her to reminisce about despite being hours earlier.
She makes another loop with bright purple stringing onto her needle. “She is well and is accompanied by a Kingsguard during her lessons,” She makes sure to include the Kingsguard, knowing you have been adamant about the protection and security around King’s Landing. As of late, it felt as though the castle did not feel like home anymore. It became somewhat of a hollow skeleton of a dungeon. With many escape routes and corridors, people would walk in and out without notice. It terrifies her and knowing you, you would rather be killed than have another child murdered.
Her response pleases you however Helaena is aware of something else on your mind. She can feel it without looking at your face to know. It’s your inseparable bond as a sister that you sometimes were astounded by. Helaena calls it a bond and maybe she is right. Your eyes are focussed on somewhere else and it gives her a moment to look at you. Your brows furrowed with a subtle curve of a scowl makes her believe you were having negative thoughts. Were you feeling guilty about Jaehearys death?
“What’s wrong sister?” Despite her knowing the reason, Helaena wants you to admit your remorseful thoughts. The veil that covered her face was no longer present and she could face you without barriers. Her lilac eyes look at you, softening at you.
“I can’t help but think I am guilty of Jaehearys death,” You sound vulnerable, no other person would witness this side of you. Because you shielded this side of you. Your display of weakness was only meant for people like Helaena, close to you, unjudging and caring in your coping. Yet sometimes you think of your sinful thoughts of guilt to be an act of punishment. You sometimes felt you were meant to feel this way for not being present with the Queen and her children when it happened. Why couldn’t you be a good sister and protect the ones you loved?
“You should not be,” Her small palm cradles the side of your jaw, making your stare connect with her. Helaena is quiet and gentle in her expression of words. What she says always has an impact. She is a woman of few words and it makes her speech inspirational. “I- For anything, it was my part as a mother, for letting my child be murdered in cold blood-”
“No of course not!” You were quick to retaliate to her pleas. She could not be responsible for such a horrific act taken against the crown. “Helaena, you did your best to protect your children.”
“Yet I was asked to choose,” The bottom of her lips quivered, and eventually hot tears filled her waterline. “And I had no other choice!”
“You were held at knifepoint,” You grasped the hand that held your jaw. Gently and slowly to make sure and emphasize her attention to you. “I would’ve bursted into the room and offered myself if I could’ve. But you did the best you did as a mother to protect your children.” You gave her another tight squeeze.
“I had no other choice,” Her sobs slowly brewing. And the tears flowed and there was nothing you wanted to do other than comfort your dear sister. She was grieving like any mother. You would be present for her and give Helaena all of the world, to give away her sorrow. However, it is inevitable and you best offer her your condolences and feelings of heartbreak. Because you did love her children, Jaehearys and Jaeheara. The light and beacon of Helaena and Aegon's marriage.
Helaena’s figure dwindled as she scrunched herself forward into a curling ball. The weight of her thoughts was too much. As a parent, she believed she failed the role she was meant to play. Her cries did not stop or steady in a rapid heartbeat. Any further, Helaena believes she would’ve acted impulsively if not for you, holding onto her shoulders. You were gentle against her tragic and frail body when you allowed her head and shoulders to rest against your chest. You’re silent in the comfort you gave. Because no words could pursue more than your actions. Being the more responsible and maternal figure, you became a weeping shoulder for Helaena to spout the rest of her worries and anguish.
You wonder what Aegon and his sorrows are.

Criston Cole was in a predicament. He failed as a Kingsguard to protect the royal family. And because of his absence, a dead prince was left at the doorstep of the king. He’s ashamed in silence because he could not make any reason for where he was during the intrusion of the castle. His affair with Alicent was more than a passionate one. It consoled him and eased for the upcoming days of Aegon’s coronation and Rhaenyra’s horrific deeds. The knight was stuck in a situation he wished would not bring to the public eye. No one can know of his relations with the Queen Regent. Not when times were suspenseful and dire as to who to trust in the castle.
And so, after he challenges Ser Arryk to do the impossible and slay the Black Queen within her quarters of Dragonstone, he desires to focus on his plans with the king. The afternoon following the prince’s funeral, Ser Criston smoothes out the ends of his locks, recomposing his hysterical manner against the twin knight. Of, the accusations of treason against the king and the knight’s code. He should be honoring the Kingsguard words at the back of his sleeves by now. For all that has occurred to him, Criston wants to prove to the king he is capable of being essential.
The summer breeze is faint and noticeable to those in the Red Keep. It’s open corridors and windows, it is the perfect spot for sunlight. The Kingsguard makes his way to Aegon’s chambers, where he plans to inform his schemes of sending Ser Arryk away to Dragonstone. In hopes, it would please His Majesty of the constant restless nights he has experienced.
But he nearly misses you. It takes a second for Ser Criston to take a step back and look back at what you have been doing. You, the princess, looking out of place in the training area of the stables. Where knights and stable boys fight and practice their combat. It was a place you’re likely forbidden to be, however, it has never stopped you. The knight knows of your ambitions to fight like your brothers. You’re eager, more confident than your siblings to practice. He had suggested once to the Queen that she should allow you use of the sword. For self-defense and hobbies.
You practically begged Alicent to hold a sword in your hands. Your cute chubby cheeks as a small child were something he remembered sometimes. You were so eager then. He could still see it occasionally when you ventured to the training area, staring at the knights practicing their moves and defenses.
“Are you alright, princess?” Ser Criston appears behind you and you’re suddenly aware he must’ve been standing behind you for some time. He knows you come here to think and be reminded of the past. “The morrow has been rather bleak has it not?”
“Rather too bleak,” You groan, crossing your arms and rubbing your forehead in weariness. You’re aware the Kingsguard is not allowed to probe your troubles further but you rather indulge. “The day grows weary for the wavering support of the other Houses.” A quiet nod of endearment is seen from the knight as he reminisces about why they had exhibited the funeral exactly. To spread rumors and weaken the queen bastards' claim.
“It will help us in the long run, princess,” He steps forward as you turn to stare at his gentle Dornish features. Maybe in another lifetime, you would’ve fallen for him if he wasn’t a knight.
“Is that what the Queen Regent said?” A switch and it was like your tone turned to bitterness the moment you mentioned your mother. Ser Criston feels his heartache at your sentiments to the Queen. She was your mother and loved you very much. Something you can’t seem to appreciate whenever you open your mouth in front of the council. While she has complained and spouted worries of your deterring interactions, you’ve taken glory in the distance between you and your mother. Ser Criston hopes one day you will reprimand that relationship.
“No,”
“Tell me, why do you value her opinion so much?” He eyes at you shaking your head with a heavy scowl of disgust. Your hatred towards your mother ran cold and poisonous, under the depths of your hard-spoken shell of a heart. Maybe some part of you did care about the Queen. If there was, Criston had never been able to witness it, you’re too stubborn. And you know Alicent cherishes him deeply.
“She has a kind heart,” The Dornish man cannot more than understand why you probe his opinion of your mother. Were you suspicious? He’s served your mother for nearly a decade and gained her trust as her right-hand protector. Yet where was he when an intruder entered the castle grounds and left Helaena traumatized and crying?
You snarl a mocking laugh, “A kind heart?” You’re staring at the Queen’s protector with discontent and failure. “She plots and schemes to gain the people's trust over my brother’s claim. What more is she than the Hand’s right-hand puppet.” This is an alarming accusation because Ser Criston knows Alicent does not trust her father with her boys and daughters. You were an example of that. Whoever she plots with, he knows she takes into consideration who is affected the most. She was the Queen of course. Dainty and considerate of her subjects.
“Another advantage we have over Rhaenyra, princess,” He reminds you of the whole reason why the council decided such a thing. It’s grueling yet would sway the people in their favor towards the crown than that false liar of a ruler across the land. “Understand that everything she and the council decide is to gain more allies,”
“By simply lying to the public and creating more web of lies for us to be stuck in,” You probe and your lilac orbs glow in a dark tone. You could not stand the ploy they had used for Jaehaerys funeral. You think it was anything but honorable, to use your nephew as a cause and leeway to denounce your half-sister. Ser Criston gives you a look, only a parent would hold when their child does something to disappoint them. And even though he was not your father, he still felt utterly responsible and devoted to you as one. He has seen you grow from a child to a woman. He’s aware of your struggle in your place at court. He was there when you desperately wanted to hold a bow and arrow, practically crying to your mother on your knees. He was also there to comfort you when you accidentally drove your dragon into a terrible accident. Criston Cole felt some kind of platonic love over you, despite you never feeling the same way. ‘
Yet he couldn’t help but agree with you. “You’re right, princess. But it is the only way to convince the townsfolk of our cause. We need their support to win this coming war.” He sees your shoulders slumped, most likely growing tired of talking back and forth of their intention to false news. You hated how everyone agreed to it wholeheartedly.
“We need more than the support of the townsfolk to win a war,” Your lips turn to a thin line, contemplating all the reasons why you had to be on the wrong side of justice. “We have dragons, that is how we win a war.”

Nightfall was as unanticipated as it was wanted. The funeral and rumors from the council made it unbearable to walk past servants and nobles without being reminded of it. There were many times you wished to stop in front of the people and shout in their faces. There would be no denying it all. However, you were done with it. You were tired of receiving the same piece of news and rumors. It made you hereditarily furious and petty like a child. But no violence has been spilled. Instead, you could only clench your palms, aggressively and move on with a faint scowl. A puff or two would break your cover.
Moreover, the servant girls and maids knew what made you tick. The type of gossip you hate to talk and listen about. Since you’ve lived in the castle for the entirety of your life span. So regardless of whether they spoke of today’s events or not, people knew you were not in a great mood. More or less you were agitated, imitating, and not to be consoled.
You made it your routine to visit Helaena before going to bed. When you were younger, you and your sister often paid visits to your mother and sometimes your father if present. Queen Alicent would soothe your worries and nightmares while Viserys sat in silence, unable to speak due to the pain. Yet now, that was before you and Helaena slept in the same room. She was Queen now and had a separate room with her children. It was you who made it customary to ease her worries at night and say goodnight to her children. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, her beautiful children. Even now, after everything had happened, you wanted to honor your promise to visit the new Queen.
The granite tiles were cold. You could feel it despite wearing soft padded shoes. Your garments were loose and free from the restraints and pains you’d worn for the day. But somehow it made you feel anxious and oddly vulnerable out in the open. Of course, it was natural to feel this way after what happened. But everything, even the times you felt the most safe was now invaded by thoughts of fear and concern. You swallowed whatever security you had and moved along the balcony inside King’s Landing. The royal rooms were all the same, but you knew which belonged to whose. You knew which rooms were your mother’s, your sister’s, which had the best hiding spots, and which had the quickest way out of the city.
Although whose room brought you the most curiosity was the one in front of you. In the distance, where you stood, a figure of green exits out of the room and disappears into the darkness. Your mother. Alicent did not seem to be in a rush to have exited Aegon’s chambers nor did she look content coming out of it. It looked as though she had mistaken his room for another.
Hastily your paused movements began to quicken. As you tip-toed towards the doors of your king, you twist the knob and a soft creak makes you curse out of anonymity. The bed chamber was dimly lit and the fireplace illuminated a gorgeous orange dew that covered half the room in warmth. The drapes of the windows were slightly closed, making the silhouette of Aegon, hunched over more evident. He leans in a cushioned chair by the fire and you can see his unsecured locks, shape the sides of his face.
You quickly realize your brother’s sobbing, saddening and heartbreaking. For all the things he was, Aegon did not deserve to lose a child. You understood very much as him that Alicent had planned his coronation for a long time. Yet now that it has happened, tragedies come down like dominoes in a panic. Lucerys has died on dragonback. And now Jaehearys was murdered in cold blood. Both are innocents from the result of this pretentious battle for power between Rhaenyra. It is when you shut the door behind you with a faint click, you make yourself known to the king.
“Aegon,” It’s a whisper with no silence. Covering his face to shield his tears, Aegon does not dare to look at you. He looks ashamed and can only stare down, lost and in failure. You understand his dismissal of your presence. No one should see their king as weak like this. Not even his closest kin and mother. Only that his mother has witnessed this scene a multitude of times over the years of watching over her son. Still, you were not the type to witness Aegon at such a low point like this.
Nothing. You wanted nothing from him, seconds ago only curious about his profound discussion with your mother, who did not seem to speak to him at all. Something about that makes your heart churn at the Queen Regent. You walk slowly and only when you finally face him, his gaze is still on the floor, unable to lift his head to say anything. Go away! You’re making a fool out of yourself.
Instead, you closed the gap that separated the two of you. You clasped his neck and held it firmly in a consoling manner. His weeping only grew louder the moment he felt your touch, so comforting and soft. His hands eventually wrap themselves around your waist and he rests the side of his head against your stomach.
Only you can soothe him like this. It’s discovered to be the most effective way for Aegon to calm down, your touch perhaps was the solution to it. It was never touched upon, this consolation you had with him, there were rare occasions when the prince had become too drunk to return to his quarters to have gone to yours instead. There were times when your brother wanted to hide and be away from your conniving mother and her insults. Sometimes he’d cry, drink, or rant about her inconsolable expectations of him. Because truly you are the closest to understanding that feeling. The feeling of being unwanted and as though you were not doing enough of your duty to care. Of course, you cared, you did everything for your family. Still, it could never be enough to put a smile on your mother’s face. And more evidently that of your grandsire.
“I’m sorry,” You let out a dreary breath, rubbing Aegon’s hair. He sniffles, allowing his forehead against your stomach. He closes his eyes and lets out a sad laugh that turns into a cry. He’s lost so much in a matter of days. No one to comfort him, and his wife silently grieving in her own time. His mother forever abandoned her efforts. And his brother disappears with no explanation. Now here you were, the one he found relying on.
“I tried so hard,” He cries out, snot and tears making his speech muffled and disproportionate. “Yet everything has backhanded and slapped me in my face!” You feel a quiver on your lips when he speaks those words. Your heart burns and aches and maybe finally, you can put away your pride and be gentle. You reach behind where his hands are secured by your waist. Sliding them down to allow you to kneel to his level. With his red-shot eyes and puffy cheeks, Aegon looks like he wants to give up everything now and then. He’s never looked so weak and tiresome.
“I know,” You shaped his face with your palms, sliding your thumbs over his cheeks. They are dried of momentary tears when he looks so desperate to cling onto anything to save him. “And as king, it is a heavy toll. Jaehearys will know you did everything you could to avenge his death.”
“It has gone to madness,” His lilac orbs staring at you with such intensity and possibly love. Torn and twisted, you know this is a wife’s duty to be her husband. Though under Helaena and Aegon’s relationship, they have never loved each other. They were husband and wife, yes but only under law. Helaena held no love but did genuinely care for his well-being. And you had shown more devotion towards his feelings than anyone had done within days. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You can start by figuring who and who not to trust at court,” You exhale, heart beating like a bass drum when you feel his hands circle yours. “Know who your trusted allies are and destroy Rhaenyra’s support.”
“Then I need you,” He leans forward, his silver locks tangled in between yours. His gaze was wild and desperate for any kind of refusal you might have. “I need you at court. By my side, you are as essential as any of us there.” It felt as though nothing in the world mattered next only the two of you at this moment. At this important moment, you felt a surge of adrenaline and an urge to comply with his heeds. Your eyes momentarily trail to his lips before discerning back to his eyes.
“Because I have a dragon,”
“Because you are my blood, you are a strategist and the smartest woman I know in the Seven Kingdoms,” His dried tears make him even more angelic. Perhaps in another lifetime, you two would’ve married instead and dealt with it more easily. Your mother knew it. Your gransdire did too. Despite it all, they all disapproved of you for your lack of devotion to duty. What more can you offer than your service directly to the crown? To the council? It makes you grin in pride for his acknowledgment of you.
“Of course, my king,” And with those words, he closes the gap between your lips. Sorrowful no way but profound in a new kind of serge to overcome the tragic delay. You were right in front of his eyes all along. You, the second-born princess of Alicent and Viserys' marriage. Quip with a sharp tongue and tactics for how long you’ve studied the art of it. You were no ordinary princess. You were a fighter, a warrior who well enough wanted bloodshed as much as him.
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#hotd#hotd x you#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd season 2#the greens#hotd spoilers#aegon ii targaryen#alicent hightower#criston cole#helaena targaryen#otto hightower#aemond targaryen#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen fanfic#king aegon#aegon#aegon x reader#aegon x you#aegon targaryen#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii x you#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii#controld3vil creations
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the future queen


summary: Sources say that the Wandering Princess was downright brutal to her uncle Vaemond Velaryon during the trial for his petition, despite having shown fondness of him in the years before. When he himself made her notice that, she laughed in his face, "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."
pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader
word count: 7.0k
warnings: aegon is not a rapist not because he didn't rape dyana in the series but because I don't want her to suffer, mommy issues, i support women's rights and wrongs, vaemond is killed, my girl reader is going THROUGH it, aegon and princess' shenanigans (they hate everything and everyone)
author's note: rhaenyra when i catch you rhaenyra... but also aemond. AEMOND WHEN I CATCH YOU AEMOND THIS WAS ALL YOUR FAULT
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As always, you enter to find the tapestries back to a boring green. “Ugh,” you huff, “not again.”
“Again?” Oscar asks, confused.
“Happens every time I’m away for more than three days,” you mutter. “The wench changes the tapestries and hides the paintings. Like it’s named the Green Keep.” You bark at the first servant that passes, making him yelp, “You! Find the steward and tell him that the Princess is calling for him. I want these horrendous tapestries burned once and for all.”
The servant nods, trembling, and promptly runs away. “Aren’t you a bit too harsh?” your friend asks. You shrug. “If you think I’m harsh, then you should see the way Daemon treats the servants. Besides, I don’t treat them badly. It’s just one of the bad days. I make sure they get paid plenty enough for the trouble.”
As you keep walking, lords and ladies of all kinds briefly stop to greet you, but you move on quickly, barely thanking them back — there’s no reason for them to make such greetings for you, when you’ve been away for barely a sennight. You figure they’re mostly happy to see you because it means the Queen and the Hand will be getting off the Throne soon.
A month or so ago, your grandsire fell ill. The Maester wasn’t sure he would make it, but he did — he was just… weak. Too weak to attend court, to hold the councils and settle the Kingdom’s matters.
And so his responsibilities were passed down to you. That was because he didn’t want his vicious wife as regent nor his Lord Hand on the Throne, after the various accidents that had happened when he had let them do it. I want you to understand what it’s like to take care of the Kingdom, he had said, wheezing. To learn who you should support and how to do it.
There is no manual to learn how to rule. You could listen to the lords all day while they give you their advice, and you would wake up the next even more confused than before, so — as your mother said — there’s no other way to do it but to understand it yourself.
You think that in the end, you worked pretty well as regent. You were the only one who dared speak back to the Queen and Lord Hand, so the councils went pretty smoothly, and court was held without too much of a hassle. But then you had to go to the Riverlands to help Oscar, and the Red Keep was left in the hands of the green wench and her vulture of a father. And as it always happened, you returned to find it changed: the tapestries of your ancestors were replaced with portraits of the Seven and the dragon statues with towers, seven-pointed stars and so on.
It’s really incredible how in a sennight they've managed to turn the Keep upside down. Shivering, you briefly wonder how the castle would be if it was completely in their hands.
“Princess!” someone calls behind you. It’s the steward, who pants and bows before taking a napkin from his pocket to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. “It is good to see that the Riverlands have treated you well. I hope your travels went without any problems.”
You nod briefly, pointing at Oscar. “Yes, they were fine. Could you show Ser Oscar Tully the guest rooms while I go talk to my grandsire? He’ll be staying for a while. And, most importantly, tell the servants to bring back the old decorations; take the new ones to the Dragon Pit, Nādrēsy will take care of them.”
The steward nods, unphased; it’s not the first time you make him burn the Hightowers’ decorations, so he must not be surprised at all. “Will do, Princess.” He bows to Oscar, showing him the way. “If you’ll follow me, my lord…”
The way up to the King’s chambers feels like forever. Before you departed for Riverrun, you made sure that the guards assigned to his rooms were ones you could trust — so that no Hightower page or servant could enter and poison the King, as they have already tried numerous times. You made sure the only one who was allowed in the chambers was Grand Maester Orwyle — and Mushroom, when your grandsire needed a cheer-up — who you paid generously to make sure that the Hightowers couldn’t get to him.
“Lord Commander, Ser Erryk,” you greet the guards, right out of your grandsire’s quarters, They bow their heads, murmuring their own greetings, opening the doors for you. The smell of burned wood and the warmness of the room engulfs you as the guards quickly close the door behind you, your grandsire barely raising his head from the pillow.
“–’Nyra? Is that you?” he rasps.
“No, Grandsire,” you reply gently, taking a chair and sitting down beside his four-poster bed. You murmur your name, “It’s me, I have returned from Riverrun.”
“Ah,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back down into the pillow, raising his hand for you to take. “It all went well, I hope?”
You squeeze his hand, barely nodding, “For now, the matter has been settled. What about you? What has the Maester said?”
“That I need to rest,” he coughs, “did you know Rhaenyra has arrived, too?”
“I figured out as much; when she wrote to me, she was already on the boat to King’s Landing.”
He hums. “She has shown me the boys– oh, they have grown so much. And little Aegon and Viserys…”
Ah, yes: he had never seen them before. Your mother hasn’t come back to the Keep since Joffrey's birth, and she only ever allowed you to sometimes bring Jace, Luke and Joff to the capital, insisting that Aegon and Viserys were too young — as if you weren’t almost a dragon rider by Aegon’s age.
“They are so cute, aren’t they?” you chuckle, “They don’t look like Daemon at all, thankfully,” he adds. “They look a lot like Rhaenyra when she was little– a lot like you, too.”
You are happy to see that he remembers when you were little — he has been forgetful as of lately, calling the Queen ‘Aemma’ and referring to Otto as ‘Lyonel’. Sometimes he slips with you too, calling you Rhaenyra, asking you when you plan to do the tour to find a husband. You haven’t heard him talk about Aegon, Aemond and Helaena in ages, and when you bring Aegon or Helaena to visit him with you, he seems to be hardly recognising them.
“It pains me that we were all reunited because of Vaemond’s petition,” your grandsire says, voice strained. “I would like to keep your mother closer to me, closer to the court– but the only idea seems to repel her.”
“I’ll talk to her,” you reassure him, “you know I have my ways. Besides, I can’t always be here. The Hightowers…”
“I don’t trust anyone in this castle more than you and your mother,” he seethes, “how can I change Lord Hand, if you already have your own matters in the Seven Kingdoms and my own daughter won’t stay with me? This trial, the petition– it would’ve never happened if I hadn’t married Alicent and Otto wasn’t my Hand.”
You press your lips into a thin line. “What has happened can’t be changed, my King. After these matters are dealt with, with your permission, I would like to… clean the court, so to say, from all the snakes that have made it their nest in these last few years.”
“Of course, of course,” he coughs violently, trying to scoot enough to lean his back against the headboard. You hear a clutter outside, but ignore it for the most part, focusing on the heavy breathing of your grandsire. “Do of Vaemond what you think it’s best for the Realm.” he coughs again, trying to straighten up, “Could you pass me my quill and paper? Otto’s started to become more and more meticulous, and I suspect that without my word, he won’t leave you to handle the petition…”
You do as he asked you while the rumble outside is getting louder; if earlier it was only a few whispers and angry stomping, now it’s turning into what seems to be a full-on argument between the guards and… Oscar? Is that his voice?
Your grandsire continues writing the delegation, handwriting shaky, and you’re horribly reminded yet again of how much he’s aging. ‘Tis a wretched thing, watching someone you love slip and slip and slip until only the Stranger can catch them. You wonder when the last time you’ll be able to talk to him with him recognizing you will be.
“The seal,” he murmurs, passing the letter to you, “forgive this old man, I don’t think I should be trusted with wax as of now, or I’d spill it all over the letter.”
You shake your head, “Never apologise to me for such a trivial thing ever again, grandsire.” you smile at him tenderly, caressing his hand. “I’d be glad to seal every one of your acts and letters for the rest of my life, if it meant having you by my side.”
You are preparing the hot wax for the royal sigil, when the doors slam open and the guards yell curses as they try to keep out a panting, screaming Oscar. “The trial!” His voice is so shrill that for a moment, you wonder if it’s just a maid dressed up as him. “They’re making it start now! And your grandfather–” the guards push him back, closing the doors with a loud bang!, making your grandsire blink in confusion. “What was that about?”
You hurriedly pour the wax, only half-melted, over the parchment, blowing air upon the sigil in hopes to fasten the making. “Sorry, grandsire, I fear this was my call for the Throne room.” You press a kiss onto his forehead, leaving even more confused than before as you dash out of the chambers. “Oscar! Oscar!”
You find him outside, right in front of the doors, arguing with the guards, insisting to be let in. “The Princess’ orders were specific,” Ser Erryk reiterates, “no one, besides very few, are to be let in–”
They stop at your sight, and you wave them away, hurriedly marching down the stairs while being followed by Oscar. “So, I guess the trial is starting now?” you muse, not actually amused at all. He pants, shaking his head. “The steward– he, he was showing me to the rooms, aye? And then a guy wearing the Hightower signet came and asked him for a fine pillow for the Lord Hand so that he could sit more comfortably on the Throne during the ongoing trial. And then– gods, I looked for you everywhere, I have no idea how you manage to live in this castle– I heard some maids talking about the arrival at Driftmark of Lord Corlys, who apparently is on the verge of dying.”
Your what?! echoes through the hallway and makes a few maids flinch and some guards straighten up, but your steps don’t slow down. “You mean to tell me Vaemond called this petition because my grandfather is deadly injured and nobody thought of telling me? And even worse, that right now Otto Hightower’s arse is sitting on the Iron Throne with a pillow? My ancestors have burnt down entire cities for far less!” you gag, “Oh, forgive him, Aegon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing… sitting on the throne he forged with his fallen enemies’ swords out of dragonfire– with a fine pillow no less!”
The guards that are stationed outside the throne room clearly have no intention of blocking your way in, opening the doors for you with no fuss and bowing their heads, “Princess, Ser Tully,”
A page jumps at your sight, interrupting Vaemond’s speech by yelling out, “The Princess, ambassador of the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms and– uh… Ser Oscar Tully, accompanying her.”
Murmurs spread across the room; your mother smiles at you, moving forward but then stopping — you know she has just stopped herself from hugging you — and Vaemond tries to smile, too, but it ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. You try to think more of your mother rather than him, or else you’re going to strangle him right now, in front of all these witnesses.
“Princess,” Otto Hightower gloats from above, sitting on the Throne with his stupid, horrendous green pillow. “You’re awfully late — unusual of you.”
“Well, Lord Hand, I would’ve been on time if only anyone had told me that the trial’s time had been moved,” you hiss, “and I think that’s probably why you didn’t bother sending anyone to call for me. Now do me a favor and get your smelly and sensitive buttocks away from my Throne.”
He raises both eyebrows, forehead wrinkling. “Pardon me?”
“I am not going to repeat myself twice, Otto,” you say, harsher this time. “I am the wielder of Blackfyre, which is the royal scepter. No one can hold court or trials without it, unless they’re the King.” he moves to open his mouth, but you don’t let him talk — he doesn’t deserve that privilege. “Besides, if you need a pillow to sit on the Iron Throne, were you really made to sit on it?”
Daemon laughs openly; besides him, everyone tries to keep their chuckles as silent as they can, even if you’re sure Mushroom’s going to combust soon if he doesn’t laugh out loud. “The Throne is made out of swords, nobody would ever be comfortable in it,” Alicent butts in– you had hoped she had called in sick today. Of course not. The sight of Aegon still holding in laughter from your remarks to Otto lightens your mood a bit. “But that does not matter. He is the Lord Hand, and unless the King has given other instructions, he is to replace the void left by the regnant.”
You snort. “Yes, grandsire said that you would have given me trouble about that. In fact, he did leave special instructions.” you pass the delegation to one of the public notaries present. He nods at it, confirming to everyone in the room the truth of your words, “Well, I guess the matter is settled then.” you squint at Lord Hand dearest, “Off of my Throne, and be quick with it.” The proud expression of your mother fills you with more happiness than it should.
To say that you’ve had a rough relationship with her in the last few years would be an understatement to say the least.
For the sake of your brothers, you try your best with her. You still love her dearly, but in the years your resentment towards her has grown immensely, and even if you would still die for her, that doesn’t mean that sometimes you just don’t want to kick some sense into her. You hope that after this, she fucking wakes up. You hope that she finally acknowledges that she stole what should have been your careless years and used them as her own.
As for Daemon, you don’t necessarily despise him as much as you did once. Sure, he’s obnoxious and loud and a terrible man, but you can’t just continue to ignore him for the rest of your life. Your conversations these days mostly consist of sly remarks and jabs, but they are not made out of spite anymore, rather out of respect and complicity. In the end, Daemon — whether you like it or not — has seen you grow up, and sometimes, you think it could even be fondness the thing that softens his eyes when he looks at you — something much similar to the gaze he holds exclusively for his own daughters.
You nod to your grandmother Rhaenys and glare at Vaemond, proceeding to sit on the Throne and throw the cushion over the ends of the sheathed swords that surround the King’s — for this occasion, your — seat. You keep Blackfyre in your hand, holding onto the handle, keeping it like a scepter– like your grandsire once did. “Go on, Vaemond,” you muse, “I’m really curious about what you’ll say in your defense.”
Vaemond’s eyebrows shoot up so high that for a moment, you think they might start flying around the room. “Pardon me– defense? I am not accused of anything. I am claiming my legitimate right for the Driftwood Throne.”
You narrow your eyes. “If what I’ve heard is correct, you are issuing the legitimacy of my brothers.”
He blinks. “I am, Princess. Driftmark must–”
You huff, “That matter was settled long ago. The King himself said multiple times that anyone questioning Prince Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Velaryon’s lineage was to have their tongue cut; besides that, our father, Laenor Velaryon, has always declared them to be legitimate. Did you think you were exonerated from such considerations, perhaps?”
“I didn’t, Princess,” he hisses, and from the glare he sends Otto, you understand that they had planned not to bring that up. “But now the legacy is at stake. With my brother between the land of the dead and the one of the living, I want to set things right for the succession.” he falters, “I– I had hoped you’d understand.” there is much more behind his words, and you take immediate notice of it.
You snarl. "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne." you wave your hand in the air. “My grandfather is not even dead yet and you already hover around his possessions like a vulture! Has nobody told you that during a Lord’s absence, a regent is named to make all the decisions for him?”
He seems to be horrified. “The regent has much less of a claim over Driftmark than I do–”
“Yet my grandfather didn’t name you,” you counter. “I wonder why, uncle. Could it be that the regent holds his wishes more to her heart than you do?” You raise your eyes from his form, “Princess Rhaenys, a word?”
Your grandmother steps up with a smile on her face. “Gladly,” From the way she looks at you, you understand that once you get out of this room, she’s going to brag about you to all her friends and every servant that is willing to listen. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son– Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra just informed me of her desire to marry Lucerys Velaryon to my granddaughter Rhaena to strengthen the bonds between our houses once again.” she chuckles, “And, as it is both Targaryen and Velaryon tradition to do so, Prince Jacaerys’ and Princess Helaena’s firstborn could marry Prince Lucerys’ and Lady Rhaena’s firstborn daughter.”
“Creating an engagement between kids who have yet to be born is a little tricky,” you murmur, an eyebrow raised, “But I don’t have anything against it. We can consider this matter settled once and for all– even if, I’m sure, once he wakes up, my grandfather will waste no time in stating his will once again.” you sigh, “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne and the next Lord of the Tides.”
“You break law,” Vaemond hisses, “and centuries of tradition that I had hoped you’d have understood by now, niece.”
You shake your head. “Don’t try that with me, uncle, you know it won’t work.” you point your finger accusingly at him, “The regent has spoken, and her word is Corlys’. Besides, what good would you do ascending to the Throne of Driftmark? You’re old and you have no heirs, no daughters, no wife. You’re just a second son who hopes in his brother’s demise to have all that he could never have by birthright. Prince Jacaerys is already betrothed to Princess Helaena; the Velaryons will be princes, Vaemond, princes!”
“The fact that I have no heirs can still be changed,” he bluntly says. “I’m still young enough to find a wife.”
You grimace, “Yes, yes, there are way older men than you that get married at their elderly ages, but it will be a great feat to find you a wife with the face you find yourself in, even for all the gold in the world.”
“You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?” he rages, “I will not allow it!”
“Do not forget yourself, Vaemond!” you state back, “I myself hold the Velaryon name, and you have no right to tell me who deserves it and who doesn’t when my own father and the man that is now miles away, fighting for his life, taught me everything I ought to know to carry it with pride!”
He points angrily at Jace, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” the whole room gasps; you get up from the Throne, surely matching the tone of anger. “Continue and I’ll have your tongue cut out for this, Vaemond–”
“You all may run your house as you see it fit!” he shouts, “But you will not decide the future of mine. The Velaryons have survived the Doom and a thousand of tribulations aside– and gods be damned, I will not see it ended because of this–”
He stops in his tracks; from the look in your eyes, he knows that if he ends the sentence, he could lose much more than his tongue. But Daemon taunts him, “Say it.”
Vaemond’s right eye ticks. “Her children are bastards!” he bellows, causing the fainting of one of the ladies standing behind and the general outrage. “And she is a whore.”
Before you can yell out every insult under the sun and call for the guards to bring him to the Dragon Pit so that Nādrēsy may feast on him, a sword comes behind him, slicing his head in two — leaving his tongue intact. Many scream and run out of the room, while both sides of your family stand there and watch his body fall forward. The guards are stopped by a gesture of your hand; Daemon merely grins, cleaning his sword with the dead’s clothes. “Let him keep his tongue,” he murmurs, “I’m sure the Stranger will be delighted in hearing his laments.”
Oscar is downright traumatised by the experience. “Do people often die here, during trials?” he asks you for the fifth time, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground. “Not if Daemon isn’t around,” you quietly reply, looking over at your uncle and mother chatting — or, better… discuss animatedly — about what has just happened. The room is filled with the murmurs of your family: Baela and Rhaena are whispering with Rhaenys as Jace and Luke chat quietly.
Anybody has yet to come to talk to you, too preoccupied with their own matters — not that you care. You’re waiting for everyone to be out of this room to be finally left alone with your mother and have a decent talk. As of now, you’re just sitting in your chair with your arms crossed, brooding. Oscar taps his fingers on the table beside him, and it irks you. “Will you please stop, before I send you out of this room?”
“I shouldn’t even be here!” he counters, shouting-whispering. “This feels like a family reunion!”
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “my grandmother already hates you as only family can do.”
“That’s just because she thinks I’m your prostitute or something,” he mutters, offended. Though it is true that she loathes him– you have brought him with you to Driftmark many times, and every time, her despise for him was basically impossible to hide.
“Why, you think she doesn’t hate Daemon for the exact same reason?”
As Oscar stays there with his brows furrowed, gears turning in his head over your last sentence, your patience runs short. “This is madness. I am going to talk to her.” you rise from your seat, every eye but your mother’s and Daemon’s turning to look at you — and everyone knows you well enough to get out of the room before the storm can hit.
Your mother and her husband are still hissing to each other for the Seven know what reason why, so much that they don’t even notice you. “Are you finished?” you say flatly, raising an eyebrow when their heads turn to look at you, surprised. Luke is the last one to exit the room, and he makes sure to close the door. “I thought you two were adults, but clearly I am in front of children. I would’ve killed Vaemond either way; could you kindly stop arguing now?”
Rhaenyra’s face warms. “I– sorry, of course.” she still sends a glare to her husband, relenting only because of you. “Could you kindly leave us alone, kepa?” Daemon rolls his eyes, begrudgingly heading towards the door. Before he closes it behind him, he sends a look at Oscar, whispering, “I think you may want to leave now, too, whore-boy.”
Unfortunately, Oscar only hears a few muffled words and then the door closes. He focuses on trying to make himself as invisible and small as he can, as he hasn’t been excused by either you or your mother, and figures he can’t leave his little sad seat until one of you tells him to.
Rhaenyra is the first to extend an olive branch. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today,” she says calmly, smiling at you. “With Otto holding the trial, I don’t even want to think about what the outcome could’ve been.”
Your face remains still, not a smile in sight and no emotions to show. “Good. You have seen how to handle such matters. From now on, they will be in your hands.”
Your mother’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“Excuse me?” you mock, “You let me pick up your slack for the last eight years, mother. I’m done.” she’s about to open her mouth again, but you talk over her, “You called me here because you needed my help — and I will help when I can, you know that, but you didn’t even tell me that in the first place this godsforsaken petition was called because my grandfather could be dying as of now.” you shake your head, eyes clouded with memories: of all the swims you and Corlys had taken together, of him and your father teaching you how to navigate — the only thought of them both dead makes you want to throw up. “You think you may lose an asset if he dies, maybe a once good-father– but he is my grandfather. He is much more than just a lord to me. He taught me how to swim, how to survive out in the sea — and he is, besides grandmother, the last thing left of my father.”
You blink the tears away from your eyes. Blinking, you notice her eyes are watery too. “We have already talked about this, sweetling,” she murmurs.
You shake your head. “We have, but you never actually listen to me. I am tired, mother.” A tear escapes her eye at seeing you in this state — head bowed, eyes full of tears, lip trembling. She has gotten so used to seeing you act mature that she has almost forgotten that you are only six and ten; at your age, her main concerns were fighting off suitors and assuring that nobody found out that she was sleeping with her ward. Meanwhile you are trying to hold the whole realm intact by yourself while trying to keep the Hightowers as far as they can be from the Throne, handling every lord and lady that complains, and — Rhaenyra as of now doesn’t know you well enough anymore to say it, but she suspects you are having an affair too. Just in case, she glares at Oscar through the tears.
“I want to stay here, in the castle, with little to no worries until I am to be married off– oh, don’t look at me like that, mother, we both know it’s going to happen soon.” you wave a hand in the air, sniffling, “I want to finally be able to mourn my father. I want to wear all the pretty dresses I’ve bought in the last two years. I want to have handmaidens, I want to fly on Nādrēsy for fun rather than for Kingdom matters, I want to stop worrying about the Hightowers colonizing the Red Keep everytime I’m away. But I can’t do it without you, mother.”
She wipes away her tears with the sleeves of her dress, “I– I thought you enjoyed being the ambassador and having so many duties.”
You laugh bitterly. “I did for the first two years. When you give a child a cup of wine, he doesn’t think of the headache that he will have after drinking it– he only sees his opportunity to finally prove himself as an adult.” you grimace, a tear slipping from your eye, “At first it was fun. Grandsire kept me mostly away from political affairs and sent me around just to make Nādrēsy clean the Kingdom’s prisons; I didn’t have to do anything. But then he started considering me for political missions.” you spare a glance at Oscar, now trying to melt into one with the seat, clearly awkward. It was during one of the missions that you met. “He kept giving me more and more power, and I found it so funny. At ten I sentenced every remaining member of Cregan Stark’s family just because. I could have sent them to the Wall — after all, it wasn’t really clear how much his uncle’s sons had helped their father usurp Cregan, and the Wall is the usual punishment for Lords. But then, as I grew, I started feeling the weight of it. Not every situation was black and white, and sometimes I just wanted to kill both parties and call it a day.”
Your eye ticks. “And I don’t know how long I can hold it until it breaks me. I just need… time. If you pick up from where I left and become Hand, I won’t have to worry about anything until I become Queen or you become Queen and name me Hand. And until that happens, I think I will have learnt how to handle the weight just fine.”
Your mother doesn’t say anything. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. In the end, she just hugs you and goes for the door. As she opens it, she turns towards you, eyes red. “I– I’ll send a… servant. So that you two might be… chaperoned.”
You raise an eyebrow. You open your heart to her for this? A dry laugh escapes you as she closes the door behind her, “Whatever,” and you move back to your original seat, letting your head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. You sigh. “Do you think she understood?”
He grumbles. “I hope so. I’m not willing to sit like this through another mother-daughter talk like this ever again.”
Supper is predictably going to be a disaster.
As your Grandsire enters the dining hall, wheezing and leaning against the maester, you glare at Aemond, who has graciously decided to sit as far away from you as possible — that does not deter you from cursing him to all kinds of pain and suffering in your head, though.
You told Oscar to dine in his own room, knowing that as soon as any kind of cataclysm starts, he won’t want to be around. Looking at the faces of your relatives, you ask yourself who’s going to strike first — if Aemond, Aegon, Luke or, even worse, Daemon.
Your grandsire groans loudly as he finally sits in his chair, Alicent on his right and your mother on his left, smiling as the Maester wipes sweat from his forehead. He tries to muster up a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “How good it is… to see you all tonight, together.”
His wife hums. “Prayer before we begin?” as the others move to intertwine their hands, you and Daemon stay still, sending each other amused looks. Neither of you has ever been the greatest believer, not of the Seven at least. There’s a lot of things you believe in — your mother’s right to rule, the legitimacy of your brothers, Aemond’s utter and clear idiocy…
“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods make him rest.” you roll your eyes at that; you hope they make him burn for the rest of eternity.
Your grandsire takes the word again. “This is an occasion of celebration. My grandson Luke will marry his cousin Baela, strengthening the bonds between our houses.” he turns to your mother, giving her the biggest smile you’ve seen him make in a while. “And my firstborn Rhaenyra has asked me permission to stay here in preparation for her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, making her the first Lady Hand to be named in history.”
You perk up, surprised. Looking over at Otto, you find him staring blankly at the King, no hand pin on his chest. You instead find it on your mother’s dress, pinned right above her breast. You look up at her to find her already smiling tenderly at you, eyes full of affection. “She also requested that her daughter be lifted from her duties until she is to be married, so that she may enjoy the last years as a girl that she has left. I think her reasoning is right, and with her by my side, I know my granddaughter will be able to step aside and spend freely the next few years.” he takes his goblet of wine, barely managing to raise it in the air. “So, a toast to the young prince, his betrothed and the princesses!”
You all clank your goblets and dive into your food, as silent as ever. Aegon nudges your side, “You’ve planned this well, haven’t you?” he whispers. The smirk on his face tells you that he couldn’t care less if his grandfather has just lost his position as Hand. “We should go visit the Free Cities together now that you have no more obligations, niece. Ever heard of Tyrosh’s pear brandy?”
You roll your eyes, holding in a smile. “Always thinking about drinking, aren’t you, uncle? I’m surprised you’re still so awake this late in the evening with all the cups you down usually.”
He huffs. “Mother kept me from drinking today because of the trial.” he shrugs, grabbing his goblet and motioning for a servant to fill it up again. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it now.”
The chit-chatting goes on for a while; mostly everyone keeps to either themselves or the ones beside them, keeping their eyes on the plate and eating as fast as they could to get out of here soon. Your grandsire coughs, making everyone raise their eyes to look at him wheezing. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” he shakes his head, making both you and Aegon grimace while looking at Aemond, who is nodding like he’s not the one who has mostly caused all of this.
“Let us no longer hold ill feelings into our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside all your grievances — if not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all dearly.”
Either he doesn’t see the whole situation clearly or he keeps being a hopeless romantic, because you doubt anyone in this room will ever set their grievances aside. Even if you were to forgive Aemond for what he had done to you, your brothers would still hate him, and Baela and Rhaena would continue to resent him for stealing their mother’s dragon. Otto made your last six years a living hell, as you continuously tried to keep your grandsire from being poisoned by his stupid maesters and pages, and Alicent did the same to your mother, terrorizing her in her own home, making her walk right after giving birth to Joff and such.
You’re about to open your mouth and protest on your family’s behalf when your mother herself rises from her seat, goblet high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.” The look Aegon sends you says loyally?, and you have to look straight ahead to the windows to not burst out laughing.
“She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my whole gratitude — and… my apology.”
The Queen presses her lips into a thin line, getting up and raising her cup. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”
You and Aegon share a doubtful glance. “Are we the problem?” He asks you quietly, concerned about why everyone’s accepting this so quickly. You shake your head. “I have no idea, uncle. Maybe we are crazy.”
Jace clears his throat, raising too. At this point, you think you might actually be the problem. Is it possible you’re the only one who’s spiteful in this room? “To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” He sits back down, friendly punching Aegon’s shoulder. Your uncle coughs, “To you as well.”
Baela boldly gets up, and you’re starting to wonder for how long the toasting will go on. “I would like to toast to Rhaena and Princess Helaena. They'll be married soon, and even if I do not wish to marry, I am sure they’ll find good husbands in Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys.”
The rest of the night goes fairly well, with bards starting the music and Mushroom fooling around, raising everyone’s spirits. Without him, you think, the family wouldn’t stand half as strong as it did. Once, Alicent tried to ban him from court, saying he was too obscene- as if your grandsire would’ve ever allowed that, with the way the fool made both you and your mother laugh.
At some point during the evening, your grandsire leaves for his chambers, not feeling well; and as soon as he leaves the room, your fears become reality.
Aemond gets up from his seat, cup raised, malice in his eyes. He has waited for grandsire to retire to speak– he knows the King would not have appreciated what he has to say. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… and strong.”
Jace flinches. Alicent grimaces, reprimanding, “Aemond.”
He doesn’t listen. “Come — let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”
You and Jace both get up. “I dare you to say that again.”
“Why?” He laughs, “'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”
Jacaerys strikes first, attacking Aemond with a punch on his face. Your mother is horrified, “Jace!” Aegon whistles, laughing until you push his face into his food. “Not now, you dumb fuck!” She turns to you, eyes lost, “Not you, too!”
“S’fine,” Aegon chokes, face covered in sauce and peas and a piece of a roasted potato up his mouth. “She usually does worse.”
Luke is on his feet the moment Jace’s knuckles touche Aemond’s face, but the guards stop him– they don’t come for Aemond quick enough to stop him from sending Jace tumbling to the ground, though, and your brother falls down only to rise up again, even more enraged– and that’s where the guards decide to step in.
“That is enough!” Alicent yells, getting up and going to her son as your brothers struggle in the guard’s hold. She takes her son aside, raging, “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”
Aemond only snickers. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” he then turns to your brothers, still fighting the guards’ hold, “Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs.”
Your mother hushers your brothers and cousins out of the room, “Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.”
Daemon goes to stand in between your uncle and your brothers, hands joined and sword on his hip. His gaze is clear: if you have something to say, say it to me. Aemond opts for the better option — the one that will allow him to keep his head steady on his shoulders — and decides to just flee the scene, exiting the chamber.
You sigh, looking at your mother. “Well,” you mumble, “I’m departing for Driftmark early in the morn to see my grandfather,” you tell her, patting her shoulder. “Good luck with everything else though. It’s rare around here that supper doesn’t end in a fight.”
if my calculations are right, the slow burn will start burning next chap

#cregan stark#cregan x reader#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#pizzapottah's writing#hotd x you#cregan stark fanfic#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#mother! rhaenyra targaryen x reader#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark imagine#cregan stark x you#jacaerys velaryon#aemond targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#helaena targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#lucerys velaryon#joffrey velaryon#daemon targaryen#laenor velaryon#hotd fanfic#cregan stark fanfiction
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Literally them 💎🕷️
#helaemond#aemond x helaena#helaena targaryen#aemond targaryen#phia saban#ewan mitchell#hotd#house of the dragon
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𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩



Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon
Word count: 3184
Warning: fluffy, Pregnancy.
Pt1 pt3 pt4

Autumn had arrived, bringing with it a cold wind that foretold the imminent arrival of winter. You felt the icy breeze cut through your cloak, forcing you to pull it tighter around your body. Unlike your previous two pregnancies, this one seemed to demand more of you; the weight of the life you carried within was beginning to take its toll. Your back constantly ached, your breasts were tense and sensitive, and your swollen feet barely supported the weight you had to bear.
As you walked through the castle halls, lost in thought, a sudden impact made you stagger. You barely had time to place a hand against the wall to avoid falling. As you looked down, you found Aerion on the ground, his small face lit up by a mischievous smile as he giggled. He quickly got to his feet, energetically brushing off his trousers, unconcerned by the slight reprimand he heard in the distance.
The septa approached hurriedly, a frown on her face and a look of evident disapproval. Her voice echoed through the hall as she called out to Aerion, but before she could reach him, the little prince ran toward you, clinging to your skirt for protection.
“Princess,” the septa greeted, bowing as she saw you. “The maester has insisted that you should return to your bed. Rest is the best thing for you in your condition.” Her stern gaze scrutinized the hallway, searching for the little prince who was now hiding behind you.
“That was just what I was thinking of doing,” you replied calmly, hearing Aerion’s faint laughter as he clung to your skirts.
You watched as the septa walked away down the hall, still calling out to the prince with a mix of patience and firmness. When the septa's figure disappeared from your sight, you slowly turned to Aerion. The boy looked up at you, his cheeks flushed red, still trying to contain the laughter that threatened to spill over.
You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s innocent mischief. Despite the worries weighing on you, Aerion’s joy had the power to dispel any cloud hanging over your day.
“You’re a little rascal,” you said softly, as you gently stroked his head. “But you need to be more careful, you almost made me fall.”
Aerion nodded, and his smile lit up his face, revealing that perfect blend of innocence and mischief that you loved so much in him. Still chuckling softly, he took your hand with his small fingers, his laughter fading into a sigh of contentment.
“I want to stay with you, mama,” he said softly, looking up at you with pleading eyes.
His words filled you with a warm tenderness. You knew you needed to rest, but your son’s desire to stay by your side was a request you could hardly refuse. His company, so sincere and selfless, was a comfort amidst the demanding burden you carried.
You bent down slightly to meet his eyes, looking at him with a maternal smile.
"You can stay with me for a while, but only if you promise to be quiet and let Mama rest," you whispered.
Aerion nodded enthusiastically, squeezing your hand more tightly, as if his desire to be with you was enough to protect you from any discomfort or pain. As you walked together toward your chambers, Aerion began to talk with the spontaneity of childhood, telling you about his lessons and how much they bored him. His voice, full of innocent complaints, filled the hallway.
As you closed the doors of your room behind you, you created a small refuge of tranquility, a space where you could allow yourself a respite from the worries that surrounded you. Aerion, freed from the need to stay calm, released your hand and ran excitedly to the corner where the steaming dragon egg rested on its cradle of metal and glowing stones.
However, a sudden, sharp pain shot through your body, pulling you out of the peaceful moment. The pain radiated from your back to your belly, forcing you to instinctively place your hands on your swollen abdomen in a protective gesture. Reality hit hard when you felt a warm, wet burst, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop.
The sound of your water breaking echoed in the room, like a prolonged reverberation in the silence, as the liquid spilled onto the floor, soaking the ground beneath your feet. An indescribable chill ran down your spine, as if in that precise instant, your soul had tried to leave your body, leaving you momentarily paralyzed.
Aerion, unaware of what had just happened, continued admiring the egg while you tried to gather the strength to stay calm. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you needed to do. You knew there was no time to waste; the birth was imminent.
"Aerion, come here," you called, keeping your voice firm yet gentle, not wanting to alarm him.
Your son turned his head toward you, sensing something unusual in your tone. The joy on his face faded, replaced by concern.
"Mama, what's wrong?" he asked as he walked toward you with small, cautious steps.
"I need you to find the septa and the maester, quickly," you said, caressing his cheek with a trembling hand. "The baby is ready to be born."
With effort, you began to walk slowly toward your bed, each step accompanied by the increasing pain that was becoming more insistent. When you reached the bed, you took a deep breath and called for your ladies, who, upon hearing the urgency in your voice, quickly came to your side. Without wasting a moment, they moved with the precision and skill that only experience could grant, helping you lie down and preparing you for childbirth.
Their hands worked carefully and swiftly, untying the laces and buttons of your dress, changing you into more comfortable garments that would ease the birth. Despite the storm of pain threatening to strip away your calm, their gestures were comforting.
"Take deep breaths, Princess," one of the ladies whispered as she helped you settle into the bed, her voice an anchor of calm amidst the whirlwind of sensations overwhelming you.
The doors to your room burst open, and the maester entered, followed by several midwives, all moving with the speed and efficiency the situation demanded. Aerion, his face full of concern, ran to you, taking your hand in a gesture of support.
"It seems the baby has decided to come early," the maester remarked as the midwives began preparing everything necessary for the birth.
One of the midwives approached with more pillows to support your back, lifting you carefully to relieve the pressure on your belly. But the movement triggered a new wave of pain, and before you could stop it, a cry escaped your lips.
Aerion reacted immediately, his protective instinct awakened by seeing your suffering. He lunged toward the midwife, trying to push her away with his small hand.
"You're hurting her!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to come between you and the midwife.
The midwife, surprised by the child's reaction, paused and looked at you with a mix of respect and concern.
"Calm down, little prince," the midwife said softly, kneeling down to be at Aerion's eye level. "We don't want to hurt your mama. We're only trying to help her feel better."
"Aerion, sweetheart, everything is okay. They’re here to help us," you assured him, trying to calm his agitation.
The contractions came in waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving a trail of pain that spread through your entire body. You gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles turning white under the tension as you fought to contain the screams of pain threatening to escape your throat. You didn’t want to scare Aerion, who stayed by your side, his small hand clutching yours.
Suddenly, in the midst of the chaos raging in your mind, a familiar voice broke through the torment.
“Y/N,” you heard Aemond call your name.
The sound of his voice was like a balm, a wave of relief that momentarily dispelled the pain. You turned your head, and seeing him, you felt something inside you calm down. Aemond, with an expression of concern tinged with love, quickly approached your side, taking your other hand with the security and firmness you had always known in him.
“I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb gently caressed your cheek.
Aemond leaned in a little closer, his voice low and reassuring.
“Everything will be alright, my love. I’m here with you.”
You nodded with gratitude, thankful for Aemond’s comforting presence by your side. With each passing contraction, the pain seemed to stretch out in time, as if the hours were elongating into an endless trial. However, the maester, in his firm yet encouraging tone, finally spoke the words you had been waiting for.
“It’s time to push, Princess.”
Those words were both a relief and a new source of fear. You knew the hardest moment was yet to come, and although Aemond had been your constant support, you understood that Aerion’s presence in the room might complicate the situation even further. You needed everything to go well, both for the baby about to be born and for the child who was already the center of your world.
Taking a breath with difficulty, you turned your head toward Aemond, your eyes reflecting the mix of emotions you felt at that moment.
“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice laden with effort, “please take Aerion outside. He needs to stay calm… and so do you.”
Although it was evident he didn’t want to leave you, Aemond understood your concern. With a look that spoke of his desire to stay with you, he leaned in close, brushing your lips with a gentle kiss.
“I’ll be right outside,” he murmured, his words an anchor for your spirit. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
With one last squeeze of your hand, he stood up and turned his attention to Aerion, who was still watching the scene with wide, worried eyes. Aemond walked over to his son and took his hand.
“Come, Aerion. Let’s wait outside for a moment,” he said gently.
Aerion hesitated, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You forced a smile, despite the pain, and nodded, trying to convey confidence.
“Everything will be alright, sweetheart,” you assured him. “We’ll be together again soon.”
The little one, though still concerned, finally agreed, taking his father’s hand as they both headed toward the door. Aemond gave you one last look before leaving.
Once the door closed behind them, the atmosphere in the room changed. The seriousness and focus intensified as the midwives and the maester prepared for the birth. You felt a mix of emotions—fear, anticipation, and a deep determination—all fighting for control of your mind.
The maester leaned in toward you, with a calm expression that contrasted with the intensity of the moment.
“Princess, it’s time,” he said softly, his tone firm yet reassuring. “I need you to push with all your strength.”
You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for what you knew would be the greatest effort of your life. The pain, which had been constant, became even sharper, cutting through your breath as you struggled to follow the maester’s instructions. Your hands gripped the sheets, your muscles tensing in a supreme effort as you pushed with all your being.
The midwives, with quick and precise movements, offered you words of encouragement, their hands working diligently to assist you. You could feel the sweat beading on your forehead, every fiber of your being concentrated on bringing this new life into the world. The minutes stretched on in a succession of contractions and efforts, each more intense than the last, pushing you to the limits of your endurance.
The room, though filled with activity, became a closed and private space, where time seemed to distort. The maester guided you, his words calm and measured, while the midwives supported you, adjusting the pillows and keeping you as comfortable as possible. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pain and effort, the maester announced that he could see the baby's head.
"One more time, princess, just one more time," he encouraged, his voice filled with contained emotion.
With the little energy you had left, you gathered all your strength and pushed with fierce determination. The pain reached a climax, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensations until, suddenly, you felt an indescribable relief as the weight you had carried for months finally left your body.
A moment of silence fell over the room, followed by the most beautiful sound you could have imagined: the strong, clear cry of your newborn. Tears filled your eyes as you heard that first sign of life, and the midwives quickly wrapped the baby in warm blankets, bringing him close to you.
"You have been very brave, princess. You have brought a new Targaryen into the world."
With trembling hands and a pounding heart, you took your child into your arms. As you felt his warmth against your chest, all the pain and fatigue faded away, replaced by a love so intense you could hardly contain it. You looked at your baby's face, his soft hair and delicate skin, and in that moment, you knew that every second of effort had been worth it.
Your ladies, discreet and efficient, quickly restored order to the room. They swiftly cleaned the area, replaced the sheets, and helped you into a clean, soft gown. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on you, their careful hands made you feel comfortable, allowing you to focus solely on the little being you held.
One of the ladies took the newborn with great care to clean him, while you rested for a few moments, watching every movement with eyes full of love and wonder. When they returned him to you, wrapped in warm blankets, a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over you.
You looked at the child in your arms, noticing his delicate features, his hair already showing the shine of Targaryen heritage.
"Laenor," you whispered, the name leaving your lips with the softness of a prayer.
It was the name of your father, a man whose memory lived on in your heart, a brave leader and a loving father. Naming your son in his honor felt as natural as breathing.
The door to the room opened gently, and when you turned your head, you saw Aemond and Aerion entering. The little boy, without paying attention to the baby in your arms, ran towards you with the urgency of someone who had been holding back his worry. Aerion threw himself into your arms, and as soon as he did, you felt the warm tears running down his face as he hid his little face in the crook of your neck.
"Why are you crying, my love?" you asked in a whisper, gently stroking his small back while leaning down to leave a soft kiss on his wet cheek. "I'm alright."
Aerion sobbed softly, his little hands clinging to you tightly, as if he needed to make sure you were really there, safe and with him.
"I was scared, Mama," he admitted in a small voice. "I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you."
"I know, my little one," you murmured. "But everything is fine now. I’m here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."
Aemond, who had remained nearby, watched the scene with a mixture of pride and relief. He stepped forward, and with a careful gesture, placed a hand on Aerion’s shoulder, silently giving him support. When Aerion felt his father's presence, he finally looked up, his eyes still shining with the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back.
It was then that Aerion noticed the small figure in your arms. His big, curious eyes filled with wonder as he saw his younger brother for the first time. With the same caution children reserve for what they consider most precious, he approached slowly, almost as if he feared breaking something fragile.
"This is your little brother, Laenor," you said with a smile full of tenderness, gently tilting the newborn so Aerion could get a better look.
The little boy gazed at his brother with a mix of fascination and respect, as if he understood that this moment was sacred. With a timid gesture, he reached out his hand towards the baby, gently brushing his tiny hands.
"Hello, Laenor," Aerion whispered, his voice barely audible.
Aemond, with a look that spoke of pride and relief, leaned towards you, his lips meeting yours in a warm and comforting kiss. The connection between you was immediate, like a reaffirmation of the strength of your bond. You responded to the kiss with equal tenderness, feeling in that gesture a deep gratitude for the family you had built together.
"Mama," a small voice was heard at the entrance, soft but full of excitement.
Vaera appeared in the room, her eyes shining with the news she had just received. She wasn’t alone; Helaena followed closely behind, with her unmistakable aura of sweetness and serenity, smiling warmly at you as she saw you cradling the newborn. Just a step behind, Queen Alicent entered with Vaerys in her arms, her elegant bearing and maternal expression completing the family tableau that now filled the room.
"Look, Vaerys," Alicent said in a gentle tone, approaching so the little one could see the new member of the family. "You have a new little brother."
Vaerys, always curious and observant, looked at the baby with big, wide eyes full of wonder. Alicent leaned down slightly to allow little Vaerys to get a better view of Laenor, while Vaera, not wasting a moment, moved closer to your side, clearly fascinated by her new little brother.
"He’s so tiny," Vaera whispered, extending a small, delicate hand to softly touch Laenor’s cheek, her touch full of affection and care.
"He is," you agreed, your voice softened by the mix of emotions that overwhelmed you. "But he’ll grow strong, just like all of you."
With a smile full of confidence and tenderness, you handed the little Laenor to Aemond, who received him with the same delicacy one would treat a precious jewel. You watched as his hands, normally so skilled with a sword, now held his newborn son with an almost reverent care. In his eye, there was a silent pride, a pride that needed no words to be understood.
Aemond turned towards his mother and sister, bringing the baby closer so they could see him better. Alicent, upon gazing at her grandson, smiled with a warmth that softened her features even more, while Helaena, with her ever-serene gaze, extended a hand to gently caress Laenor’s cheek.
Finally, Aemond returned to your side, and together, you looked at Laenor, surrounded by the love and unity of your family. In that moment, everything seemed to be in its place; the arrival of Laenor had not only brought a new life into the world but had also strengthened the bonds that tied you all together.
#house of the dragon season 2#rhaenyra targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd season 2#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen x you#angst#aemond targaryen#fanfic#aegon targaryen#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#fire and blood#fluff#fantasy#medieval#helaena the dreamer#house of the dragon#dragon age#asoif/got#mother
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Fetore and Fertile is coming tomorrow, but as @emilykaldwen asked ever so nicely for some Helaemond featuring this trope, I'm going tp be writing two entries for this challenge. So, this will be dropping at some point either Friday or Saturday...
Ours Never Knew Peace
Pairing: Helaena Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen
Summary: Helaena has grown weary of Aemond; though he is a welcome source of comfort outside of a loveless marriage that is for appearances only, he handles her with a gentleness that she knows is not his true nature. A chance discovery from a flower merchant upon the docks allows her to exert the control that, until now, has always eluded her.
No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.
Welcome to ewanmitchellcrumbs' Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge!
What the hell are you doing, Ange?
Well, in light of myself and other writers being on the receiving end of some bafflingly hateful harassment today, I plucked out my favourite quote from some of the anonymous "critique" I received and have decided to put a positive spin on it.
Okay, so what gives?
As all of the characters from my last chapter update of Fire on the Mountain "act as though they've ingested sex pollen", I am inviting people to write their own sex pollen fics.
Sick! How do I participate?
Write a fic, of any length, for any fandom, using any pairing. The only stipulation is that your characters must have ingested sex pollen and be so horny for each other that it beggars belief. Tag me in your creations and I will reblog, and eventually compile them into a masterlist.
Are you affiliated with any other events?
I am, actually! Proudly affiliated with Table Sex Gate 2k24, organised by @queen--kenobi
Old hag writers of Tumblr - we create, because you send hate!
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phia saban (helaena targaryen) and ewan mitchell (aemond targaryen) in paris for house of the dragon’s season 2 photo call 🩵




#helaena targaryen#aemond targaryen#helaemond#helaena x aemond#phia saban#ewan mitchell#house of the dragon#hotd s2#hotd#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen#pro helaemond#team green
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helaemond with wavy hair you are so precious
#helaemond#helaena targaryen x aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen#aemond x helaena#helaena x aemond#helaena the dreamer#helaena targaryen hotd#helaena targaryen#aemond targaryen#aemond the kinslayer#hotd aemond targaryen#hotd#fandom stuff
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Chapter 5.
Aymond returns to King's Landing soon. He deliberately hesitates, because he naively hopes that time will cancel what has been done. It will turn to dust, as it does with everything on earth sooner or later.
The young man deliberately seeks to fulfill his grandfather's order, because Helena chases him like a ghost even during the day. The wind suddenly brings him the aroma of her perfume, and her silhouette stood in front of his eyes for a long time. He should have been alone with his own thoughts. Thin strap and flowing silk. Cold and white, they ignited something on the other side of the ribs and burned the inside. It seemed that Heleina remained standing in that room. And then he began to avoid rooms.
One night he woke up because she entered his bedroom. There was no one in the room, but he was ready to swear that he felt her presence in reality. It turned into a crazy obsession. And then Eymond tried to push her out of his memory.
Aymond did not seek to get the hand of one of the four daughters of Lord Borros. In fact, he didn't care about them, but he carried out his grandfather's order and arranged an engagement with one of them, however, he did not rush to get a wedding. Aegon received the Storm Limit, and Eymond was now burdened with a promise. The lord's daughter was good-looking, although she was the opposite of Helena. Tall, black-haired, brown-eyed, wild from loneliness. It fit perfectly. They were opposites in almost everything. Rough, cynical... predatory cat. They got along great. But sometimes Aymond was ready to swear that Heleina, with the help of her gift, made her way into his thoughts so deeply that she was almost present in the room.
The one-eyed prince returned with good news and learned that Aegon took his wife and sister Helaine by force. This was whispered throughout the palace and felt sorry for the unfortunate queen. Aymond couldn't believe his ears, and therefore, instead of going to Otto, he broke into Helena's warms like a whirlwind.
She was not surprised to see her brother in the door, rather, on the contrary, she seemed to be sure that he would come, that nothing would stop him on the way to her.
- Yes. - She nodded, answering the question not voiced by the prince. - It's true, Aymond. However, now it's only my business. You're engaged. Does it concern you like me?
Aymond seemed to be petrified and looked at his sister as if she was crazy, and Helena felt anger boasing in her.
- Don't you care? I'm just your sister. I would have asked Aegon... - Helena snapped. - You're good at staying on the sidelines. I would like to learn from you
Helenp perfectly remembered the humiliation he brought her and now the girl, tormented by shame and love, looked at her brother with defiance and was more angry at herself than at him.
She was the one who came to him, she threw off her dress, the first kissed, the first one so frankly whispered to him about her desires. She is the executioner, and he is the victim. All this time Helena tried not to show her feelings, behaved as "normally" as possible.
Now Helena is trapped with her feelings in these rooms. She was wondering what Eymond feels? How does he experience her shame? Other times she asked herself, could it be that his heart was occupied by someone? After all, he had a meeting that day... maybe he went to her? Maybe he preferred that girl? She didn't know the answers, but she didn't have the right to ask directly.
- You don't have to pretend, Aymond... nothing... there was nothing between you and me. - Helena bit her lower lip somewhere in the middle. - I should learn from you...
She didn't even notice how Raymond, irritated by her words, narrowed the distance between them. It smelled of wind, skin and Vhagar. He took his hand away and hit her in the face. He didn't want it, but he couldn't hold back. He was hurt by her words just as well as her from the blow. Tears came to tears from the blow to the princess's eyes.
- How many times did he own you, Helena? How many times have you stopped fighting? - the tone of his questions was emphasized and dispassionate, as if he asked how many guests would join the dinner and it scared her more than the slap in the face that burned her cheek. She knew this tone, she could read the desire to kill Aegon in her eyes. Helena understood that Aymond had already decided something for himself, had decided on something.
- No need... Eymond. No need. I'm not worth it. One day you will have a wife and you will be able to protect her honor, and mine... Mine is too late. I'll figure it all out myself. He won't do anything to me. I don't know," Helena replied. "It's late, Aymond...
The one-eyed prince curled his lips in a smile, squeezed her hand tightly and dug into Heleina's lips with a kiss. Her heart fell somewhere down, and her stomach whined treacherously. The princess abruptly pulled back, suddenly realizing that she had put her hands in front of her like a shield. She forced herself to lower them and felt horrified.
- Don't... Don't! - Helena rushed to the door and, closing it, pressed against it with her sticky back from cold sweat. - Don't, Aymond. I'm fine. I'm not broken, I'm not miserable. No problem, just don't. I don't want to. I don't want to, not because I'm Aegon, but because... Because I'm not good enough. In everything.
He froze, giving Helaine with the same look, saying that he knows more than necessary. As if the kiss told him too much. Then his eyes fell to the floor. He stood as if deeply immersed in his own thoughts, and then his hands clinged. One, second. Very slowly and Helena slowly sank to the floor, supporting the door with her back.
- I'm sorry, Aymond. Too bad. I had no choice. You weren't there. I had to manage somehow. - Heleina says quickly. She was shaking a little, she broke her hands, teased her fingers, looked at the floor.
Eymond hesitated a little, then took a cautious step towards his sister and the queen, watching her face. She didn't scream or run away, but she didn't look at him, and he stepped up again, approaching, kneeling in front of her so close that she felt the warmth of his body. Without recoiling this time and trembling, Heleina raised her ugly face at him, distorted by crying, and looked carefully at the man. The one-eyed prince waited for Helena to relax and touched her face very gently with his hot lips.
Catching his lips with her own, Helena felt attacks of lust coming without warning. The rage accumulated in it broke out with a crazy thirst that scared.
Her whole being demanded that Aymond break all the rules, so that he owned her, belonged to her.
Eymond was not in a hurry. It was as if he could smell Eigon's sweat and sperm on Helena's skin. Captivated by the desire and need to comfort his sister, the prince kneaded her under him, pulled her shirt off his shoulders, tried to be careful and gentle, but a cat seemed to have lived in Heleina. She threw away his tenderness and awe as a child throws a broken toy. The princess dug into his shoulders, licked his wounds, breathed deeply and often.
Where does it come from?! How could such a hurricane hide in such a person? Aymond asked questions, giving in to her persistence and onslaught. She scared and fascinated him at the same time.
Helena seemed to be blind. She studied his skin, scars, irregularities with lips, fingers, flesh. So furiously that the throbbing pain began to spread, she filled everything with itself, and Helena saddled her brother, getting out from under him.
The princess nailed the man to the floor and moved smoothly at first, carefully increasing the pace. Her hair fell like a waterfall on her lush but shapeless breasts, hiding it in its lines. Increasing the pace, Helena felt and heard the flesh rubbing on the flesh in a soft slapping rhythm. She choked on air until a moan came from Eymond's lips.
He didn't remember what happened next. He woke up when he was already knocking out with force, tearing out the traces of the rapist from her. Sounds similar to crying came out of the girl's lips and Aymond slowed down, afraid that he broke her. The princess, hoarse from moans, couldn't breathe, Heleina's head was spinning, it seemed that she was about to lose consciousness, but she didn't stop, she tore out what she needed. Then he moaned, and his warm sperm filled her. Aymond let go of Helena and guiltily kissed her wrists, which had already begun to darken from his grip.
- I'm sorry - she said first and something hurt in him. - I didn't want you to recognize me like that.
Helena was breathing deeply, trembling rather from feelings and weakness in her body than from fear.
-Now there is a secret between us that no one should know about. It was also difficult for me, although you can't say it, but it was necessary. I would have died if it hadn't happened. Aymond, you're not a toy for me. I love you. Aegon he ... in general, he ... is cruel to me, but...
- But you needed me to displace him, right? - Aymond finished for her and collected drops of sweat from her chest with his fingers.
- Yes. But it's hard for me. I was raped, you know? Maybe it will never heal, you know? Maybe I'll never tell you everything.
- I think you just raped me, Heleina... and almost burned the dragon in flames - Eymond hummed - But I don't mind. How are you? Will you ask the Masters to make moon tea to...?
- Better - Heleina Recalled. - Calm Down. A little tired. No. No!
Helena jumped up, covered her chest with a shirt and looked at Aymond with angry. Frowning, the prince looked at the girl, and then examined her all over. The princess's thighs were painted scarlet as if they were splashed on them, cranberries were scattering. In some places, the blood has already curled, remaining an oak-colored crust.
- Does it hurt? Did I do that? - The man jumped up, hurriedly got on and rushed to his sister. - We need to call the master...
-No need. No. It doesn't hurt. You don't hurt me and we did it... More precisely, me. You see, it was so good for me to feel you. In general, to feel something that there was no pain at all. Stay with me longer.
Aymond took a deep breath, picked up Helena in his arms and carried her to the bed.
He filled the silver basin with cold water from a jug, gently washed her hips trying not to hurt and was silent, putting his thoughts into words.
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