#Borrow Baratheon

[coldraindropsss]

Borrow Baratheon, Elenda Caron 4 daughters "The four storms"

Cassandra Baratheon, Maris Baratheon, Ellyn Baratheon, Floris Baratheon

[flowerandblood]

Stay and love, leave and die

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Strong! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, noncon, virginity loss, smut, angst, choking, violence, threats, kidnapping, obsession ]

[ description: After the death of her grandfather, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Harwin Strong travels to Storm's End to remind Borros Baratheon of his fathers oath to her mother he had made years ago. There she meets her uncle, whom she has not seen since a certain terrible event that took place between him and her brother. Her uncle decides to take his payment for what happened to him. Aggressive, obsessive, very dark! Aemond.]

This oneshot is inspired by anon request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

Today marks one year since Ewan Mitchell played the role of Aemond Targaryen. I want to celebrate with this messed up Halloween oneshot! Love you my Aemond girlies 🎃🎃🎃

Alternative Universe Series: The Fall from the Heavens

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

____

She didn't remember much about the night her uncle lost his eye; at the time she was too young to understand what had really happened. When she came down into the great hall in only her nightgown and saw the maester bending over her uncle she squealed loudly, covering her mouth with her hand, terrified and distraught, bursting into tears.

She and Aemond were betrothed through the King's decision.

Her grandfather believed that a union between them would ensure that the kingdom would not fall apart after his death.

Her uncle did not speak to her much before their betrothal because she was a girl and her her feminine concerns did not arouse his interest. However, sometimes when she met him in the library, he would read aloud to her and she would listen to him with interest.

They would then exchange thoughts about their lineage, and even though it was purely childish, naive musings, they both felt like adults then.

She was really fond of him.

He was calm, polite and didn't mock her like Jace and Aegon, who said that when she frowned her eyebrows and pressed her lips together she looked like a hamster.

It turned out that their grandfather's decision, instead of confusing and intimidating them, brought them closer together. Her uncle was a man who understood perfectly what duty was and considered it his task and responsibility to prove himself as a husband according to his father's will.

He began to introduce her to his world full of weapons and trainings filled with effort, his beloved books on philosophy and history.

She knew that it gave him great satisfaction when she borrowed thick volumes from his private collection, which his mother had presented to him, pleased that she was able to discuss with him more and more boldly and confidently on subjects that interested him.

He embarrassed her when one day he asked her hesitantly if she could spend the night by his side. From what she understood he did not sleep well, although he did not want to say for whatever reason. He found that her presence reassured him, and since she was to be his wife, her place was with him.

She couldn't hide the heat and joy that spread through her heart at the thought that he craved to feel her by his side.

From then on, she would sneak out to his chamber at night, slipping under his bedding, falling asleep beside him pressing her forehead against his, holding his hand in hers. He never tried to touch her in an indecent way, never ordered her to expose her body, instead allowing her to place innocent, warm, childlike kisses on his lips whenever she desired.

If it hadn't been for the darkness around them she would have noticed that his cheeks were rosy with shame and contentment, that he was smiling lazily as he lay there with his eyes closed.

From then on, he slept peacefully.

Then, however, her younger brother deprived him of one eye when he dared to tame Vhagar, and her mother, despite promises that she would be able to visit him, allowed it only after a few days, hiding behind the fact that her half-brother should rest. However, when she appeared at the door of his chamber full of hope, Criston Cole sent her away and she never saw him again.

She sent him letters for eight years, one every two months, but he never wrote her back.

When king Viserys died her mother decided that she would fly to Storm's End to remind Lord Baratheon of his fathers oath, while Jace was to fly to Winterfell and Luke to the Eyrie.

All things considered, however, she did not foresee one thing.

Vhagar.

When she saw her in the middle of the storm, raising her head towards her like a great moving mountain, she felt fear.

She had not seen him since that day.

She did not fly to King's Landing when Luke fought for his rights to Driftmark because her mother and the Queen thought it would only make things worse, and her uncle did not want to see her.

For a moment she hesitated in spirit, standing in the rain, whether to turn back, terrified at the thought that he was there. She recognised, however, that her mother had entrusted her with this mission believing that she would fulfil the task and she had to fight for her rights.

Therefore, she gathered her courage and approached the guards, informing them of who she was. They led her into a large circular throne room, lit up once in a while by an intense flash of lightning and the torches all around her.

That's when she saw him.

He stood in a leather cloak with sword and dagger at his side, speaking to one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, but when he heard the guards announce who had arrived he looked towards her, turning on his heel, holding his hands entwined behind his back.

His lips twitched in a mocking, menacing grin that sent shivers through her, his pupil narrowed like those of a cat that had just seen a mouse.

"My Lady Strong." He said teasingly, coldly, lightly, and she swallowed loudly, recognising that she had not come all this way to tease.

She was shivering with cold and fear and wanted to convey what she had to say as quickly as possible.

"Queen Rhaenyra wishes to remind you of the oath your father, Lord Baratheon, made to her years ago." She said softly and clearly, looking up at the distressed lord sitting before her on the stone throne.

"Prince Aemond has offered to take one of my daughters as his wife. Which of my daughters will one of your brothers marry to win my favour?" He asked her in a dry, raised voice, frustrated by her presence and what she was demanding of him.

She swallowed loudly, looking at her uncle in shock, seeing him watching her with satisfaction, his chin raised in a gesture of victory, the corner of his mouth still twitching in a smile.

He was proud of himself.

"Forgive me, my Lord, both my brothers who are of the proper age for marriage are already betrothed." She muttered, and Lord Baratheon laughed aloud, spreading his arms to his sides.

"So you come with empty hands. Go home, pup. Tell your mother she won't summon me when she wishes like some dog." He growled.

She swallowed the insult with difficulty, nodding, feeling her head humming, her heart pounding like mad, her uncle's gaze piercing her to the core.

"I will pass on your words to the Queen, my Lord." She said, forcing herself to be calm and bowed, turning away tense and walking out quickly, wanting to be back in Dragonstone as soon as possible.

She stepped out into the courtyard into the intense rain pouring down from the sky, loud thunder all around her, her whole body trembling from fear.

"Wait, my Lady Strong." She heard a cold, mocking voice behind her and squealed softly as she felt someone's strong, large hand clench painfully tight on her arm.

"Won't you greet your uncle? Don't you want to see at last my memento after meeting your brother?" He hissed, pulling his eye patch from his face with his free hand in one sharp, firm, agressive motion.

She drew in a loud breath when she saw polished sapphire shining ominously in his eye socket.

She stared at the sight simultaneously horrified and enthralled, there was something in his face, in his gaze, in the way he clenched his jaw, that she was unable to look away from him.

"− please −" She mumbled, trying to pull herself out of his arms, but he embraced her, pressing her close. She put her hands on his rain-wet leather coat and tried to push him away, but he only chuckled lowly at her helpless efforts, locking her in his grasp.

"− I see you've changed too − you even look like a woman now − maybe I should take you away and enjoy you after so many years of separation − didn't you miss me? −" He asked in a humiliating, sweet, mocking voice, leaning over her like a child so as to look into her frightened eyes, in which tears of terror had gathered.

She was afraid of the way he looked at her.

"− please, uncle, I just want to go home −" She whispered pleadingly and took his cold face in her hands, wanting to alleviate the situation somehow, to give it some affectionate gesture that would help him calm down.

Something changed in his gaze, he shuddered and licked his lower lip, looking at her with his head tilted, his grip not easing one bit, their hair, faces and clothes wet from the intense rain.

"− no −" He hissed and grabbed her in half, throwing her over his shoulder, she began to squeal and scream, slapping his back with her hands, her dragoness writhed ominously at the sight, ready to breathe fire.

He summoned Vhagar, who rose suddenly on her paws, the ground shook beneath her and her little dragoness scowled in fear, as terrified as she was.

"− please, don't hurt her! −" She cried to him and stopped struggling, knowing that Vhagar's teeth clamped down on her dragoness would tear her apart. "− please, I'll fly with you, I will do anything −"

"− hm −" He murmured under his breath, placing her on the ground right next to the ropes hanging from his saddle. He looked at her with an indifferent, cool gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. "− up −"

She cried all the way, snuggling into the front of his saddle, feeling his body clinging to hers behind her, his face pressed against her neck.

"− I will make you my mistress − you will bear me bastards after I marry any of that fool's daughters − bastards are perfect for bearing other bastards, aren't they? −" He whispered in her ear, placing wet, sticky kisses on the skin of her neck, and she tried with difficulty to catch her breath, almost choking from her sobs.

She prayed for her mother to save her.

He dragged her by her arm, holding her painfully tight, towards his chamber, heedless of the surprised stares of the guards.

It was the middle of the night and he had commanded that no one was to disturb them.

He pushed her into his chambers and she fell to the stone floor, panting heavily, shaking all over, feeling like she was about to vomit from fear, tears and rain drops running down her cheeks. She could hear him breathing loudly with excitement and exertion, pulling off his coat, tossing it disorderly on the floor.

She was breathing hard, looking at him in horror, wondering what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to fight him.

Suddenly, this one thought, this one attempt, seeing him begin to walk towards her with a menacing, final step that said it all came out of her mouth.

"I've written letters to you. For eight years, every two months. You never wrote back to any of them. Why?" She asked in a trembling, broken voice, feeling how tight her throat was with fear, how much her hands were quivering.

He stopped in mid-step, furrowing his brow, his face impassive, tense, cold.

"Liar." He hissed as he knelt over her, grabbing her by her neck, pressing her to the ground in a one, brutal motion, his free hand quickly found the dagger hidden under her cloak and tossed it aside with a loud clang of steel.

She figured that the more she resisted, the more pain he would cause her.

"I'm not lying. Ask your grandfather. I suspect he didn't even pass them on to you, did he?" She mumbled with difficulty, his fingers clenching on her neck so tightly that she had trouble breathing.

However, she noticed a kind of hesitation and uncertainty on his face, his nostrils quivering in a ragged breath.

"And what did you write in them, my Lady Strong?" He asked teasingly, his free hand sliding down to the tying of his breeches, his wide-eyed gaze directed at her, mad, implacable, cruel.

She licked her lips, feeling his fingers cold and wet from the rain clenching on her hot skin, tried not to think about the sound of the material slipping away, only what she had wanted to say to him for years.

"That I was too young to understand what happened then. That it wasn't until years later that I realised you had been deprived of more than an eye that night. That I can't sleep. That something in me died that day." She whispered with difficulty, tears of grief, fear and horror running down the sides of her face onto the stone floor he pressed her against.

She saw that he had stopped in mid-motion, breathing loudly, his lips pressed together, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"I will not give you back to your mother-whore. I will keep you as my payment for the harm she has done to me." He said coolly, furrowing his brow, looking at her as if he was explaining to her that it was the only reasonable thing to do.

Her heart pounded like crazy as she thought what she was doing was working.

That it wasn't rape per se that was his goal, but the appropriation of something precious that belonged to her mother, so that he could have a sense of atonement.

She nodded, trying to calm herself, wanting him to remain calm too.

"Very well." She whispered quietly, something in his face changed, a sort of surprise passed across his eye. He let out a loud sigh, as if he expected that only when he took her by force would she agree.

"For years I have suffered with the thought of that day. I will compensate you as best I can." She mumbled softly, a final, solitary tear running down her face.

She tried with all her might to think of that boy she loved so dearly and not the monstrous man who had just looked at her.

"Hm." He hummed again, letting her go, rising from his lap, his watchful gaze directed straight at her.

She grabbed her neck, drawing in air loudly, turning onto her stomach, quivering all over.

She heard the clang of steel and the sound of a loud filling. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, breathing hard, and noticed that he had poured himself some wine.

He moved slowly towards the chair opposite her and sat down with a loud creak of wood, arranging himself comfortably, crossing his legs.

"I await my compensation." He said lightly, as if amused, taking a loud sip from his cup, his healthy eye staring at her wide-eyed with a sharp, expectant gaze, his lips stretched in a lazy, dangerous grin.

She swallowed loudly, standing up slowly, feeling her legs refuse to obey her, thinking strenuously what she should do.

"No man would want me for a wife after this." She sobbed out with difficulty, looking at him horrified, and he chuckled under his breath, cocking his head to the side.

"If you please me enough, I will take you as my wife in the tradition of Old Valyria, and our children will be my official heirs." He said dryly, and she felt her heart begin to pound like mad, she shook her head as if she did not believe what he was saying.

"− your grandfather − your future wife − they would never −"

"− I don't give a shit about them − only my word counts in this matter − do you understand? −" He asked loudly, looking up at her from below, tapping his fingers on the armrest at his last word. She pressed her lips together, looking at him pleadingly.

"− we both know you won't marry me − you despise me − I −"

"I will be merciful and spare you from giving birth to my bastards. I will either marry you or kill you, depending on how much I like what you do now." He said softly, something like a gleam in his eye, content with this insightful thought, his cup reached his lips again as he took a greedy sip from it.

She clenched her hands into fists, knowing what he desired, knowing that if she didn't give it to him, he would take it anyway, violently and aggressively, and then just cut her throat.

She thought with despair that if she could spare herself even a little pain, she would.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her watchfully as she approached him with a slow, unhurried step, wordlessly sitting on his lap, her hair still wet from the rain, partly pinned back in a bun, partly lowered loosely down her back.

She raised her trembling hands to the buckles of her cloak, undoing them with a slow movement, his gaze fixed on her fingers. He lifted his gaze to her face, drinking quickly the remnant of wine he had in his goblet, looking greedily after a moment at her drenched gown, through which material he could see almost everything.

She felt something in his breeches pulse hard beneath her, and then again and again, becoming harder and harder.

"I don't know what to do, uncle." She whispered quietly, begging him in a way to end her humiliation, to just show her what he wanted and leave her alone.

He looked at her suddenly, humming again in his low, thoughtful, throaty tone, his hand slipping beneath the material of her underskirt, touching shamelessly her naked thigh, finally digging his fingertips into the soft skin of her hip, pressing her closer to him, forcing her to rub againt what was beneath her with slow back and forth movements.

She saw him part his lips, his other hand quickly set the cup down on the small table standing next to them and swiftly joined his first hand, also tightening on her hip. She felt the rocking movements of her hips tease something between her thighs, tickling her at the same time and making her shiver.

"Spread my breeches to the sides." He commanded in a hoarse, trembling voice looking at her expectantly, licking his lower lip in an involuntary, quick motion.

She did as he instructed and suddenly felt something hard and throbbing press against her naked body, she drew in the air loudly guessing what it was. She felt him take his manhood in his hand in a confident movement.

"Lift up and slide it inside you." He said coolly, but the tone of his voice betrayed some kind of excitement, his healthy eye open wide.

She swallowed loudly, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance, breathing loudly, trying not to think about how scared she was, how much she wanted to go home, his sapphire eye gleamed dangerously in the dark.

She settled against him and felt the fat head of his length push against her folds, sliding in just a little, stretching her slit painfully to all sides. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a quiet sigh of discomfort, a throaty groan escaping his lips.

"− fuck − keep going −" He exhaled, not moving however, his hand holding his manhood in such a position that it stood perpendicular to her body.

She bit her lips, gasping with effort as she tried to fit him deeper inside her, another loud, involuntary groan escaped his lips, he threw his head back, clenching his healthy eye, clasping his hand on her bare buttocks. He opened it suddenly and looked at her, breathing loudly through his mouth.

One brutal, sudden thrust of his hips startled her and tore something inside her, she cried out and convulsed in pain shaking all over, his large hands stroking her thighs reassuringly.

He knew he had just taken her maidenhood.

"− shhh − shhh −" He hushed her, rocking inside her with slow, steady rhythm of his hips, looking at her with misty eyes full of something she didn't understand, a single tear of horror and humiliation ran down her cheek.

She drew in a loud breath as he lifted his one hand to her face, his thumb rubbing the wet stain from her cheek, and then his fingers tightened on the nape of her neck, drawing her closer, snuggling her face into the hollow of his neck.

Stunned and helpless, she clenched her hands on the material of his leather tunic, seeking refuge in her tormentor, wishing only that he would not cause her any more pain.

"− hush − it's all right − look how easy it's sliding in now −" He whispered quietly into her ear, his length slipping softly all the way into her only to slide out almost completely, teasing something inside her. His movements began to become increasingly slippery, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a quiet, sticky click.

"− just like that − just a little longer −" He cooed, stroking her wet hair, placing almost tender kisses on her temple, panting along with her with each of his movements, her body bouncing slightly with each of his thrusts.

She snuggled into him tighter, just wanting to hide, to escape, his neck smelling of smoke, sweat, rain. She closed her eyes, trying to relax, and he groaned loudly feeling her body stop resisting him, his lips roaming over her wet cheek, placing moist, sticky kisses on it.

"− I know − I know − 'm close −" He whispered with some kind of care from which a shudder went through her, the thought that when he did this she might soon expect his child.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought feeling the tears burning under her eyelids again, sobbing quietly, embracing him tightly, his thrusts getting faster and louder, slamming his swollen, fat cock into her again and again, both of them began to moan, his one hand clenched in her hair, the other squeezed her hip.

"− how could you leave me − I was waiting for you then − ah − all fucking night − but it doesn't matter − you're mine now − g-gods − fuck! −" He exhaled loudly, panting heavily along with her, his words making her feel her core throbbing around him, sucking him inside, some warm liquid spilling inside her and suddenly it was all over.

They sat cuddled together like that for long minutes, their breaths calming, not speaking or moving, just embracing each other, his face nestled into her hair, his nose pressed against her cheek.

"From now on everything will be as it should be, wife."

_____

Alternative Universe Series: The Fall from the Heavens

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[goodqueenaly]

what do you think is the reason for baelor breakspear, the literal crown prince, marrying jena dondarrion, a lady from a very minor house in the dornish marches who presumably didnt like the dornish very much? could it have been daeron ii arranging this marriage to curry favour with dorne's enemies by marrying his very dornish son to a marcher lord's daughter and thus in a way simulating peace between the marchers and the dornish in the eyes of the realm? or could it have been a way to keep the blackfyre supporters in line assuming baelor married after the first rebellion, since one of the reasons for the uprising was anti-dornish sentiment?

Number one, I don’t think we can call the Dondarrions “a very minor House”. Indeed, Yandel himself counts the Dondarrions (alongside the Swanns, Selmys, and Carons) as one of “[t]he greatest of the Marcher lords” and refers to the Dondarrion seat of Blackhaven as “[a]mong the sternest of the Marcher seats … with its forbidding black basalt walls and bottomless dry moat”. Lord Harmon Dondarrion seems to have been of equal rank to Lord Tarly and Lady Caron, as all served as commanders during the campaign in Aenys I’s reign against the Vulture King, and Lord Dondarrion served as one of the three Marcher representatives at the wedding of Queen Alyssa and Rogar Baratheon. Queen Alysanne clearly considered the Dondarrions important enough to include on the royal couple’s tour of the Dornish Marches in 54 AC, and later a Dondarrion was one of the “dozen fresh young maidens chosen from amongst a hundred who coveted the distinction of serving as a companion to the queen [i.e. Alysanne]" - proof, I think, of the rank of the Dondarrions even relative to other Westerosi aristocrats. Notably as well in the main novels, Sansa thinks that while Jeyne Poole - herself an aristocrat, albeit an actually low-ranking and probably landless one - mooned after Lord Beric, the Lord of Blackhaven “would never look at someone so far beneath him”. 

Number two, it seems almost certain that Baelor and Jena were married prior to the First Blackfyre Rebellion. Valarr, their elder son, was not only old enough to joust as a knight at Ashford in 209 AC, suggesting that Valarr was at least 16 or so at that time, but was also big and tall enough for his nearly 40-year-old warrior father to plausibly borrow and wear his armor during the trial of seven, suggesting that Valarr was old enough to have reached his adult build and height. Personally, I think Baelor and Jena were married roughly around the mid to late 180s and Valarr was born around the late 180s, but whenever the actual wedding occurred, it’s impossible that Valarr was born in or after 196 AC, and as such his parents had to have been married ahead of the First Blackfyre Rebellion.

All of that said, why do I think Prince Baelor and Jena Dondarrion were married? Put very simply, I think Daeron II correctly recognized the fault lines of political factionalism in his kingdom and wanted to repair, rather than deepen, those divisions. From the beginning of his reign, King Daeron had very publicly advertised his desire to unite Dorne with the Targaryen kingdom. Not only was Daeron himself happily married to Myriah Martell, but as Yandel notes, “one of [Daeron’s] earliest significant acts after assuming the throne was to begin negotiations with his good-brother, Prince Maron, to unify Dorne under Targaryen rule” - negotiations which ended with the homage of Prince Maron and his wedding to the king’s sister, Princess Daenerys. Between the unique “significant rights and privileges” granted to the Dornish lords and the Prince of Dorne in particular in the peace accord, and the Dornishmen who were given places at court and “offices of note” under Daeron II, the king was making very clear that his government was openly and ardently pro-Dorne. 

Yet as Daeron II certainly realized, such courtly and political favoritism toward Dorne generally and House Martell specifically would hardly be received rapturously by the entirety of his realm. From the earliest days of the Targaryen monarchy, the dragonkings had, in the tradition of the Plantagenets and any number of other real-world monarchies, claimed dominion over Dorne, in title if not in fact. Daeron I had come closest, if relatively briefly, to making this paper crown of "King of the Rhoynar" a reality, and Daeron II’s own father Aegon IV had (albeit almost certainly for selfish and petty reasons) attempted to reignite (pun intended) the conquest of Dorne by House Targaryen. Daeron II’s pro-Dorne policies, then, were very much poised to be seen, at least by some of his subjects, as a jarring reversal away from a century and a half of Targaryen posturing and conquest and toward a political reality where the Dornish were, to borrow Yandel’s phrase, “rivals for the king’s attention or largesse”. That suspicion extended to Daeron’s heir: according to Yandel, “many men looked upon Baelor’s dark hair and eyes and muttered that he was more Martell than Targaryen”. This Martell-looking eldest son of a Martell queen, double first cousins with the future of the ruling dynasty of Dorne, may have seemed to suspicious factions to be the living guarantee that Martell, and more generally Dornish, royal favor was going to continue, if not indeed be increased, in the next generation of the Targaryen monarchy. 

The solution, I think, for Daeron II was to marry his eldest son and heir into one of the marcher lord dynasties. These families, founded explicitly according to Yandel to “[protect] the realm of the Storm Kings from the ancient enemies to the west and, especially, the south” and to “create a bulwark against incursions from the Dornish”, would almost certainly have been the most natural opponents of Daeron II’s pro-Dorne policies (and, given their famous pride, perhaps among the most vocal in their opposition). By choosing from among these lords for not just his daughter-in-law but the future (expected) Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and (expected) mother of the next king, Daeron II was making just as public a statement that his was not a client state of Sunspear but a united realm - one in which the proud marchers would have just as much opportunity for courtly favor and advancement as the Martells and other Dornish nobles did. The Dondarrions, and by extension any of their relatives and allies among the marchers, would be directly invested in the dynasty, with a tangible incentive for supporting Daeron II’s government (as opposed to, say, looking to Daemon Blackfyre as a rival for the throne). Too, if I can quote myself, the future (expected) royal children of Baelor and Jena, especially their (expected) eldest son and heir, “would be a microcosm of the peace Daeron sought”, as “Dornish blood and marcher blood, eternally spilled at the other’s expense, would mingle in a single person, a future king of the united state of Westeros”. 

One question I do have - though we’ll probably have to wait until Fire and Blood Volume 2 for an answer - is why Daeron II selected a Dondarrion rather than, say, a Swann or Caron. It could be that there were no daughters of the right age among any of other other prominent marcher families; it could be that Daeron II knew or liked Jena’s family more than he did, say, other marcher families; it could even be that Daeron chose the Dondarrions to temper the local geopolitical ambitions of the Swanns and Carons to each be counted “the oldest of the Marcher houses” and superior over the rest, with the king perhaps quietly reminding the Swanns and Carons that he had the power to humble as well as exalt. 

(Let's just hope that F&B Vol. 2 improves upon its predecessor and has Jena as an active, developed crown princess and would-be queen, rather than a walking womb or - ugh - another victim of death-by-childbirth.)

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 11 - Remedy

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Aemond’s remedy consisted of every ingredient you could find which made your nose wrinkle, and you were feeling quite pleased with yourself as you softly giggled all the way from the maesters quarters to Helaena’s chambers.

However, when you arrived, you were dismayed to learn that Aemond was no longer there and had returned to his own room. 

This left you with two choices. Deliver the remedy as promised or forget about it altogether, hoping for it to never be mentioned again. Yet it would be mentioned again. 

Maris would certainly have a number of questions, and when had Aemond ever let anything drop? 

Still, his room. It seemed a forbidden and foreboding place, and you bit your lip as you turned towards the staircase which would lead the way. 

Though you supposed, if you were to enter any man's chambers in the Red Keep, then Aemond’s was quite possibly the safest.

He’d never done anything more than look when he’d had ample opportunity to do more. So, in a strange way, you could trust him, at least in that regard.  

Still, that didn’t mean you actually wanted to enter his room, but you reasoned that all you had to do was give him the remedy then leave. 

Remedy then leave. The words cycled through your mind as you climbed the stairs, as though you might forget how to do it and be tempted in by conversation and disagreements. 

Your only consolation was that the feast would be starting soon and, you’re already dressed, having borrowed Cassandra’s lavender gown, so everyone is expecting your prompt arrival.  

Remedy then leave, you think again. That's all you have to do. 

“Lady Baratheon,” the guard says as you approach Aemond’s room, and the use of your name unnerves you.  

Aemond's guard, who you’re not sure you’ve even seen before, should not know who you are, but he does, and he opens the door without questioning why you are here.  

“I'm bringing his grace a remedy,” you explain anyway, mortified that he might be thinking you're here for something else. Something unmentionable. 

But he doesn’t react, and you suppose he's trained not to. Like a fly on the wall, seeing everything and nothing at the same time.  

You don’t want to wonder if he opens Aemond’s door to countless other ladies, but you do, just as your heart begins to pound and your forced to take a deep breath before stepping into the room.  

It's brighter than you expect, and you’re immediately struck by the heady scent of sandalwood and bergamot which smells both fresh and comforting at the same time.  

Aside from that, the room is smaller than Helaena’s but not by much. There’s plenty of bookcases, a giant carved bedframe and an equally giant carved fireplace.  

All the carvings are made of dragons, which is to be expected, yet they’re different to the ones in the queen's room. Those were playful, chasing their tails and weaving merrily around the furniture, while Aemond’s dragons are fierce enough to exude power but not enough to be frightening. 

In the centre of the room, two plush chaises are arranged around a low table and Aemond is sitting on the one facing the door, so he sees the very moment you enter the room, the book in his hand slamming shut with a satisfying thud. 

He's wearing his doublet, but it hangs open as though he was trying to dress for dinner but gave up on the buttons. Beneath that, his white shirt is loose, the strings unravelled enough for you to see the bandages still wrapped around his ribs.  

“Here,” you say, quickly sliding the remedy onto the table in front of him. Yet when the time comes for you to turn and leave, he catches your eye, and he will not let it go. 

“How should I use it?” he asks, wincing as he leans forward to pick it up. 

“Is it to consume or to rub on the-” he clears his throat with a small breathy chuckle, “swollen muscles and lips?” 

You give him a sharp look. Laughing at Maris was only amusing when you did it. From Aemond’s lips, the same joke seems cruel instead of funny. 

“If you consume it, perhaps you will choke and this conversation will be over,” you say tartly and he laughs harder, tipping some of the remedy into the palm of his hand before sinking it beneath his shirt and presumably the bandages.  

“It smells a little... odd ,” he says, and you bite the inside of your cheeks to suppress the full force of your amusement just as the queen walks in.

“Ah, you have company,” she says, moving to stand where she can see you both, “though I did wonder if it would be the other Baratheon girl who would be entertaining you this evening. You asked for her favour, did you not?” 

Aemond doesn’t respond, stoic as ever. But you smile politely, “I’m only here to bring a remedy for his grace’s injuries.” 

“A remedy? How sweet.” She smiles warmly yet the look is fleeting before her eyes turn shrewd, “will you not stay? Aemond has already decided to forgo this evening's entertainment though I'm sure he will still enjoy some pretty company.” 

Your eyes dart back to his, but he offers you no reprieve from the suggestion and, of course not, he’s like a plank of wood whenever his mother enters the conversation.  

“If his grace wishes for company then I shall be pleased to fetch my sister, ” you say and you can’t help but notice the look of alarm which flashes across his face. 

Perhaps the queen notices it too, because she rejects your suggestion with a shake of her head and a dismissive laugh.  

“That is such a long way to be walking back and forth, when you are already here,” she says, gesturing to one of the maids who'd snuck into the room behind her, “bring the chair closer so Lady Baratheon may sit with the prince, and will someone put more logs on the fire and close the windows before they catch their death of cold?” 

Neither you nor Aemond say a single thing in protest, while the Queen supervises the burst of activity which grips the room. 

The first maid struggling to move a plump chair from beside an end table stacked with books. Another stoking the fire until you can feel the burn nipping at your skin, and a third closing all the shutters to block out the night sky and any chance of a draft.  

Then supper is sent down for, a carafe of wine placed on the table next to two cups and the candles are rearranged, some being extinguished altogether. 

With the warm glow of the lighting, you’re beginning to feel as though the room is being prepared for your wedding night instead of supper and start to imagine that now would be the time to run away. Yet you’re still standing, hands clutched to your cloak for moral support.  

“Lady Baratheon looks quite beautiful tonight, does she not?” Alicent says, as if you weren’t feeling uncomfortable enough, her hand sweeping to stroke across your hair with the sort of familiarity which only belongs between lovers and family, of which she is neither . 

Aemond's Adam’s apple bobs deeply, but his face remains cool and unchanged, “she looks as she always looks.” 

“And how is that?” Alicent presses, seeming to take great pleasure in trying to get a rise out of him at your expense, but you cannot stand to be toyed with for another second. 

So you turn, moving away from her reach and, you're just about to tell her that you have zero interest in Aemond’s opinion, when he clears his throat, interrupting your next words and, perhaps, saving you from yourself. 

“I think we can all agree that Lady Baratheon is...” he meets your eye, and his words are tightly spoken, “exceptionally beautiful, no matter what she is wearing.” 

Exceptionally beautiful . 

Gods , every time you thought you could feel no further embarrassment in the presence of Aemond Targaryen, embarrassment always seemed to arrive, and it always felt worse.  

He was the one wearing the stink of the remedy, so why were your cheeks burning? 

“Now,” his voice commands between sips of wine, “will there be anything more, before you leave us to suffocate in the stifling heat which you have created?” 

“It is a little warm,” Alicent concedes, her eyes shining with satisfaction as she instructs one of the maids to take your cloak, which you give up with great reluctance. 

“Will you not sit?” she says quite innocently though you’re no fool to her doe eyed expression. She isn’t asking, she’s telling, and you have no choice but to take your place next to the prince. 

Then, looking even more satisfied than before, she indicates for all the maids to follow as she exits the room, the door shutting quietly behind the procession, leaving only the crackle of the fire to fill the void which now occupies the air. 

“There is no arguing with my mother,” Aemond’s says after a while, and you head whips around to look at him. 

“Well, you certainly didn’t try.” 

His eye softens as he offers you the other cup of wine, “perhaps I wanted the honour of your company?” 

You scoff, ignoring the outstretched cup as you stand. 

“You’re leaving?” he says quickly, his expression suddenly alert. 

You ignore him again and move to reopen the shutters, letting some of that cool night air return to the room before you both start to swelter.  

Then instead of sitting down, you inch towards his bookcases of which there are four, all lined up in a row against one wall and all bursting with books just as the queens were.  

If Aemond wasn’t here, you could enjoy this so much more. Not just the act of rifling through his shelves, but the room itself, which is so orderly yet comfortable, and has so many perches on which to devour the hours upon hours of unread words.  

Instead, you look back at him and wonder if he always reads on the chaise. Or if, like you, he enjoys curling up in bed by the light of a solitary candle.

Then, knowing you really shouldn’t look at the bed when you’ve already caught his eye, your attention moves there anyway.  

The sheets are pulled tight, the huge swags of heavy curtains tied to the thick posts with tasselled ropes, and a candle does sit by the pillow, worn down to the wick but with a neat row of replacements waiting in the wings.  

When you look back at Aemond, he’s relaxed deeper into the chaise, but he’s still watching you with what looks like fascination, as though the door to his room is never opened for other ladies. 

Perhaps only his family and his servants ever step inside these walls. Perhaps he even wants you to rifle through his belongings so he can look at them with fresh eyes, but you were only here to give him the remedy then leave. Not delve into the depths of his room with a hundred different questions.  

For the art above the fire, for the book he was reading when you arrived, for the small wooden box which sits on the shelf just within your reach, its clasp begging to be flicked open.  

Instead, you knit your hands together and say, “you should not toy with my sister if you have no wish to pursue her.” 

Aemond frowns, slowly licking his tongue across his lip, the wine swirling in his cup. “What makes you think I have no wish to pursue her?” 

His question takes you by surprise, and you suppose you don’t really know what Aemond wants. “ Do you?” you ask. 

His instant reaction is a disparaging little snort which is so soft you can barely hear it, but it bothers you just the same. 

“I merely asked for the lady's favour, not her hand,” he points out as though his actions were completely innocent. 

“I think even his grace must realise the significance of a favour,” you say, knowing fine well that he has your handkerchief tucked neatly away someplace. 

“Is that why you gave yours to the Lord of Deepwood Motte ?” His says and you wonder if he intends for the question to sound so accusatory. Or for every syllable of Deepwood Motte to drip with so much distain that you could believe it to be the worst place in the entire kingdom. 

“A lady hardly has a choice in the matter of who she gives her favour to, but you chose Maris, and if you did so without any intentions then you’re being terribly unfair.” 

He sits up straighter in his seat though you can tell the sudden movement pains him. “Your sisters only intention is for the crown and the glory of the Targaryen name. Is that fair?” 

If he wants you to pity his position, you don’t, and your temper bristles, "and why else would she want you? Certainly not for your arrogance or contempt.” 

“ My contempt?” he laughs, “I’ve seen no greater contempt than the contempt you have shown for your prince.” 

You scoff, “then I fear his grace has only met liars.” 

“ That we can agree on,” he says, holding his cup up in cheers but he isn't waiting for you to meet it. He takes a long drink before he continues. 

“Who, but the indomitable Lady Baratheon, could ever say what they really think to the Targaryen who rides the biggest dragon in the world? I can count on one hand the amount of people who would dare to tell me ‘no’.” 

You frown, a little confused. Most men craved the opposite of ‘no’, wanting submission and complete dominion over everything and everyone. “Is that truly what you want? For people to refuse you?”  

Aemond laughs bitterly, “sometimes. Yes .” 

That was no problem where you were concerned, so you smile, moving to pick up your cup of wine and raise it in the same way he did, “then I shall promise to always disagree with everything you say.” 

“Then our friendship shall remain the same,” he touches his cup to yours and finishes the remainder of the wine. 

“We are not friends.” 

He sighs, the empty cup resting on his knee as though this was one of the times he did not wish to be refused.  

"Play with me,” he says after a while, nodding towards the Cyvasse board by the fire. 

You narrow your eyes, “ no .” 

Aemond’s head tilts thoughtfully, reconsidering his approach with the hint of mischief, “then don’t play with me… I can think of nothing I would dislike more.” 

You try not to smile but you smile anyway, rolling your eyes as you move towards the board.  

You choose the seat closest to the warmth since the shutters really do let in the cold, while Aemond picks himself up from the chaise carefully, clenching his hand to his chest as though every movement is a spike of pain.  

“That must hurt terribly,” you say, watching as he eases himself into the seat across from you. 

“It does,” he concedes, though he’s still trying his best to make it seem like it doesn’t.  

“Good. ” 

His laugh is breathy, made up of half amusement, half jolt of pain, “careful Lady Baratheon or I’ll start to believe you truly don’t like me very much.” 

Your meet his eye, “you’re only starting to believe that now? And I thought his grace was a scholar?”

He restrains another laugh, arranging his own Cyvasse pieces. “So, you think it my fault I found you bathing without a stitch of clothing to cover your modesty?” 

You huff, “I think it your fault you looked.”  

“I only half looked,” he says, meeting your eye with a devilish smirk and, though you want to laugh, you bite your cheek. 

“Well, you should not have looked at all,” you scold when you’ve managed to swallow your amusement, but your tone is far too light to sound truly upset. “And that is not the only reason I find you completely repugnant.” 

Aemond leans back in the chair, his pieces all arranged, "surely not completely repugnant?” 

“Completely ,” you repeat, setting your last piece into place. 

“Then please, do tell me all the reasons, what's one more wound when my lady takes such pleasure in my pain?” 

You bite your lip, “I do not take pleasure in it; I merely think you deserve it.” 

Aemond leans forward, “is that why I am to spend this entire evening stinking worse than the tail end of the dragon pit?” 

The remedy.  

You cough to cover your laughter as you pick up the little ivory Light Horse and make the first move. A move, which you were ashamed to admit, you’d already decided upon before you’d even entered the room.  

Of course, you’d never say this to Aemond, but you’d thought of your game with him almost every day, playing it over, deciding upon new strategies, wanting to be more unpredictable .  

Aemond moves his Spearmen, a move you’d already calculated for, but he hasn’t given up on his suggestion, “if my lady is struggling to think of a single grievance against me, perhaps she will care to offer me a compliment instead?” 

You meet his eye, challenge accepted as you move your dragon.  

“You ate my cake,” you say, starting off small. 

Aemond snorts, pushing his piece to meet with yours, “what cake?” 

“The lemon cake in my room, which happened to be my favourite, but you ate the remainder of it without any thought at all. Quite unforgiveable .” 

His laughter is soft, his whole body relaxed, “then I apologise for the hurt I have caused.” 

You move again, “and you also told everyone that I cannot dance, after , might I add, you said you had no wish to humiliate me.” 

Aemond frowns, dismissing your claim as though it is absurd, “that's only humiliation if you care what the idiots at court think.” 

“Really ? Then shall I remind his grace that he also told his mother that I cannot dance, or does he regard all the people in the Red Keep as ‘idiots’ whose opinions are far inferior to his own?” 

Aemond hesitates, skirting his piece away from yours, “not all and she did not believe it.” 

You chase his Trebuchet with your Dragon, “it doesn’t matter what she believed, you still said it and you're only intention was the make me look like a fool, was it not?” 

This time, Aemond has no laughter, or easy apology, only the stoic expression he seems to make whenever he’s not entirely sure what to say. 

“That was not my intention,” he admits eventually, blocking one prong of your advance with his Rabble while opening a line for you to capture his Catapult.  

“Yet you embarrassed me just the same and, even if I didn’t care what people think, my family do, and I do not wish to let them down or cause them any shame.”  

Aemond doesn’t say anything, but he looks sufficiently repentant, and you feel no need to press him for an apology. 

Instead, you both play several more turns between sips of wine and the game isn’t rushed or aggressive like it was in the garden. He plays slow, giving you ample time to think despite the intensity of his attention which still seems to make your heart quicken. 

“You’re letting me win,” you say as you capture another one of his pieces.  

“I’m letting you play,” he replies, as though it is something entirely different and perhaps it is. Except Aemond always plays to win. He’d said so himself.  

You advance on his King and there is one particular grievance which had been lingering on your tongue in all the silence. 

“I know you said something to Tyland Lannister, Ser Harrold and all the others,” you admit, and the air feels denser, the crackle of the fire louder in your ears.

Aemond's ebony dragon hesitates in his hand, “what makes you think that?” 

You don’t reply, you wait for him to meet your stare, giving him nothing more than a single look but it's enough for him to know you’re not playing, not with this.  

The past few weeks at court had been, at times, miserable, despite how much you tried to pretend otherwise, it was not easy to be an outcast. You certainly enjoyed your own company, but nothing was truly enjoyable when it was forced instead of chosen.

“Were you in love with any of them?” he says, focusing far too much attention on the board when you find you've lost interest in the game altogether.  

“That's hardly the point!” you snap, thinking of all the times you’d stood alone while people whispered and wondered. 

“Isn’t it?” he meets your eye, and he’s still so calm when you feel as though you might scream, “what should it matter what I said if you did not care for them?” 

"It matters to me!” you stand, your chair falling backwards with the burst of movement. “And I should very much like to know what other lies you have said to make everyone hate me.” 

Aemond takes a deep breath which blows out through his nose, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the Cyvasse board, “you’re sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure!” you say, even more annoyed. 

“Very well. I didn’t tell them a lie. I said I would cut off their cocks if they ever dared to touch you again.” 

Despite your anger, your cheeks still heat, embarrassed by his choice of words and, for a moment, you want to think that he’s joking but you can see that he’s being entirely serious. No trace of a smile, no slither of remorse.  

“And since you have no more need of suitors you can hardly hold that against me either,” he adds as though the whole thing was perfectly reasonable.  

“No more need of suitors?” you demand, your voice high, incensed, “I am in every need of a suitor. The only duty I have is to marry and to marry well and I cannot marry a man who will not even speak to me.” 

“I agree,” he steeples his fingers together. “You should not marry a man who is too afraid to fight for your hand.”  

Then he laughs wickedly, and his eye is so dark and dangerous, “if anyone ever dared to make a threat like that against me, I would gut them where they stood.” 

“And that, your grace, is just another reason for me to find you completely repugnant!”  

Just as you step away from the table, the maid arrives with supper and you welcome the distraction as you hurry towards your cloak, pulling it from the peg and not bothering to even throw it over your shoulders before you leave the room.  

If Aemond is attempting to follow, you have no idea. You don’t look back; your mind is spinning.  

He barely even knew you when he threatened all those men.  

He'd seen you twice. Once at the beach then dancing with Ser Harrold. Only two times and he’d saw fit to threaten their manhood's as though you were... what? In all honesty, you weren’t entirely sure what could ever warrant such a thing.  

He was completely insane!  

The sad part was, Maris would probably relish in such actions, but you could not. 

Nor could you even join your family in the hall since the queen would know you’d abandoned her precious son.  

So, as usual, you're alone. Throwing your cloak across the room before slumping into the chair by the fire and kicking off your shoes.  

Just as you’re about to do something useful, like get ready for bed, there’s a knock on your door and you hardly dare to answer it. 

Surely it can’t be Aemond and, if it is, you don’t want to see him.  

But whoever it is, they don’t wait for your response and the door swings open without invitation, a maid emerging with a wooden tray and a nervous smile. 

“My Lady,” she mumbles, her voice like the squeak of a baby mouse as she sits the tray on the table next to the window before scurrying away.  

With a resigned sigh, you move to inspect its contents, your feet cold on the stone floor. 

One large slice of lemon cake. Your favourite. And a scroll sealed with a circle of black wax which is printed with the Targaryen sigil. 

You tear it open and unfurl the thick, crisp parchment, moving closer to the light of the fire. 

I shall aim to be less repugnant in the

future, but only if my lady promises not 

to meet me in the library tomorrow. 

~Aemond  

~~~

Thank you for reading! :)

[sofikiii]

And the whole Stark Kids Modern AU Line Up!!! Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya and Rickon :-)

(notes about them under the cut!!)

Robb (18) is a senior in high school, ready to attend the same college his dad went to. He's on the football team (alongside Theon, of course) and he's going to run for class president or some sort of thing like that (or Prom King? Is that a thing? Do you campaign for that?)

Jon (17) follows his uncle’s steps, and he joins the local hockey team, the Crows. And discovers his homosexuality in the men's locker room.

Sansa (15) is always on the (vintage and terribly outdated) phone with her BFF Margaery, probably in a lot of clubs in school (I can also see her playing tennis!), and currently dating Joffrey Baratheon but he’s the classic high school toxic boyfriend, everyone can tell she’s way too good for him but she just loves being in a relationship.

Arya (14) wants to be like her big brothers and play hockey and football but none of her parents approve of that. Obviously, that doesn't stop her, and sneaks out whenever she can to play with either Robb or Jon. She's in her rebel phase, she skips school and gets into fights constantly.

Bran (12) is a Boy Scout, he loves animals and nature in general and is kinda obsessed with dream interpretation (borrows a book from his friend and fellow Boy Scout Jojen about it).

Rickon (8) is an iPad kid and spends most of the time with his babysitter, Osha.

[esther-dot]

Cinderella

Cinder-Jaehaerys 5k by @wendynerdwrites

A gender-flipped Cinderella Story

Lavender's Blue 4k

Once Upon A Time, in a faraway kingdom, Sansa Stark was humming a song while she swept the floors of Winterfell. Her face was covered in dirt and ashes. Her hands were dry and wrinkled from washing clothes and doing the dishes. But her hope and kindness had not been damaged by all those years of being ordered around by Ramsay Bolton and his girlfriend of the week.

The Weirdwood, the Wolf, and the Glass Slipper 5k

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a girl who loved her father very much….A Cinderella version of Jon/Sansa, mixing elements from the Cinderella stories as told by the Brothers Grimm and the film Ever After.

Together All the While incomplete 28k

Sansa Stark wanted to keep her household together. She borrowed a dress. Prince Jon wanted to escape his fate. He stole a horse.

Cinderella gifset by @yenstarkofrivia

Allerleirauh

Past Our Satellites 140k

Inspired and loosely based on the tale Thousandfurs (from Allerleirauh: All-Kinds-of-Fur) and Cinderella by the Brothers Grimm Rough summary of the tale for those who are unfamiliar with it: "A king promised his dying wife that he would not marry unless it was to a woman who was as beautiful as she was, and when he looked for a new wife, he realized that the only woman that could match her beauty was his own daughter." (from Wiki)

Princess Furball 9k

When Sansa's father announces his intent to marry her, she attempts to trick him out of it, demanding impossible gifts. When her father inexplicably succeeds in fulfilling her requests, Sansa fakes her death and flees her father's kingdom in a coat of many pelts. Sheltered by her trusty direwolf, Lady, Sansa is found by the prince of a foreign realm, who christens her "Furball". The former princess hides out working in the king's kitchens as a curiously humanoid animal as war looms. But things change when two kings and a prince die…

Swan Princess

The Little Bird Princess 18k @captainbee89

When Rhaegar defeated Robert Baratheon on the Trident, he only spared Ned out of love for Lyanna. And on the condition that Stark's eldest daughter would one day wed his son and quell the fighting between the North and the Crownlands for good.

This isn't my idea (this is my idea) of fun 10k orphaned

Their eventual marriage is meant to strengthen the Northern/Southern alliance, but Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark can hardly stop bickering long enough to make peace with each other, let alone their kingdoms. But it only takes a few meddling parents, suggestive friends, and a jealous sorcerer's magic spell to show this couple that what they've been dreaming of has been there all along.

Moodboard and ficlet by @otp-that-was-promised

Every summer since they were children, Princess Sansa and Prince Jon are brought together in hope that they will fall in love and marry, uniting their two kingdoms. When they meet for the first time, the royal children take an immediate dislike towards each other, but as the years pass they gradually fall in love.

Snow White

Younger More Beautiful Queen 1k by @captainbee89

If the rumours were true, Jon Snow would be Sansa's cousin, a suitable match in both name and blood. Together, they could bring the whole of the seven kingdoms together peacefully. With Jon, Sansa would be Queen. As Queen, Sansa could order the death of Joffrey as revenge for Ned Stark's death. And what of her other children? Tommen and Myrcella would be taken from her, labeled as bastards and stripped of all their prospects. How dare this silly little girl be the more beautiful Queen she had feared? She would not have it.

The Dragonknight 7k

The day that Sansa got her moonblood, Queen Cersei's magic mirror named her the most beautiful woman in the world. There was only one thing to be done with the imprisoned Queen of the North... the child had to die. Cersei hadn't counted on her twin's soft heart or the wolf in the woods.

Little Red Riding Hood

Throw me to the Wolves 2k

Winter had been hard on Old Nan and everyone in the village worried about her, so it was decided that Sansa should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some bread and ale. On her way there, she meets a stranger…

In the Company of Wolves 10k incomplete

Fair of face and kissed by fire, Sansa Stark is a force to be reckoned with—with a feisty spirit to match the flare of her flaming hair. Still, there’s no shortage of suitors vying for the hand of the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark—but despite all their clever plans, Sansa vows she will only marry for love. A chance encounter with a mysterious stranger in the woods, sets her on a path of passion and dangerous intrigue. Is Jon her salvation or her damnation? Perhaps he is both.

Red Riding Hood Gifset by @dcbicki

The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Tin, Paper, Snow 17k incomplete

“Brave soldier, never fear. Even though your death is near.” The flames danced as high as a dream in a million, billion colours- scarlet, orange, purple, even blue, casting rich shimmering shadows on their faces and their hands and their hair. He steadied himself, stood upright, held onto her for dear life. "Would that we were made of glass," he thought. "Tin doesn't do well here. Nor paper." Higher and higher, the flames rose, crackling, singing. Tin, Paper, Snow, they whispered. It's time to let her go.

12 Dancing Princesses

Drifting through the halls with sunrise 3k

They were selfish girls, it was their choice that sentenced these men to death, month after month. The cycle would continue, soon the girls behind her would forget about the man on the stone steps, they would don their masks and new shoes and dance until the sun rose over the Narrow Sea.

The Little Mermaid

only a salt kiss remains ficlet by @flibbertigiblet

He was drowning, and then he was not. (He hears her before he sees her, his angel.)

wish i could be 10k by @theshipshipper

"Oh dear, you look cold," Queen Cersei said softly, floating next to her. "Come, come. Let's get you inside." The Queen led her into the dark cave, offering her a seat. "Now, then. I'm told you're here because you desire to be with your Prince?" She flicked her hand and an image of Prince Jon erupted from thin air. "Hmm. I see now... Quite a handsome fellow." Sansa couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. She'd wondered how he was faring after the shipwreck and ached to check for herself. She was relieved that he seemed alright. "My sweet summer child, you have it bad," Queen Cersei informed her, a smile in her voice. She blinked. "I -- what?" "You're in love," she clarified with a laugh before swimming towards a tall shelf in the corner. "I know exactly what you need."

Mermaids Have No Tears ficlet

Little Mermaid AU, specifically the Hans Christian Andersen version.

Gifsets: Part of Your World by @tatesharon The Little Mermaid by @swainlake The Little Mermaid by @dcbicki The Little Mermaid by @sardoniyx

General

Jonsa fairytale ficlet and gifset by @thewindsofwolves

Even though Sansa is now fourteen, she still feels a special enthousiasm for magic. And as Jon likes nothing more than pleasing Sansa, he shares the same enthousiasm. Then, as they are both bored during the great annual Christmas party hosted by Sansa’s dad, she asks her cousin to make one of his trick so the night can be less boring. Taking her outside, he brings her to the well, and asks her one of the ribbons she wears in her hairs. He asks her then to close her eyes and make a wish, before dropping the ribbon into the well. I wish we could go into an adventure.

The Snow Queen and the Huntsman Gifset by @dcbicki

Jonsa x Disney gifset by @amandapeetshusband

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY -- next week -> POLITICAL MARRIAGE/MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE

[lemonhemlock]

your tags about the half-targaryen identity with aemma arryn and jocelyn baratheon are so right! it's the same thing with the targtowers that i wish the show would explore, considering everyone else calls them the "hightowers" despite full-blooded targaryen viserys being their dad.

yesss!!! also steffon baratheon, robert's dad. princess daenerys' martell children, the children of aegon v's sisters, rhaena's hightower children, laena & laenor............. who are the only ones nominally non-targaryen to have dragons!! (that we know of)

boremund baratheon watching his sister selected to be the future queen, then denied by their own brother, who went on and did the same to his niece................

aemma has non-targaryen siblings herself.....did they raise her knowing deep down they will have to give her up eventually? that they were merely borrowing her before they had to send her off to become a royal womb?

[mormontdacey]

cheaper by the dozen 2 is all over my fyp and it's a favorite childhood movie so. stark/baratheon-lannister au

ned stark and robert baratheon were childhood friends. when the kids were young, they all used to go to the lake together but ned and robert fell out hard when robert tried to date ned's little sister lyanna

buuuut sansa's got a big time fashion internship coming up this fall in king's landing so ned's like we gotta go back to the lake!! one last time!! for family!!

they show up at the lake and ned's rented a dinky little oyster shack across from robert's mcmansion called storm's end

robert's got a hot young heiress trophy wife, cersei, and three golden children (plus gendry from a prev relationship)

rickon sets off fireworks at a clambake that causes a boat to blow up and bran to roll into the lake

sideplot: ned keeps bothering robb about what they're gonna name his and jeyne's baby

theon (ned's reluctantly adopted loser son) falls off the shitty old dock that ned's fixing because he's craning his neck trying to check out that hot blonde college girl with the lower back tattoo swimming by (myrcella)

robert invites the starks to storm's end for brunch (his and cersei's mimosas are 90% champagne) and does not stop talking about how their family china was a gift from the prince of dorne so ned recruits arya (who recruits rickon) to mess with robert. cue meat seat scene with shaggydog

also theon spills mimosas on cat and she has to wear the hot mama shirt that she borrowed from cersei

afterward, robert calls the starks crackups and ned convinces cat to enter the stupid cup competition again..even though none of the kids want to

gendry asks arya out (sansa helps her get ready) and we get "the move" scene with ned and robert in the movie theatre

next morning, everyone is so grossed out by ned going full helicopter dad that only rickon goes to the competition with him... but cat gives a speech about "the pack" and everyone shows up just in time. ned's nephew who tagged along (jon) is carrying the raggedy old WINTER IS COMING flag and his gf val is pushing bran's wheelchair

jeyne goes into labor during the do-or-die canoe race and robb FREAKS and the starks throw away the championship. cersei refuses to get out of her canoe so she ends up drifting with joffrey while the others go to help the starks. (robert's mostly treading water, but she doesn't care)

[alishaaxo]

ordered a new phone because my storage SUCKS, my camera quality w concerts SUCKS, and my phone randomly freezes and did it when i needed info to show sb smth for my student id 😭

if the 15 pro max is bad…. i will cry!!

also my current iphone 12 is on 77 percent battery health which is DIABOLICAL so i needed smth new and i will NEVER ever charge all night again lmao

i literally am like shaking in my boots lut like excitedly!! cant wait for tuesday! and also saturday since i let my dad borrow my headphones and he broke them… so i copped a new pair and also my urban outfitters and emp orders will arrive then!!

got an insane 3 hour lecture tmrw tho 😭

and then only a 30 min break, in which im gonna get my id, and then BOOM, back to the SAME teacher for a seminar which is then 1hr 30 💀

friday hasnt even started and im alr waiting for it to end!!

also will be writing more for my fic tmr!! was going to today but had to babysit my cousin again!! 1k written so far… and im lowk loving writing borros baratheons lines even tho ive barely written any yet!!

storms end au where its helaena instead of aemond is gonna be so stupid!! gotta make it funny somehow tho!! im the worst at writing humour! can only make angst and a lil fluff 😭

[beholderking]

House Blackberry of Briardowns (Dragon Ruin AU)

House Blackberry of Briardowns is a distinguished lordly cadet branch with deep-rooted connections to House Turnberry. While they traditionally swear fealty to House Baratheon, House Blackberry has always had a special connection to the legacy of the Storm Kings of old.

The history of House Blackberry can be traced back to the times before Aegon's Conquest. Maesters serving at Storm's End confirm that they fought against Orys Baratheon, the founder of House Baratheon, before eventually submitting to his might. The official records of House Turnberry reveal an intriguing story about House Blackberry's formation. A promising heir of House Turnberry, known for his reckless and salacious behavior, was banished from his ancestral home. In a twist of fate, he found himself embroiled in a battle against the Storm Kings and Shadow Kings, where he offered a bottle of stolen wine in exchange for his life. This marked the humble beginnings of House Blackberry.

The heart of House Blackberry's domain is situated on the borderlands between the Stormlands and the Reach, with the thriving trade town of Briardowns at its center. This town is renowned for its fortified berry wines, a recipe the Blackberrys claim to have "borrowed" from the Turnberrys. This brewing rivalry between distant kin has created a rift, leading to strained relations. The lands of House Blackberry benefit from the rich soil, nourished by sediment from the Red Mountains to the south. Maesters largely attribute this fertility to the agricultural wealth the Blackberrys harvest year after year. However, there are less scholarly individuals and superstitious folk who believe that Garth Greenhand, the legendary figure from the Age of Heroes, once tended to these lands, fostering their natural bounty.

Although House Blackberry is of relatively minor status, they have earned the respect of their fellow Stormlanders over the generations. They are often found serving House Baratheon as loyal protectors and skilled commanders.

In recent times, House Blackberry has pledged its allegiance to the revived Durradon Stormkings, a reformed line under the banner of House Bolling during the tumultuous period known as the Dragons' Ruin. They are currently embroiled in a bitter conflict against other Stormland Kings, with many brave sons of the House falling to the raids of the Lightning Kings of the Marches. House Blackberry remains resolute, defending their honor and preserving the legacy of their ancestors in the face of adversity.

[goodqueenaly]

Which pre/post-Conquest events and in-series events do you think would be popular plays/operas in each of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos?

Well, we do get a bit of a sense of what sort of "history plays" have been written and performed in Braavos (though whether these have been popularized elsewhere in Essos is a bit of a mystery). Arya references the mummers of the Ship teaching her speeches from, among other plays, The Conqueror's Two Wives, presumably about Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen (which I personally think would be a potentially fascinating study on the respective characters of as well as the relationship between the two sisters). Likewise, in "Mercy", Arya-as-Mercy notes that Izembaro borrows a threat from Prince Garin in Phario Forel's Wroth of the Dragonlords, a play about the doomed final resistance of the Rhoynar against the Valyrian Freehold. Of course, the main action in "Mercy" centers around the staging of Forel's newest work, The Bloody Hand, a play which - obviously more than a little loosely - adapts very recent Westerosi history, staged in that chapter for the entertainment of the Baratheon-Lannister court's envoy, Harys Swyft.

Westeros doesn't appear to have exactly the same theatrical tradition Braavos seems to have, but there are certainly both puppet shows and mummer's plays performed across the Seven Kingdoms. While the specific entertainments we've seen have been limited to either mythological (the story of Florian the Fool) or allegorical (the unsubtle tale of the kingdom of beasts reported by Qyburn to Cersei) subject matter, there might nevertheless be any number of opportunities for historical events to, no pun intended, take center stage. There are way, way too many historical events and figures in the roughly eight millennia of Westeros' existence as a collection of political entities (again, to say nothing of Essos), so these ideas are not even scratching the surface, but I thought I would come up with a few.

So, for example, the accusations against Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon (perhaps complete with a Katherine of Aragon-like defense by the queen) might mirror, say, Henry VIII. The collapse of the Gardener kingdom under the weak and ineffective Garth X, followed by a devastating civil war, feels to me like an opportunity for a Reach version of Henry VI (perhaps echoed with the Dance of the Dragons, many centuries later). Even the story of Torgon Greyiron might have its share of light Hamlet parallels, as the story of a royal son quasi-usurped from his royal place by the wicked murderer of his kinsmen while he was away from his homeland (though with Torgon having something of a more fortunate ending than Hamlet himself, naturally). Not, of course, that we need to limit our imaginations only to perfect parallels of Shakespeare plays (to say nothing of any other history playwrights). Benedict Justman, for one, seems like a figure whose life could be used to ask deep questions on, say, the nature of power, the importance of love versus duty, and the importance (or not) of legitimacy. The flight of the Manderlys from the Reach and their welcome by the Starks might likewise be used by some enterprising playwright to explore themes of justice (and injustice), alienation, and self-identity.

And of course, what entertainments might be popular would likely be dependent on the politics of any given time and/or place. Would, say, plays depicting King Ronard Storm have been popularized during the reign of King Aegon IV or King Daeron II - maybe to denounce Ronard's reign as defined by lasciviousness and resistance to lawful authority (as with Aegon's), but maybe also to depict a bastard as a stronger and more worthy heir than his legitimate half-brother (if, say, the play was written by Blackfyre partisans)? Perhaps in the immediate aftermath of Robert's Rebellion, Riverlands playwrights would have looked for inspiration to the heroic uprising of Edmyn Tully against the wicked tyrant Harren Hoare (though perhaps with less emphasis placed on the king rewarding Edmyn being the first of the recently overthrown Targaryen dynasty). Daeron I's conquest of Dorne might have encouraged pro-conquest playwrights to create works about King Durran the Young, whose similar name, apparently similar youth, and very bloody military campaigns against Dornish armies might have made a natural comparison for these creators (though probably less so the idea that King Durran supposedly "became besotted with his own niece in later life and died at the hands of his brother Erich Kin-Killer").

Personally, I would love to see more fanfic invent plays or similar entertainments from Westerosi history. I, of course, would be remiss not to note my own, albeit very humble attempt at a Westerosi history play, The True History of the Blackfyre Rebellion. (And please no one remind me that I have a second play that I probably have to completely rework and is certainly nowhere close to being done.)

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #29: GOT, but make Joffrey legitimate

There is a part of me that will always wonder whether Cersei loves Jaime as much as she did because she genuinely truly loved him, or because she was so caught up in Lannister exceptionalism she saw her twin as her only possible romantic and/or sexual partner.

That being said, I've always sort of wondered how GOT might have gone if all of Cersei's children were legitimate - she just thought they were her brother's.

Just bear with me:

Robert Baratheon is not stupid. He understands the link between sex and pregnancy, and so cannot expect to have children with his wife without having sex with her several months before hand.

Historically, "[...] no woman could be absolutely certain she was pregnant until the fifth month" [x]. The early signs of pregnancy can be difficult to detect, and some women naturally have intermittent periods or experience intermediate bleeding during pregnancy that might be interpreted as periods.

All of which means Cersei would have had to have sex with her husband before she knew for certain she was pregnant in order to pass her child off as his. This opens the possibility for her to be mistaken about her pregnancy, and thus get pregnant from her sexual encounter with Robert.

Or: it is not impossible that all three of Cersei's golden-haired, purebred Lannister children are honestly and truly golden-haired, legitimate Baratheon heirs.

But what does this mean?

Honestly? Nothing. I just love the idea of The War of Five Kings being built on a lie - that Joffrey is, in fact, Robert Baratheon's legitimate male heir. He's not the king any sane person would want, but by all the inheritance laws of Westeros, he's king.

It also means that, in addition to (potentially) stealing Jon Snow's throne by hiding his true parentage, Ned Stark does it again by altering Robert's will as he lays dying, which is a bit of narrative symmetry I quite enjoy.

Then you have Cersei, so proud of her purebred Lannister children that she willfully disregards any Baratheon in their appearance - perhaps Joffrey and the rest come to resemble Robert more as they grow older, maybe they always look pure Lannister. Either way, she spends the entire series thinking she's getting one over on all of Westeros... and in truth her children aren't Jaime's.

IDK what I'm really going for here, other than I've been reading a lot of fic lately where Jon Snow gets a lot of praise for being skilled for a bastard, noble for a bastard, honorable for a bastard, etc which seem to be saying birth doesn't matter, actions do but then later have him revealed to be the legitimate, true heir to the Iron Throne and no wonder he acted so knightly, so kingly all along, especially in comparison to that bastard Lannister.

Or: I want GOT without the legitimacy of the characters' births coming into it. I want Joffrey to be a legitimate Baratheon, but a horrible person regardless. I want the War of Five Kings to be entirely about power (Stannis, Renly, and Balon) and revenge (Robb) against the lawful - and awful - king.

That's it. That's all I really have. A fic idea where nothing changes in the source material but the underlying message. I don't know if this is a bun that can be adopted, but feel free to borrow. Just link back if you decide to do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[starstruckunknown-princess]

For Real

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Tyrell!OC

Warnings: Hidden relationship, threat of death

Word Count: 807

Summary: Jaime Lannister has been conducting a secret affair with a Tyrell...when Yuletide rolls around he surprises her with a gift that he hopes she’ll say ‘Yes’ to.

A/N: Fluffcember Day 11 in the House! I’m a little tipsy and I’ve been painting ornaments/decorations all day and there’s a national Adderal shortage so I’m spacey as all hell. Anyway, Enjoy!

Conducting a secret affair with a member of the Kingsguard was difficult. Conducting said affair when that Kingsguard is the vengeful Queen’s brother and object of her misdirected affection was downright dangerous. Sometimes Maeve wondered if she did indeed have a deathwish as her grandmother so often accused her. 

On the contrary, she’d never felt more alive than the moments she’d stolen with Jaime Lannister. His hand brushing against hers as they passed in the halls, his fingers tracing against her lower back when they stood in a crowd in the throne room. She couldn’t keep track of all the dark corners of the Keep that he’d pulled her into for fast, heated kisses before proceeding down the corridor as if nothing had happened — as if he hadn’t just knocked her entire being off its axis.

They both knew that they were on borrowed time, that soon her father would draw up a betrothal contract with one of his bannermen and she would be shipped off to her new home far away from Jaime, who was bound by duty to remain in King’s Landing. What they had was temporary, fleeting, like the bloom of a rose. 

Which is why, upon returning to her rooms the day before Yuletide celebrations, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw him splayed on her bed, armorless and waiting for her. She’d dismissed her maid, claiming a sudden illness before locking her door.

“Are you mad? What are you doing here?” she demanded, shoving his boots off the bed.

“I came to give you your Yuletide gift. Figured tomorrow we would both be too busy.” He rose to his feet and shrugged nonchalantly. He wasn’t in his Kingsguard armor, just a simple green doublet that made his eyes shine brighter. He reached into his doublet and produced a small wooden box.

“I got you something as well,” she admitted, crossing to her writing desk and producing the package she’d wrapped his gift in. “Though shopping for a Lannister seems like a fool’s errand.” 

“Yours first,” he insisted, grabbing her wrist and placing the box in her hand, but not before he lay a kiss on her palm. 

Maeve unclasped the box and lifted the lid, gasping at what lay within. A ring made of delicate golden leaves surrounded the darkest, largest ruby she’d ever seen. With how intricate the metalwork was and how large the stone was, she knew it must’ve cost a fortune. Her jaw dropped and she glanced up at him.

“Jaime, this is…this is too much! I couldn’t possibly —” 

“Yes, you could.”

“Someone will surely notice it,” she protested as he plucked the box from her hand and took the ring out, sliding it onto her left ring finger. It was a perfect fit. 

“That was my intention.”

“But-”

“And now for your second gift,” he said, pulling a roll of papers from his doublet. He offered them to her and, with a shaking hand, she grabbed them and unrolled them. 

‘By order of Joffrey Baratheon, First of his name, blah blah blah, I hereby release Ser Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard and bestow upon him a commendation for his many years of loyal service to the Crown…Jaime, what is this?”

“Read the next one,” he prompted, the smile on his face turning positively giddy.

“I, Mace of the House Tyrell do hereby proclaim that my eldest daughter, Maeve, shall be betrothed to…to…” Her eyes were wide as saucers and once again, her jaw dropped. “What? Jaime, how is this possible?”

“My father wanted his heir back. I wanted you. Your father wanted to prove his loyalty to my father by betrothing a second of his daughters to a Lannister and I wasn’t about to let you marry Tommen. Joffrey was easy enough to convince since I lost my hand.”

“But what about…”

“Cersei doesn’t know about this yet. The papers were still drying when I made my way here.” He wrapped his large hand around her wrist gently, crouching to look her in the eye. “Is this what you want? I would never force you into a marriage you didn’t want.”

The tears wouldn’t be held back any longer and started to stream down her cheeks. “Of course I want to marry you, you complete and utter imbecile!”

She threw her arms around his neck and he rose to his full height, swinging her around in a circle. When he set her back on her feet, he wiped her tears away with his fingers. The look of concern that flashed across her face wasn’t lost on him.

“What is it, my love?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

“Nothing that puts that look upon your face is silly. Tell me,” he urged gently, stroking her arms. 

“I, well. I was always hoping that when I was betrothed that my intended would do it properly. The whole down on one knee, will you marry me thing. But it’s silly, this proposal works just as well, better, even!”

“My love, it would be my honor to propose to you. Tomorrow. During the Yuletide celebration.”

“In front of everyone?”

“I think we’ve kept our love in the dark long enough, don’t you?”

[hollowwhisperings]

Benjen Theory #2: Benjen Felt Guilty

When Meera Reed told Bran the tale of "The Knight of the Laughing Tree", she was surprised that Bran didn't already know it: this wasn't just HER family's history, it was his too. Meera had thought Bran's Uncle Benjen would tell it, if not Lord Ned.

Why wouldn't Benjen tell his nieces and nephews about the Harrenhal Tourney in his visits and ravens? Perhaps, Benjen felt that in sharing ONE family story (and secret), he would unwittingly spill them ALL.

...and so get them (& their parents) killed... just like Brandon, just like Lyanna. in this theory, Benjen's role as Lyanna's 'Sidekick' and 'Playmate' is at the forefront. In this theory, Benjen is additionally Lyanna's 'Confidant'.

Speculations below the cut.

Lyanna, upon finally meeting this "Robert Baratheon" their brother Ned was so keen on getting her hitched to, finds Robert to be a gross version of their Big Brother Brandon but without the brotherly intent. Benjen nods along, annoyed at how loyal Ned is to this noisy Stormlander and how willingly he plays "sidekick" to him (both Lyanna and Benjen may or may not Hold A Grudge about Ned's being sent all the way to the Vale to foster, where he found a "new dad" and a "new brother").

Lyanna and Benjen joke that Robert is more in love with being Ned's brother "properly" than being married to Ned's sister. As Robert gets more over the top, Lyanna darkly tells Benjen that, if Robert's so in love with "his Northern Princess", he should marry Ned instead: Benjen doesn't quite get why Lyanna is suddenly and properly angry (she caught Robert groping women between waxing poetic on her) but plays along because he's a good little brother.

Between dodging Robert Baratheon, Lyanna and Benjen drag Ned into spending time with his "Real" family. It is during one of these outings that they meet young Howland Reed.

the crannogman is older than Lyanna and Benjen both but they latch onto him as "one of us" because of his shared status as "Other" (Lyanna's the Only Girl and a tomboy, Benjen's the Baby). Ned just enjoys having a fellow quiet person to be friends with (Robert baratheon gets VERY jealous of poor Howland, to his & the younger Starks' amusement and Ned's embarassment).

(obligatory "Jyana Reed is Ashara Dayne" headcanon feature: Lyanna bullies Howland into asking Ashara for a dance but, failing that, gets Brandon and then Ned to bring up the crannogman in THEIR dances with the Dornish woman. Brandon, obviously, shirks his wingman duties: Ned tries but trips over his own face because he is an Awkward Tortoise. after the dancing and Some Silly Harp Song, Lyanna weakly punches Benjen before dragging Howland over to Ashara herself - only to find that Ashara has found Howland on her own and needs no help in That department)

ditched by Howland, Lyanna and Benjen nonetheless conspire to "avenge his honour" and borrow bits of armour as they find it, using Benjen's "innocent baby face" to cover for Lyanna's Grand Plan.

Canon ensues.

Benjen and Ned, anxiously waiting for word of Lyanna's discovery or escape, are relieved at the prince going "idk, man, this place just kinda cursed yo". They are Less Relieved to find Lyanna dead pale back in their tent, freaking the heck out because the Prince had seemed a little TOO interested in Lyanna. She's relieved that the Prince and his lackeys did indeed cover for her but remains Paranoid, as do her brothers (except for Brandon, who is oblivious to it all).

Canon ensues.

As soon as Lyanna can escape the public eye, she goes to wrench the accursed crown from her hair - only for Ned to panic and say Lyanna will be expected to wear the crown at the feasting. The siblings are terrified: Rhaegar had promised not to tell on Lyanna and crowning her seemed like a threat. Benjen volunteered to find the Martell tent and beg for Princess Elia's forgiveness. Lyanna resolves to do it herself - the Starklings do, eventually, manage to convey their panicked horror to the lovely Elia. Thrice over. This is largely with the aid of Ashara Dayne and Howland Reed - but only Ned and Ashara are remembered as sharing company, the others being too short or sneaky to call attention to (Lyanna was avoiding EVERYONE out of fear of Robert, Rhaegar and Aerys).

back in Winterfell, Benjen wonders at how one man could make Lyanna cry in different ways all in a week's time. Lyanna agrees, still shaken by the "sad and beautiful musician", the "too interested, fickle trickster", the "tourney champion", the "treacherous husband".

time passes. a raven is sent out welcoming Prince Aegon to the royal family. Lyanna and Benjen relax, somewhat, assured that the royals have enough to busy themselves. the Starklings shift their thoughts to upcoming nupitals: Lady Catelyn, "a decent sort, poor Ned though, Brandon had best be good to her" and Lord Baratheon.

Lyanna is torn: she hates the betrothal, hates that Ned is older but gets to "stay at home", that Benjen gets to be a child still, that her father wants Southron marriages for his children and that his ambitions would leave his children separated "forever".

Lyanna rides out of Winterfell more than ever, sometimes with permission but sometimes without even telling Benjen. Ned resigns himself to "Lyanna's sulking". Benjen misses his sister already: he starts sneaking out "to try catch up with Lyanna while he still can".

it's on one of these rides, where Lyanna rode out ahead without word nor retinue (where Benjen had to use hounds and quick thinking to track her down, guards and a worried Ned in tow).

the brothers "have a bad feeling" about this particular outing, even Brandon expressing concern. he trusts Benjen's tracking and Ned's diplomacy to bring their sister home.

Lyanna cannot be brought home: she's been taken, by armed men on fast horses and lordly authority.

search parties, ravens, prayers to the heart tree.

news of Whitecloaks in the area. of the Prince himself.

Canon continues.

Benjen blames himself: for not being faster, for not insisting on tagging along, for not being a convincing enough knight for Howland's honour, for not taking Lyanna's unease about the new men in her life more seriously.

we know why Ned blames himself.

Brandon (rightfully) blames Rhaegar, as does Lord Rickard. Lord Rickard had been amongst the lords rallied to Harrenhal by "totally not Rhaegar" and the other concerned Lords Paramount.

canon ensues. Brandon is killed. Rickard is killed. Ned goes to war. Catelyn arrives in Winterfell, the proper lady Lyanna could never be. Lyanna is killed. Ned sends word that he's bringing home a Snow.

Benjen Knows, immediately. He also knows what happened to Princess Elia and her children, in the absence of Rhaegar or his men, at the glee of now-King Robert. Benjen passes the raven to Lady Catelyn and RUNS.

he's sick in the courtyard, runs to the stables only to Remember his sister is dead, flees to the Godswood. it's where Ned always goes.

Benjen stays at the Heartstree all day, alternately breaking down and spacing out. He prays, a bit, hoping for a way to "wake up" from a horrible nightmare.

Ned arrives home. He motions for Benjen's silence. Benjen goes, again, to the Godswood.

There have been crows, lately, staring at Benjen in his distress.

Benjen rides out for The Wall, giving his brother a week with them together before leaving only a note to explain his departure. Cryptic as Benjen tried to be, Ned burns the letter anyway.

Benjen spends his first weeks with the Night's Watch TERRIFIED of blind Maester Aemon, former Targaryen prince. Benjen volunteers himself constantly, solemnly learning every trick to tracking he wishes he'd known earlier.

eventually, Benjen is able to stand the thought of a Winterfell without the family he grew up with: he's a man now, bearded and everything. he is doting of Catelyn's children, paranoid about showing interest in "Ned's Bastard". sometimes he tries to get Ned to Just Tell Catelyn. mostly Benjen remembers Princess Elia, dead.

Benjen worries about Jon joining the Brothers: Maester Aemon, the memoru of Lyanna... he rides out on a long ranging, missing his nephew's arrival entirely.

[ladymorghul]

I think they went a bit overboard with Aegon's characterization in order to make everyone side with Rh*enyra, like the figting pits thing was a bit too much and ridiculous (and I've also seen some team black people agree with me on this point), but he still was a sexual harasser in the book who was said to grope any serving maids within his reach so it's not unreasonable nor unrealistic to think the groping could very well turn into rape if he wanted to. After all, he's a prince and no young serving maid could say "no" to him or hold him responsible for such a crime (yeah, the book doesn't say "he raped x or y", this is true)…Sure fans wanted Aegon not to be a rapist and so unlikable because it will be hard for anyone other than his fans to sympathize with him after B&C, Rook's Rest and so on. It would've been better for team green if he wasn't but it's too late and we have to deal with how things are sadly.

Other than that I agree with the other anon on how many greens who are Aegon, Helaegon and Daeron fans have started to complain about Aemond. I've seen quite a few of these people (especially on the greens subreddit lately) saying Aemond is some walmart Daeron, a combination between his and Daeron's book character and how we should expect Aemond to be a psycho next season because Daeron is confirmed to appear in the show and because GRRM helped with the rewrites. Another common theme is blaming Sapochnik (with no proof) claiming he's the one who wanted to cut him from the show and also the one who whitewashed Aemond (a fan on the subreddit even claimed he and Hess are responsable for Helaemond - that they changed the scripts to make it happen, ridiculous). First of all I find the attention these fans give to Daron to be a bit exaggerated, he's a much of a character in the book as Aemond. He's indeed described as clever, courteous and the gentlest of Alicent's sons which I guess these are some of the characteristics you can say the writers borrowed from and gave to Aemond BUT then a LOT, and I mean A LOT of what the green fandom thinks show!Aemond's characterization is, is in fact their own bullshit interpretation: they he's dutiful and would never father a bastard (yeah well he did just that in the book by impregnating another bastard, and a Strong one and 99% the same will happen in the show), honorable, someone who always listens to his mother and would never disappoint her and so on, arguments you surely know about since they came at you using them against Helaemond. However, for example, the same people and Aemondwives conveniently forget about his dutifulness when it comes to his relationship with Alys and make him a malewife.

The thing with Aemond is that he was, and rightly so, given more of a background than in the book when the people mentioned above expected him to be a a mad psycho and a moustache twirling villain from the start when actually it makes more a lot more sense if he becomes more bitter, resentful and mad as time passes. Eventually, he'll be close to his book characterization. Sometimes I wish that they would've NOT made the killing of Lucerys a mistake on Aemond's part but then I'm sure he will claim he did it on purpose and it won't matter to the realm anyway, he'll still be considered a kinslayer. Also there's no way he won't go insane after B&C and after he gets fooled by Daemon and loses King's Landing to the blacks. His stans will then have no real justification to play the dutiful card and pretend he's still a nice guy after these happen and he kills the Strongs and fucks Alys. I just hope the writers won't buy into the antis' train of thought that well, Aemond will think his family hates him and only Alys will understand him as truly is as a person and this is why he decides to stay with her and jeopardize his brother's military alliance with the Baratheons and marry her. Maybe Condal & the writers did intend to cut Daeron (although again we can't be 100% sure of this) and this is why Aemond was given a more sympathetic background, but I think it's more likely they just felt he needed one. If he had been some Joffrey type of character everyone would've hated him and things would be a lot worse for the green fans right now. Don't get me wrong, book!Aemond is just insane and probably would've become a second Maegor if he hadn't died but it would've been worse for us if we would've gotten such a villain, in addition to Aegon, from the start of the story.

i guess what bugs me here is that they made several changes to soften and develop and humanize characters from f&b but with aegon they made EVERYTHING worse.

so while i am aware of why that happened and what was the intention behind the way he was written, i still find it very extra and very lazy and very.... idk.... obvious? idk i just don't like it. that's ofc not to say i excuse aegon's actions in canon. they happened and i can't change them unfortunately

but yeah i do agree that at least some of the things said about aemond's personality and character are more likely born from personal interpretation and headcanons that don't fully match what we see on screen and i think at least some of that is born from this need to clutch what little positivity greenies got from the show because the show doesn't portray the greens greatly and even when it supposedly attempts to (alicent), they're still vehemently hated

i mean can you say you're not watching a cartoon when one claimant to the throne is a drunk rapist who goes to child fighting rings and doesn't care about his kids or dragon and the other gets told in canon by their child that "they're perfect"?

because even characters like alicent who are supposedly humanized and shown as real victims of grooming and forced marriages they are still punished by the narrative for not doing good by rhaenyra

but i digress

i'm someone who would have liked to see more character development for all the green kids so i'm not complaining aemond got his at all, whether it's coming from daeron or aegon, i just wish the writers had the stamina to give all the green kids more of that

that being said i'm also unfortunately aware that the greens are vastly hated by tb stans and the gp so they're not popular characters so they will always get less attention in general. the only character that will get more attention is alicent and to a degree aemond but even with alicent, the ultimate goal of the attention her character is getting is just furthering rhaenyra's story. it pains me, but this is what the writers are serving me..

anyway my thoughts have somehow scattered all over the place, sorry for that

[lemonhemlock]

So then, maybe a weird ask, how would you write or explore Lucemond?

So, a couple of months ago, I accidentally stumbled upon this lucemond fic that completely rearranged my chakras. Thing is I tried to find it recently but couldn't, so perhaps the author deleted it, which is such a pity because it was truly spectacular. I don't remember a whole lot bc it was late at night when I read it (thinking I would come back to it later), but it was very much surreal poetry body horror. I am not a gore girly at all, but the language was mesmerising. I happen to have sent my bf a few snippets for shock value (also not a gore enjoyer), so I can share the little of it I saved:

The tender jelly of Lucerys’ eye bursts like a ripe grape between teeth, climbing, sheer white, up Aemond’s blade, as if it were dripping wax.

Its viscous liquidity leaving no gruesome trophy or good-luck charm to pickle in vinegar and make a gift of, Aemond decides to lick the mucoid fluid from the metal and impel it through his own flesh. When he puts the blade to his tongue no taste but that of his own blood stains the quivering muscle.

If the author of this fic happens upon this post, I'd just want to let you know your talent with words was very appreciated. 🙏

Returning to the topic, I would definitely keep this element and lean into the horror aspect. I'd keep some background jace/luke as vibes, with aegond on the opposing side to make it as spicy and convoluted as possible. (It took me ages to remember I have a jaceluke tag since I hid it so well from team black I ended up hiding it from myself, too. Updated my tags list with this occasion lest we forget!)

Readers of my blog will know by now that I sometimes go on rants about The Magnus Archives, but, bear with me, I think we could borrow some elements to make lucemond really extra fucky. So, within the TMA universe, there are several entities that govern different sets of fears and the one I like the most and the one I think fits really well here is The Beholding - so lots of eye imagery, the fear of being perceived, of secrets being revealed, of forbidden/awful knowledge, of knowledge that would destroy you, of being exposed or shamed or judged. The problem I have with Luke (which permeates a lot into lucemond fics) is that he's so fucking boring and milquetoast & doesn't really react / isn't affected enough by the events surrounding him, so much so that it kind of turns him borderline sociopathic, just in the most boring way possible. So let's give him some internal conflict!

I would give Luke a serious case of scopophobia, basically turn him into the perfect victim for the Beholding. Make him realise deep down that he's a bastard and how much danger he's in because of his mother's lies and gaslighting. Make him terrified of becoming Lord of Driftmark, like actively paranoid some Velaryon cousin is going to slash his throat in his sleep or something (maybe even Rhaena??) Have that intensify after Vaemond's execution, because now the blacks have already spilled first blood in his name. Have him feel increasingly isolated from his family because they feel like he's exaggerating and don't really grasp the gravity of the situation - in addition to more gentle gaslighting done by Rhaenyra, who thinks this is the proper way to assuage his fears (even ridiculous stuff like how he shares blood with Borros Baratheon via Rhaenys), and more violent type of suppression by Jace, who absolutely does not want to hear about how they're bastards and everybody knows about it. So the fear of being perceived, of his "secrets" being revealed, only worse, because they're already out in the open, so what he really fears is shame and judgment, which could come at any minute. Any person could at any time start pointing out what an obvious bastard he is and the entire foundation of his life would start cracking.

This intense fear of judgment would be where lucemond comes into play. Aemond as a person he actively harmed, an act that he did his best to sweep under the rug, absolutely horrified to face him, because that would mean facing his actual crimes; the punishment/retribution for that would have to be immense and he's not in a proper headspace to handle that. When he finally sees Aemond again, fighting fit and ready to go, all those feelings of inadequacy would come crashing down. Aemond casting his single eye of furious judgment on Luke, painfully aware of each and every one of Luke's flaws and planning his wrathful comeuppance!

In TMA, I really enjoyed the statements where The Eye would terrorize their victim* because I personally found it hilarious, so I think I'd try to recreate that dynamic a bit between Aemond and Luke. Whether it veers into body horror and violence or remains at the promise of violence and psychological torment, I think there's a lot to explore in a funky, novel way that doesn't involve this unearned Romeo and Juliet binomial.

If you're really intent on turning this sexual, I think an under-discussed aspect of the eye-gouging is how Luke essentially gave Aemond a huge disadvantage when it comes to participating in traditional masculinity, something that we know Aemond cares a lot about - being a model Targaryen prince, having the depth perception necessary to ride his dragon, his martial prowess, even him being suitably attractive to the opposite sex. It wouldn't be outrageous to presume all of these new issues halted Aemond's sexual and social development and that it would make him feel Some Kind of Vengeful Way about it that would maybe manifest itself not in a very socially-appropriate way. Like, mayhaps, wanting Luke to undergo similar pains? ☠

For Aemond's side, I stumbled on this tik tok once that really encapsulates the kind of vibes I think would be really fun to play with. A corruption arc, being consumed by vengeance, allowing yourself to give into your worst impulses, contemplating the nature of justice etc.

For the aegond bit mentioned above, I really like this idea. Luke pondering which is worse: facing Aemond directly or being decimated by his big brother, who he himself once looked up to.

___________________________________________________________

*Here is an example if anyone is interested in the vibe I'm going for. I bookmarked the clip for when the statement begins, because the rest of the episode is filled with the metaplot: MAG 193 A Stern Look,

Some quotes from the transcripts!

He recognises those eyes. He’s seen them all his life, watching him, judging him, cutting through him so no part of him was secret or safe. They peel away the armour, his carefree smile and practiced shrugs. 

His mind races. He can’t tell the truth, obviously. Elias can’t look this man in the face, and tell him that he is what scares him. That his eyes, the curiosity and judgement that pulses out of them, they terrify him in a way he can’t put into words. He feels that prickly panic building in the back of his skull, that worry that spills through: he knows. 

A cough from over the desk breaks his train of thought. His interviewer is staring at him, and all at once he’s back with himself, burning with embarrassment. Those eyes stare, impassive and stern as ever, but… is that a twinkle of satisfaction? As though he has been given him an answer he likes.

He stops. Those eyes. They know. They can see right through all his bullshit, right to the core of him. They know what he really thinks.