#aegon targaryen x OC

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

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CHAPTER 8

The rumors surrounding Rhaenyra’s children only got worse when her third child had been born.

Ysilla was now a girl of fifteen. She was very different from the skinny little child that had left Runestone so long ago. People would describe her as elegant, intelligent, and beautiful. She had grown to be graceful, as much as her dragon was. And as Dārysyr, her fierce was known by now. Her dragon had grown large and powerful; his muscles were well-formed, and his wings were strong. Ysilla went flying on Dragonback once a week. She would have liked to do it more, but she had her studies and her duties.

Just a couple of years before, Ysilla had the chance to speak with the Alchemists of King’s Landing, and she had been left very fascinated.

“Vysenia was said to be familiar with dark magic,” she said one day, sitting beneath the Hearth Tree as she observed Aemond practicing combat movements with a stick.

“You want to be Vysenia born again?” He asked, fighting against air.

“Do you think I’d made a fool of myself?” She asked with a little smile as she looked at the boy.

“No,” he answered, turning to her, “I think you are as willed as her. But with the grace of Rhaenys.”

Graceful. Yes. Ysilla had grown up to be very grateful. She knew how to bow, to speak, and to dance. The court was well impressed by her. And from Runestone, her aunt Jeyne was hoping for a good arranging for Ysilla. Not only because she had become very well respected by the people in King’s Landing but also because Queen Alicent seemed to have high expectations from Ysilla. She called her her ward.

“She probably wishes for you to be wed to one of her sons,” that rumor had reached her aunt Jeyne as well. And she seemed pleased by it in her letters. A Royce on the throne.

Ysilla, on the contrary, had no thirst for power. The thought of ambitions and schemes only reminded her of her father and what he had done to be always a step closer to the Iron Throne. But she was not her father.

The lack of personal ambition, though, did not make her blind to politics and schemes. It was because she knew how harmful they could be that she was always vigilant and observant of what happened in court. Fully aware that knowledge and duty were what was required to keep alliances and peace. She had grown up side by side with the Queen, raised by the same people that raised the princes. She knew that the health of the King was faltered, as did the respect some people had for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when her children started to grow up to become more similar to the Captain of the Guards than her own husband. Everybody knew, and yet the King did nothing. This had also happened ten years before when her father had killed her mother.

“Are you not coming to the pits?” Aegon asked that morning when they were breaking their fast.

“You heard that right,” she answered, smiling at him before taking a sip of her milk.

“You cannot ditch me like this,” he said, leaning towards her with playful eyes, “I’ve promised you today would have been fun.”

Aegon had grown up, but his search for fun and enjoyment had remained the same. “Helaena wished to dance today. You know how I love her and how I enjoy dancing.”

He cocked his head to a side, “More than riding Dārysyr?” Then his hands moved to touch a strain of her hair, “Did I say how I like your hair today?” Ysilla took his hand to push it away. Aegon had always had a fascination with her hair, and since he had started to grow and notice women, he had begun to voice his compliments on her hair and appearance more often than not.

“I love nothing more than Dārysyr,” she answered, looking at the boy. "And we already flew with him and Sunfyre last week.”

Not so long before, Aegon managed to bend Sunfyre, becoming his dragonrider. Sunfyre was known to be the most beautiful dragon alive, and he really was. He had golden scales and pink shades, and even his flames were golden.

“I wasn’t meant to go fly together,” he said, a mischief light in his eyes.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, making him laugh.

“What face?”

“The one that always brings you trouble,” she answered with a glare. He was planning something. She knew him too well to be mistaken. She didn’t have time to ask because the wooden door opened to let Aemond enter the chamber.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Ysilla, brother,” he answered shortly. It was how Aemond was, very different from his older brother. He was composed and dutiful. Less impulsive than Aegon was. “Mother is looking for you, Ysilla.” He said, sitting down.

“That’s why you’re not coming. Because of Mother,” Aegon said, making Ysilla turn to him.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, standing up. Her eyes went from one brother to the other. "I’ll see you both when you return from the pit,” then she looked at Aegon.

“Behave.” He blown her a kiss.

“Like always, my sweet.”

“Stop that,” Aemond said, focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. Ysilla ignored Aegon, making her way towards the door. She wondered why the Queen wanted to see her. Ysilla knew she would have been busy with Rhaenyra after the princess’s labor ended and the third of her children would be born. Rhaenyra had been screaming for hours, and Ysilla stopped to observe the corridor that led to her chambers on her way to the Queen. By the screams, she seemed to be suffering very much. That made her anxious. She knew that it was a woman’s duty to give children to her husband. She just hoped the gods had mercy for them and an easy way to bring life to the world.

“Princess,” Ser Cole was guarding the door, bowing his head as she walked closer.

“Good morrow, Ser,” she answered politely. “I hope your day has been good so far.”

The man smiled, “It is, Princess.” His smile would have made her blush just a few years before. But the more she grew up, the less embarrassing it became to share words with men, even handsome men such as Ser Criston.

When Ysilla entered the chamber, the Queen was standing next to the window, and a serving girl was fixing the back of her dress.

“My Queen,” she greeted, bowing. “Have you asked for me?”

“Good morrow, my dear,” Alicent Hightower smiled kindly at her, “Indeed. Helaena is a little... agitated today."

Helaena had stayed the same in those years. She was still the sweetest girl that Ysilla had ever met. Sweet and gentle. But her queer behavior sometimes agitated even herself. Ysilla had seen Helaena in those moments, and she knew that the princess didn't like to be alone when she was feeling like that.

"We'll find something else to do then," Ysilla answered. They could have taken a walk or talked about bugs. Helaena liked bugs. Ysilla would have found something to ease Helaena's mind.

The Queen smiled at her, putting a hand on her arm. "What a blessing you are." Ysilla returned the gesture, bowing her head in gratitude and respect.

At that moment, the door behind them opened to reveal Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ysilla widened her eyes to see her cousin.

"Rhaenyra," the Queen gasped, "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra answered, trying to keep her trembling voice steady. The pain that she had experienced was well visible on her face, and it was not surprising.

Ysilla had heard Rhaenyra screaming only a few moments before. She knew what happened during labor, and the septa had explained that to her. How could her cousin possibly walk? Or even walking up the stairs?

"You must sit," the Queen said, turning to one of her serving girls, "Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.” The girl bowed and turned to attend Rhaenyra.

“There’s no need,” Rhaenyra said. By the Queen insisted.

Ysilla followed Alicent as they walked towards the couple. Rhaenyra had finally accepted sitting down with Laenor's help, but seeing her in pain and holding her newborn baby, Ysilla felt like moving so that she could help her cousin sit. As the girl touched her arm, the Princess turned to look at her. A small smile appeared on her lips, probably still trying to hide her pain. It was well-known how stubborn Rhaenyra was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“There’s no need,” Ysilla answered, then exchanging a look with the Queen.

Alicent was observing the baby like she had done with Lucerys just a few years before. Ysilla knew what she was thinking: even this child had nothing of Ser Laenor in him.

As Ysilla went back to stand next to the Queen, King Viserys entered the chamber with a huge smile on his face. “What happy news this morning,” he exclaimed.

The years had not been gentle to the King. His body was weaker and more fragile. His skin had gotten paler and his hair thinner. The condition of his left hand had gotten worse. He first lost just three fingers, but it kept getting worse until the Maester decided that it was better to cut off the entire arm. Even so, Ysilla’s uncle tried to maintain a positive attitude, always smiling at everyone.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Leanor, taking the child in his arms to present him to the King. Ysilla observed Rhaenyra’s husband’s face as he looked at the baby. He smiled happily and proudly. Could he really be so blind? He had never seemed such a man to Ysilla. It was true, though, that he was not very present as a father.

He is more present than mine, anyway. She thought as she observed the unbothered son of Corlys Velaryon pass the child to the King. But even in his expression, Ysilla could not see surprise or disappointment. She could not understand why both men acted so blindly about the behavior of the future Queen? Why did her actions have no repercussions? Everybody knew, everybody whispered. And yet the King did nothing.

He must truly love her, if he is protecting her like that. Ysilla thought, observing the happiness on Viserys’ face.

“A fine Prince,” he said, his eyes looking at every one of them. Ysilla smiled, lowering her eyes. “Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.”

Surely, Ysilla thought. If the rumors were true and his father was Ser Harwin Strong, he surely could have become a terrific fighter as an adult. Breakbone was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Does the babe have a name yet?” The Queen asked with curiosity.

Rhaenyra took a breath, “We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Ser Leanor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

Ysilla looked between them, hoping that her face did not give away the kind of thought she had in mind. Had they spoken of it or not? Did Rhaenyra agree with such a name?

“An unusual name for a Velaryon.” The Queen was speaking the truth. Velaryon came from Valyria as much as the Targaryens. Their names came from Old Valyria to keep the traditions. But it wasn’t only their costume: in the Seven Kingdoms, all the Noble Houses had names and family names. Ysilla’s name was a Royce name. Her mother, Lady Rhea, had done it on purpose. Ysilla’s father could be a Targaryen, but she had Royce’s blood in her veins as well.

“I do believe he has his father’s nose,” Ysilla would have frowned at the King’s words, but she had to keep her composure, so she decided to look at Rhaenyra and smile at her. The Princess did the same, but there was no truth behind that gesture. They were both aware of what was happening.

The King chuckled, still focused on Joffrey, and soon after, Laenor did the same before clearing his throat.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest,” Ser Laenor said, ready to help his wife get on her feet.

“Of course,” the King answered. The Queen was soon at his side, taking Joffrey in her hands. Ysilla moved aside when she saw the King walking closer to his daughter, but she didn’t walk very far, curious about what they would have talked about.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said with tenderness. Such a tone forced Ysilla to lower her eyes, fully aware that her father would never have such sweetness for her. If she’ll ever see him again. She knew that he was an Essos with his lady wife and their two twin daughters. She wondered how he was fathering them. If he was cold and cruel like he had been to her so long ago. Ten years had passed, and yet she remembered the way he had looked at her as he said that he felt nothing for his firstborn daughter.

“I do hope the labor was easy,” the King said as Ysilla walked towards the Queen, who was giving the baby back to Ser Leanor.

“Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Sooner or later, you may get one that looks like you.” She had said it so politely, but her intentions were quite clear—she was voicing the thoughts of the entire court. The man looked startled, and when he noticed Ysilla standing there, she didn’t say anything. She only smiled, with no true intention behind it.

Rhaenyra then walked towards her husband before they both left the chamber. Ysilla bowed gracefully as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

“What a happy day,” the King exclaimed full of happiness.

The Queen lowered her eyes from next to him. “Indeed, my love,” she answered.

The whole situation was against everything that politics and duty required. Ysilla could understand why her uncle was protecting his daughter, but her King was making a fool of himself. And whispers could only get louder and louder, not only against Rhaenyra but against the King as well. He was not only Rhaenyra’s father; he was the Protector of the Realm, of the peace of the Realm. How would the realm answer once the King had left that world? What was ahead of them? That uncertainty was heavy in her heart. Politics could be ruthless, and it could reclaim anyone’s life.

“You wanted to dance, I’m sorry,” Helaena was saying as they walked in the corridors of the Red Keep.

“Nonsense, Helaena,” she answered honestly. The events of that morning had left little room for light emotions in her heart. “I don’t feel like dancing today.”

“Running from the back is important,” her cousin said. Ysilla turned to observe her. It didn’t matter how many years they had known each other; Helaena’s strange sentences left Ysilla confused all the time. She knew better than to ask. Helaena didn’t know how to explain the meaning of her words, and the more people asked her to, the more she got agitated. That was one of those days. One where Ysilla stood quiet, listening to all the strange things her cousin felt to say. She loved Helaena, but on those days, the hours went on slowly.

I wish I was at the Dragonpit, she thought. Ysilla wished nothing more than to be with Dārysyr, especially during days that felt so heavy in her heart.

They were back in Helaena’s chamber when the Queen arrived. Ysilla was set next to her cousin, who was very interested in counting the rings of a centipede. They have been there long. And Ysilla decided to take one of the many books that she had in her chamber to keep herself occupied until Helaena was satisfied with her counting. When the Queen entered, Ysilla was ready to stand up and bow, but the woman gestured for her to sit still and keep with her reading.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each, ” Helaena whispered, looking closer at the centipede, “It makes two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“Yes, it is,” the Queen said in a soft tone, even if her expression could not hide her worry. It was difficult to communicate with Helaena when she acted like that. They had to be patient.

“It has eyes,” the girl spoke, looking closely at the creature in her hand.

“Does he?” Ysilla asked, keeping reading her book.

Helaena muttered in agreement, “Though, I don’t believe it can see.” Ysilla looked at her with a confused frown.

“And why is that so, do you think?” Asked the Queen.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

Beyond mine, for sure, Ysilla thought at her cousin’s words. Those were too much of abstract concepts for her mind. She liked history better.

“I suppose you’re right,” the Queen answered. Some things just are.” As she finished speaking, though, the door opened to reveal Aemond. Ysilla put aside her book. Her eyes widened, seeing how dirty his face and clothes were.

“Aemond,” the woman gasped, walking to her son, “What have you done?”

“He did it again.” Ysilla stood up after Helaena’s words. He must have entered the Dragonpit. That place was dangerous for someone without a dragon, and Aemond was the only one of them without one. Dragons bend only to one person, and when they did, they will only listen to their rider. They could become very dangerous for anyone else. But Aemond had always been very fascinated by dragons. The pain in his eyes was always visible when they went to the Dragonpit.

Ysilla could understand him. She had been fascinated, too, before Dārysyr’s egg hatched. Being a Targaryen without a dragon hurt a lot.

“After how many times you’ve been warned,” the Queen reproved him, “Must I have you confined to your chambers?”

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued angrily. Who made him do it? Ysilla moved forward, feeling for her cousin. He truly seemed so upset. What had happened? But the Queen didn’t seem to share Ysilla’s same thoughts.

“As if you needed encouragement,” the woman said, worryingly observing her son to be sure he was not harmed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.” When she spoke like that, the Queen truly reminded Ysilla of her mother's skepticism about dragons.

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond exclaimed. Ysilla’s eyes widened.

“A what?” The Queen asked in confusion.

“They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig!” Aemond answered, trembling with anger.

I’ve promised you today would have been fun. Aegon had said to her that morning. He was behind it. Ysilla could not believe it. He knew how Aemond suffered since he was the only one without a dragon. Even Rhaenyra’s sons had one each, but not Aemond, a son of a King. How could he be so stupid to do that to his own brother?

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent said trying to calm her son, “I know it.”

Aemond deserved a dragon. It was saddening to know that his egg hadn’t hatched. He had asked Ysilla many times how she did it as they grew up, but she truly wasn't sure how or why. Dārysyr was just born one day. It had been a very normal day. But Aemond’s didn’t, and it was not fair. Why did the Gods play such games?

Aemond lowered his gaze, “They all laughed.”

And why did the Gods make Aegon to be such an idiot?

_____________________________________________________________

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[starogeorgina]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen x Targaryen OC

Warnings: None

Chapter: 1.01

“Rhaenyra!” You continue to rapidly bang your fist against the door leading into your elder sister's bedroom. "Rhaenyra, open this door right now!”

You hated her.

“You’re a fucking coward to hide from me!” You didn’t care that your language was unfit for a young lady, a princess; Rhaenyra had cut you deeply, and you wanted to make sure she knew it. “Unlock this door at once!”

You hated her.

“I would have never done this to you,” you sob. “I loved you, Rhaenyra, my big sister. We’re supposed to look out for each other, not... I would never do this. Not to you, never.”

You only stop banging on the door when your fist is pulled back by Ser Criston. “You need to stop before you hurt yourself, princess.”

You knew he was right, but it didn’t stop the anger that was radiating through you. Not only has Rhaenyra humiliated you by sleeping with your husband, she has also given birth to his sons. Three of them. Something you were never even given the chance to do. Your brain comes to a heartbreaking realization, one that makes you want to scream as soon as you think about it. Rhaenyra doesn’t care about you and never did. You feel your knees start to weaken, and your stomach drops. The knight whispers, “I know you’re hurting, princess, but they aren’t worthy of your tears.”

You take a deep breath and wipe your fallen tears away, knowing that he was right. “Thank you, Ser Criston.”

“The queen heard about what happened and would like for you to join her in her quarters. She wishes to offer you her comfort.”

You blink away the tears, your vision becoming more clear, and when it does, you see your husband standing down at the opposite end of the hallway. No doubt he was coming to see her. He was staring at you, looking worried. You feel your heart harden, not wanting to give him or her the satisfaction of seeing you hurt. You push back the sob, desperately wanting to escape your throat. “Ser Criston, do you mind escorting me to the queen's chambers?”

“Of course, princess.”

—

“How could she betray me in such a way?”

Alicent wraps her around your shoulder; she seems genuinely concerned about you. You had managed to maintain a smidgen of your dignity by holding your head high as you walked through the castle, ignoring all the side-eye glances and whispers going on around you. One of Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting brings in a tray of tea that’s supposed to help calm nerves.

“Prin-”

“Ivory,” you correct with a weak smile.

Lord Strong nods, “Ivory, I am ashamed to admit that rumors of my brother's betrayal had reached me long ago, but I assumed there was no truth to it. It wasn’t until I learned about the incident in the training yard this morning that I came to realize it was true.”

You had spent the last year defending Rhaenyra and Harwin, insisting that Jacaerys and Lucerys weren’t fathered by your husband before you were married. Because of your age, you had yet to lay with Harwin, and you thought if he was going to stray, it would be in the streets of silk, not with your own flesh and blood.

“She swore to me in our mothers names that they were Ser Lenors true-born sons. How could I have been so foolish?”

“You aren’t foolish, my sweet.” Alicent picks up a cup of tea and hands it to you, giving you a sympathetic look as she notices your hands trembling. “You have been deceived, and I can only imagine what Viserys will have to say when he finds out.”

You shake your head. It was widely known that Rhaenyra was your father's favorite, and learning what she was really like could be the thing that breaks him. “My love for my father is the only thing keeping me quiet. He is sick; finding out the truth about what Rhaenyra has done might be the thing that kills him, and we do not want him to suffer. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what to do.”

“I find that praying helps me find clarity and reassurance. I pray to the mother nightly; you can join me if you wish.”

“Perhaps I should pray to the warrior as well as the mother.” You chuckle lightly. “I could really use the gods' strength and courage."

—

After visiting the sept the night previously, the queen had arranged for you to stay in a separate bedchamber for the night since your quarter was beside Rhaenyra’s.

In the morning, Ser Criston escorted you back to your quarters; with him by your side, nobody dared approach you. The knight made pleasant small talk and even managed to make you laugh. When you reach your quarters, you thank him before walking into your bedchamber. You sit down at your vanity and begin to unbraid your hair, only stopping when you hear the door opening.

“Flora?” You call out, hoping to see your lady in waiting, who has become a close friend over the years. “Flora, is that you?”

When you turn around, you’re stunned to see Rhaenyra and Harwin. At first, you were afraid that the sight of them would upset you, but now, as you sit in front of them, all you feel is anger.

You say nothing; you turn your back on them and shift your attention to taking the remainder of your braids out. You push down the lump forming in your throat when Rhaenyra kneels down beside you with tears in her eyes. You pretend she isn’t even there and get up to go pick a dress to wear once you are bathed.

“Ivory! Ivory, please,” Rhaenyra begs. “It happened before you were betrothed! I never wanted you to find out like this. Sister, please! Just let me explain!”

You had fully intended to continue giving her the cold shoulder, but hearing the word sister caused you to snap. You can’t believe she had the nerve to call you that. You spin around fast, and your expression pulls into one of anger and hurt as you snap, “Don’t call me that again.”

Rhaenyra steps back as if you’d struck her.

Harwin says, “I am sincerely sorry for betraying your trust.”

You scoff, annoyed that he seems upset when it’s you that should be hurt by his dishonorable actions. “Until such a time that I am of age to perform my duty as princess and your wife, I don’t think we need to speak again.”

“Ivory…”

“You may leave, Ser Harwin.”

When the knight leaves, you turn to face your sister, whose eyes were bloodshot from crying, which angers you further. “Since the day Jace was born, I have loved him; the same is true of Luke. You’ve watched me play with them and sing to them. I’ve basically grown up with them, and not once did you ever think to tell me they were fathered by Harwin.”

“I tried to spare you the pain of knowing the truth.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips. “You must really hate me.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as more tears roll down her cheeks. “I love you.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve always looked up to you; I wanted to be just like you. My perfect big sister.” You shake your head, backing away from her slightly when she reaches for you. “Do not touch me.”

"When my father told me about his plans for you and Harwin to wed, I tried to stop the betrothal; I really did.”

“I believe you,” you say, wiping away more fallen tears. You hardly knew Harwin; he would occasionally accompany you on walks around the garden, and nothing more than a kiss on the back of the hand was shared between you, but he was still your husband. “Both Jacaerys and Lucerys were born before the betrothal; I would have easily looked past that and done everything I could to help protect them. But Joffrey, he’s only a few days old. Even after I married Harwin, you continued to have an affair with him.”

You see guilt pass over her features before she drops her gaze to the floor and says, “I’m sorry.”

“I still love my nephews; that will never change, but I can’t be around them right now. Not after knowing what I know, it will just be a constant reminder."

“Of my betrayal.” Rhaenyra takes a deep breath; red patches have appeared across her neck and chest. “I hope one day you can forgive me.”

When Rhaenyra leaves the room, you throw yourself onto your bed, pull your pillow to your face, and sob into it. This was too much pressure for a girl of one and five to bear.

When someone knocks at your door, you groan a little, assuming Harwin or Rhaenyra had come back. “Go away,” you mumble into your pillow. You lift your head to tell them to go away, but change your mind when you see who it is “Aegon, what are you doing here?”

He avoids looking you in the eye and shrugs. “My mother said you were upset.”

“So you came to check on me?”

You weren’t much older than Aegon; before you had even celebrated your first name day, your father had remarried, and Queen Alicent was pregnant. You were surprised to see Aegon, considering he didn’t spend much time with any of your siblings.

He rolls his eyes and says, “No.”

“Oh, then what are you doing here?”

“Wanted to know if you’d like to go dragon riding together.”

You smile and say, “Sure, that sounds like fun.”

Aegon on Sunfyre and you on Ghost were exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything else that was going on.

[emilykaldwen]

Morning

@tremendouswolfsaladranch sent me a prompt for Aegon and Abby lazy married morning. I HAVE FINALLY DELIVERED.

Title: Morning Rating: Explicit (just some satisfying morning sex with an appetizer of eating your sexy wife out as she deserves) Pairing: Aegon x wife!OC (Abrogail Strong) Kinks: we got breeding kink! Word Count: 945

This takes place in the Maiden Verse! Unbeta'd cause I just woke up and we're here for just some morning sex.

Happy Sexy Sunday!

It’s barely light out, the morning light watery as the dark clouds roll in with another promise of rainy weather. The fire has been stoked, blazing warmer and brighter in the large grate, which explains why she hadn’t noticed that the nightshirt she wore, one of Aegon’s, was pushed up half over her breasts so the smooth expanse of her belly was exposed. Her husband’s silver head hovers over her lower stomach and she whimpers when his warm mouth presses gentle, sucking kisses against her skin. Her muscles spasm, a shiver tearing through her and her thighs fall open even more. His chuckle is warm, damp breath sending goosebumps blossoming along her skin with the heated blush.

“Behave,” he warns her, knuckles dragging through where she needs him most, the sound obscene with how aroused she is. He must have been coaxing her awake for Abby to feel this wet already. A yelp escapes her, and a moan follows when Aegon begins to nip his way lower, sharp teeth catching along the delicate skin and nosing into the thatch of red at the apex of her thighs.

“What happens if I don’t?” she sighs, one hand reaching down to sleepily card her fingers through his hair, the other reaching up to fondle her own breast. Aegon’s responding purr is deeper than what he should be allowed to make, those moments of beast bond thrumming through his frame as he fits his shoulders between her thighs. 

“As your lord husband, I’ll have to discipline you. Abrogail, I’m sure I’ve made that clear before.” She catches the look in his lilac eyes when he rests his chin upon her cunt, his face fuzzy with stubble that excites her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re asking for it.”

She moans and shakes her head, biting at her lower lip as she pinches and toys with her right nipple, pretending it’s his thick fingers, his nail scraping along the sensitive bud. “Promise I’m not,” she assures. “I’ve been so very good.”

“Have you-” and Abby cries out, hips arching as Aegon’s tongue darts out to circle the sensitive bud of nerves just as two fingers slip inside, stretching her. Whatever else Aegon said was lost as the buzzing fills her, the sparkle of need and want thrumming through her veins. Fingers tighten in Aegon’s hair, and she feels and hears his moan vibrating through her as her fits his mouth and fucks her slowly, languid and lazy, as if they have all the time in the world.

She had promised him a lie in, and it seemed he’d taken it upon himself to make sure they had it. Fingers curl inside of her just as she curls her own into his hair, and he rubs at the spot that makes her cry and shake, that makes her toes curl against him and feel like her world is shattering around her. The rush of slick he pulls from her is a mess on the bed and over his face and Aegon’s sounds as he shoves his tongue into her to lick up the mess sends her shaking, mouth wet and body hot and writhing against the bed. He pushes her thighs further apart and blearily, Abby looks up at him, licking her lips as he rises.

“Im-impatient,” she manages out and her words are cut off at the feel of his cock pressing inside her. There’s no teasing, no dragging through her, dipping in and out until he has her begging. Aegon’s impatient, slipping inside of her with little resistance and she gasps at the feel of him, the stretch because even after all this time, he takes her by surprise, she’s never prepared for him. 

Her favorite, though, is when he crawls up her body, hips rolling into her, to blanket her. She whimpers, “I missed you,” and licks his mouth, licks the essence of her from the fair blonde stubble along his chin, giggles as he growls and claims her mouth as he claims the rest of her. Abby drifts in and out of understanding, she thinks she peaks again, arms wrapped around him as he buries his face into her neck, telling her his secrets, telling her he loves her, telling her how he’s going to fill her up, get her full, get a babe to catch this time. How he’ll never stop fucking her, even as her belly grows big, because the thought of it makes him want her even more.

She peaks a third time before he spills hot inside her, bodies fitted like they were made for each other, the sound of his name and the sound of hers swallowed in their kiss. Her husband is ridiculous, and self-important, he is selfish and not always attentive, but his love for her? His love, she never doubts, his care for her, she does not doubt. 

As Aegon’s weight rests on her, her legs wrapped around his hips, keeping her filled, keeping his seed inside so it’ll take, so it will finally take, Abby nuzzles into him and he chuckles softly against her neck.

“Good morning, husband,” she whispers against his damp cheek, sleepy and happy and warm and safe.

“Good morning, wife,” he returns, his voice shy, his cheeks flushed, and his lilac eyes bright and warm when she looks at him.

“You make me happy.” Her chest is warm, and his smile is so bright it might crack his face, like the way the sun cracked open and the dragons came.

Hopefully it’ll take this time. Hopefully their child will have a smile as bright as his. Her bright star.

[thesongoflorelei]

Reintroducing my HOTD OC Alerie Tyrell to those who have not met her yet. I had a lot of fun experimenting with my colouring for this piece. I hope you like her (Aegon certainly does lol)💚.

[elegantsplendour]

Of Blossom and Betrayal

Summary:

AU: Green victory, the realm called for a new queen after Queen Helena's demise

Seraphina Tyrell did not belong to the worldly realm of Westeros; a lone child conceived of loyalty, love and devotion. A beacon like her attracts the darkest of souls, in the darkest of times.

💌 Aegon II Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: manipulation, abuse of power, mentions of rape, slight underage, dub con, violence. Specific warnings will be added at the beginnings of each chapter.

Cast

Chapter 1

Prologue: Highgarden

Tag list: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @femmechaotic

Other friends: @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @qyburnsghost

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Lord Lyonel Tyrell was a man of honour, loyalty and vigilance. Succeeding in remaining neutral, assuring his family’s survival and maintaining the influence of his house in one of the bloodiest war since Aegon’s Conquest, if not of all of Westerosi history, was an accomplishment that many of his position had dreamt of.

Loyalty? He laughed bitterly at the memory of the bright and confident smile on his long gone brother Bryan’s departing figure to King’s Landing to serve under Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Be loyal to no one but his family, his loved ones.

It was the code he had lived by since Bryan’s unexpected tragic demise at the hands of Rogue Prince himself, a man his poor brother, the innocent messenger sent by King Viserys, admired and sworn loyalty to, fourteen years ago.

Lyonel remembered the day the news of his demise reached his father, the former lord of Highgarden.

People sing that there were six stages of grief.

Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

But when it came to a devoted seventy two year old father, the grief ended in the very first.

Two days later, Lyonel, the second son, whose ambitions never surpassed the allure of marrying Lady Jayne Lannister and sampling the finest wines and sugary with his beloved, inherited the legacy he had never been prepared for.

The Targaryens will always do what’s best for the Targaryens.

Those were his late father’s last words.

To survive the Targaryen rule, Lyonel played by their rules. Schemes, betrayals, deceptions and bloodshed? He did not shy away from them. He bore the burden so his family, his people, didn’t have to.

With his hands on the cold balcony, Lord of Highgarden bathed the fresh air of flowers, the peaceful chirping of insects, the giggling of young maids and the distant melodies from the small folks returning to their homes after a long day of labour.

This was his empire he defended.

One of loyalty, honour and love.

His beloved Jayne, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Seraphina, his precious jewel, his sweet little rose, the one and only fruit of his and Jayne's love's many attempts at blooming.

His Lancel, Bryan's illegitimate offspring, whom he had taken under the Tyrell bloodline, a fierce and honorable knight, a fine protector, his heir.

“Lord Ormund has written again,” Jayne rested her head on his shoulder, her golden curls soothing his skin as much as his mind, “The letter touched me, the words he’s chosen, the sincerity of his voice. He truly desires a betrothal between his first born and Seraphina.”

Jayne traced her fingers on her husband’s cheeks, “He wishes to introduce them in King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?” Lyonel frowned deeply, “It should be fit for them to present themselves to Highgarden, especially when Phina was the one who treated their wounded bodies in the woods, risking the slaughter of the ruthless Northerners.”

Jayne swallowed hard as she recalled the turbulent times of the war.

Although negotiations, strategies and armies kept the castle away bloodshed and dragon fire, the walls were not impenetrable to whimpers of loss and screams agony from the highborn’s well acquainted soldiers calling the Rose without Thorns to their rescue, even at the interdiction of her parents.

Every time the Rose sneaked away from safety, the Lord and Lady of Highgarden sobbed while the peasants and soldiers rejoiced. Her empathetic smile, attentiveness to their wounds and of course, the herbs and food she had carried with her ignited the flicker of hope in the darkest times.

One fateful day, Seraphina stumbled upon two injured knights bedecked in green armor, hidden in the woods—Ormund and Daryn Hightower, gasping for air, on the brink of death from the Battle of Tumbleton.

As Seraphina returned with the blood stained figures of the castle, Lyonel and Jayne’s anger and fear exacerbated.

Highgarden had remained unharmed because of its neutrality that their naive daughter had just broken.

Yet, the gods seemed to show them mercy, perhaps in honor of the lives House Tyrell defended. The Blacks remained oblivious to this act, which could be seen as a declaration of allegiance. Instead, Seraphina’s uncalculated move of benevolence eaned House Tyrell a favourable position in the new Targaryen court: an intimate alliance with the most influential house beside the new king.

As Lyonel contemplated the offer in silence, Jayne squeezed his hand, “Daryn is a handsome, brave and honourable young man. I recognized the look on his face when Seraphina brought him back from the wild,” she pressed a kiss on cheek, “It’s the same way you looked at me years ago, lord husband.”

Lyonel’s gaze softened as he enveloped his wife into his arms with a light chuckle, “Your jest on formality never cease, my love. If the young Hightower truly feels the same about our daughter as I did to you twenty five years ago,” he cupped her cheeks, “Then, perhaps, that boy deserves her hand.”

Jayne held her husband tightly, relishing his scent and warmth. In a world cruel as this, she thanked to the gods everyday for granting her a man of his devotion, wisdom and strength.

“To King’s Landing then?”

“To King’s Landing,” Lyonel nodded before rolling his eyes, his never dying youthful side emerging, “Where the drunken king will be holding a foolish lavish pageant while his people starve. Seven bless the poor girl he will choose as the new queen.”

Jayne laughed wholeheartedly before tending to his arm, returning to the warmth of the interior, “You know, fate favoured us immensely,” she whispered with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety, “If we had agreed to the Kinslayer’s proposal in marriage-“

Lyonel suddenly gripped the touch of her hand, “Thank the wisdom my father and brother had bestowed me. Never trust a Targaryen. The rumours of…” disturbance and disgust written all over his face, “Lady, now a Princess, Cassandra Baratheon’s screams of pain echoed through the Red Keep on her wedding night. I cannot imagine-“

He buried his face in his hands as he sat down with his wife next to the fireplace.

Jayne brushed his hair with adoration, “Don’t overthink about the past, my love. Phina is about to marry a good man.”

The lord smiled as he lifted his head to face his beloved, “Everything I risked, I fought for, it was worth it. For you, for her, for Lancel, and for our people.”

Jayne kissed him passionately before whispering, “You are too good for this world, Lyonel Tyrell.”

As the stars gracefully pirouetted around the moon in the embrace of the night's darkness, and with the imminent date of embarking on the journey to King's Landing drawing near, the wheel of fate began its inevitable revolution once more.

[thesithdiaries]

The Spoils of War Masterlist

Summary: Naerys Velaryon is Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen’s firstborn. She will be the future heir to the Iron Throne. However, after Lucerys Velaryon’s tragic death, everything changes. Loyalties will be put to the test and alliances will be formed. Naerys will prove herself to be a true dragon, no matter the consequences.

Pairing: Platonic!Targaryen family x OC ; future Cregan Stark x OC ; mentions of Aegon Targaryen ll x OC

Warning for this and future parts: angst angst angst, violence, gore(? yes, MENTION OF LIMBS NOT ATTACHED TO BODIES !!!!!!!!!!!!!, mentions of stillbirth, major character deaths (we know this one already), cursing, cheating, fighting, Criston Cole, some many things will be OOC, more added in future chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (TBA)

[farity]

Masterlist & Tag Lists

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My main account is @vintageypanwitch so any replies may be from that - thank you!

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AEMOND FICS

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Devil in the Details - inspired by that leather and latex outfit!

Sorrow - Part 1  -  Part 2  -  Part 3  -  Part  4  -  Part  5  -  Part  6  -  Part  7  -  Part 8  -  Part 9  -  Part 10

Obsession - Modern AU Mafia Aemond x reader  -  Part 2   -   Part 3  -  Part 4  - Part 5   - Part 6 - Part 7  -  Part 8  -  Part 9  - Part 10 - Part 11  -  Part 12  -   Part 13  -  Part 14   -   Part 15  -  Part 16  -  Part 17  -  Part 18  ...Part 19  -  Part 20  -  Epilogue

In the Red of Night - Modern Vamp Aemond x coffee shop owner reader.   Part 2   -   Part 3   -   Part 4   - Part 5 -  Part 6   -   Part 7  -  Part 8  -  Part 9  -  Part 10  -  Part 11  -  

Rage - Aemond’s terrible, no good, eventually smutty day.

Old Friends - a lady from Aemond’s past sets his wife’s temper off.

After the Battle - Aemond returns to his tent, smut ensues.

Who Hurt You - When a certain lady gets hurt, Aemond gets revenge.

On a Spring Day - Aemond’s new bride subverts his expectations.

Inspiration - Fluffly little drablet about Aemond x the muse for a scandalous statue

Mistaken Identity - Aemond x Martell reader   -   Part 2   -

Enemies - enemies to lovers, Aemond x reader    Part 2      Part 3    . Part 4    .  Part 5    . Part 6   -   Part 7   -      

Let’s Pretend - pretend relationship trope, courtesy of Aemond x you   Part 2    .  Part 3        Part 4   -    Part 5  -  Part 6     Part 7   -  Part 8   -   Part 9  -  Part    .   

Rush - Modern AU Aemond x reader just want to go home.  Carnival   -    My heart 

To Tread Lightly - Aemond realizes his betrothed is a gentle soul.  Part 2         ,

Beware the spider - The royal family visits House Webber.

Hel knows best - Helaena looks out for her friend.

Hurt - Modern AU!Aemond x reader who suffers from migraines.

Thief - You break into the Red Keep and find more than you bargained for.  Part 2

Hidden -  Aemond objects when a lady speaks to other men.

Spell - There’s something mysterious about a lady from a minor house  Part 2    Part 3

Insufferable - Aemond realizes his feelings for a certain lady.

Tell me, show me - Fic inspired by another Face mag picture and a manip by the glorious @kyloremus.  Part 2  Part 3     

Study Session - Modern AU inspired by one of those Face magazine pictures.

There is only one bed - Modern AU - spies find themselves in the last room in the inn.  Part 2.  Finished.

To Forgive, Divine - Modern AU - years ago, you and Aemond loved each other.  Part 2 - Finished.

Longing - You’re a ward of Rhaenyra’s, and you are there on the night when Luke provokes Aemond.  Part 2  Part 3  Finished.

In Friendship - Aemond x you fic in a childhood friends to lovers storyline.

Trapped - The Dornish princess destined to marry Aemond doesn’t go along with her family’s plans.  Part 2.  Finished.

Guardian - College AU, you and Aemond want more than friendship.

The Dragon and the Rose - Aemond and Tyrell OFC.  A childhood meeting and a reunion as adults.  Finished.

The Wrong Bride - Aemond arrives to find that his betrothed has run off and must do with her younger sister.  Part 2.   Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - finished.

Found - High tech security mogul Aemond meets Anna Stark.  Modern AU set in Silicon Valley.  Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4   -  Ongoing. 

The Debt - Aerys Velaryon chooses to repay the debt her family owes Aemond.  Part 2 -  Part 3 -  Ongoing.

The Storm’s End - Modern AU inspired by Aemond’s trip to Lord Borros Baratheon.  Part 2 -  Part 3  -  Part 4 - finished..

First Night - The trauma of Aegon dragging him to a brothel haunts Aemond.  Part 2 - Part 3 - Finished.

The Choice - Aemond goes to Storm’s End (Lucerys doesn’t) and he chooses a Baratheon  bride. Part 2   Part 3.  .ongoing

The Blood of the Dragon - Aemond and office worker OC must keep warm while being stuck in a snowstorm overnight.  Finished.

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AEGON FICS

Hail to the King - High School AU - QB Aegon and new-in-town OFC.  Part 2

Lessons in Love - Aegon marries Tyrell OFC.  Part 2   -   

Family is Everything - Modern AU Aegon x you inspired by pictures of TGC with a cute baby. -  Part 2  -  Part 3  -  Part 4  - 

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TAG LISTS

All my fics

@arryn-nyx   @ girlwith-thepearlearring   @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle   @melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion    @watercolorskyy

Aemond fics only

@hb8301   @kaemond-zafiro    @arcielee   @castellomargot   @m-indkiller   @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lunamoonbby   @aemonds-fire   @ tsujifreya   @coffeeobsessedtrencher  @n4tforlife  @kazuyatokue  @believeinthefireflies95  @nockerin  @moonlightfoxx

Thank you for reading, for your likes and reblogs, they all mean so much to me!!!

My Ko-fi

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Season 1

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn in the members of the House of the Dragon.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

How to Write Medieval Smut - A Guide to Insanity

Well, hello. You’re here for that very important reason, aren’t you? You got a hankerin’ for some dude in a tunic and breeches or a lady in a sexy-ass gown, sayin’ some old-timey stuff in a swag accent. They make you feel things. You wanna do things with them. You wanna write about doing things with them. But how to go about it?

Please keep in mind I was asked if I could share some tips; I’m not a writer by any means, but I AM a fanfiction addict, so I like to think I’ve picked up on some important stuff over my years as a horny reader. Without further ado, let me just - well. Get into the nitty-gritty.

1. THE BASICS

If you are going to write anything, you need to consider some key things. Firstly, are you confident in your punctuation? This is one of the biggest elements to readability, and English is one of those languages that totally sucks when it comes to the rules of properly punctuating sentences. And even then, in narrative writing, you CAN play fast-and-loose with the rules; but the key is to know when to do that.

We can’t cover everything here, of course, but I’ll just share one of the most important things when it comes to writing dialogue. You must always punctuate within the quotation mark. If someone is just saying something, it’ll look like this:

“They’re over there,” he said.

We use the comma (,) to join these two clauses together. This is because ‘he said’ is NOT a complete sentence by itself - it needs the previous clause, ‘They’re over there’, to make sense. If you have someone exclaiming or asking, you do exactly the same thing as above, just switch out the punctuation mark:

“They’re over there?” he asked.

“They’re over there!” he exclaimed.

Even though we traditionally understand that (!) or (?) ENDS a sentence, it functions differently inside a quotation mark. That is why the next phrase ‘he exclaimed’ does not start with a capital ‘H’. I admit I am guilty of forgetting this rule at times!

If you are unsure of your punctuation, see if you can find a beta - someone with a little more confidence in writing who can pick up those little mistakes and correct your grammar. Hell, hit me up here if you want - I’m a demon with the grammar, and I’m always down for it. Just know I’m quite merciless with the edits, haha!

2. WORDS TO AVOID IN MEDIEVAL SMUT

If you’re writing medieval smut, you have to think about the types of words that might not be used in old-fashioned time periods. One of the quickest ways to jolt someone out of the immersion in your story is to start using commonly-accepted euphemisms for acts or parts from today’s world. SOME words are from the approximate time period, e.g. clitoris, but aren’t traditionally used in medieval entertainment. Here’s some of the words I can think of that you shouldn’t use (bold), as well as some suggestions for what you can replace it with (= italics):

Clit, clitoris = pearl, bud

Dick, penis = cock, length, member

Balls, testicles, sac/k (only use this one in conjunction with one of the latter list) = stones, jewels, pouch

Boobs, titties, boobies, badonkadonks = bosom, breasts (polite), tits (vulgar)

Vagina, vag, pussy, vulva = cunt (vulgar), cunny (a little less vulgar), entrance, core, womanhood, mound (for vulva)

Asshole, anus = arsehole (English sp.), hole (personally hate it but appropriate)

Butt, buttcheeks, bum = arse, rear, backside, bottom

I’ve actually researched the above and these are all era-appropriate! When in doubt, consult a thesaurus or dictionary to determine time period of origin! Also, might be worth adding this little addendum below - appropriate names for ‘slutty’ or ‘skanky’ characters.

Ho, skank, slag = slut (only as ‘slut’, if you want ‘slutty’, use ‘sluttish’ instead), tart, trollop, hussy, whore

Hope this helps!

3. DESCRIPTION

Don’t be afraid to describe beyond actions - so much smut has the bare minimum ‘he sticks his peen in, in-out-in-out, nut, goodnight’. Describe the experience - what does something look like? Feel like? Taste like? Don’t be afraid to get weird with it. For example:

While your husband takes his respite, you look inquisitively down at his softening length – your dealings with this part of him only ever feature him firm and forbidding, a lance with which to impale your depths with raw impunity. Even lying sated against the sac of his stones, its dimensions are considerable, and you do not think even in its current size that it would be effortless to take within you. A fleshy fold of tissue has extended itself over the purpled head, no doubt protecting it from injury in its unused form.

Basically, this is an extended piece about what a soft dick might look like, lol, including some foreskin action. Try where you can to reference body parts like this euphemistically - especially if writing as a highborn individual. They won’t know terms like ‘foreskin’, because it’d be considered impolite and vulgar.

My absolute number one tip is to use a thesaurus - try to find ‘smart’ ways of phrasing what you want to say. When I’m writing conversationally, I sound like a literal child or a moron (or both, honestly); but the bit in bold above is ALSO me, written specifically for the purpose of narrative. People in past eras spoke differently, and they likely would have had a wordier internal dialogue. Don’t be afraid to shy away from that. But please - PLEASE - cross-reference your chosen word to make sure you’re understanding it’s meaning, as I’ve seen all too many times someone using a word that must have had a similar meaning to their original word, but the translation over does NOT work.

This is all I can think of for right now. Anon, I hope this works for you. Thanks to anyone who bothered reading this, haha! My final piece of advice - read the writing of other people. Pick it apart, and figure out how to emulate that style if that’s what you like. Human beings learn best by imitating others; it’s how we learn to speak as babies, and move around, and interact with people. If we can do all that, then by GODS we can write detailed smut, haha!

Good luck!

[starogeorgina]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen × Targaryen OC

Warnings: Swearing, character death

1.02

You struggle to breathe normally from crying so much, so you clasp your hand over your mouth to try and help regain control. All the repressed emotions that had been building for years came bubbling out when you and your father got into a heated argument. He was upset that Rhaenyra had suddenly fled to Dragonstone and blamed it on you for giving your older sister the silent treatment, insisting you go fly to her immediately and apologize.

It caused deep pain in your chest, knowing he didn’t care about your side of things. He didn’t even care to ask.

“The decision has been made; you will go to Dragonstone and apologize,” your father says, waving you off dismissively before returning his attention to his sculpture of Old Valyria. “I think it might be good for you to go and stay on Dragonstone for some time.”

“Why? As a punishment?”

“No, my child, it’s so you and Rhaenyra can be there for each other.”

“I don’t want to leave the house; it’s my home.”

“It wouldn’t be forever.”

Red blotches appear across your neck and chest as your body shakes with rage. It felt as if you were being banished for a crime you didn’t commit, and something inside you snapped. “It’s not my fault; none of it is. Not Rhaenyra was leaving, and neither was my mother or brother dying.”

“What?” Your father still makes his movements but keeps his back to you. “Ivory, what did you just say?”

“You were so obsessed with having a son that you forced my mother to get pregnant again and again until she finally died giving birth, and you have spent every day since resenting me for it.”

“That’s simply not true.”

Your eyes gloss over. “You wanted a son, and Baelon died. Leaving you with me.”

“I suggest you go to your chambers and rest before you leave.”

“I’m not going to Dragonstone!” Your father finally turns back around to face you, and the expression on his face is one of disinterest, which angers you further. You had spent years craving his and Rhaenyra’s approval, and now you felt nothing but a fool, a silly girl who thought she needed to remain quiet to keep everyone else happy, but in the heat of the moment, you no longer felt that way. “You remarried Alicent so you could have an heir, and she’s given you three sons and a daughter. Another four children that you don’t even acknowledge!”

Your father shoots you a glare; it was obvious you had struck a nerve. “Ivory, hold your tongue! Remember, I am not only your father; I am also your king.”

“The only child you love is Rhaenyra, and we all know it.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn to leave his bedchamber and come face-to-face with Alicent, who looked speechless. You closed your eyes and waited for her to scold you, but she never does; instead, she holds your hand.

Seeing the worried look on his wife’s face, your father stands. “Alicent, what is wrong?”

“I’m afraid I have some dreadful news for your grace,” she says. “It’s regarding Ser Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong.”

—

You twiddle with the green and gold ribbons that go down the center of your pale gold dress. It was a beautiful gift from your stepmother, but you couldn’t wear it yet. You focus on the design of the fabric and how it reminds you of dragon scales; it was a good distraction from the last memory you have of your late husband plaguing your mind.

Smiling, you pull your riding gloves off with your teeth as you make your way out of the dragon pit, listening intently as Aegon talked about his lessons in sword fighting. Your conversation comes to an abrupt halt when Ser Harwin appears at the doorway.

He bows his head, but before he has a chance to say anything, Aegon sharply asks, “What do you want?”

“I simply wish to speak to my wife, my prince.”

Aegon turns to you to gauge what your intentions are. Once you nod your head, silently telling him it was okay, he looks between you and Harwin, shooting a death stare at the knight. He says, “Fine, but she can’t stay long. We are expected to have tea with my mother, the queen, shortly.”

Harwin nods his head. “Of course, my prince, I won’t take much of the princess' time.”

When Aegon is out of earshot, Harwin faces you, and the amusement on his face is clear. “I’m glad that your brother is so protective of you.”

“What do you wish to speak to me about?”

He straightens his posture and says, “I am leaving tonight with my father to return to Harrenhal, and I just wanted to say goodbye as it may be some time before I return.”

Feeling your eyes become glossy, you stare at the ground and ask, “Have you said goodbye to Rhaenyra?”

“No, I didn’t think that would be appropriate.”

Heaviness weighs down on your chest. You doubted he was being truthful; you fully expected him and Rhaenyra to say a tearful farewell, but your feelings of concern for the children were stronger than your anger towards them. You clear your throat. “I hope you speak to Jacaerys and Lucerys before you go; they deserve a proper goodbye.”

Harwin’s expression is hard to read as he leans forward, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “I truly am sorry.”

When you remain silent, Harwin bows his head slightly and goes to leave. A horrid feeling twists in your gut; you don’t quit explaining it, but you feel as if it’s a final goodbye. You step forward and ask, “When do you intend to return?”

He gives you a soft smile and says, “Whenever you ask me to, princess.”

You jump when approaching footsteps pull you from your thoughts. You spin around, hand clapped to your chest, the feeling of your heart beating fast pressing against your palm. “Ser Criston, I had no idea you were behind me.”

“Forgive me for startling you, princess,” the knight says. “The queen has asked that I accompany you to the docks.”

Knowing that it was time to leave, you reached for the shawl, lying across your bed, and draped it across your shoulders before leaving your chambers. Many a lord and lady offered you their condolences as you made your way outside as the news of Harwin and his father, the kings hand burning to death made its way around court. In the back of your mind, you wondered how Jace and Luke were coping. No matter how much you hated Rhaenyra for hurting you, you could never hate your nephews.

—

Noticing you rolling your eyes at his comments, Aegon scoffs, “I’m just saying, I hate the color black.”

Not only were you dressed appropriately to mourn Harwin, you were all wearing black as you made your way to Driftmark for the funeral of your uncle's late wife, Lady Laena Velaryon, who had died during childbirth.

“You hate most things.”

Aegon pouts, “I do not.”

You tap your finger along a thick rope that was attached to the side of the boat, trying to think of something smart to say back, but your mind draws blank. “What’s something you love, then?”

“I enjoy drinking and beautiful women.”

Smiling, you shake your head, turning to face the choppy waves. “You’re ridiculous.”

Aegon’s nose crinkles as irritation spreads across his features. He looks up at the sky, watching as your dragons fly side by side. “Sunfyre.”

You smile; the dragon keepers had already spoken about how strong the bond between Sunfyre and Aegon was, especially since the golden dragon never hatched in the crib and they had only bonded a few years prior. “There is no denying that, lēkia.”

You stand together in a comfortable silence, watching as the scenery around you changes, until your destination comes into view and your heart drops. The thought of seeing Rhaenyra again so soon after Harwin’s death made you feel sick.

Aegon stretches his arms out and yawns, but his attention changes to something behind you. He clears his throat and says, “Father.”

You turn to see your father standing on the other side of you with a smile on his face, which was surprising since this was the first time you had spoken following the argument in his bedchamber. “Have you thought anymore about what we discussed?”

Before you can answer, Ghost, the beautiful white dragon you're bonded with, swoops down low and lets out a loud screeching noise, startling everyone on the boat. “No, your grace, I haven’t.”

—

As the funeral ends and the wake for Lady Laena begins, Aegon rudely interrupts the conversation you’re having with the ladies from the house, Darklyn and Baratheon. He grabs you by the hand and pulls you behind him, further away from the crowd and behind some large rocks, so you're out of sight. “What are you doing?” You frown. “That was incredibly ill-mannered; the queen will be furious.”

“What does Father want you to think about?”

You toyed with loose threads on the sleeve of your dress; you felt too embarrassed to tell him the truth. “It doesn’t matter.”

Aegon scoffs, “Fine; perhaps I’ll go ask him myself.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you are obviously fucking upset!” Aegon stumbles backwards into one of the rocks. He had been drinking since you got off the boat; it was actually astonishing that he wasn’t sliding his words by now. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“It’s humiliating, that’s why.” A sinking realization hits you suddenly, and tears glisten in your eyes. “Father no longer wants me around; he wants to ship me off to Dragonstone.”

“I will speak to my mother tonight; you cannot go and live with her; to even suggest it is an insult,” he says, shaking his head. “The king is neither blind nor stupid; he’s in denial and would rather believe my mother is a fool over Rhaenyra being a whore.”

“Aegon!”

“What she is! She slept with your husband and had his bastard children.”

“I know.” The black thread you’ve been pulling on finally snaps. “But—”

You freeze when you hear a snapping sound behind you. Aegon stares at you with his mouth slightly agape. Someone just heard everything he said.

Brother - Lēkia

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy on AO3

Excerpts from the Targaryen Histories in regards to Lady Abrogail Strong, as collected by Archmaester Gyldayn

[…] Introduced by the Lord Hand's wife, Lady Cybell Reyne, Lyonel Strong and Celeste Reyne were a love match. The third and final marriage for the lord, the two of them complimented the other well. The Lady Celeste was both a kind and formidable woman, a true lioness of the Westerlands. It was said that she could speak so sweetly for nightblooms to open in the day, and command an army as easily as she could command the ladies at a summer picnic. Lord Lyonel was a quiet man, intimidating upon sight but could easily indulge in discussing more obscure moments of history with great vigor. Children would be difficult for the couple, and after miscarriages and a child who passed shortly after birth, Abrogail Strong was born in the cool, early days of spring in 109 AC. Lord Lyonel named her for one of his more obscure historical interests of the demon sorceress, Abrogail Thrune, of Asshai.

Grandmaester Mellos has the most to share during this time, having attended the Lady Celeste in her final years and thus we can take his writings as primary source. The child, Abrogail, was installed in the nursery along with the young Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. The children were soon joined by the infant Prince Aemond, raised together as kin, under the watchful eye of the Queen and Lady Celeste. The children were rambunctious and close, frequently seen together exploring and playing. Sources agree that tensions began to rise once Princess Rhaenyra's firstborn son, Jacaerys Velaryon, joined what had been affectionately dubbed The Clutch per the command of the King. Later sources suggest that the rumors of Jacaerys' bastard parentage were strengthened here as the children grew older, with many remarking that both Abrogail and Jacaerys shared the same smile and dimples. The initial rumors questioned due to the darker features the boy had compared to both his assumed parentage; it was the similarities with the young Abrogail that narrowed the potential fathers down to Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra's champion and sworn shield.

Stories are told that the Hand of the King had attempted to resign but the King refused his request, and demanded that he return after setting his heir up in the Riverlands. Abrogail was meant to have accompanied them, but Larys Strong himself states that his father decided that he would send for her later. It was a decision that saved the child's life. Fire broke out in the holding, killing Lyonel and Harwin without any chance of rescue.

Grandmaester Mellos' records state that the child fell into a depression so deep, they feared she might take her own life. She had gone mute and listless, refusing to engage in activities that once delighted her, and refused to eat. She was considered unwell enough that it was deemed unwise to allow her to attend Harrenhal for her beloved father and brother's funeral. When informed of this, Lady Abrogail gave no reaction, and seemed to sink further into her grief. Septon Eustace provides an account of witnessing both Abrogail and Prince Aegon in the sept, where the Prince had joined her in her prayers. He does not know what words were exchanged between the pair, but witnessed a smile grace the Lady's face before he led her out by the hand to ride Sunfyre, a past time that the pair would indulge in together for years to come.

[…] There was little surprised when, on Prince Aegon's nameday in 126 AC, the official betrothal was announced between the prince and the Lady Abrogail. What was surprising was the declaration that the pair would reside in the Riverlands. House Targaryen had one holding outside the Iron Throne, that of Dragonstone, which Aenys Targaryen had made the seat of the heir. While many had expected the king to name his first born son heir during the festivities, it appeared that the king had other ideas. Had Queen Alicent sought to bolster her son's position and gain the support of the Riverlands when the time came? Or had King Viserys finally stepped in between the factions of his household, declaring Aegon's seat to be gained through his wife, and a holding that held such tragedy and foreboding?

@fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @prosemoireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven, @impales, @arcielee, @thesunfyre4446, @thatmagickjuju, @kingsmakers

[ackerfics]

family line — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc — masterlist

AESIRA TARGARYEN is not her father’s daughter.

He may have played a part in how she wailed in her first duet but she doesn’t crave bloodlust the way he did when he slayed the masked monsters that terrorised minds and cut off men’s cocks for their crimes. She’s sure that when the gods flipped her father’s coin, it never landed, still flying in the air — he was both a slayer of men and a natural doer of sins and debauchery; a figure so loved and so stigmatised by those who weren’t likened to the deities of the Old and the New. She doesn’t have the urge to swipe the throne from underneath the court’s eyes, doesn’t have the urge to soil and taint the innocence of her younger nephews — straying them from their birthright. Though named after a fairy tale warrior children revered so much, she steers clear of anything that her father ever touched. The way of the sword and warfare circulates her twin brother’s blood. Being the best dragonrider is her little brother’s dream, never hers. 

She is not her father’s daughter.

While the second prince who had nothing to inherit (but the cries of the people) wore their House with pride, she thought it was a burden to carry. She knows the gods knew on which side her coin landed but she tries hard enough to erase it. (Can she truly change her fate, though? When the whispers in between the red bricks haunt her so about how deep her parentage is?) Instead of wearing the blood red and the coal black of their colours, she chooses everything easy on the eyes; pastel demeanour and soft disposition — I am light and he is dark; I am separate from the blood running in my veins; I overcome him through thick and thin, as the novels and the sayings go — Light conquers Darkness whichever way you see it. 

She is not her father’s daughter.

Why would she be if he abandoned her and her siblings as he married the next innocent thing? Why would she consider him as her father when her twin brother cried about him never loving their mother one night when they were five name days old? Why should she be his daughter when he couldn’t even look her in the eye when the day required the family to be together?

She will never be her father’s daughter.

But she is in every way her mother’s. The lies flowing from her mind are all inherited from how her beautiful, lovely, caring mother crafted them as the woman stroked her slender fingers through the waves of her hair, “He will come back to us, darling sweetling; He loves you both so much and this little one I’m carrying as well.” Because of her mother, she can lie to save millions.

However, the anger she holds for her father makes her burst all of the edges of her being. She wants to stab him with her brother’s sword, make him hurt like the way she has been hurt when he gave them his back. Scream at him until he becomes deaf with how loud her thoughts are. The more she thinks about what could have been, the more she can see the coin the gods flipped at her birth. The madness of loneliness is truly the most pitiful thing. She’s surrounded by people who claim to love her but she longs for the family in her distant nightmares — the one that lights up a hearth in the cold of the longest winters in the lands, sharing blankets on the carpeted floor; one that rings laughter and padding feet on stone floors and expansive windows; one that has a father and a mother to cherish. She wants to burn down everything with her dragon’s flames so that everyone can feel the heavy, suffocating grips preventing her heart from breathing. She wants to claw her eyes out after hearing the remark that she has that lilac shade everyone keeps saying a certain prince holds, just as she carries the last name he is so proud of.

We are not the same. We are not the same. We are not the same. We are not the same—

And as she stares into the looking glass, all she can see is her father’s face.

There’s nowhere to hide from the truth.

AESIRA TARGARYEN is truly her father’s daughter — a piece of greatness and madness meshed into one.

AEGON TARGARYEN, the second of his name, is not the prince that was promised.

The weight of being the unnamed heir is too much for even the Skybearer to handle. He doesn’t want the moulded circlet of heavy stones simply because he knows he is the living embodiment of a disappointment — to his father who wistfully stares at the only piece his first wife left behind, to his mother who he stole a girlhood from, to his grandfather who had dreams bred out of greed and thirst for power, to everyone who dares glance at the king’s firstborn son with irises lined with disbelief. He doesn’t have to hear their words to know what they were thinking. This poor boy with wine for his blood and daring exhibitions for a daily schedule … is the most awaited son of The Peaceful King? The blasphemy is horrendous.

He is not the prince that was promised.

Because of how his father doted on his older sister even when the woman gave birth to two bastards and is pregnant with probably another one, he’s not the heir — Seven Hells, he’s not even the spare. A large part of him is whispering that it’s better this way. More time to inebriate and find himself in the places that he felt most comfortable with, where adventures welcome his insatiable need to discover. The thing about never being the apple of his father’s eye is that he can be free or as free as Mother and Grandfather allow him to be. It means he can marry for love (prays to the gods that he does; he can only think of one person anyway), and have spontaneous trips to the streets of King’s Landing with his closest friend — it means breathing through the littlest areas of his life. Yet a smaller (most likely better) part of himself dyes the roots of his static silver hair into the most melancholic shade of blue at the fact that it’s easy for Father to be this neglectful of his other children that don’t bear the name of his greatest delight. Everything he did, it was for Father. All of it to feel the sliver of pride he reserved in a waterfall for the loved child. 

He is not the prince that was promised.

It’s seen in the way Mother looks at him. He’s convinced she doesn’t love him. Mothers are supposed to love their children, people say; but not when you’re the reason why she has to accept the heaviness of reality. Her anger manifested the more he grew up. A single misstep is all it took for her to shout his name. All of the things he did (he tried learning a different language in the dead of the night, read the books recommended to him by the Septa, practised the sword until he perfected the right grip, tasted dirt in his mouth with how much he stumbled) but it will never be enough like his entire existence isn’t enough for her. And despite wishing she could love him more, he strayed even further to not feel the harsh sting of her rings, which resulted in Mother taking back the smallest amount of love she has for him.

He will never be the prince that was promised.

The first sip of alcohol, when he was a babe, cemented his dependency on his eleventh name day. The numbness, carefreeness, and the occurrence of fading into black that it brings is absolutely freeing. He’s the god of intoxication and the patron of exhilaration. Nobody can touch him.

Except for one.

His personal Maiden, the girl who sauntered in the Red Keep clutching her baby brother close to her chest, the beauty every beholder says is the image of salvation, the hands that he doesn’t mind cupping his face — the remembered princess of the realm. She is in every gasp of air he intakes; in the corners of the halls; in the whispers at the back of his head, urging him to look at her from the corner of his eyes as if she’s the secret the castle never tells; in the thoughts plaguing him; and in the dreams that paint different kinds of smiles on his lips. She always smells like the lemon candies her brother munches on, the pastels she wears are ingrained in his core memory; the books her hands have touched are extraordinary; the scrunch on her face, when she finds something borderline revolting in her walks across the castle, is beyond adorable; and the way her face lights up as she picks the next ugly insect that she will give to his own sister stuns him in place. Fuck him to the Sevel Hells and back, he’s consumed with her. It’s amazing how because of her, he is willing to change. Why consume all the cups in all the lands, when a single glance at her, he’s already under the influence of her existence? It’s a fact he only realised upon reaching a certain age.

One look at her and he sees himself being a better man and a better competitor for the throne.

She is a constant in his life.

AEGON TARGARYEN, the second of his name, is not the prince that was promised, oh, no.

But with his AESIRA by his side, it will be through his bloodline that this promised prince will breathe their first breath. 

And with all this chaos, there is you.

contents:

act zero: the prince and the siren

act one, chapter one: aesira and aether, aether and aesira

act one, chapter two: the red-bricked road

act one, chapter three: little boy gone

act one, chapter four: first, a dead wife; second, a dead mother

act one, chapter five: the birth of the golden

act one, chapter six: the queen of love and beauty

act one, chapter seven: ravens caw, dropping strings on smooth palms

act one, chapter eight: matters of the heart

act two, chapter one: the story has yet to be written ...

an aegon x oc story bc my love for what could have beens overpowered my need to enjoy my vacation <33

reply or send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist !! mwa

[elegantsplendour]

Love is a Downfall Part II

Masterlist Part I

Summary

One girl, two dragons.

Bound to one, attached to an another.

Love is the most powerful form of magic.

Love is the fuel that leads to destruction.

Fear leads of anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x !Redwyne reader x Aegon ii Targaryen

Warnings / contains (in this part): fluff, angst, smut, dirty talk

Tag list: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @femmechaotic @heavenly1927

Friends: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @amiraisgoingthruit @kaelatargaryen

“My Queen.”

She turned around and smiled at his approaching figure, slender and statuesque. It was rare for her prince to be dressed in such opulence, in the colour of his house, instead of his usual black leather suit, the attire of the protector.

She closed her eyes as his arms wrapped around her petite waist, restrained by the agonizingly exquisite wedding gown, adorned by jewelry and fine silk with a weight of its own. Aemond pressed a delicate kiss on the petal-like skin of her neck, a realm he had explored and worshipped boundless times, yet that kiss seemed like a sorrowful goodbye.

In two short hours, she would drift two gigantic steps away from him.

His brother’s wife.

The Queen of Seven Kingdoms.

“I love you,” the grip of his skin on hers grew tighter, Aemond savoured the touch of her body, a reminder that she was real and with him. The weeks of anticipation, whispers of joy among both the highborn and commoners around the city, and excessive spending on opulent goods appeared to the One-Eyed Prince like a cruel and ironic preparation of his own funeral, a mocking celebration of his own inescapable fate.

The second prince.

The second choice.

Always and forever.

But not to her.

“I know,” she leaned into his kiss, arching her neck backwards, locking eyes with her sweet prince, “I love you too,” she whispered with adoration while kissing his thin lips with a passion like the candles in the Grand Sept of her soon to be wedding. While the realm followed the Faith of the Seven, Aemond Targaryen was her faith, her dreams, her beyond.

As the hour of the royal union approached with an agonizing pace, the prince departed his lips from hers and extended his arms, “Shall we?”

She gracefully held onto his arms and nodded, “We shall.”

Just as the two were about to exit her chamber, she ceased their advance, “Aemond,” she reached to touch his cheek, “Nothing changes. We’ll still be together, the two of us. Just like what we three promised a fortnight ago.”

He smiled faintly, “I know,” pressing one last kiss on her lips, “My Queen, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Her hands on his cheekbones quivered at his admission, with a pearl streaming down her left eye.

Aemond enclosed their distance, kissing away and savouring her bittersweet tear, “Don’t cry,” his long fingers stroked her meticulously braided hair, “It would ruin your regal appearance.”

“I don’t care about my regal appearance,” her breaths quickened with sobs, “I care about you.”

“But he does.”

“Aegon? Not in a million years,” she chuckled yet choked with emotions, “He cares not if I was embellished like a gigantic doll or drunken after a night of indulgence. He knows every inch of me.”

She bit her tongue and clenched her fists in regret as she caught a glimpse of the heartache in Aemond’s eye.

“I am glad,” he smiled with melancholy, “That he can give you what I cannot. Don’t apologize for it, my love.”

Every fibre in his being screamed:

If only.

If only it had been him born on the same day as her and not Aegon.

A moment later, the crowd of lords and ladies, including Queen Alicent herself, cheered as Prince Aemond escorted Lady Redwyne, the queen to be crowned, to the carriage.

The way to the Dragonpit was quiet for her. However, Alicent recounted relentlessly her overwhelming memories of Aegon and her youth, how he became more responsible for her, how they were meant for each other, and how glad and proud she was of herself succeeding in to marry children for love.

“Thank you, mother. I love you,” she smiled.

It was the first time she had called Alicent that name.

“What did you call me, child?” Alicent’s voice quivered.

She placed her hand on top of the queen’s, “Just the figure you’ve always been to me,’ she squeezed her hand, declaring genuinely, “I mean it, Mother.”

She gazed into the woman she grew to love with a slight giggle as she realized that Alicent was overwhelmed by emotions and was finding the right words to say.

“You know,” Alicent spoke with a light chortle, “Rhaenyra had never forgiven Erya for leaving you to my care. And it’s part of the reason why things between our houses turned out the way they did.”

She frowned momentarily, a distaste rising in her stomach at the name of the woman who had asked for her and Aemond’s torture, “Rhaenyra and my mother were close?”

Alicent nodded hesitantly, “More than close, we three shared a…” She lowered her head with a bitter smile, “Special connection. Especially Rhaenyra and Erya. Of course, that was before duty to our houses tore us to different paths.”

Alicent squeezed her hand with a rare display of authentic contentment, “Which is why you and Aegon…” the queen wiped away her tears of excitement, “You know, my dear child, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but building a union for my children built on love… it’s the greatest thing I’ve accomplished.”

Alicent reached out her arms and held her in an embrace, sharing her daughter’s bliss and rejoicing in the fruit of her decisions that led to this day.

As the carriage reached Dragonpit, the mass awaited with anticipation as the dutiful, regal and commanding figure of Prince Aemond awaited for the bride.

“My queen,” he nodded courteously, yet his tone devoid of emotions, avoiding her eyes, “The king awaits.”

With a refined smile, she held her head high and held onto the prince’s extending arm.

Awe was painted on the assemblage, royalty, nobility, and even the commoners.

Aemond counted a hundred steps and fifty-three steps from the gate of the Dragonpit, crossing the path carved out by the solemn ceremonial guards, to the podium of the dome, to Aegon’s side.

The escort of the future queen was a great honour. Every pace he took symbolized the distance between himself and everything he desired, power, glory, recognition, legacy, her. Yet, the tormenting reminder was an unprecedented honour, a very one that his brother granted.

“My king,” Aemond lowered his head cordially as he gave her hand to the king-to-be.

She looked at Aegon with a mixture of pride, trust and love.

“What, my sweet love?” Aegon whispered in her ears as he led her to kneel beside him, awaiting the coronation, with a teasing chuckle, “Too smitten by how handsome I look today?”

She rolled her eyes, containing her laughter with efforts and whispered back, “Even being the king can’t make you less insufferable, but your appearance does tempt me to bite you tonight.”

Ser Cole and Otto Hightower frowned deeply at the playful exchange between the king and queen-to-be, yet the dowager queen seemed to be amused.

Within minutes, the Conqueror’s Crown was placed on Aegon while a platinum crown forged by the rarest of silver and diamond landed on her.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynars and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

“My king, my queen,” Ser Cole bowed, followed by the rest of the court and eventually, the rest of the mass.

As the cheering and applause gradually erupted among the commoners, the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms raised in all of their might and glory. Blackfyre, the legendary Valyrian sword of the Conqueror, now was now drawn by his descendant’s hand, conveying the unquestionable order of succession.

With a gasp from the highborn, a few commoners threw joyfully bouquets into the king and queen’s hands.

She giggled uncontrollably and exulted in the sweet scent of the flowers, for it represented the genuine love from the people they have sworn to protect on govern.

The courtiers exchanged amused whispers at the scene, for the mass’ reaction wasn’t entirely surprising. The tales of the rebellious young prince and his beautiful and destined betrothed were etched in the memories of the old and the youth.

Suddenly, her vision swirled as Aegon pulled her into a breathless kiss, a bold testament to their union.

While the Septons and maesters looked at each widened eyes of disapproval and astonishment. Roars of cheers thundered in the Dragonpit.

She returned with an equal fever. Her hands pulling her king so close as if their bodies melted together.

At that moment, no one else existed, not the judging eyes of the Seven, not the courtiers, not even Aemond, just her and her husband, the person she mumbled her first word to, cuddled within the nursery, stole lemon cakes from the kitchen, cried and bullied together in the garden, blushed for the first time and explored the realm of pleasure together.

The king held her tighter, his tongue still dancing, exploring the depth of her mouth. The ebony of the Conqueror’s Crown and the silvery white diamond tiara glimmered through the solemnity.

All eyes but one mesmerized the scene that would later unfold into a fabled tale. Aemond fixated his gaze on the gray walls of the Dragonpit and relived the bitter memories of the mockery of lack of dragon he had endured in the hands of his brother and nephews.

But above all, the memories of her, the enlightening memories of her smile, the touch of her hands as she whispered her faith in his strength, the conviction in her voice when she encouraged him to claim Vhagar.

A part of her is his, his only; Aemond repeated it repeatedly like a spell of a curse that plagued his mind as he forced himself to meet the reality, her bond with his brother that he would never share.

The rest of the day ended in exhaustion for the entire royal family, especially the royal couple. As everyone in court had anticipated, the bedding ceremony was out of the question. Despite whispers of the young king’s liking for thrill being no secret, his taste could never extend at the well-being of his “sweet love.” Not to mention the intimidating presence of Prince Aemond, the protective brotherly figure (as everyone presumed) threatened to murder any person who dared speak such a proposal.

As the final toast to the royal couple came to an end. The room yelped as the queen fell into the king’s arms. It must have been the effect of wine. Everyone murmured.

The guests looked at each other with surprise as they saw Prince Aemond’s calmness at the scene. Little did they know that it was because the prince knew his brother and his queen to the core…

“They’re all gone?” She whispered mischievously in Aegon’s chest as he carried her supposedly drunken body through the halls of the Red Keep to their marital chamber.

“Gone like how your annoying gown will be in minutes,” Aegon grinned as he practically ran into their freshly decorated wedding chamber.

She hopped off her husband’s arms and buried her face in the bed, “Finally…” she nestled in the softness of the pillows as she gazed at Aegon, amused and desiring, “This is perfect.”

He chuckled and joined her instantly by jumping on the bed and tickling her sides, making her laugh and protest.

“Stop it! I’m serious!” She playfully bit his arm, writhing in his embrace.

“Ouch, my sweet,” Aegon whined teasingly while sinking his lips in the fragile skin of her neck, “You really were serious about biting me earlier today, huh?”

Giggling tantalizingly, she rolled herself on top of him as swiftly as a viper, “Just make me yours already.”

“Gods,” the beast under her groaned as he sat up to undo her intricate laces, “But you have already been mine,” he smirked, “Over and over again.”

“Just rip it off,” she pouted impatiently.

With a growl, he tore the exquisite wedding gown off her body and feasted on her skin ferociously.

“I feel as if being strangled by that stupid dress,” she gasped for air as she wrapped her arms around Aegon and dragged him down on top of her.

They looked at each other deeply in silence for a moment.

They are husband and wife.

They’ve known that this moment had been their destiny since they came into the world together.

“Lord husband,” she purred, tracing her fingers on his chubby yet devilishly handsome cheek.

“Seven Hells,” Aegon grumbled as he felt his bulge growing hard in his trousers, “You’ll be the death of me, my sweet lady wife.”

“What?!” She gasped as Aegon lift her up to sit on his thighs.

“Ride me, little one,” the king bit her earlobe while caressing the scar on her thigh.

With a frown, she unbuckled his pants with her inexperienced hands and pouted, “You lazy dragon. It is your wedding night and you leave all the work to your lady wife.”

As soon she saw the smug and satisfied look on her husband’s face, the way he laid indolently on his arms behind his head, her breath hitched with annoyance and desire, “What would all the court think if they knew? That the queen has to take matters into her own hands to make an heir?”

Fuck that smirk on his face.

She cursed.

Aegon chuckled as she placed his hands on her round cheeks of her bottom, her body arched and leaned down, an obvious feigned innocence painted on face.

“If you cannot fulfill your marital duty, your grace, I would have to seek help from Prince Aemond,” she whispered, her words chosen very intentionally, “Since his cock works much more ferociously than yours.”

Oh those words awoke the dragon…

“On your hands and knees,” Aegon flipped her down on her stomach, watching his little creature obey his command with unconfined giggles.

“That’s more like it,” she purred while arching her back, tempting the most powerful man of Westeros, “I hear this is how they take whores on the Street of Silk,” she grinned looking back at him, wriggling her hips, in invitation, “Aegon, are you going to treat me like a whore?”

With a deep chuckle, the king delivered a form smack on her backside, “Yes, I am,” his hands gripped her hips tightly, pressing his hard length against her before thrusting into her roughly, “I will treat you like the most desirable whore in all of Westeros.”

She pushed back eagerly to meet his every stroke, occasionally looking back at him with teasing and provocative eyes, perfectly aware of their effect on the beast pounding into her.

“Spoiled little queen, always asking for punishment,” Aegon growled, thrusting hard and spanking her sharply as she tormented him again with her pretense of naivety, “But your king will spoil you rotten just like you deserve.”

“Yes… Spoil… me,” she moaned loudly in gasping breaths.

He hovered over her back and stuffed a pillow under her stomach, “Tell me what you feel, my sweet. Tell me everything.”

She couldn’t answer but moan at the exquisite sensation he was delivering, “Gods… I see Seven Heavens. You… you are so big.”

He grinned and met her hips with his with more force, “And your little cunny is doing so well, so good, tightening around for my cock.”

She whined at his crude language. Clenching onto the sheets, she responded in equal obscenity, “I love the sound of you slamming into me.”

Breath hitched. He took a strand of her hair and pulled it back with just the right amount of force, exposing her porcelain neck.

“Are you sure you’re not the one slamming into me right now, hmm?” He whispered wickedly, his hand still tangling in her hair, “So desperate. So eager to be pleased, so eager to please.”

She couldn’t do anything but to moan at her husband’s teasing met with the sinful slapping of their skins. Biting her lips almost violently, she demanded, “Harder, faster. Give me all of you,” she tilted her head back playfully, “I dare you.”

His immediate response was wordless.

Another sharp smack on her bottom before pulling her hips up and digging his fingers into her flesh once more, “Oh I will. I am going to fuck you until you can’t think straight,” he squeezed her backside, “My spoiled, sweet little brat.”

For what endured like an eternity, they were lost in each other.

Each moan, thrust and growl exacerbated the mind-blowing waves of pleasure washing them over and over again.

Finally, Aegon spilled inside her as she screamed his name.

“I love you, my sweet love,” Aegon whispered with adoration as he immediately pulled her into his arms, his arms enveloping her steadily.

She smiled and instinctively longed to return the affection.

Yet the words were choked in her throat.

I love you.

The words from the thin lips of her prince spread in her heart like a sweet poison.

She loved Aegon.

She loved Aegon.

She loved both.

Why?

Then why was it so hard to say it back?

“I love you too,” she bit her lips and nestled in her husband’s chest.

It was an answer from the mind yet not from the heart.

Her hands clenched around the skin of Aegon’s chest while a drop of bitter and confusing liquid formed in her eyes.

Aegon, seemed to have noticed the storm within her, but her earlobe and asked, “Are you thinking of him?”

She nestled closer to his neck and whimpered, “He’s not like us. He’s hurting.”

Aegon sighed as he caressed her cheeks, “I know. He’s my little brother. I hate to see him suffer.”

She wiped away her tears and gazed into his eyes, “I just wish he could be happy with our arrangement,” she squeezed her eyes again and sobbed, “I just want him to be happy.”

“My sweet,” Aegon spoke again with a heavy heart after a moment of silence, “There is something you need to know.”

“A moon ago, Aemond asked me to send him to fight the recent Dornish invasions,” Aegon confessed, holding her hand tightly, “He specifically asked me hold his request from you.”

“Does…” her lips trembled with hurt, “The idea of seeing us together truly pains him so much that he would rather fight a war and risk his life?”

“No,” Aegon patted her shoulders with assurance, “A part of it, perhaps. But, you know Aemond, he wants to leave a legacy.”

She opened her mouth to speak, the shock evident in her voice, “He… He wishes to be the one who conquers Dorne.”

She grasped the truth nervously.

Vhagar… Visenya…

Of course.

Aemond desired more than what he was handed to him.

He will never be satisfied.

He would not be himself without his thirst for the world.

“I guess if we truly love someone,” she smiled faintly, “We accept and embrace who they are.”

“When is he leaving?” She asked softly.

Aegon hesitated before answering, “In three days.”

She buried her face in her hands before jumping off the bed and directing to the window, bathing her her body under the moonlight.

The world seemed to shake as the news sank in her heart. That familiar yet distant burning and aching sensation consumed her again, like the night he had claimed Vhagar.

She had never told anyone about it, not even Aemond himself.

She held her hand against her heart, as the mere possibility of losing him, or even a new scar etching on his skin incited a sharp pain in her spirit as if a merciless falcon was feasting on her body.

“He is the rider of the largest dragon in the world,” Aegon’s voice slowly soothed her anxiety as he wrapped his arms around her waist, “And soon, he will be the wielder of Dark Sister,” his lips teased her cheek, “News from Dragonstone have it that our old uncle has been infested with a mysterious contagious disease. He won’t have long.”

The corners of her lips rose slightly at the news of the Rogue Prince’s soon demise, “That’s good to hear…”

She turned to face the loving face of her king again and smiled, “Let’s go to sleep. Everything can wait til morrow.”

With that, she led her husband into the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Although the worries, confusion and longing still flawed her heart, Aegon’s arms, the embrace of the man was a part of her, always had the inexplicably magical effect of soothing the deepest of her turmoils.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Your Graces,” Aemond nodded coolly at the freshly attired and newly wed, royal couple.

Without reservation, she embraced him boldly, ignorant of the widened eyes of the passing servants.

She whispered, “If you ever call me ‘your grace’ again in private, I swear I will scream.”

The prince couldn’t help but to chuckle at her comment while the king smirked in approval.

“I’ve heard that you intend to ride to suppress the Dornish assaults on the borders,” she gripped Aemond’s cold hand, the desperation in her voice well concealed, “I simply hoped you did not feel the obligation to keep it from me. I would stand by you through anything, you know that.”

Aemond shivered at her touch.

She knows.

Selfless she had always been.

He could see in her eyes the depth of her anguish.

I will stand by you through anything.

He chose his path of legacy over her, over being there for the birth of her first child, his brother’s child.

Once he embarks on this journey, he shall not return for a year.

“Pardon me, your grace,” he addressed Aegon, avoiding her gaze and stepping away from both of them hastily.

Three.

Two.

One.

Since that abrupt meeting the morning of post the wedding night, Aemond was nowhere to be found except in the war council.

It was the night before his departure, the hour of the eel.

The queen stood still before the massive balcony of her private chamber. It was the first night Aegon and she had spent separately.

She never had to explain herself.

Aegon knew.

Every alteration of her heartbeat, every tremble of her hand, every worry in her mind, he knew.

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t have to face him to recognize his presence.

“I did not mean to cause you pain,” the slender fingers entwined with hers.

She stayed in silence, her face stoic, still angry at his negligence, although her hands betrayed her.

“I hate you,” she nuzzled against his nose before pushing him away, muffling her sobs with her hands, “For a year I will suffer your absence, the possibility of losing you. And you shunned me out-“

Aemond silenced her with a kiss, tasting bittersweet mixture of her lips and wistful tears.

He lifted her body to the wooden table on which they’d made love many times before.

“We can’t,” she whimpered, “The first child must be Aegon’s.”

The ardour in the prince’s movements promptly cooled down as if being drowned in a bucket of ice water.

“Right,” Aemond took a stride back, his one eye gazing at her tears-stricken fragile figure with an intensity that could match the very dragon flame that had forged the Iron Throne.

“Did you know that you will wield Dark Sister soon?” She caressed his cheek, attempting to mask her sorrow with pride.

“What will they call me, my queen?” Aemond teased, “The second Rogue Prince or Visenya reincarnated?”

“Neither,” she brushed her finger in his nose playfully, “You will be remembered as Aemond Targaryen, the first of his name, the Conqueror of Dorne. I have faith in you. I always have.”

Aemond tightened his grip on her waist, his voice low and cracking, “You’ve always been with me.”

“Always, even if I cannot be there with you,” she gently wrapped her legs around his waist.

Suddenly, an idea birthed in her head. She hopped of the desk, grabbing the prince’s confused hands and led him to the vanity table.

“Sit,” she pressed Aemond’s shoulders mischievously, “Your queen is about to tend you a royal braiding.”

A bright red crept on the prince’s pale skin as she bent down, pressing a kiss filled with adoration on his cheek, “I will miss you, and Vhagar too.”

“She wishes to fly with you again,” Aemond confessed, “The dragon loves you as much as her rider.”

“I shall,” she chuckled as her fingers moved into his exquisite silver lock, “My aunt Bryana taught me the art of braiding. In the Reach, having your hair braided by a lover's hand is believed to bring good luck, though I do not think you need any.”

Aemond relished the sensation of her hands buried in his hair, her soft chuckles and jests.

Selfless, caring, gentle, pure.

That was who she was.

Since that fateful night on Driftmark, a profound resentment toward physical touches had grown within the One-Eyed Prince.

It was perhaps one of the reasons why he revelled and excelled in the art of the sword.

The proximity of the opponents, their vigilant posture, the mixture of fear and viciousness reminded him of the horror both she and he suffered under the hands of the Strongs.

While others’ closeness risked to trigger his monstrosity, hers awakened warmth and serenity.

As her fingers explored the depth of his head with delicacy, he could feel her hot breath on his lost eye.

The memories invaded.

His lost eye continued to flow streams of blood while the other was forced to watch Jacaerys’ training in swordsmanship overpowering her advantage in height, her being chocked helplessly on the cold ground.

Their eyes locked.

She looked at him with despair.

Sorry. Her eyes told him. I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you.

“I love you,” Aemond seized her hands as the last strand of his lock was weaved, “I swear to you, I will return victorious.”

Slowly pacing to his side to sit on his laps, she blinked, “And when you come back to me, I want to carry your little dragons.”

“Aegon does not object?” He asked while caressing that agonizingly beautiful scar on her thigh.

She rolled her eyes teasingly, “Of course, he doesn’t. That’s the least the king could do when his little brother fights a war for him.”

As the first ray of sunlight bathed the Red Keep in a golden glow, Aemond Targaryen and Criston Cole began their march southward, setting in motion a war that scholars and scribes from across the realm would pore over the tale.

As centuries passed, the Dornish historians recounted the bloodiest battles that shook the realm during the decades-long War of Westerosi Conquest. Among them, none rivalled the ferocity and chaos each time the One-Eyed monster returned from King's Landing, his silver locks intertwined with an elegance and grace that only the skilled hands of the Westerosi queen could bestow.

[fan-goddess]

Interviews #1

Pairing: Tom Glynn-Carney x actress!oc

Summary: Snippets of interviews done by Tom Glynn-Carney and Georgia Jones, where pretty everyone but them can see their genuine affections for each other

Warnings: None needed really apart from kissing

Taglist: @humanpurposes, @lovelykhaleesiii, @valeskafics, @arcielee

Authors Note: it’s not my usual type of work sure, but it’s been in my drafts for a good couple of months and I thought I’d post and see what happens

Interviewer: What was a scene you filmed with others that took really long for you to film cause you just couldn’t stop laughing?

Interviewer: Georgia, out of these three please rank first, second and third. Matt Smith, Olivia Cooke… and Tom Glynn-Carney.

Matt: Oooh…I like that! You’re an evil interviewer!

Georgia: That’s not fair one of them is literally right here! -she points to Matt in exasperation-

Matt: I think I already know how this list is gonna go… -Matt let’s out a giggle while he ruffles his hair at Georgias despair-

Georgia: Oh shush you! Okay, this is so hard as I admire all three of them so much-

Matt: Some more than others…

Georgia: Shush your shusher! I’m gonna go Tom first, shush you! -Matt is now near fully laughing covering his mouth with his hand as Georgia points at him- Cause we did more scenes together and that. Plus he’s got a really good sense of humour that I can rely on to make me laugh anytime. Olivia is gonna be second cause whilst we didn’t do as many scenes together, Olivia altogether is such an amazing actress and I loved her work in ready player one which is probably one of my absolute favourite movies! Which oh so sadly means Matt is in last place…

Matt: You’ve broken my heart Georgie! -Matt places his hand on his heart and leans his head back in mock hurt- whose gonna tell the kids that mommy aunt and uncle daddy don’t love each other anymore? -the two break at this point. Both now laughing and grasping their chairs to not fall over-

Georgia: Okay! Now we’ve gotten the heartbreak over and done with! Matt is only last as whilst I love him very much-

Matt: Awe thanks Georgie!

Georgia: We didn’t get to film too many scenes together with our characters in the show. Plus I’ve not really watched at many projects with him in, though I’ve been meaning to watch Doctor who for the longest time with one of my good friends!

Audience member: Hi Tom!

Tom: Hello! -Tom waves enthusiastically with a bright smile-

Audience member: What overall was your personal favourite scene to film in house of the dragon and who was it you possibly filmed it with?

Tom: Ooh that’s a good one! I’ll admit there are a couple that come to mind at first, like the one where I’m wrestling Ewan attempting to escape the crown, -a wolf whistle emerges and all laugh including Tom- But there are others such as some of my scenes with Georgia and her character that became quite interesting for me to see our characters grow on screen. Plus I’ll admit I did really enjoy our kissing scene a lot, -the audience all freak out while one fan makes a more prominent scream than others- see that person gets it! Georgia is an amazing actress who I had such fun working with and can’t wait to see her career flourish more in the future! Though on that topic I guess my favourite is the scene where Aegon is finally able to break down with Alyssa as she comforts him and shows him that love and affection he’s been craving for his whole life. Yeah that’s my answer! -the audience all awes in near unison while Tom seems to cover his reddish face in embarrassment-

Audience member: In another interview, your costar Tom Glynn-Carney said one of his favourite scenes to film was your kissing scene in house of the dragon. Do you also hold this scene close to your heart? -the audience scream in happiness the question is asked and Georgia awkwardly smiles-

Georgia: Well, I have seen that interview and I will just say I don’t think he said exactly that, but yeah, the scenes where our two characters could develop where some of my absolute favourite to film. And by default the kissing scene goes high up aswell -the audience get visibly excited- hey! Calm now dear fans! To answer your question, the kissing scenes was actually one of my favourite to film, BUT! There are others I hold higher in the rankings! Such as the dinner scene and Aegons coronation.

Audience member: This question is directed to Tom and Georgia. What are some personal headcannons you have for your character and which of them would you love to have incorporated into the series?

Tom: ooh I like this! I personally don’t have many headcannons, but I’d love to think that Aegons love language with Alyssa before he can actually be with her officially and in public is like secret gift giving. Like, he’ll literally make maids send her her favourite dessert if she looked even a little upset at dinner, or if he’s on one of his little, escapes in flea bottom and spots a necklace he thinks Alyssa would like he immediately just buys it and anonymously sends it to her like a secret admirer.

-The audience all awe at the headcannon including Georgia who holds a hand to her chest.-

Georgia: That is so cute! God I can’t really think of any I’ve really made myself... um. One thing I think Alyssa did mainly when she was younger, I’m thinkin this on the spot here! She had a diary she wrote in about how she wished to be with Aegon. She’d write like little letters in there which she’d address to him but never give to him. Kinda like that movie to all the boys I’ve loved before, never seen it though before you all start freaking out I’ve only seen the trailer!

Tom: Awe that’s cute! Specially cause you thought of it on the spot too!

Georgia: Thanks! Though I think yours is the best one by far’

Interviewer: Okay, if your character had to sit down and have a drink slash meal with anyone from the game of thrones universe who’d you pick and why?

Tom: God I think the only one I can think of that’d even get along with Aegon may be Tyrion… their both just used to being disappointments in their families eyes and plus they’ll drink together! I don’t know how long it’d last though before they get annoyed at each other though… probably not long to be fair…

Georgia: Ooh good shout that! I don’t know… maybe Daenerys if I’m going basic answer, though Margaery Tyrell is gorgeous so I think I’d love to eat with her! Plus Natalie Dormer is a gorgeous woman aswell I loved her work in the tudors!

Tom: Yeah that is a good shout too!

Audience Member: What are your top three songs in your on repeat playlist on Spotify?

Georgia: Ooh I got to check this lemme try and find which pocket my phones in. -She takes a minute looking through and takes the phone out, scrolling for a couple seconds before bringing the mic back to her mouth- okay so number one is fleabag by Yungblud -fans scream- the second is… of course it is… it’s Romy by sleep walking animals -the fans scream more while Tom grins almost bashfully-

Tom: Wow! I am very truly utterly honoured!

Georgia: Yea yeah moving on! And last of all is I ain’t worried by One Republic, cause I adore Top Gun Maverick easily one of my favourite movies!