#A World of Ice and Fire

[wodania]

“our towers, they rose up and set with the sun / our sermons, they burnt us with fiery tongues / we wrought our wings of metal, surprised when we fell,” eastward of eden by amelia day

“The Valyrians learned one deplorable thing from the Ghiscari: slavery. The Ghiscari whom they conquered were the first to be thus enslaved, but not the last. The burning mountains of the Fourteen Flames were rich with ore, and the Valyrians hungered for it: copper and tin for the bronze of their weapons and monuments; later iron for the steel of their legendary blades; and always gold and silver to pay for it all.” a world of ice and fire, ancient history: valyria’s children

“The freed slaves parted before her. “Mother,” they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. “Mother,” they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. “Mother, mother, mother!”” a storm of swords, daenerys iv

[lilosdraws]

Alysanne Blackwood and Sabitha Frey

[scarareg]

Crazy how Jocelyn Baratheon is Jaehaerys and Alysanne's half-sister, and yet she is young enough to marry their son and become their daughter-in-law. At the same time, Gael is their youngest daughter and she is around the same age as their grandsons Viserys and Daemon. But at the same time, their sister Rhaena was old enough to marry Maegor, who is their uncle. Weird-ass family tree

[lilithshads]

DAENAERA & AEGON `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

the laughing queen & the broken king

fire & blood (2018) // antony & cleopatra // Princesse de Broglie // pinterest // hugh laughton-scott // brenda sykes // days of glory (1944) // speak so softly love, andy williams // don juan (1926) // hamlet (1936) // eric vander & marpessa dawn

[idonsul]

[sophienapier]

This is absolutely hilarious, turn on the subtitles for Ice Nine Kills's A Work Of Art 🤣

[vhaena-targaryen]

I cannot get over the fact that Emma D’arcy only had four lines in the whole first episode but still delivered such a profound emotional message. They portrayed a mother who has just lost a child, who is searching for what is left of him, and who is so defeated. It was gut wrenching seeing Rhaenyra finally finding some sort of remains from her child. Losing a child is the most brutal loss a mother can go through and Emma represented that perfectly.

No words, just pure emotion and talent. It had me crying like a baby over a fictional story. But I have seen these emotions from mothers in my life. That is the reason why I think they did a perfect job at it. I love you Emma D’arcy.

[suta-kaykar]

Queen Aemma Arryn, 97 AC

[sarcasticsweetlara]

Daemon losing three of his children (because in the book and the show should have portrayed it showcasing how Daemon felt he was not important to Viserys) is important.

His first child with Mysaria represented his hopes in creating a family of his own and feeling the child would be the only relative who would truly love Daemon without conditions as we can see Daemon was willing to give his child a dragon egg to show them they were a Targaryen for Daemon and that the way they were born did not change how important they were to Daemon.

Even a child with Rhea Royce would have portrayed his dichotomy in having finally an heir that however would be tied to the place where Daemon felt stuck for so many years and that to inherit his child would not use the name Targaryen would surely affect Daemon in feeling he's not providing for his own child.

His son with Laena (Aemon) was supposed to be his heir and then he saw him die just one hour after being born and with him Daemon lost his first legitimate son who was also his only son with Laena.

And then Visenya, his only daughter with Rhaenyra and whose birth reminded him his brother was dead and would not meet her and that the position of Rhaenyra was being challenged by their enemies in the moment and had to bury her to immediately start fighting for the Throne

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello M! I saw you were open to writing for characters for GOT/HoTD, so I was wondering if I could send in a request for Aegon the Conqueror x fem! reader (non-Targaryen - maybe Nymeria's sister?) with the prompt 'Gift giving'? As for smut level, if possible lemon please, if not default or lime are perfectly fine too! Thank you and have a great rest of your day :)

Hello! Nymeria actually lived and died long before Aegon’s birth, and the princess ruling Dorne during Aegon’s time was already eighty or so, so I will write this fic with the reader being princess Meria’s great-niece instead. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Aegon the Conqueror x Fem. Reader (House Martell/Great-niece of princess Meria | Second person POV)

Themes: Soft | Smut

Warnings: Size kink | Kissing | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 1.3K words

Summary: The day after his return to Dragonstone, Aegon receives his first gift on the day of gift giving

Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: In this version, Visenya and Rhaenys are merely Aegon’s sisters, and not his wives. I also write the seasons running for three months each, instead years and years.

Divider by @estrelinha-s

The Dornish custom of gift giving during the winter solstice was not unheard of in the other kingdoms, but they, besides the Northmen, were the only people to practice such a custom. Once King Aegon took a Dornish princess to wife and adopted many of their ways, his own kin started to exchange gifts as well.

The dreary holdfast that was Dragonstone was awash with black and crimson banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and black and crimson bunting besides. Sprigs of evergreen clung to columns and windowsills, adding to the color that cut the chilling white of snow.

When Aegon opened his eyes, it was to the sound of a bell chiming. It was still dark out; the sun was obscured by thick clouds bearing more snow. Aegon hoped it was morning and that he had not slept through an entire day. His journey to Volantis was a triumph. It was also long and tiresome. Now he was home, and he did not have to think of leaving again for quite a while.

“Good morrow, my love.” Relief surged through him when he heard your greeting. It was indeed morning, and he had not, as he had feared, slept for a full day. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead, sweetling.” Aegon threw back his pelts and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The room was still warm; someone had added fresh logs to the fire. He suspected it may have been you, and he was grateful for it. “Is everything ready for tonight’s feast?”

“It is.” The featherbed was comfortable, and the pelts were soft against your skin. Still, you opened your eyes and sat up in bed. The appointed hour for the giving of gifts was still a long way away, but you wanted to give Aegon his before breaking fast. “And I have something for you.”

“You need not trouble yourself, my lady,” Aegon replied. He watched while you slipped out of bed and slid into a thick robe. He felt a stirring in his blood, a yearning. He decided the first meal of the day would have to give way to more pleasurable diversions. “I have a great many treasures already, you most of all.”

“True, my lord,” you agreed, and then blushed after hearing his praise. Aegon was now king. The immense wealth of gold and jewels of House Targaryen was his to use as he saw fit. Nevertheless, today was the day of giving gifts, and you padded across the room and opened the doors to your wardrobe. There, safely concealed between gowns of velvet and silk, was a heavy object wrapped in leather. The king sat up in bed, his eyes full of ravenous curiosity. “But I thought of giving you this all the same.”

“What have you there?” He inquired. His fingers twitched in anticipation. For nigh on half a year, the two of you shared the same chambers as husband and wife. You dined together and shared the triumphs and trials of ruling a great kingdom together. This, however, was his first true festival with you, and he did not know what to expect.

“I carved this myself,” you confessed, and you placed the parcel on the bed. Worry consumed you the entire time. Aegon had received many a fine gift in his life, and you prayed your own would pass muster. “It took quite a while, and I had to make sure you never came upon me making it.”

“Oho! You made it yourself, is it? Now I have to see it.”

Despite the many cares and expectations that came with wearing a crown, Aegon still possessed the enthusiasm of one free of such. He loosened the thin ribbon and drew away the leather.

“It is you and Balerion,” you explain, and run your finger along an unfurled wing. They were the hardest to carve. One night, you despaired that you would not get them right. “That was how I remembered seeing you for the first time. When you arrived at Sunspear, to ask my great-aunt Meria for my hand.”

Aegon lifted the piece of carved wood and studied it intensely. He admired the embellishments along Balerion’s body: the scales all over his underbelly, the horns on his head, and the sharp spines going down his tail. Then there was Aegon himself, perched on Balerion’s saddle, his crown atop his head. The king was deeply moved. All the wealth he possessed did not compare with this.

“I will treasure this always.” Aegon placed the carving on the chest of drawers next to his side of the bed. He decided to have the carving placed in his council room, on the mantle beside the painted table. “And I have a gift for you as well, my lady. For now, come here.”

He did not give you time to frame a reply and pulled you back into bed. Thoughts of gifts and feasts and celebrating were all but forgotten after his kiss. He was exceedingly gentle as always, stroking your arms, your thighs, his mouth hot and sinful while it plundered yours. Your hands found their way into his hair. He trembled and kissed you harder, moaning into your mouth when those same hands moved lower and clutched desperately at his back.

“Temptress,” he growled when nails dug into his flesh. Aegon slipped his hand over your belly, and loosened the sash of your robe. The rush of warm air made goosebumps prickle all over your skin. He trembled again, this time when you slipped out of it and wrapped your legs around his thighs. Your husband was big, and wonderfully so. You felt it even more when he slid that rigid part of him inside of you.

It hurt a little, even though you were more than ready. And it felt glorious at the same time. Every time he drew his erection out and then pushed it back in, flames sparked to life and surged through your veins.

“It is wonderful to be home again,” Aegon whispered in your ear. And it was not just him who thought so. You felt the same, and you reciprocated his sentiment by kissing him with fire and passion. Aegon nearly faltered, his hips and back now burning with effort. The room felt hotter, and the air was thick and sweet. His cock twitched within the warmth of your body when he felt a coiling deep in his belly. Faster he went, driving you deeper against the featherbed as he chased his release. It was too much. The pleasure was too much. The sensations that came whenever he pushed himself in were too much. Bliss—pure and otherworldly—rose and dragged you into a dark tunnel you did not seek to escape from. You could not think. All you could do was feel: the trails of fire that lashed at you and left you weak, and your very body slowly dissolving into a kind of pleasure that had no name. Then you heard it—your name spilling from your husband’s lips, and the deep, guttural cry that followed. Aegon thrust one last time before he stopped, and went still. 

Later, after he forced himself to move away from you, he admired his gift once more and then inquired after his sisters.

“Rhaenys has built a small mountain of gifts, her ladies tell me.” Aegon hooted when you told him. “Most of it will be given away to our guests during the feast. Visenya has only prepared tokens for us, for Rhaenys, and for no one else.”

“At least she has crafted a token for you, which is a miracle in itself.” Visenya, having expected Aegon to wed her according to the traditions of their House, was wroth when he chose a Dornish bride for himself. She had been cold and aloof for most of your marriage to her brother, but during the the last turn of the moon, there was a softening in her stance, an attempt to meet you in middle ground. It gave you hope for a much stronger bond with her in the future. “Send for the servants, sweetling. I think it is only proper for you and I to share a bath.”

[targcestprompts]

naerys x aemon the dragonknight (aemonaerys)

[cthaehart]

Nettles!🐑

[scarareg]

Love that George gave Egg and all his children their "happy ending" by allowing them to end up marrying (or just dating) partners they truly loved; even if it meant Egg's hair would have turned gray from stress if he did not already have his silver hair because all of his children broke off their engagements

[lilithshads]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ DAENERYS STORMBORN ⋆⭒˚.⋆

[queenbeyondthewall]

I wonder how many of the mysteries grrm sets up in AWOIAF will ever get resolved. Like what is Sothoryos’ deal? Where does the oily black stone come from? Were Azor Ahai and the Last Hero the same person? Where do dragons come from?

I know a some of these answers come down to Magic but a lot of them just show the passing of time and the erosion of knowledge. I’m reading a book on Roman history right now and it’s just making me think about how this aspect of verisimilitude feels so robust in grrm’s world… there are simply things about the far past that we will never know. Some of those things might even be important! Sometimes what we do know is made up wholecloth because it suited someone’s story a couple centuries down the line!

These books are about the stories we tell about the past to make sense of our present and I just think that’s very fun idea, especially when compounded by such a massive timeframe