#denys arryn

[nanshe-of-nina]

Posthumous Characters GIF Sets → Denys Arryn

“… The eldest married Ser Denys Arryn, a distant cousin to the Lords of the Eyrie. There are several branches of House Arryn scattered across the Vale, all as proud as they are penurious, save for the Gulltown Arryns… Ser Denys hailed from one of the poor, proud branches … but he was also a renowned jouster, handsome and gallant and brimming with courtesy. And he had that magic Arryn name, which made him ideal for the eldest Waynwood girl. Their children would be Arryns, and the next heirs to the Vale should any ill befall Elbert. Well, as it happened, Mad King Aerys befell Elbert. You know that story?” She did. “The Mad King murdered him.” “He did indeed. And soon after, Ser Denys left his pregnant Waynwood wife to ride to war. He died during the Battle of the Bells, of an excess of gallantry and an axe. When they told his lady of his death she perished of grief, and her newborn son soon followed.”

[eonweheraldodemanwe]

Preview of the new models for the upcoming skirmishes game A Song of Ice and Fire Tactics

But why is Lynn Corbray along the guy he killed?

[flying-ham]

I know Westeros is very different from irl but it’s so fucking funny listening to cats inner monologue judging Lysa about “babying” her epileptic 6 year old

[lagosbratzdoll]

This is a very very unfinished thought but I've been thinking a lot as I reread the books about how the women of House of the Dragon don't really get catharsis and how that'll likely be worse in S2. Say what you want about asoiaf but a number of named women there experience catharsis.

They kill their abusers (Lysa, Cersei, Dany). They regain some agency after a violation (Lysa, Cersei, Lady Stoneheart, Dany), and they refuse to forgive the people complicit in their subjugation (Lysa, Cersei, Dany, Lady Stoneheart, Jeyne Westerling).

Obviously, three or four isn't enough in such an expansive cast of characters but the point remains that they claw back their autonomy however they have to. They're allowed to be angry, bitter, unforgiving and cruel to their abusers in a way women in House of the Dragon just aren't allowed. They're allowed grief, grief that is violent and destructive.

The women of House of the Dragon don't get angry. They stand around and stare plaintively at the camera, they cry prettily, and they plead for peace and non-violence. They suffer and suffer and suffer and there's no relief.

[atopvisenyashill]

What if Ned and Catelyn were gender bent? And let's assume they still get married though this time they're betrothed from the get-go what happens? How does this change things? Who does Lysa marry now that she's the only Tully daughter? Does Littlefinger fall for her instead? Who does Robert want to marry if he's not friends with Ned? Who is Lyanna betrothed to?

i rewrote this answer ten times sorry.

firstly - we know who lysa was supposed to marry and that’s jaime. if the northern-riverlands alliance is already there with nedcat, hoster is gonna look at the westerlands and the eyrie, his powerful neighbors, for lysa. i imagine the jaime to jon arryn pipeline goes the same for her regardless of how the plot changes. however, lysa without a perfect older sister to feel inferior to is gonna be a vastly different person, and a petyr without an unattainable and perfect cat to get fixated on is also wildly different. maybe those two crazy kids try to run away when hoster & tywin start talking engagements, esp since jaime & cersei are ALSO plotting, but i canNot imagine petyr and lysa are particularly successful.

when it comes to robert, that is admittedly tricky - rickard sends ned to foster at the vale in part because robert is there, but benjen is several years younger than ned and that bond might not exist so seriously without ned there (and, if you want my opinion, the smartest thing to do in this situation is actually for brandon to marry cat and ned to marry robert, and use Lyanna's hand for someone else later on). there's also the debate over how in on the "southron ambitions" stuff Steffon, so Robert marrying Lyanna might have been more Robert's fancy and Rickard's political machinations than anything Steffon would have pushed for. Given Jon Arryn's mentorship of Robert, though, Robert would likely lean whatever way Jon Arryn leans, and Jon Arryn is very likely in on the southron ambitions shenanigans which means Robert is looking outside the Stormlands for a bride.

as for rickard - i don't know that I buy some of Barbrey Dustin's more tinfoil-y "the maesters are trying to control Westeros" ideas, but I firmly believe that the lords were getting some bad vibes from aerys and started making alliances through marriages to prepare for another civil war. rickard has the riverlands locked in, now he wants a wife for his heir. mind you, "most eligible bachelorette" for brandon has a lot of crossover with rhaegar and robert in previous asks - Mina and Jana Tyrell, Cersei Lannister, Elia Martell. Given that Rickard's maester, Walys, is a Hightower bastard, Walys might push Malora, Denyse, or Leyla for a marriage match as well. And mind you, this is the list for Robert as well, with the addition of Lyanna. Very likely when Rickard goes engagement hunting, Jon Arryn suggests Lyanna for Robert - Lyanna's options (if we're looking at the important families) include Jaime, Elbert Arryn, maybe Oberyn, Willas, and Robert. If I'm Jon Arryn, I'm probably wondering if I can get Elbert and Lyanna hitched (considering how often the Arryn line is wiped out, it's important to get your relatives hitched and having kids, lmaooo) and if I'm Rickard and I can't get the Tyrells to bite at either Brandon or Lyanna, I'm probably looking at a Hightower so I have some friends in the Reach, and Robert.

[drunk-person]

Leather gloves, jealous and dragons

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After the moons pass and Aemond and Lady Y/n's marriage becomes increasingly stronger, there is only one creature capable of keeping the prince away from his wife for more than a few hours, Vhagar. Sometimes Y/n cares, sometimes she doesn't, but if there's one thing she never cares about, it's the thick black gloves that her husband wears when he goes flying.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, gloves being used inappropriately (a lot of things have been used inappropriately on this blog lately, I'm talking about you training yard), fingering, clothed sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, no description for reader.

Word cont: 2.900 k

Author's note: Okay, I was just casually scrolling through Aemond's tag when this idea came up, and yes I was writing the bottom half of the fourth chapter of The Gossip, but I HAD to write this story! @peachysunrize I hope you like it, I added some inventions from my head in the middle of it 💕💕. English is not my first language so be kind if you can.

Y/n Arryn was a respectable and well-regarded lady, throughout Westeros there were men fighting for her hand as soon as she was old enough to marry. Proposals came from the North, the Rech and even Dorne, but the one that was of most interest to Lord Arryn was the one that came in a black envelope with red edges sealed with the Targaryen family crest.

The hand of the king had proposed marriage between Y/n and his grandson Prince Aemond Targaryen. The young woman felt her heart come to her mouth as soon as her father told her what he had decided, she would marry Prince Aemond in two moons.

The first time Y/n set foot on Kings Landing she was terrified, the idea of marrying a man she barely knew making her thoughts cloudier than water. And when she met Prince Aemond, this terror increased even more, something she didn't think was possible.

He was as scary and taciturn as they had told her, he barely gave her a look and only said two words of courtesy, other than muttering every now and then while looking down on everyone as if he were from a race superior to mere mortals.

Y/n's fear became even more overwhelming after she met Aegon, Aemond's older brother. Her heart ached as she listened to the gossip around the fortress about how he cheated on his wife, how he was always drunk, and how he spent more time in the brothels than in the fortress. Sadness took over her, and she imagined how terrible life itself would be from now on.

How wrong she was.

Things began to change on the night of the wedding when the prince vehemently denied a bed ceremony. Y/n was so nervous, the fear of the nuptials was already consuming her, combined with the fact that other people would be watching it made her tremble, until Aemond denied the ceremony and ripped that fear out of her.

The remaining fear was quickly extinguished when Aemond gently laid her on the bed and made her cry with pleasure in a way she never thought possible. Her hands tangled in his silver strands of hair as he touched her in places that made her blush with embarrassment as she remembered the other day.

From then on, little by little, she got to know her husband and every day she became more grateful for that. He still had that stoic and arrogant air, but now Y/n could see behind it, she saw the small acts of importance he gave her daily.

How he made a point of having at least one meal a day with her, how he asked how her day had been, how every now and then she would wake up after a passionate night and find an arrangement of beautiful flowers on the table in her room. And each of these things from the smallest to the largest warmed her heart until it was completely melted by her husband, to the point where she couldn't wait to be with him.

Little by little Aemond spent more and more time with her, and when they weren't tangled in the sheets so close together that you didn't know where one began and the other ended, they were sitting in the gardens talking, or reading together in some quiet place, or even just quietly enjoying each other's company. At a certain point, the only one who could receive more attention from Aemond than Y/n was Vhagar since he almost always went on long flights with the dragon.

That afternoon in particular Aemond was taking much longer than usual and Y/n was waiting for him impatiently as she walked around the room. He had promised to arrive before sunset so they would have time to walk around the garden, but now the sun had already set and the maids had even lit the candles.

The loud noise of the door suddenly invaded the room and Y/n promptly got up to wait for her husband, as soon as he entered her field of vision Y/n arched her eyebrows ironically.

-Did you decide to show up, husband? - Moons ago Y/n wouldn't have spoken to him in such a way in her wildest dreams, but now she was so familiar with him that she often didn't have as much politeness when speaking.

-I'm sorry, wife. - He said, removing the belt with the dagger and sword and throwing it on the couch. -Vhagar was a little sensitive this afternoon, she tends to want to fly longer distances when she is like this.

Y/n just made a humming sound with her mouth instead of responding, a habit she had picked up from Aemond without even realizing it. However, Y/n couldn't help biting her lower lip lightly when she saw him still wearing his riding clothes, she had never said anything to him, but seeing him returning from the flight always affected her mood and it was almost automatic so that she got excited.

-Wife… - Aemond murmured, approaching Y/n from behind and holding her firmly by the waist. -Are you by any chance jealous of Vhagar… a dragon?

His voice was incredulous and Y/n burned with embarrassment. Before she could respond Aemond laughed, something that rarely happened, which made her blush even more as she tried tried to free herself from his arms.

-You don't need to be embarrassed, I find it very flattering that you feel such appreciation for me to the point of feeling jealous. - He arched his eyebrow, still smiling. - No matter how unreasonable it may be.

-Husband.. - Y/n complained grumpily looking at her feet.

At that point she was no longer red only from the small misbehavior, but also from the thin, rough texture of her husband's riding gloves against her sensitive, soft skin. That was always a problem, she couldn't help but sigh every time she saw Aemond arrive wearing those damn gloves. And when he ripped them off and threw them haphazardly on the table? She felt a pressure between her legs that made her want to jump on him.

-What is it? Why are you all bristling, wife? - Aemond rubbed his hands against her arms and Y/n shivered even more making him arch his eyebrows again.

-They're your gloves, husband. - She said looking at the floor. – They are rough.

-I can take it off if you want. - He spoke, still gently stroking her arms, but after speaking he noticed that his wife lowered her eyes and didn't respond and then, approaching her lips to her ear, he spoke in a low voice, almost making her sigh. - You don't want me to take it off, do you?

-Do you like rougher things, dear wife? - And with the question he ran his hands down Y/n's body and slowly pulled the fabric of the dress up and accumulated them on her hips, making Y/n gasp as she felt the rough gloves passing over her thighs and squeezing them. slowly. Aemond couldn't help but smile when he noticed his wife's reactions to the roughest touch.

-Come here my dear, I'll show you how much I missed you. - He said, pulling her more and more towards him, sitting in one of the armchairs in the room while he placed her on his lap facing the large mirror and guided his hands to his wife's knees, slowly separating her legs, now being able to see the moisture that had formed in her intimacy.

-I haven't even touched you yet, dear wife, and you're already so wet for me. - His delicious voice sounded in her ear as he slowly moved his hands up her thighs, making her desperate for him to get to where she needed him most. The sight of his gloved fingers running up her legs made her roll her eyes with desire.

Aemond smiled mischievously and Y/n held her breath, not knowing where to look. His smile intensified as he brought his fingers to her cunt and at this point Y/n was barely breathing with desire.

Slowly he guided two fingers to her entrance and rubbed gently, pulling some of the moisture concentrated there and taking it to the pearl, which he began to rub languidly, eliciting sighs and moans from Y/n.

-You look so beautiful when you open your legs for me. - He murmured, brushing his lips gently against the shell of her ear, making her let out a louder moan. - So beautiful making these perfect sounds when I've barely touched you yet.

He then moved his fingers down and with a smooth movement that made Y/n roll her eyes, he penetrated just one gloved finger into her cunt. The sight of his finger disappearing inside her as he admired her with that look of pure adoration made her want to cry with desire.

-Very good beautiful girl. - He sighed as he slowly moved his finger teasing her, knowing very well that she needed more. - You always welcome me so well. How about another one?

He had barely asked and Y/n was already nodding her head practically begging for him.

-Such a needy lady my wife is. - He murmured as he inserted another finger inside her, making her moan his name with praise. - I can't leave our bed for a few hours because it becomes a meaningless mess.

Aemond guided his free hand to the front laces of Y/n's dress and pulled them tightly, loosening her wife's neckline more and more until her breasts were exposed to his pure delight, who guided his gloved hand to her erect nipple. of her gently pinching him as he admired her reflection in the mirror.

Meanwhile he moved his fingers slowly inside her and the feeling of the rough fabric of her husband's gloves against her own soft and wet insides made Y/n see stars and sigh in contentment with the double stimulation. As Aemond fucked her with his fingers he found that spongy spot that took her body out of orbit, and when she moaned uncontrollably he smiled even more mischievously against her neck, leaving kisses and bites there, pinching her nipples even more.

-So good husband. - Y/n sighed, leaning on his shoulder.

-You don't know how much I want to fuck you right now. -He murmured, biting her ear and sucking it while he nuzzled his nose in her hair.

Aemond penetrated her third finger making her whimper, but unlike before where he caressed her gently, he now started to get into a rougher rhythm, still slow but with force. And Y/n in turn just clung to his arms as she threw herself back, leaning against her husband's clothed chest, and moving her hips in search of more friction.

-So desperate my wife, throwing herself against my fingers like a beautiful filthy whore. -He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen across her face when he said that, so that Y/n could see herself better in the mirror, and the sight of her made her moan even louder.

His gloved fingers moving in and out of her cunt, his palm firmly massaging her mound, the fabric of the gloves slightly moistened and a white ring forming at the base of the fingers contrasting strongly with the dark color they possessed. The contractions of pleasure of her cunt crushing Aemond's skilled fingers as he smiled and bit her neck working even harder to coax pleasure out of her, he loved the feeling of her silky walls squeezing around him.

The way he curled his fingers and then moved them in and out made every nerve ending in Y/n burn. The roughness of the fabric was driving her crazy and she wanted so much more, she wanted to be set on fire.

-Husband. - She moaned, arching her back and pressing herself even more against him while turning her neck slightly to face him, taking one of her hands to his hair and removing the eye patch in the process. - I'm so close… so close. Please.

-I like it as much as you implore my dear. - He guided his other hand to her chin and squeezed it tightly, forcing her to keep her eyes exclusively on the mirror's reflection, the rough fabric of the glove making her gasp, while the sight of Aemond's now uncovered sapphire eye made her moan. - But I want you to keep your hungry little eyes on your pussy.

-See how wet she is for me, how well she takes my fingers, you are dripping my dear wife. - The movements became faster and stronger and Y/n felt some tears run down her cheeks as she moaned uncontrollably at the sight of Aemond's gloved fingers buried so deeply in her soaked cunt.

And when he accelerated the movements of both his fingers inside Y/n and his palm against her sensitive pearl, Y/n cried and screamed as she came against his hand, shuddering with pleasure.

Aemond was lost at that scene. He couldn't take his eyes off his wife's cunt writhing against his fingers as her juices oozed out between his fingers. Her face full of pleasure as she screamed and begged for his name was another thing that could easily kill him in that instant, he would certainly die happy with that scene.

-Look at the mess you make, my dear. - He said after removing his fingers from her trembling cunt. - Clean up for me like the good wife I know you are.

Aemond guided his hand to Y/n's lips and she lazily sucked on his gloved fingers. The taste of the fabric mixed with her own taste further numbing her mind, still clouded by the orgasm.

And Aemond could no longer contain himself when he saw that expression of contentment on her face as she sucked on his gloved fingers. And he quickly took her off his lap and bent her over the carpet, still facing the mirror, making her gasp from the abrupt movement.

Y/n had barely balanced herself and Aemond had already undid the laces of his own pants and guided his cock to her sensitive pussy. They both moaned senselessly as soon as he penetrated her completely. And he quickly brought his hands to the top of her dress, dragging it down and leaving her breasts completely free for him to massage and squeeze as he pleased.

He fucked her so well, and Y/n lost her breath with each firm thrust from Aemond and panted with pleasure as she whimpered for more with tears in her eyes.

She raised her head, looking towards the mirror again, and the sight of his hand massaging her hips and squeezing her nipples as he fucked her while still wearing those damned riding gloves made her eyes roll with pleasure, and she begged for him with Even more willing looking into his eyes and sighing when finding that blue glow that she had learned to love so much.

-I love that look you have when I'm inside you. - He groaned, rolling his eye with pleasure as he fucked her, and Y/n lowered her face once again. Aemond then guided his hand to her chin, forcing her to look at the mirror again, he wouldn't miss a second of that passionate look that his wife directed just at him and that made Aemond's heart race.

-No my dear, you keep those shining eyes on me while I fuck you like you deserve. - And removing his hand from her chin, Aemond went up to her hair and pulled it back, holding her firmly and keeping her gaze fixed on the mirror.

-Aemond, please. - She whimpered, enchanting him with those eyes that made him lose his head, and once again he guided the tips of his gloved fingers to the top of her thighs and caressed her forcefully, making his wife gasp and moan as she collapsed in front of him, who held her. by her hips as he fucked her with abandon looking for his own climax, which didn't take long to come when he came deep inside her.

The two remained motionless, their bodies pressed together and their breaths labored. Y/n brought her own bare hand to her husband's gloved hand and caressed it with gentle circles still completely lost in fleeting pleasure.

-You look even more beautiful when you're cumming all over my cock. - He murmured, still lost in pleasure against her hair, making his wife smile.

Y/n in turn, faced the mirror and sighed with contentment when she saw their reflection. Aemond behind her still panting with his usually stoic face relaxed in pleasure as he held her against him still holding her thighs firmly to keep her in contact with him as she squeezed lightly every now and then.

-Love you. - She said tiredly, still with her head lying on his shoulder, looking at him through the mirror.

Aemond didn't respond with words, he just mumbled like he always did. But Y/n no longer needed words, she had learned to distinguish every look, every touch and every sigh of her husband to know that he was also in love, especially when he pulled her even closer and left a soft kiss on her neck .

Tag list: @slut-for-m3 @fallout-girl219

[aemondfairy]

Blood Lust

summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI

Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.

For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.

It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.

As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.

Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.

Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.

“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”

You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.

“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.

“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”

“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.

“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?

Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.

“Fiesty little thing you are.”

“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”

Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.

“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”

“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”

The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.

“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.

“Preparing his army for war.”

“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”

“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”

The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.

“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”

Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.

“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”

Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.

“I do have you, baby.”

Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.

You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.

“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”

He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.

“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.

“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”

“Gods, Aemond. No.”

“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”

“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.

“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”

A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.

“What do you think about when you do?”

“Not you,” you retort.

He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.

“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”

You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.

You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.

You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.

Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.

He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.

“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.

Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.

You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.

Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.

“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”

Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.

Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.

"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.

"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.

“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.

“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.

“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.

“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.

You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’

"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.

Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.

He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.

You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.

“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.

“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.

“This is just the beginning.”

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter One

A/N: Hello! I have been working on this since the season started, so it seemed only fitting that I got the first chapter out before the finale. This fic is fully written, and will be posted every other day. (If you know me, this is unheard of, I usually post as I write.) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! This chapter is a little heavy on the world building, but I promise we get into the good stuff quickly. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.6k Synopsis: Jacaerys fell in love with the reader years ago when they first met in the Vale. Five years later, the reader comes to King's Landing and tries to deny her growing feelings.

Next Chapter

Arnold Arryn was imprisoned in a sky cell after trying to contest the inheritance of his cousin, Jeyne Arryn. You were young at the time, and watching your father get arrested made very little sense to you. Jeyne was fifteen, and your closest friend in the world. You didn’t understand fully what had happened to your father. One day he was there, and the next gone.

Jeyne tried to explain it to you the best she could. She was a woman, and women very rarely got the chance to rule. She needed to make an example of your father.

What you came to learn, in the years that passed, is that banishing him to a sky cell was not the only example Jeyne was setting. As part of Arnold’s punishment, he – and all his descendants – would be disinherited from the Arryn line.

A testament to your friendship, Jeyne kept you in the Eyrie, kept you by her side. She let you wear the type of gowns she wore, you ate the same decadent meals, and she made sure everyone treated you as a lady, although the title no longer belonged to you. It was the only change that you really noticed in the coming years. Your father was gone, yes, but otherwise, life went on as normal in the Vale.

Jeyne had been three when she inherited the Vale. Of course, she would not be able to rule for years. So, Lord Yorbert Royce was elected to rule in her stead, until Jeyne became of age. As Lord Protector, it was Royce’s duty to see that the Vale remained prosperous.

In the final years before he died, when Jeyne was just coming into her role as Maiden of the Vale, Royce arranged a marriage proposal for you. House Blacktyde had visited the Vale when you were thirteen, and their second eldest son, Barun, had taken a liking to you immediately. Royce informed the family that you were without title, without dowry, but Barun was not to be dissuaded. Royce crafted an arrangement that would allow you to gain a title, becoming a lady of Blacktyde, that would also result in allegiance for the Vale.

It had been a win-win.

But after Royce had passed, and Jeyne had taken on the mantle of the Vale, it crept in how wrong the arrangement was. Barun Blacktyde was your same age, but he looked ten years your senior. He had strong arms, corded with muscles, and a sheet of blonde hair that covered his wicked face. In the few times you met, his hands wandered, prodded, and bruised. He was sinister.

Now, at twenty-one years old, there was no more stalling to do. Jeyne had told the Blacktydes that she needed you at her side, that you were still too young, anything she could think of to put off the wedding. She was stalling until she could find a way out of the arrangement, but your hopes were fading as time was.

On the morning when you were to meet with your future husband and sail away to the Iron Islands, a different guest arrived in the Vale.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was sixteen the day he saved your life.

War was brewing in Westeros, all the houses knew. After the death of King Viserys, the fight between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon had ignited anger across the realm. In the Vale, Jeyne assured anyone who asked that she was devoted to the rightful ruler, Rhaenyra. Yorbert Royce had gone in Jeyne’s stead years ago, swearing fealty to the future queen.

When Jacaerys arrived in the Vale, he had arrived on a mission for his mother, coming to strengthen and call upon the alliances that Rhaenyra had gained years back.

Jeyne needed absolutely no persuading, but she took a liking to the young prince immediately. Nearly ten years younger than her, she delighted in the pride he already carried, the future heir to the throne. If he had been anyone else, she would have laughed him out of the Eyrie. But Jeyne believed that women needed to stick together, and this was Rhaenyra’s son.

She also believed in always keeping her mirth. And few things delighted Jeyne the way the prince’s affections for you delighted her. You had been at her side when the prince came to call. The way Jeyne tells it, she could have said anything to the prince, and he would have nodded his head in agreement, so enchanted by you was he.

You remember it differently.

When Jacaerys had arrived in the Vale, you were at your breaking point. Bleak was your outlook on life. But when you saw his green dragon in the sky, it felt like hope for one shining second.

You were at Jeyne’s side and listened to her discussions with the prince. You would disagree that his attention only lingered on you. He was a proper gentleman and gave Jeyne the respect due to her title, but every so often, his attention would flit back to you.

Jeyne invited him to stay in the Vale for a few days, enough time for them to discuss what aid the Vale could provide, and time for he and his dragon to rest. The prince agreed, smiling – perhaps your way, but you couldn’t be sure. You had been smiling, too, because you knew that the prince’s stay here would put off your move to the Iron Islands.

Back in her chambers, Jeyne nearly squealed when she shut the door behind the two of you. Immediately, she poured two goblets of wine, thrusting one into your hand. This was not uncommon behavior for your cousin, who enjoyed any and all delights, but what you couldn’t understand was why.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said, breaking off with a laugh, “His eyes never left you!”

“Whose eyes?”

“The prince’s, who else!”

“That is not true.”

“It is! I think I just witnessed love at first sight,” she says with a snort.

“I think I’m just the first woman he’s seen who has not been related to him,” you say, making Jeyne burst with laughter. You can’t find it in you to belly laugh the way she was now. Jacaerys had been kind to the both of you, mocking him seemed wrong.

“Are you going to send aid?” you ask, hoping to change the subject.

“I’m sure,” she says, taking a swig of her drink. “I just need to figure out what he’ll have to offer to get me to agree.”

“What more could we need here?” you ask with a shake of your head.

“What indeed,” Jeyne muses.

In his short stay, Jacaerys imbedded himself in your life. Jeyne always overslept breakfast, typically still in her cups from the night before. That first morning after his arrival, you came to the dining hall to find Jacaerys sitting with a few lesser lords of the Vale, a wide, handsome smile on his face. When he saw you, you can’t deny that a light flared in his eyes. He stood up and pulled out a chair for you, inviting you into the conversation.

Over the next few mornings, his attention strayed from the lords and focused almost solely on you. He told you stories about his dragon, Vermax, and adventures they had gotten into with his younger brother, Lucerys. He explained the training he had been going through since he was a young boy. He even confirmed the legend of how Prince Aemond lost an eye, although that one was told at a hush.

Because of his dedication to speaking with you, you knew Jeyne’s initial assumptions were correct. Although never venturing into anything uncouth, Jacaerys always found a way to compliment you, to make you laugh, to make you feel seen.

His presence was a beautiful distraction from the future that was awaiting you.

The prince didn’t know of your betrothal to Lord Barun, and both you and Jeyne were happy to keep it from him. The lord had already voiced his complaints about returning to the Islands once more without his bride, but with the prince and his dragon here, it felt like nothing could touch you.

The morning that Jacaerys was meant to leave the Vale, you come down to the dining hall to find that he wasn’t there. You pretend that you are not disappointed. Spending your mornings with him had been a welcome change of pace, but you had known they would be coming to an end.

When you stand to leave, the doors opened at the opposite end of the hall. Prince Jacaerys walks into the room, a smile on his face the moment he spots you.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you say, curtsying to him. He studies the dining table, the maids scurrying to clean up the mess, and his smile falters a little.

“I’m sorry to have missed our last breakfast,” he says. “I am leaving shortly. I only came to say goodbye.”

“Of course,” you say. He is to fly north to Winterfell next, fulfilling his promise to his mother. “It was an honor to have you here, My Prince.” He smiles and takes your hand gently in his, pressing a soft kiss.

“I hope to see you again soon, Y/N.”

“Good luck, Your Highness.”

Once Jacaerys and Vermax had disappeared over the horizon, you made your way to Jeyne’s receiving room. You are welcomed in immediately, and find your cousin slouched over on a couch, groaning quietly to herself. She is not a morning person by any means. You are not sure you had ever even seen her up this early.

“Good morning, cousin,” you say, drawing her attention up to you. She grimaces at the light shining through her windows.

“What has you so chipper so early?” she asks.

“I’m always like this in the morning,” you say. She makes a noncommittal sound as she sits upright.

“The prince just left,” she says.

“I know. He came to say goodbye.”

“Of course he did,” Jeyne says with a smirk.

“Did the two of you come to an agreement?” you ask, pouring her a glass of water. She doesn’t answer until after she’s taken a sip and looks up at you with grateful eyes.

“Yes. He’s agreed to send a dragon to protect the Vale.” She takes another hearty drink of the water, before deciding she doesn't like the taste. She motions for the wine, and you bring it over. “He also agreed to take you on as ward once the war is over.”

“What?” you ask, your head snapping to her face.

“Well, not his ward,” she says with a laugh, “Although, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Rhaenyra will allow you into King’s Landing under her watch.”

“Why?”

“I made up some lie about learning more about the realm, so that you could become a greater aid to me. But what matters is that it will get you away from Blacktyde. With the war coming, I can keep him at bay for the length of it, assuring him that I need you here. But once it comes to an end, I want you in King’s Landing. He’ll have a harder time getting to you there.”

“Jeyne,” you begin, but she wavs a hand to silence you.

“When you get to King’s Landing, you will need to make it your chief task to marry as quickly as possible. I don’t know that he’ll ever stop,” she says quietly. You nod your head, the reality sinking over you. The single spark of hope you felt at seeing Vermax in the sky seems to light again within you.

“Thank you,” you say, crushing her into a hug she wants no business in returning.

In the coming weeks, Westeros changes, and The Vale with it. Within a year, two, the home you had grown up knowing and loving, transformed before your eyes.

No longer could you recognize the faces around you. Servants and guards you had grown up with your whole life were disappearing, either as a direct result of the war, or because of the conflict growing between families as different Houses pledged their allegiances to Rhaenyra or Aegon.

In the last year before the war ended, Jeyne ordered that you go to Gulltown. Jeyne had asked years prior in her deal with Prince Jacaerys that a dragon be sent to protect the Vale. Weeks after that agreement had been finalized, Queen Rhaenyra sent word asking that the Vale also foster her younger children, until they could be safe with her again.

Jeyne had accepted, and with their cousin, Princess Rhaena, the three youngest princes, came to live at Gulltown. She asked that you go there, as the war efforts struck closer and closer to the Eyrie. You begrudgingly agreed, because she was your Lady, but also because she didn’t often wear that look of panic in her eyes. After everything she had done for you, it was the least you could do in return.

And that was when you met Rhaena. She was just a few years younger than you and had just had a dragon of her own hatch. She had named the little pink creature Morning, and she was as beautiful as the sunrise.

Rhaena quickly became your close friend. With few friends around anymore, the two of you bonded quickly. You fantasized about the end of the war: what kind of dresses you would get to wear again, the foods you would eat, and mainly for Rhaena, seeing her family again.

The boys were her family, of course, and she doted on them as if they were her own, but she longed for her sister, for adult company. She had confided in you about her struggles to get a dragon of her own, and you knew she wanted to proudly show off her beautiful Morning.

You also dreamed of the end of the war, but for different reasons. If Queen Rhaenyra remained true to her word, you would be going to King’s Landing with Rhaena.

It seemed like the war would never end, until one day, it did.

Jeyne came to Gulltown. She was unexpected, but that wasn’t uncommon behavior for her. She often showed up and left without a warning. When she arrived, you and Rhaena were in the nursery with the younger boys, Aegon and Viserys, now seven and three. You were seated on the floor with Viserys, a dragon figurine in his hand and a horse in yours. You raced away from the dragon, but still Viserys swooped upon your figurine. You cried out playfully, making the younger boy laugh, just as Jeyne walked into the room.

“Jeyne!” you say in surprise, quickly standing. “I didn’t know you were coming to Gulltown."

“The young prince takes a liking to you,” she says with a smile. “Must run in the family.”

“Oh, aren’t you over that by now?” you ask.

“What do you mean?” Rhaena asks, turning both of your attentions.

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head, “She’s just making a bad joke.”

“I am not,” Jeyne says proudly, knocking your shoulder with a hand, “You should have seen the crown prince when he saw her.” Rhaena looks at you curiously, and for some reason it makes you feel guilty.

“Her opinion alone,” you say, tidying up around the room. Rhaena gives you a small smile, seeming to accept this explanation, and then turns back to Jeyne.

“What brings you here?” she asks.

“Good news.”

She informs you both that the war has ended, and before the two of you can run off to bag your bags, she holds you back and tells you the best news of all. Barun Blacktyde grew tired of waiting and had married another.

Jacaerys awakes with a smile on his face. He is in a strange bedroom, one he hadn’t been in since he was a little boy. The room had been his mother’s, when they had lived in the Red Keep. It had passed through owners, many of whom Jace didn’t want to think about now.

Today, all of his thoughts were to be consumed by one thought: his family returning home.

It has been years since he has been able to communicate with his brothers through any other means than letter. And since the younger boys are still little, most of his letters go to his brother, Joffrey. He will be thirteen now, and Jace can’t even imagine what the boy will look like. What the younger two, or even Rhaena will look like now.

He imagines he has changed much, too, in the last five years.

When he sees them again, time stands still. He recognizes Joffrey first, but only because he looks so much like Luke. Jace races to him first, wrapping him in a bone crushing hug. His brother hugs him back just as fierce, and when they break away, there are tears in his eyes to match his own.

“You’ve gotten big,” Joffrey jokes.

“So have you,” Jace says with a smile.

He embraces Aegon and Viserys in turn. The boys had been so young when they left, he’s not sure they recognize him. They hugged him back, but it seems more so because Joffrey did first, than anything else.

Lastly, he sees Rhaena. She has grown in the last five years and is more beautiful than he remembers. He convinces Baela to let her go for a moment and embraces her, too.

“Welcome home,” he says. She doesn’t respond other than with a sob-like sound but rubs a hand over his back. She is smiling when they break apart.

They start their day at the dragon pit, those who had gone to the Vale wanting to show off their dragons, Rhaena especially. It has been years since Jace has flown with any of his brothers, and flying with Joffrey now, he feels a weight lift off his chest.

His mother wants them close all day, and doesn’t let them stray too far. When Joffrey asks for specifics about the war, Jace has to tell him in hushed tones from the corner of Rhaenyra’s chambers.

At the end of the day, a feast has been arranged for the family, as well as a few of his mother’s trusted advisors. Jace sits next to Rhaena, across from Joffrey. Rhaena speaks animatedly with Baela about Morning, and the pride in her voice brings out his own. He remembers what it was like when Vermax first hatched, when he realized the honor he had been given, to become a dragon rider.

So lost in these thoughts, he only catches the last few words of Rhaena’s story.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Oh, just a story that Lady Jeyne told Y/N and I,” she says, as if it’s a passing thought, something completely inconsequential, and turns back to Baela. Jace stares off into nothingness, until Joffrey chuckles into his food. Jace glares at him, kicking him discreetly under the table.

“What?” Baela asks, looking between the two.

“Nothing,” Jace says firmly.

“Have you been to see her yet?” Rhaena asks, looking at Jace.

“Seen who?”

“Y/N,” she says with a shake of her head.

“No, of course not.” He knows he says it too harshly, but he is actively trying to fight off an embarrassed flush, and to figure out a way to choke Joffrey from across the table without his mother knowing.

“Oh,” Rhaena says, “Seemed like she took a liking to you.”

“Did she?” Jace asks, his heart rate accelerating.

“Well, I wasn’t there,” she says with a laugh, “But Lady Jeyne certainly thought so.”

“Ah.”

“It would be good for one of us to greet her,” Rhaenyra says, across the table. “In welcoming the children home, I fear she got lost in the commotion.”

“I’d be happy to,” Jace says. Joffrey is barely breathing across from him, holding back laughter.

“Thank you, Jace.”

When supper finally ends, Jace makes sure to grab Joffrey and hold him back while the others exit.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you say to Y/N?”

“About what?” Joff asks, brushing him off. “Your eternal crush on her? Nothing.”

“Why did Rhaena make it appear otherwise?”

“Because Lady Jeyne liked to joke about it,” Joff says. “I swear, I never talked about it except with you in our letters.” Jace nods, centering himself. He ruffles Joff’s hair, frustrated with himself for badgering him when he only just got him back.

“Sorry,” he says gently.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you going to go see her?”

“I told Mother I would,” he says, straightening. Joffrey smiles at him, a little bit in jest, but also with enough encouragement that assures Jace that he can walk up the steps to your chambers.

“Good luck,” Joff says with a pat on his back.

When a knock comes from your door, one of the maids assigned to your quarters opens it. You hear her gasp in surprise but then she says, “Your Highness.” It’s the only reason you are able to connect that the man standing in your doorway is Prince Jacaerys.

You adjust your dress as you walk towards him, trying to see the boy you met so many years ago. He is taller now, maybe even broader. His hair, somehow, has gotten even curlier.

“Y/N,” he says with a smile. For some reason, the sight of it sends your stomach into a summersault.

“My Prince,” you say, curtsying to him. “What a lovely surprise.”

“It’s wonderful to see you in King’s Landing,” he says, the smile still on his face.

“It’s wonderful to be here,” you say. “I wasn’t sure I would ever get to see it.”

“Would you like to see more of it?” he asks quickly.

“What?”

“I could give you a tour, if you’d like,” he says. “The Keep is vast; it took me months to figure out all its hiding places.”

“I’m sure you have much better things to do than give me a tour,” you say abashedly. He steps forward, looking at you with kind eyes.

“You and your house safeguarded Rhaena and my brother for years. It would be my honor to show you my home,” he says. Something about the look in his eyes, the passion behind them, makes you think that this is a bad idea. But you also know, there is no way to decline your prince.

“The honor is all mine, My Prince,” you say. He smiles at you, a dimple forming in his cheek you hadn’t noticed before. You take his outstretched arm.

He guides you out of your chambers and into the hall. Outside, the sun has begun to set, casting shadows all along the airy halls.

“I apologize for not coming to welcome you sooner,” he says.

“You were reuniting with your family, there is no need to apologize, Your Highness.”

“Just Jace is fine,” he says, drawing your gaze to him. “You’ve known me long enough.”

“Have I?” you ask with a laugh. “I knew you for only a matter of days, five years ago.”

“It seems like longer, but I suppose that’s true,” he says, “And you did not know me when you saw me at your door.”

“What?” you ask in surprise.

“You didn’t recognize me.”

“Well, the prince I met five years ago was a boy,” you say, heat rushing to your cheeks for some unknown reason. “You do seem like a completely different person.”

“Maybe I am,” he says with a coy smile.

“What about me?” you ask, lifting your chin to him. He says his next words softly.

“What about you?”

“Did you recognize me?”

“Of course. The years have made you more beautiful, but you still look like Y/N,” he says. A chill passes over you at the casual way he says your name. You briefly try to make sense of what you are feeling, but more than that, you want to stay in this moment.

He turns you down a hallway, guiding you towards the great hall.

“So, what truly brings you to King’s Landing?” he asks. “Your cousin was adamant about it years ago.” Something in his expression makes you think you could tell him; makes you believe you could tell him anything.

“Jeyne is more than my cousin, she’s my best friend. She has done me a great honor by keeping me in the Eyrie. But she also knows that we are somewhat . . . sheltered there.”

“Sheltered?” he repeats.

“There’s not much more I can learn there.”

“They’ve seemed to have taught you well enough. Joffrey says you were a great sparring partner,” he says, making you laugh.

“He’s too kind. Or he’s a liar,” you say, a fluttering in your stomach when Jace smiles at you. “I was more of a dummy for him, I think.”

“He was always quick with his sword. I have a scar on my forearm from sparring with him.” He turns over his wrist, his arm still linked with yours, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal the miniscule scar. You laugh at him. Jace’s eyes are on you the whole time, alighting at the sound from your lips.

“A warrior’s scar,” you tease.

“Indeed,” he says, his smile falling.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I didn’t mean to discount all you did in the war, Your Highness.”

“I know,” he says, a soft expression on his face.

You fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as he leads you through the gardens.

“Is continuing your studies the only reason you have in coming to King’s Landing?” he asks.

“There are not many prospects for marriage in the Vale either,” you say, dropping your head.

“Ah,” he says stiffly, “You know, I find that hard to believe.”

“What?”

“That no one in the Vale would want to marry you,” he says, making you blush.

“Well, having absolutely nothing to offer in the way of a title, or even a dowry, I’m not the best candidate.”

“Even so,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How about here?” you ask, “And hope for me here?”

“I think so,” he says, looking at you intently.

“We shall see,” you say, casting your eyes away from him to look upon a rose, nearly as red as you feel.

When you get back to your chambers, all you want to do is write to Jeyne. You promised yourself you’d wait at least a week before writing to her, but after the evening you had, you aren’t certain you can wait that long.

The prince had taken you out for nearly two hours, showing you all around the Keep, asking you questions about yourself, and completely confusing the memory you had of him.

Even five years ago, he always had a way with words. His affections were clear and sweet. They were apparent still, visible in the way he looked down at you, the tender way he held your arm to his.

But what had changed was the way his actions made you feel. Before you had blushed at his brazenness and laughed along when Jeyne made fun of it. It wasn’t funny anymore. Prince Jacaerys was a man now, and whatever feelings he had would be as grown up as he was. Even with the news of Barun’s marriage, you were still here to find a husband, quickly. That man was never going to be the prince. You vowed to yourself then that you wouldn’t see him again, unless absolutely necessary.

[novaursa]

Embers or War

- Summary: Aegon steals you and starts the Dance of Dragons.

- Paring: reader!niece/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N Targaryen (carries the name of her mother's House) and has silver hair. Silverwing is reader's dragon.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 2 552

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The candles in your chamber flicker, casting shadows that dance against the stone walls. You try to calm your racing heart, but the thought of the impending marriage to Lord Trystan Arryn, a man you barely know, fills you with dread. Your mother, Rhaenyra, had arranged this union to solidify alliances, to strengthen her claim, to ensure the future she envisioned for you and your family. But your heart, it was not in the Vale. Your heart yearned for someone else.

Far across the Red Keep, Aegon II Targaryen paced in his chambers, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor. His mind was a tempest, a storm of emotions he could scarcely control. Anger, frustration, and a bitter sense of betrayal warred within him. The words of his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, still rang in his ears.

"End this war before it begins, Aegon. Marry Y/N. Unite the houses. Rhaenyra's refusal is nothing but selfishness."

Aegon had wanted to heed his mother's advice, to reach out and take what he believed was rightfully his. But Rhaenyra, stubborn and unyielding, had denied him. She had promised you to another, a political pawn in her game of thrones.

He sat heavily in a chair, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair, his violet eyes dark with brooding thoughts. The very idea of you with another man, a man who could never understand you the way he did, filled him with a rage he could barely contain.

"She thinks me unworthy," Aegon muttered to himself, the words dripping with disdain. "She believes her daughter deserves better than me."

He thought back to the times he had seen you, the fleeting moments that had etched themselves into his memory. Your laughter, your grace, the fierce determination in your eyes that mirrored his own. He had wanted you, not just as a means to an end, but because he had seen in you a kindred spirit, someone who understood the weight of the crown and the fire of the dragon.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Ser Criston Cole stepped inside, his face a mask of concern. "Your Grace, the preparations for the marriage are underway. Is there anything you wish to do?"

Aegon looked up, his eyes hardening. "This marriage is a farce, Criston. My mother is right. We must end this war before it begins, and Y/N is the key."

"But Rhaenyra has refused," Criston reminded him, his voice cautious. "She will not give up her daughter so easily."

"Then I will take what is mine," Aegon said, his voice a low growl. He stood abruptly, moving to the chest at the foot of his bed. He opened it and began to pull out his dragon riding armor, the black and red leather gleaming in the candlelight.

Criston's eyes widened slightly. "Your Grace, what are you doing?"

Aegon did not answer immediately. He fastened the buckles, the familiar weight of the armor grounding him, giving him purpose. "If Rhaenyra will not see reason, then I will make her see it. I will not let her dictate my fate, nor Y/N’s," he said, more to himself than to Criston.

He donned his gauntlets and helmet, each piece falling into place with a resolute finality. He felt the fire of his ancestors burning within him, the fierce determination that had driven the Targaryens to conquer Westeros. He would not be denied.

Criston watched, a mix of apprehension and admiration in his gaze. "You mean to take her by force?"

Aegon looked at him, his eyes blazing. "If that is what it takes. Y/N will not marry the Arryn lord. She will be mine."

As he strode out of his chambers, the clinking of his armor echoing through the halls, Aegon's mind was set. The time for negotiations was over. He would claim you, not just to prevent a war, but because in his heart, he knew you belonged with him. And he would move heaven and earth to make it so.

The Sept of the Eyrie was filled with the soft murmur of voices, the flickering light of candles, and the heavy scent of incense. The banners of House Arryn and House Targaryen hung side by side, a symbol of the alliance being forged. You stood at the altar, clad in a gown of silver and blue, the colors of both your houses woven together in intricate patterns. The weight of the dragon-shaped necklace, a gift from your mother, pressed against your collarbone, a constant reminder of the destiny that had been chosen for you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the silent cry of Silverwing, who remained restless outside. You could feel her unease, her discontent mirroring your own. You glanced around the Sept, your eyes meeting those of your family. Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood tall and regal, her expression unreadable. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, watched with a mix of pride and apprehension. Daemon, your stepfather, stood with his twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, their faces reflecting the solemnity of the occasion.

Lady Jayne Arryn, your soon-to-be mother-in-law, was a commanding presence, her gaze piercing as she surveyed the gathered guests. She had demanded a dragon, and your brother Jace had promised her one, binding you to this fate. You tried to steady your breathing, focusing on the vows you were about to take, the words that would seal your future.

The High Septon began the ceremony, his voice a deep, resonant tone that filled the sacred space. "We are gathered here today to join House Arryn and House Targaryen in holy matrimony, to forge an alliance that will bring strength and unity to our lands."

As he spoke, you felt a hand gently take yours. You turned to see Lord Trystan Arryn, a man older than you by many years, but with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. He smiled at you, a reassuring gesture that did little to calm the storm within you.

"Do you, Y/N Targaryen, take this man to be your lord husband, to honor and protect, in sickness and in health, for all the days of your life?"

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Your mind drifted to Aegon, the man who had occupied your thoughts more than you cared to admit. His fiery spirit, his determination, his undeniable connection to you through the bond of your shared blood. But those thoughts were a distant dream now, replaced by the reality of your duty.

"I do," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"And do you, Lord Trystan Arryn, take this woman to be your lady wife, to honor and protect, in sickness and in health, for all the days of your life?"

"I do," Lord Trystan replied, his voice steady and sure.

The High Septon smiled, raising his hands in blessing. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. May the Seven bless your union and grant you many years of happiness."

As he spoke, the doors of the Sept burst open, and a rush of cold air swept through the chamber. The sudden intrusion caused a murmur of surprise among the guests. You turned, your heart leaping into your throat as you saw what had caused the disturbance.

Silverwing, your dragon, roared outside, her cry a mixture of anger and fear. The ground beneath you trembled, and the candles flickered wildly. A shadow passed over the Sept, darkening the space as something massive descended from the sky.

The ceiling above you began to crack and crumble, the stones shifting under the weight of an enormous presence. Screams echoed around you as guests scrambled to escape the falling debris. You looked up, your eyes widening in horror as a dragon, larger and fiercer, landed atop the Sept.

The roof gave way, and chunks of stone plummeted to the ground. You were pulled back by your brother Jace, his grip tight on your arm as he shielded you from the falling rubble. Your mother and Daemon moved swiftly, their swords drawn as they tried to maintain order amidst the chaos.

"Y/N, we need to get out of here!" Jace shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the dragon.

You nodded, your mind racing. This was no mere accident. This was an attack, a declaration of war. And you knew, deep in your heart, who was behind it.

As the ceiling continued to collapse, you caught a glimpse of the dragon's rider, clad in black and red armor. Aegon. His presence here, his audacity, sent a surge of conflicting emotions through you—fear, anger, and a twisted sense of relief.

The Sept of the Eyrie was no longer a place of holy matrimony. It had become a battlefield, and as the dust and debris settled around you, one thing was clear: the war had begun.

The sky was filled with chaos as Sunfyre roared, his golden scales glinting in the dim light. Aegon gripped the reins tightly, his eyes fixed on the Sept below. He spotted you amidst the wreckage and confusion, your silver hair standing out like a beacon. With a swift command, Sunfyre descended, landing with a thunderous crash on what remained of the roof.

Inside, the screams of guests and the cries of your family mingled with the deafening roar of the dragon. You stood frozen, your heart racing as you watched Aegon dismount and stride towards you, his expression a mixture of determination and desperation.

"Y/N!" he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Jace, realizing Aegon's intent, moved to shield you. "Stay away from her, Aegon!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

Aegon’s eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "She comes with me, Jacaerys. This marriage will not happen."

Before Jace could react, Aegon was upon him, disarming him with a swift motion. He grabbed your arm, pulling you close. "Trust me, Y/N," he whispered urgently. "This is the only way."

You looked into his eyes, the conflict within you mirrored in his gaze. Before you could respond, he lifted you onto Sunfyre's back and mounted behind you. With a mighty flap of his wings, Sunfyre took to the sky, the wind whipping around you as the ground fell away beneath you.

Below, Daemon raced to Caraxes, his face a mask of fury. He leaped onto his dragon and gave chase, the blood-red beast slicing through the sky with terrifying speed. But as he drew closer, the realization dawned upon him—if he attacked, he risked your life as well. With a roar of frustration, he reined in Caraxes, watching helplessly as Sunfyre carried you away.

You clung to Aegon, your heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. The landscape blurred beneath you as Sunfyre soared towards King’s Landing, Silverwing trailing close behind. The flight was a whirlwind of emotions—anger at Aegon for his recklessness, fear for what awaited you, and an inexplicable thrill at being with him.

As Sunfyre landed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, you were immediately surrounded by guards and courtiers, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion. Aegon dismounted, helping you down with surprising gentleness.

Otto Hightower stormed towards you, his face livid. "What have you done, Aegon? This act will ignite the war we sought to avoid!"

Aegon faced his grandfather with steely resolve. "The war was inevitable, Otto. This was the only way to secure our position."

Without another word, he led you through the labyrinthine hallways of the Red Keep, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. The walls seemed to close in around you as he guided you to his chambers, his silence heavy with unspoken words.

Inside his chambers, Aegon turned to face you, his eyes softening. "I had no other choice, Y/N. I couldn’t let you be taken from me."

You stared at him, your emotions a tumultuous storm. "You’ve started a war, Aegon. Do you understand that? My mother, my brothers—what will become of them?"

He stepped closer, his hands gently cupping your face. "I know the risks, but I couldn't bear to lose you. We will find a way through this, just us."

His words, filled with a desperate sincerity, made your resolve waver. You felt the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and despite everything, you couldn’t deny the bond between you.

Slowly, Aegon began to undress you, his fingers deft and sure. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He shed his own armor and clothing, revealing the strength and vulnerability beneath. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in the intimate glow of the chamber as he moved you to his bed.

Aegon’s eyes were locked onto yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of longing, determination, and something deeper, something that made your heart race.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, his touch both reassuring and possessive. His fingers trailed down your arms, igniting a trail of warmth that spread through your entire body. He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours. “Are you ready, Y/N?” he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. “Yes, Aegon. I’m ready.”

With a gentle touch, Aegon positioned himself above you, his movements careful and deliberate. He entered you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for any sign of discomfort. The initial sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain, but his tenderness reassured you.

He began with a slow, rhythmic pace, each movement deepening the connection between you. “Is this alright?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern and desire.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping them for support.

Encouraged by your response, Aegon quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming more insistent, more urgent. Each movement was filled with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness, as if he was trying to convey everything he felt in that moment. The world outside the chamber faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the intensity of your shared desire.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. The sound of his name on your lips seemed to drive him further, his movements becoming more deliberate, more determined.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. 

The passion between you built to a crescendo, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sensations were overwhelming, a blend of raw need and deep affection. You felt as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge into the depths of your shared desire.

As the intensity peaked, Aegon held you close, his breathing ragged. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. “Nobody will take you away from me,” he promised, his voice a vow.

As his lips met yours once more, the Dance of Dragons began, a storm of fire and blood that would shape the future of Westeros. In that moment, amidst the chaos and impending war, there was only you and Aegon, bound by fate and a love that defied the world.

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 2/?)

109 ac Kingslanding 

Daemons pov

I stood in your room as you got your new dragon riding leathers made. I look over to the little Velaryon girl, Laena, a girl of four, she’s been a good friend to you since you were a babe. Laena is picking out the colors of her riding leathers with you. 

“I like the blue and black! So I can be like my Mama and my Daddy!” Laena says excitedly as she runs back over to her mother, Rhaenys, my cold cousin who only seems too warm for her children, husband, and Aemma. 

You seem to be stuck on what color you want for your leathers. “What have you lowered it down to, Sweetling?” I ask as I move over to you. You turn and look up at me with your vibrant eyes that always take my breath away. Your eyes kept changing until your first nameday when they finally decided on the colors, one ice blue the same ice blue every Arryn has, that your mother has, and one vibrant purple that matches Viserys. Many say my brother got our mother's eyes, it’s this that makes me believe you inherited that as you have inherited her two-toned eyes. I kneel next to you to look at the ones you're looking at. “Ah, I see it’s a tough choice between those two.” I say as you keep looking between a black, and a red.

“I like both, Kepus, what do I do?” you ask, biting your lip in frustration. I reach up and swipe my thumb over your lip to make you stop and murmur the same thing I always do ‘Enough of that.’ 

“But I can’t pick!” You say frustrated as you rub your face, a sign you're upset and frustrated. I sigh and look at you as you turn to me and bury your face in my neck. I can’t deny that it fills me with an overwhelming type of joy that you run to me for comfort, that I’m the one you desire to hold you when in need. 

“We could do both, Sweetling. Black and red, how do you like that?” I ask as I rub your back. I feel you nod so I snap my fingers to get the seamstress's attention. “Hers will be black with our house sigil on the back in red, and her shoulders will be red.” I say and the seamstress nods as she gets back to making Lady Laenas. “See no need to get upset, my girl.” I say as I stroke her hair.

“You’re gonna be flying too right? Laenas Mama is flying with us, and Mama said Nyra is coming, but I want you.” She said as she looked up at me pleadingly. I never could say so to her, especially when she looked at me like this, so thankfully I was already planning on joining.

“Of course I am, did you really think I was going to miss your first fly on your own dragon?” I tease as I tickle her sides, I would pick her laugh over the moans of any whore. I only stop once your face has turned red and you beg me to stop.

You look over and see that Laena is getting her hair braided and look up at me, all I can do is chuckle for I already know what you're going to ask me. “Sit in the chair.” I say as I point to your vanity that you still aren’t big enough for without a few books on the chair. You run over and wait for me. 

I brush your hair and braid it as we wait for the seamstress to finish. Thankfully this one is quick as almost all the money she makes is from making our dragon riding leathers. “Stromchaser and Caraxes like each other, the dragon keepers said so. They told Papa that they are never apart.” you say excitedly, the only problem is you keep moving your head as you talk about our dragons. “That’s wonderful Darling, but you need to stop moving if you wish for me to braid your hair.” I say and chuckle as you pout but stop moving so I can do your hair.

After another thirty minutes, your dragon riding leathers are done. “I’m gonna go ask Laenas Mama to help me!” you say excitedly as you and Laena go behind the changing screen with Rhaenys. Once you and Laena are ready no man could stop you two as you run out of that room and down the hall running as fast as your little legs will take you so you can get to your dragons as fast as possible. 

When you make it down to the front of the castle you both get caught by your fathers. “Now where do you two think you're going?” Viserys asks with an amused smirk as you wiggle in his arms trying to break free. “Not even going to let us get a look at your new riding leathers?” Corlys teases which makes you two gasp and wiggle more, but this time it’s not to see your dragons but to show your new outfits. Once they set you on the ground you both do twirls and show your favorite parts, as you do so you get many ‘oohs and ahhs.’ I watch as Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at this as she walks to us with the Hightower girl who seems to have somehow wormed her way into both of my niece's hearts.

Once we finally get down to the dragon pit you and Laena can hardly stand still in your excitement. When your dragons are brought out you run over to them, unsurprisingly Caraxes is right behind Stormchaser, the dragon keepers are right I never can find him without finding Stormchaser. 

I watch as Caraxes impatiently waits for his turn for your affection, I walk over to you and glare at Caraxes as he snaps at me his rider. Ever since you could walk on your own he has hated anyone near you, so much so it has become a running joke that you are his ‘true’ rider. I hear Laena talking to her dragon Moonfyre, after she heard what her dragon was called she threw a fit and spent a week deciding on a name the reason being ‘I’m not gonna name my dragon a boy name when she is obviously a girl!’  and to be fair she was right, not even a week later her dragon laid clutch of eggs, three to be exact, Viserys agreed to have one of the eggs for his next babe who should be here in four moons. Laena picked a teal one stating since it came from her dragon she gets to pick the name, and she picked…shrimp. Why that name out of any I couldn't tell you, but Viserys agreed, if I’m being honest I think he’s hoping it turns to stone.

When you first brought your dragon back to Kingslanding you thought it was weird she purred instead of clinking when you petted her, I had to explain every dragon makes a different noise, you seemed to understand. I watch as you get on your tiptoes to reach Caraxes and pet him, I can’t help but smile at your close bond to my dragon, as many can’t even get near him let alone touch him.

Once we get you and Laena on your saddles and clip you in via a leather strap and a metal hooks so you don’t fall off your dragons, We tell you both the word to use to start to fly. You wait for us to get on our dragons before screaming it and taking off to the skies. Me, Rhaenys, and Rhaenyra quickly follow after you two. 

When I catch up to you I smile as I hear your screams of joy. “Enjoying yourself, Sweetling?” I ask and laugh as you nod your head vigorously. I can already tell you will live for the sky, and we all will have to force you to come down. “I love it! This is way better than Caraxes!” you scream happily not noticing Caraxes has taken offense to your words. I chuckle and nod. “Yes well, flying your own dragon will do that. I remember loving to fly with my father on Vhagar, but when I claimed Caraxes I wanted nothing to do with Vhagar.” I say honestly

You are a vision as you fly, there is no denying that you will be a beauty when your older, as there is no one as beautiful as you. Your braid is flying behind you as Stormchaser dives, I can’t help but laugh at you scream of fright and excitement. Your eyes are huge as she finally straightened out. “That was AMAZING!” you scream.

Finally, me and Rhaenys have talked you two into coming back down, of course not without some pouting and tears but we rectified that by promising extra dessert tonight at supper. When you land I can’t help but notice how Rhaenyra glares at you, she is always scowling your way and making rude comments, so I make it a habit to put the so called ‘realms delight’ in her place.

I can’t help but be surprised when I see the Hightower girl run over to you, she has always been afraid of dragons, like most Andals, but she seems to have pushed that aside for you. “Was it a good flight? Were you safe? Do we need to make a bigger or smaller saddle? Oh, I’m just so happy you're safe.” she rambles off so quickly I don’t even think she was speaking real words. I watch as she unclips you from the saddle and holds you close, I must admit for as much as I hate Otto his daughter is very good to you.

“Did you see me Ali? I did good, right? You’re gonna fly with me someday!” you say excitedly as I walk over to take you from ‘Ali’. “Yes, you did wonderfully, Sweetling. But I believe it’s time for you to get some food in that belly.” I say after I hear your stomach growl. You giggle and nod as you wave to the dragons. “Night!” you yell as you wave.

As we eat you talk about your fly excitedly, you’re talking so animatedly that you accidentally knock your glass of water over and it spills everywhere. I watch you flinch and look at Rhaenyra terrified. “Well, would you look at that! Maybe if you shut up for once in your life things like this wouldn’t happen! You’re so annoying, clumsy, and stupid!” Rhaenyra yells at you as you hang your head crying. I wish I could say this was the first time this has happened, but sadly I can’t. I hear you mumbling the same thing you always do when she does this. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ 

I glare at Rhaenyra as she glares at you. “And maybe you should stop being a little brat who thinks the world revoles around you. Maybe you should shut your mouth before I do it for you.” I snap back making Rhaenyra flinch as if my words have harmed her physically. ‘Good’ I think ‘Good the girl deserves it.’ I see everyone at the table has frozen, not knowing what to do. You break that silence by climbing in my lap and clinging to me so tightly I wonder if the fabric of my doublet will rip. I can’t help the sick satisfaction I feel as you do this, that you’ve relize I’m your protector.

That night, like every night before, I carry you to your room and sit on your bed as you get ready for bed with the help of your maid. Once you are ready and have crawled under your covers I pull you close as I open a book to read you to sleep. You listen to the story for some time before looking up at me and ask. “does Nyra love me?” This one question breaks my heart, a heart many say is black as soot, but what they don’t know is that it only beats for you. “I do not know, Darling, but I hope she does.” I say, I never could lie to you not with those beautiful eyes looking up at me so trusting. You look down tears in your eyes but still you nod in understanding. I know somewhere you hoped she did, and maybe she does, but I feel it is not in this lifetime.

“Let us go back to this story, I know I’m wondering if the tortoise or the hare will win.” I say trying to divert your mind from your sister. You nod and lean in closer to me as I continue to read the story.

Sadly that was the day you realized that no matter how hard you try, Rhaenyra will never love or care for you the way a sister should. 

Your Pov

I sit the Ali’s lap in the gods' woods as I trace letters, Ali, Kepus, and Mama say I’m getting very good with letters. “What people do we know with a name that starts with O?” Ali asks and I think for amoment before answering. “Um, Orchid my maid?” I ask and smile big when Ali nods. “Anyone else?” She asks. And I think hard on that. “Your Papa’s name starts with O right?” I ask to which Ali nods. “Otto, his name is Otto.” she responds happily. 

I love my Mama, but she isn’t around much cause her belly gets too big, sometimes I think Ali is my Mama. I don’t tell anyone this, cause I know it’ll upset my Mama, the one with white hair instead of auburn, the one with blue eyes like one of mine, instead of brown like the one who is always there. I know Ali isn’t my Mama, but sometimes I almost call her Mama, but I stop myself for I know she isn’t even if deep inside I wish she was.

We do this with the next letters till Rhaenyra walks over to us. “Alicent, we need to go to our leasons with the Septa.” she says as she ignores me. “Oh, I hadn’t relized the time.” Ali responds as she picks me up and looks around for a nurse maid but seems to freeze when she sees something, when I look where she is looking I see my Kepus watching us, well more glaring. “Why don’t you go to the prince, princess?” Ali suggests as she sets me on the ground. I nod and run over to him as Ali and Rhaenyra walk off. 

Once he picked me up he smiles and I smile back. “I got all my letters right! I even got most of them without help!” I say excitedly as he walks towards the gardens where he usually takes me so I can pick flowers. “Good job, my girl.” he says as he sets me down, little do I know this is his way of tiring me out so I’ll take a nap without fuss. 

Once I’ve tired out he carries me to my chambers. “You’ll never leave me, right, Kepus?” I ask through a yawn. “No I’d never leave you, Sweetling.”

Little did I know that was the day he swore to never leave me unless he had to visit his Bronze Bitch. My father will regret letting my uncle so close to me in the future, but the damage was already done by that point. But that’s the future and this is now, and he has nothing to fear…or so he thinks.

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Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header!

[gnocchibabie]

The Realm's Tragedy

Chapter 2 - Under the Weirwood

aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!oc

previous chapter --- masterlist --- ao3

Summary: Maevys Targaryen is born into a kingdom overshadowed by calamity. With her mother Aemma Arryn gone, King Viserys consumed by grief, and Princess Rhaenyra adrift in sorrow, young Maevys finds herself at the heart of a fractured family. As she emerges from the shadows of tragedy, she must navigate the delicate balance between the remnants of a broken lineage and the impending storm of a new era.

As the dragons dance, the princess must learn to accept an unforgiving truth: All Must Choose.

Wordcount: 1.9k

113 AC - King's Landing

Much could change in a year. Rhaenyra Targaryen had seen that for herself.

Some changes, she welcomed with open arms.

Like Maevys. 

The once-pale, squalling babe had grown considerably in a year's time. Though still smaller than most children her age, she had already defied all the odds that were previously stacked against her – by simply being alive. 

Rhaenyra remembered the first month of Maevys's life with a shudder; it was a time of relentless worry for both her and their father. They hovered over the fragile baby, their hearts gripped by the fear that each breath might be her last, that she might slip away to join her departed mother and brother. Rhaenyra had often clung to the hope that holding her sister close would shield her from the Stranger’s grasp, believing her embrace was a barrier against fate. The princess would wake in the dead of night, her heart racing as she tiptoed to Maevys’s room. She would gently pry open the door and lean her head into the babe’s cradle to catch the faintest sound of the baby’s breath.

But a week had passed, then a month, then six, and now finally a year had come and gone. 

Rhaenyra and Viserys began to feel a tentative relief. The Grand Maester had assured them that the most delicate times had passed them, and that little Maevys were likely here to stay.

Rhaenyra had watched her little sister grow with rapt attention. Her silver blonde hair had become fuller now, curling every which way to form an unruly mess on the little girl’s head. Maevys’ vibrant violet eyes were impossibly wide for a babe’s, taking up much of her face. Rhaenyra thought it was as though the little girl was trying to take in as much of the world around her as she could. Viserys had once said her eyes reminded him of Aemma’s.

Viserys’ love for Maevys was undeniable, though he seldom found himself around to express it. The weight of his grief over Aemma, the relentless pressure to remarry, the unpredictable chaos of his brother Daemon, and the looming threat of war with the Triarchy all conspired to draw him away from his daughters.

Though, on some nights, Rhaenyra would pass by her father’s chamber, hearing the cooing of her sister from inside. Pressing her ear up to the smooth wood of the door, she would hear her father speaking to the little girl. On the other side, she could picture her father with Maevys in his arms, walking around his replica of King’s Landing, as if giving her a grand tour of the city he once shared with her mother.

One thing Viserys had been around to insist for his daughter, was that Maevys was to not be given a dragon egg. A decision that surely rose a few eyebrows within her family – namely herself and her uncle Daemon. 

“She is a Targaryen princess,” her uncle had voiced, “It would be an injustice to deny her of her birthright.”

“She is a sick Targaryen princess. That in and of itself is injustice,” Viserys retorted, “You have seen the babe yourself. Her very existence is a miracle. Surely the Gods have a hand in it…” The King had trailed off, as though lost in thought before continuing.

“The maesters predict she will remain weak for the rest of her days. I will not risk her life in the hope that she could ever become a dragonrider. She lacks the strength for it.”

Daemon’s scoff was laden with frustration. Though he knew his words might not sway his brother, he voiced his dissent. “Still, it isn’t right.”

And Rhaenyra agreed. It was unfair. How was anyone to know if her baby sister would truly be this delicate forever? If they treated her as if she were truly made of porcelain, then surely she would stay that way. That was the real injustice, Rhaenyra thought, that Maevys wasn’t even given the chance to be believed in, to grow stronger.

Everything the babe had faced so far had been unfair: the circumstances of her birth, her frailty, the loss of her brother and mother, and now the denial of a dragon.

She often wished their mother was here to see it all. To help them sort through the mess. She would be able to fix it all.

In the midst of all this, the elder princess had lately taken to scooping up the infant in her arms, showing her around the Red Keep. They now sat amongst the Godswood, under the great Weirwood tree where Rhaenyra tried to teach her sister how to say her name.

“Rhay-neera!” she would echo to the babe with great enthusiasm, overemphasizing each syllable, sending the little girl into giggles.

This routine served as a distraction from the memories of her past, memories of sitting in this very spot with Alicent.

This was the other side of the changes that now permeated her life—changes Rhaenyra found deeply unsettling. These transformations had completely upended her worldview, leaving behind fresh wounds.

Alicent Hightower had once been Rhaenyra’s closest friend. The girl she sought comfort in, the girl she found laughter with, the girl she once dreamed of running away atop Syrax with.

The announcement that Alicent was to marry her father had caught her entirely by surprise. It had taken months for the princess to accept and understand that it was her father’s duty to remarry. For a long while, she had not dared to speak to him, save for a few words. The most time they spent together was checking in on little Maevys. 

But as time passed, Rhaenyra had come to the unfortunate realization that her father was simply doing what was expected of him. He still held love for her mother, and nothing could change that.

But she had expected her father to marry Laena Velaryon.

Certainly not Alicent. 

That had changed everything between them. 

Her relationship with Alicent was now strained at best. Certainly they both had calmed from the initial storm – the tears, the scathing words, and the pleas – but the inklings of betrayal still lingered. 

Just a few months ago, Rhaenyra had helped her dear friend into her wedding gown – a splendid garment adorned with white, red, gold, and her family’s sigil. When they were younger, Alicent had often dreamed about the day they would both be married. Rhaenyra had always found it a sweet notion.

But it wasn’t meant to unfold this way.

She recalled the hesitation on her friend’s face as she carefully tied the laces of the dress. In the quiet of Alicent’s chamber, where words seemed inadequate, Rhaenyra embraced her friend, holding her for what felt like an eternity. Tears began to soak into the shoulder where Alicent had rested her head.

She wished that they would have ran away together after all, when they still had the chance. They could have even taken little Maevys with them. Together, they would have escaped it all.

But it did no good to linger on the fantasies of children. Reality was much more scathing.

In reality, a few months after the wedding, it was announced that the Queen Alicent Hightower was with child. Viserys had been overjoyed – perhaps now he would be given the son he had always wanted.

Rhaenyra hugged Maevys closer to her. 

The prospect of another sibling would have pleased the princess in any other circumstance. She adored Maevys and found great joy in caring for her – she could hardly wait until the girl would start talking, and could one day hold a conversation with her. The idea of Maevys having siblings closer to her age was an even greater prospect.

But it was not supposed to happen this way.

Alicent seemed…well, Rhaenyra was not sure. She suspected her friend put on a happy front for her husband and for the court – giving into the ruse that she should be blessed to bring more Targaryen royals into the world. Maybe there was a small part of Alicent that did find some happiness in the news. However, Rhaenyra also suspected that Alicent, like herself, could not help but think of Aemma Arryn’s final moments.

Her stomach churned and she decided to turn her thoughts to other matters. 

Nowadays, Rhaenyra and Alicent had seldom encountered each other, returning to few and far between words. 

In fact, Rhaenyra found herself seldom speaking to anyone these days. With her uncle Daemon engaged in the war at the Stepstones and her deliberate avoidance of both Alicent and Viserys, she felt that Maevys and the occasional presence of her sworn shield, Ser Criston Cole, were all she truly had.

As the babe in her lap began to babble, Rhaenyra was snapped away from her thoughts, directing her attention elsewhere. 

Wide, violet eyes looked up at her. 

“Rhay-neeerrraaa,” The princess drew out her words, trying to coax her name from the babe once more.

It was no use, Maevys simply looked to her older sister, smiling and cooing.

“Well, you’ll have to start talking eventually,” Rhaenyra teases, poking her sister’s nose that sent her into another fit of giggles.

Despite the tender moment shared with her sister, Rhaenyra’s thoughts inevitably wandered back to the upheavals of the preceding months as Maevys fell asleep in her lap.

Shortly after their mother’s death, Viserys had formally declared Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone.

It all felt like some cruel twist of fate, that it took Aemma dying for Viserys to truly see the daughter he had all along – a daughter who was as fit as any son to inherit the throne.

Rhaenyra was still unsure on how she felt about the matter. She had never wanted the crown, though she supposed that was because she never dared to imagine she would ever have it. She was Visery’s first-born, but she was not a son – a truth that permeated every aspect of her existence.

Despite being his heir, it still remained that Viserys cared little for his daughter’s counsel or opinions. When Rhaenyra had suggested to her father that dragonriders be sent to the Stepstones, to subdue the Crabfeeder once and for all, her father had quickly shot down the idea altogether. 

If her father would not even allow her to speak on matters of the realm, did he truly believe in her as his heir? And if Viserys did not prime his daughter, instruct her, or advise her as he would a son – what kind of Queen would she come to be? The only matters pertaining to Rhaenyra that he father had concerned himself with as of late, was marrying her off. 

It enraged her to dwell on it for too long.

But the more she thought of it all – the more days that passed – Rhaenyra Targaryen vowed one thing to herself: When I am Queen, I will create a new order. 

She had seen the same fate befall all of the women in her life: her mother, her best-friend, and now she herself – condemned to enter a marriage on no accord of her own, and made to have as many heirs as she could.

It was what killed her mother. And it was what left Alicent expecting her first child at only ten and five.

If Rhaenyra could not escape this destiny, she vowed that it would not claim the sister that slept so soundly in her arms. 

In their world, women were mere pawns to be sacrificed across the board, propelling their families forward. 

“But we are not pawns, Maevys,” Rhaenyra whispered aloud, “We are Targaryen’s.”

A warm breeze swayed the limbs of the weirwood the two sister’s sat under, a few red leaves dancing around them now. In the quiet of the Godswood, Rhaenyra allowed herself to smile for the first time in weeks.  

--

Author's Note: another short chapter! i promise they will start getting longer as we delve into Maevy's POV, which will begin next chapter ;) as always, thank you for reading!

Tags: @marialikescherries @3-decades-strong

[drakaripykiros130ac]

I just want to talk about Daemon’s first marriage for a moment.

I have seen people left and right shitting on him for how he treated “poor Rhea Royce”.

Let’s get something straight. There is no “poor Rhea Royce”. This woman was spiteful and cold. She wasn’t happy in this marriage, anymore than Daemon was, and yet she didn’t do anything about it. She just persisted in this false union, with no other objective than to torment Daemon. She could have demanded an annulment anytime during those years, and she had a good chance to actually get it.

Daemon had been asking Viserys for an annulment for years, for very good reasons: there were no children which resulted from this union and they didn’t even live together. Not to mention that Daemon never said his vows (Queen Alysanne did it for him). This marriage was basically on parchment. Nothing more. But because Viserys knew how Daemon was, he chose not to give him what he wanted. However, had it been Rhea herself who demanded an annulment, Viserys couldn’t have outright refused her.

There was no reason not to grant an annulment. The relations between the Crown and the Vale wouldn’t have been affected in any way, since Aemma Arryn was Queen.

Daemon’s marriage to Rhea Royce didn’t bring much to the table. He just got the short end of the stick because he was the youngest of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s grandchildren and there weren’t many options for Valyrian spouses.

Viserys got Aemma (half Targaryen) and the Crown. Rhaenys got herself a love match with a powerful Valyrian lord (Corlys), and Daemon…well…

We all know how Daemon is. Upfront, rude etc. Yes, he lashed out and bashed Rhea Royce in public. It’s not nice, but you try being chained over ten years in marriage to a woman who’s your wife in nothing but name (and who refuses to let you go out of spite). Daemon was in his thirties and he had no children born to him. He wanted heirs of his own and both Rhea and Viserys were denying him that.

Daemon was a Targaryen Prince of many talents, who deserved a better wife from the start. Alysanne did him dirty.

[atopvisenyashill]

cregan’s issue is the same as corlys which is ya kno never seeing his girl heir as an heir period. so just like corlys brings marilda’s boys to rhaenyra to legitimize instead of pushing for baela or rhaena to inherit, cregan decides to remarry for a THIRD time even though he has a granddaughter and SEVERAL daughters who could inherit. they’re perfectly happy to bow to a woman when it’s convenient, when it fits into their own honor codes and benefits them, but when it comes to their own families, their own legacy, only a man is good enough. when it comes to the it it’s like - aegon the younger has BEEN heir, and was already named the next king by the time cregan gets there, BY corlys, who goes along with the green style inheritance of saying aegon iii is aegon ii’s successor through daemon’s line, likely imo bc he just wants the war to stop and thinks getting rhaenyra’s last son on the throne is good enough (bc he doesn’t get it!! it’s why he pushes rhaenyra to name men over women with better claims during the dance; he’s not about disrupting the system, he only supports rhaenyra bc it benefits him!).

baela isn’t being denied the crown because not a single person including baela herself thinks she’s a viable contender and that’s the result of aegon ii being the last monarch & adult targaryen alive in the capital, and not anything cregan or to some extent, corlys, does; jaehaerys’ ideology is what the greens are fighting for and jaehaerys’ ideology is what wins and the person to blame for both jaehaera & baela not being viable contenders for the throne is aegon ii himself. but jeyne arryn is right there!! too bad it doesn’t matter, bc in a situation where cregan and corlys actually do have the power to go “i have the ability to just support my girl heir” they choose a boy. it’s just like cat says it’s just like borros lord misogynist himself says - a daughter is nice but ahhh a son. a son is more important!

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Aemma Arryn: the Real Victim

I'm back on my soapbox about book vs show characterization, this time about Aemma Arryn. Aemma is obviously a tragic character, her mother died soon after she was born, she had many miscarriages with only one child surviving infancy, and she ultimately was killed to try to save her son who died anyway. However, the show tried again and again to romanticize her and her relationship with Viserys and trying to make it seem like she got a better deal in life than fucking Alicent (yes it all circles back to her, how she was written is my villain origin story, I fucking swear).

The show decides to either gloss over or completely remove the fact that Aemma was herself a child bride. She was thirteen when she was forced to marry Viserys (16) and was immediately forced to start having kids. This is a plot point they decided to instead give to Alicent (because of fucking course they did). Not only that, but they aged both her and Viserys up so, when she dies, Aemma looks to be around her 30s rather than the 23 she is in the book.

Another thing the show swapped between Aemma and Alicent is who Viserys "loved most". In the show, Viserys pines after Aemma for the rest of his life, even calling Alicent Aemma in episode 7. However, in the books, Viserys and Aemma are an arranged marriage by Queen Alysanne. And while he obviously loves Rhaenyra, his relationship with Aemma is kept vague. But after her death, he chooses not only to remarry (which was unnecessary since he had named Rhaenyra as his heir). Not only that but he chooses a woman (because yes Alicent was an adult by our standards when she married him) who gives no political gain and in doing so spurns many much more powerful houses (like the Velaryons). The book literally says he married her for love, Alicent not Aemma. But in the show, Viserys clearly loved Aemma more, which fed into his favoritism of Rhaenyra (which I'm not denying, but in the books there is no evidence that Viserys was as absent as they paint him to be in the show). Not only that, they take her story and make it into a sick romance while the true victimization is given almost completely to Alicent.

Now I'd like to touch on Aemma's views on honor and duty. She tells Rhaenyra in episode 1 that the birthing bed is their battlefield, a line which mirrors Alysanne and Daela's conversation before Aemma's birth (a decision by the Condal & Hess I actually like lol). She has given her all her teenage years and eventually her fucking life to fulfill her duties as a wife, desperately trying to give Viserys a male heir. Her entire life is full of the consequences of the patriarchy and the dehumanization of women. From her mother's death to Rhaenys being passed over as heir to Aemma's own death even to Rhaenyra being usurped.

Aemma embodies everything Alicent stans claim to defend and everything they make Alicent out to be. She is a child bride, she gave up her teenage years for giving birth to/raising children, she has almost no agency, and her daughter shares in her suffering. Alicent (in the books) has none of these things, except for the fact that Helaena is suffering, but that is something Alicent fucking orchestrated. Basically, if Alicent's stans actually believed what they claimed, they'd love Aemma not Alicent. Thanks for reading, long live Queen Rhaenyra and Team Black.

[unusual-raccoon]

Silver Son (Ch. 2) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@livinginafantasysposts, @andromaxeoftroy, @saintbehemoth, @mondstaub1, @the-heartlines, @the-white-w0lf, @potatochips-15, @arkah-archive, @lunar-19, @bimyself06

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Blonde Jacaerys Velaryon, Jace is Daemon's Biological Son, Complicated Relationships, Political Alliances, Canon-Typical Violence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Jacaerys Velaryon, Omega Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Episode: s01e08 The Lord of the Tides (House of the Dragon), Viserys I Targaryen Lives, Daemyra Have Disney Parent-itis = they died, Brother/Brother Incest, POV Alternating, Political Alliances, Arranged Marriage, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Valyrian Wedding, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting Summary: With few options left, Lucerys travels to Dragonstone to marry his mother's eldest son and heir, Jacaerys Targaryen. WC: 8,9K+ Ao3 Link

It began with a proposal. The promise of marriage in exchange for protection.

A marriage…to the prince of Dragonstone.

Their breakneck pace had consumed two weeks' worth of time in an instant, and before Lucerys had a true moment to recuperate, he was standing upon blue-veined white marble within the Eyrie’s High Hall.

“Prince Lucerys,” The lady of the Vale welcomed him, eyes as blue as the sky creased at the corners in a small sign of fondness.

“My lady,” he greeted, lowering his head in a show of deference to his host.

“I pray your time in King’s Landing has seen you well.”

“It has my lady, and while I am eternally grateful for your hospitality, I’m afraid I will need to depart from the Eyrie soon.”

To her credit, Jeyne Arryn took the news with aplomb.

“Might I ask, who is stealing you away, dear cousin?”

“I am Targaryen, my lady, I worry you may find the truth upsetting.”

She arched a single brow, the same shade of honeyed-gold as her hair. Whatever fondness she reserved for Lucerys in the months since his mother’s passing seemed to vanish at the mere insinuation of him.

What power you wield, dear brother.

The image of pale hair stained more crimson than silver flashed through his mind.

“I see.” She replied with an icy sort of diplomacy that made his teeth clench cold. Her disdain gleamed through in the blue of her eyes.

“And you’re certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise?”

She spoke with a royal I, not only of herself but also of the Eyrie and all its vassal houses…House Corbray amongst them. He thought of Ser Corwyn – the kind, gentle Valeman that had seen him return to the Eyrie safely.

Corwyn, who carried Valyrian steel upon his hip. He pondered briefly the wail Lady Forlorn might make when she collided with Dark Sister.

The hairs on his arms stood on end. He prayed it would not come to such unpleasantries.

Yet, as he imagined falling sway to Lady Arryn’s suggestions and wedding Ser Corwyn, Lucerys’ mind only conjured the image of Alyssa’s Tears scorched dry by dragonfire, yellow-orange flames shot through with veins of green, and his betrothed’s body severed at the neck, his handsome head gnashed between Vermax’s thorny jaws…

Have care, I will crush him if he intends to deny your departure.

He recalled his brother’s words even a fortnight later, as though he was yet twined in Jacaerys’ arms rubbing mindless fingers against the dried blood, blood his brother had spilled in Lucerys’ name, upon the velvet of his sleeve. He chastised himself still for the thoughtless creature he had been reduced to with his lungs full of his elder half-brother’s scent: the heat of an open flame and the heady musk of white oak.

The thought inspired a conflicting sense of hot and cold spreading through his body. A simultaneous pleasure and pain.

“I think it is for the best, my lady.”

Her smile was amiable, but far from pleased.

“Very well,” She hummed in acquiescence.

It was not until she descended from her carved weirwood throne that Lucerys voiced another rather pressing concern.

“I must admit, dear cousin, I fear how he will take the news.”

Jeyne Arryn offered a soft smile, her hand folded over the delicate expanse of his forearm and he was reminded of the few times the lady of the Vale had taken him hawking in the Mountains of the Moon.

“He loves you, he’ll understand.” she reminded with a knowing tilt of her lips.

Lucerys exhaled. He hoped love might be enough to soften the blow of his elder brother’s proposal as Lady Jeyne escorted him to his apartments in the Maiden’s Tower.

. . .

A long soak in a marble tub had not seen his nerves much improved. In fact, Lucerys felt more disturbed knowing he was avoiding the inevitable.

He sank deeper into the water scented with orange blossoms and rose hips, while it was a distraction, it was certainly a pleasant one; it did wonders for his sore bottom after two hard weeks on horseback.

He hadn’t dithered for much longer before dressing. 

He omitted his usual high-collared samite gown with a laced-tight bodice to accentuate curves nature had failed to provide, in exchange for a soft, modest shift to sleep in. 

He layered a patterned dressing gown over his shift to stave off the everpresent wind of the Vale.

There was a knock at the door and Lucerys grimaced. He wasn’t ready, yet still approached his fate with a raised chin - as mother had taught him.

“Prince Lucerys-”

“Ser Corwyn,” He greeted, voice lilted in surprise.

“My deepest apologies, forgive the intrusion, I was not aware-” the knight stammered at Lucerys’ state of dress.

“There is nothing to forgive, the fault is mine own,” Lucerys murmured, cheeks warm, as demure as any proper worshiper of the Seven desired in an Omega.

The insinuation of his nakedness was enough, even layered in sleepwear as he was.

Lucerys crossed bashful arms over himself and Corwyn reddened further.

“I have heard the news of your departure,” Corwyn informed steadily and to the point, eyes focused on some fixed point just over Lucerys’ shoulder.

“From Lady Jeyne, I have no doubt” he had shared the news with none other,“– forgive me, it is uncouth to speak of my host in such a way.”

Corwyn shook his head.

“It was uncouth of my Lady to share business that was not hers.”

Lucerys swallowed, wringing his hands together, discreetly scratching small scent glands in his wrists until the air sweetened with his natural scent.

Vanilla and browned butter.

“I gather that she has informed you as to why I must be leaving…”

Corwyn nodded, nostrils flaring subtly. His jaw tightened.

“She has…”

He looked away, sheepishly with a dusky color upon his cheeks that revealed what his nonexistent scent did not. He chafed at the thought of Lucerys departing to Dragonstone - to Jacaerys.

“Ser, I pray you will not think less of me now…it is not a thought I think I can bear.”

Corwyn’s eyes were a bluish-grey, a beautiful, but understated color that Lucerys admired as the knight turned back towards him in shock.

“My Prince I would never.”

“I don’t believe our Lady shared this information with the thought that it might sour my opinion of you.”

“Oh,” Lucerys exhaled with the kind of smile that enamored countless at court, “good,” he hummed with a dithering kind of naivete a simpering storybook Omega possessed.

Corwyn appeared ensorcelled.

He prayed silently that Jacaerys might be so simple to gain mastery over.

“I believe my cousin has shared with me this news to embolden me…”

Embolden, Lucerys thought. Corwyn’s eyes focused on him then, breathing a touch shallow like he meant to sling Lucerys down onto the floor to ravage him…

Instead, the knight drew Lady Forlorn from the sheath upon his hip.

Lucerys’ heart stilled for a moment before Corwyn knelt before him, head lowered.

“With your permission, my prince, I would swear myself to you…as your protector.”

His brother’s words rang through his head once more as the knight’s hands clasped the weeping woman carved into the sword’s pommel and grip.

You have gone too long without an Alpha. Too long without proper protection.

Lucerys was not acquisitive enough to think he could have both his brother’s protection and Ser Corwyn’s.

A choice was required.

He imagined yet again the sound that Lady Forlorn might make when she clashed with Dark Sister, yet when he pictured Valyrian steel on steel he could only hear the bellow of a dragon…

“You honor me deeply, ser…but, I am afraid I cannot accept. To bind yourself to me on the eve of my marriage…it would not be wise.  I fear my betrothed will think ill of it. However, I hope that should I ever need such a gallant knight you might permit me to call upon you?”

Ser Corwyn rose with a conflicted look etched upon his face.

His bluish-grey eyes softened as Lucerys draped an effete hand over the knight’s forearm. Corwyn’s gaze lingered on Lucerys’ hand.

“Of course, my prince.”

Again, Lucerys offered that affable smile and his sweet scent and all was well.

“Rest well, my prince.”

Lucerys blinked slowly, a soft smile about his lips, “I shall certainly rest easier now ser, thank you.”

With Corwyn addressed he would face his greatest challenge yet on the morrow.

. . .

In the morn he was awoken by the sound of his door opening and a riotous blur bolting inside. He was spared only a moment before said blur was atop his bed – bouncing.

“You’re back!”

“Joff,” Lucerys hummed, half asleep, partially shielding his body from each spring of his younger brother’s body.

“You’re back!” He exclaimed again with a wide, gap-toothed smile, “What was the capital like? Did you get to see the king? Is it true that you killed someone?”

Lucerys’ eyes widened immediately, what vestiges of sleep remained fled from him. 

He wrangled his younger brother in his hands like catching lightning in a bottle.

Joffrey tugged at the silk sleeves of Lucerys’ shift, irritated at being held captive.

“Where have you heard such things?” Lucerys asked seriously.

“A girl from the kitchens,” Joffrey shrugged, “She said someone died-”

Gods damn Jacaerys Targaryen. Already whispers floated about the validity of his hearing of succession. Matters hadn’t been helped by the same rumor mills purporting that Ser Vaemond’s head had allegedly been fed to his elder brother’s dragon; he had yet to hear the word kinslayer but knew it hung on countless tongues.

“You should not repeat such talk, it is not princely.”

Joffrey tugged upon Lucerys’ sleeve, eager to be released.

“Swear it,” Lucerys commanded with a waggle of his finger.

“Fine, I swear it, let go-”

“You swear what?”

“I swear not to repeat unprincely things, Luke-” Joffrey whined.

Lucerys smiled fondly despite himself and released his grip upon his younger brother, content to let him whirl about.

And whirl he did. He had become so content in the Vale. A part of Lucerys mourned the thought of taking him from what had just started to feel like home. It wasn’t fair.

“Joffrey?” Lucerys called as Joffrey’s dark head bobbed around. His brother fiddled with something on the other side of Lucerys’ apartments; something breakable no doubt.

“Something did happen at court…something important.”

“Is this about you getting married? I already know,” Joffrey said, sounding rather bored as he watched the viscous swirl in a stoppered inkwell.

“Another rumor from your spy in the kitchens?” Lucerys asked, unmoved by his brother’s pout.

“No - and she’s not a spy!” He huffed defensively, “Melara told me that you’ll marry her father. I’m not upset, Luke, I promise. I like Ser Corwyn. If you marry him, do you think he’ll train me to be a knight and give me his sword when I’m older?”

Lucerys felt ill.

“Joffrey, come here,” He beckoned, voice trembling. His brother whined a petulant little noise, but remained at Lucerys’ desk, shaking the stoppered inkwell.

“Now.”

It was cruel, Lucerys knew, but he prayed none of his children were Alphas, that none would ever be so obstinate as his brother - brothers. He prayed for Betas and Omegas to quicken in his belly when the time came, for obedient children with sensible little heads on sensible little shoulders.

“She said House Corbray’s colors are like ours, red and black - and white too, but that we wouldn’t have to change very much.”

Change, Lucerys thought to himself, how much of that have we endured already?

Joffrey continued his blabbering, stubborn at that. Lucerys winced, his frustration mounting to a point of eruption.

“I won’t be marrying Ser Corwyn!”

Distantly, he heard glass shattering as the inkwell toppled to the ground. Lucerys bolted from the bed, taking Joffrey’s little hands in his own. He scrutinized his brother’s palms for any shards of glass amidst the overwhelming pools of ink on his pale skin…

“Why not?!”

“Oh, Joff, look at your hands! You mustn’t be so careless.”

His younger brother tore his hands out of Lucerys’ grasp, visibly crestfallen. The pristine white silk of his sleeve was slashed with ugly splatters of black ink.

“Why aren’t you marrying Ser Corwyn?”

Why? Why indeed…

Lucerys sighed. How could he tell a child of seven years about the politics of the matter? Or worse yet, that in the most aggravatingly primal sense, a piece of him yearned for Jacaerys…

“I’ve been presented with a stronger proposal.”

“But, you said we’d be safe here, that we wouldn’t have to leave!” 

His younger brother argued, what else could he have said to a grieving child who had just fled the only home he had ever known? Their exodus from Dragonstone had been a hasty affair, yet in the midst of their pain and fear, it seemed the only thing they could do.

“This proposal means more protection, real protection,” Lucerys swallowed, each breath scraping the inside of his throat like shards of glass as his brother’s face reddened, “Joff, we can go home.”

Tears welled in the muddy brown of Joffrey’s eyes.

He held his brother’s dirty little hands so tightly in his own, clinging desperately.

“But if I am to keep my word, we must leave soon.”

Lucerys brushed an affectionate finger beneath the cleft in his brother’s chin.

“You haven’t misplaced Tyraxes’ saddle have you?”

Joffrey blinked slowly with a dawning realization, sadness forgotten at the prospect of flying again.

“No…”

“Good,” Lucerys hummed before ruffling his brother’s dark curls, swallowing beyond the lump in his throat as he spoke, “you’re going to need it.”

. . .

The fortnight he had allotted had passed, and for two days and two nights longer, Jacaerys had waited.

He had spent 6 years in the North as a ward of Lord Cregan Stark, estranged from his family, and yet, he had never yearned more ardently for his own blood than he did in the two weeks since leaving King’s Landing.

Every morning he waited on Dragonstone's beaches for a young white dragon to pierce the clouds and the scent of vanilla and browned butter to shower him from the sky; for Lucerys to come home to him.

Each day that passed he weighed the worth of simply collecting his brother on dragonback. Of flying to the Eyrie, Dark Sister in hand…like Visenya on Vhagar, and dragging his little wife home.

But then he thought of Lucerys…of sweet, gentle Lucerys.

He refused to force the matter. Lucerys would come to him in time, he knew it…

And so he waited, morning after morning.

And each morning yet he had been disappointed, though he was not the only one.

Baela was still bitter about his decision to break their betrothal that had been arranged since they’d been born…

A marriage done in the tradition of Old Valyria was binding, unbreakable, a union that could never be undone or annulled. Immutable to the word of any king or council. It was everlasting.

He’d been rehearsing the words since he’d had ears to know them. Leagues away in the bitter cold, they had given him warmth. The knowledge he might one day speak them to the one that he loved, as his mother had, as his father had, as was his right.

He was owed this. Tradition dictated for the two oldest children to marry, as Aegon and Visenya had; there was duty and honor in it. By definition, Jacaerys and Lucerys were their mother’s eldest children - the two destined to wed.

He stared at the sky, awaiting his destiny.

. . .

It was the third morning and the sky was a cool blue, drowsy in color when a bright streak sailed through it…

Descending toward the island like a falling star.

Lucerys. 

Jacaerys had never seen anything so picturesque, so perfect-

Then came the rambunctious squawk of a dragon scarcely large enough to fly. Black and red and chasing after gulls, belching plumes of black flames.

Joffrey.

“Dohaerās, Tyraxes!” A reedy little voice called.

“Ninkiot, Arrax,” Lucerys commanded calmly and Jacaerys watched as that young dragon, glittering pearl white and gold, spread his wings to slow his descent to the island.

The sea breeze rolled over the shore, tasting of salt and morning air, of vanilla and browned butter…

Lucerys was a vision in supple charcoal gray, wool-lined riding leathers. His dark curls were wind-tossed and his cheeks a ravishing shade of red.

Those beautiful brown eyes widened at the sight of him.

His younger brother cleared his throat, calling up to Joffrey.

“Come down here,” He commanded, “now.”

Lucerys’ expression was unreadable as he marched across the sands toward Jacaerys, Joffrey in tow.

The dragonkeepers handled their mounts, even the unruly Tyraxes who had feathers hanging from his maw.

“Jacaerys,” Lucerys greeted coolly, with a defiant little raised chin. Jace wanted him then and there — marriage be damned, he wished to pup Luke in the sand. He pushed the thought away, quite capable of ignoring his hindbrain.

“Brother,” Jacaerys responded smoothly, smile softening, “welcome home.”

Lucerys gave a small nod, dainty gloved hands clasped together demurely.

“I apologize for making you wait,” Lucerys said primly, poised and practiced and perfect.

Jace chuckled, “Oh, I doubt that very much. Come along, we’ll get you both settled.”

They stepped through the Great Hall’s massive red doors, flanked by household guards at every step.

He felt Lucerys gasp as he pressed a palm to the small of his brother’s back, leading him into the hall. Luke walked along, spine stiff, his scent dripping from his pores.

It was surreal, sharing the space with Lucerys once more… It had been so long since they had been here together, lived here together.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Maester Gerardys greeted fondly, “and Prince Lucerys, how comforting it is to see you two together once more…”

For the first time since his brother had returned home, Jacaerys witnessed that icy demeanor thaw. His smile was soft and genuine and beautiful…

“It is…good to be home,” He answered, and to Jacaerys’ surprise, his words seemed sincere. Buried somewhere beneath the stoicism his younger brother wore like a coat of mail, he was happy.

“Your mother would be pleased.”

Lucerys’ throat bobbed and his eyes misted, for a moment he seemed to lean into Jacaerys’ touch upon his back. He steadied Lucerys instantly, naturally — it was what elder brothers were meant to do.

He caught a brief flash of gratitude in the corner of a brown eye when Lucerys glanced back at him.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Jacaerys said softly, to which Lucerys nodded, a pliant little thing.

“I know where my room is,” Joffrey called, running off blindly, to Lucerys’ horror and Jace’s amusement. Lucerys seemed mortified of Joffrey’s boyish behavior, like some minute thing would pull the rug out from beneath them, as though he may cast them out to the wilds once more…

He’d sooner fall upon his own sword than permit such a thing to happen.

“It’s alright,” Jace soothed, tasting the frantic spike in his younger brother’s scent, vanilla and burnt butter, “he’s home too.”

Lucerys nodded, swallowing thickly.

“When will the ceremony be?” Lucerys asked, his voice steady like he’d practiced the words.

“When would you like it to be?” Jace asked in return, something that seemed to bewilder his younger brother who stared up at him owlishly. Something he hadn’t prepared for.

“Soon,” he said, a tad uncertain as Jacaerys slowly circled him like prey.

“Soon?” Jacaerys echoed with a wily smirk. Lucerys’ brow dipped in what he knew was annoyance.

“Yes, soon, unless you intend on making me wait.”

There he was, Jacaerys grinned, all teeth - his Luke.

“Had I known you were so eager to be my wife, I never would have left King’s Landing without you…” His lips touched his younger brother’s ear.

Lucerys exhaled a shaky breath that he very badly wanted to be a scoff, struggling to right his mask of aloofness. The rich scent of vanilla and browned butter, nutty and earthen and sweet, betrayed him.

“Is tonight soon enough for you, brother?” Jacaerys asked, his subvocals flanging.

Lucerys turned, blinking up at him, pink-cheeked.

“Y-yes.”

��Good.”

“Good,” Lucerys said with his raised little chin, as though he had been so decisive, to begin with; Jacaerys could only focus on the cute cleft of his chin that he wished to trace with his tongue.

Without another word, his younger brother turned and exited the Great Hall, marching down a corridor after Joffrey.

. . .

Valyrian wedding ceremonies were not as time-consuming as weddings performed under the faith of the seven. The very same priest that had performed their mother’s wedding was summoned to conduct theirs.

The materials had been gathered and garments prepared.

A natural stone dias was dressed accordingly. A thick chalice of inscribed Valyrian steel sat upon the dias, filled halfway from a decanter of blood wine.

Jacaerys’ hands shook as he reached for the traditional robes worn during Valyrian wedding ceremonies. The fabric was a pale cream color, with thick blood-red collars and a gradient along the hem and sleeves.

They were meant to symbolize blood purity… the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“Father was the last to wear these…”

Jacaerys exhaled, fingers trailing over the dyed collar of the robe. He never had the right to refer to Daemon Targaryen as his father publically, yet as he stared at the garment, shapeless against his dressing table, it felt right. His father had worn these robes, and Jacaerys would wear them after him.

“He’d be proud of you…”

Baela intoned, her voice alarmingly gentle despite how angry she had been with him in the past weeks.

“Even if I’m marrying against his wishes?”

His sister smiled a radiant thing. Pretty enough to kiss, but he knew better than to try.

“Especially because you’re marrying against his wishes. You chose your own bride…he’d admire that.”

Baela stepped closer, inspecting the ceremonial garment. The fabric seemed endless when lifted into her tiny hands.

“You have every right to wear them, Jace. You’re a Targaryen.”

He nodded and began unlacing his tunic.

“Slower,” His sister bade, her deep violet eyes raking over every ounce of unveiled flesh with unbridled want. Spice flower and cinnamon hung heavy in the air. There was time when that scent beckoned him like a siren’s call, yet there had always been another scent, more potent —— dragonsong.

“I don’t want to forget a thing,” She added sadly, and Jacaerys felt a twinge of regret…she had always been good to him.

Jacaerys slowed, plucking away each individual lace with the utmost care. The garment swayed open and he heard the sharp intake of her breath.

He smiled softly. He couldn’t marry her, but he could give her this.

. . .

It all felt foreign to Lucerys like something out of a dream. His hair painfully twined into a snug series of plaits and braids atop of which the ceremonial headdress was placed.

The robes were long, the dyed hem puddled like blood around his feet.

Unbidden emotion snagged in his throat as he straightened the headdress. His entire life had led to this moment, from the day he was born and the maester had announced what resided between his legs. He was an Omega, he was born to be someone’s wife. Jacaerys’ wife. His face burned hot for reasons he dared not contemplate.

He was to be married and his mother wasn’t here to witness it…

He glared at his reflection in the looking glass.

He blinked away the tears quickly and straightened his back. Jacaerys wanted a wife and he’d get one…and Lucerys would get the legitimacy he’d been lacking. He would certainly be a wife, but Jacaerys had been born an Alpha —— he would become Lucerys’ weapon. It was all he could find comfort in; for this was not a union borne of love.

Lucerys’ bravado held up quite nicely as they traveled to the dais where the ceremony would be held. Jacaerys looked as he always did, aggravatingly handsome; rakish, even, in the long ceremonial robes with his silver hair bound in twists away from his face.

Countless candles burned around the dias, ensconcing them in a golden hue.

It was surreal, standing on warmed stone in the very same spot, in the very same gown his mother had once worn…

Joffrey stood beside Maester Gerardys, a sour look on his little face, in the same spot where Lucerys had stood as a child. Fragmented memories of his mother’s wedding washed over him like the dewy evening rain. 

A hand in his clutched so tightly. Father had died. Warm lips pressed to his crown, there was no giggling when he pressed his cold little feet to the backs of warm knees; just a need to be sated, and comfort that was given. There was no room for laughter on the grim day. Mother had never looked so beautiful. The hand in his was pulled away. It hurt, that missing piece, like a severed limb…

“Luke?”

Lucerys felt the memory fade away as he blinked his way back to the present. Jacaerys stared at him with unabashed concern.

“Hm?” he hummed, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you ready for the ceremony to begin?” The priest asked.

“Yes,” Jacaerys said without hesitation, and all eyes were on Lucerys.

“Yes,” Luke nodded, the tassels of the headdress bouncing.

“Very well.”

Ceremonial dragonglass daggers were given to each of them.

“I’ll go first,” Jacaerys told him and Lucerys nodded, and when he smiled at Luke, it was the smile of an elder brother. 

Rest easy, little brother, that roguish smile said, I’m here. His hands trembled as he brought the shard to his Jacaerys’ mouth. He didn’t flinch when Luke cut him. The dagger split the supple flesh of Jacaerys’ lower lip with ease. Blood oozed bright and warm. He gathered some upon his thumb, transfixed by it. The candles seemed to glow brighter, the air more fragrant. He painted the sigil upon Jacaerys’ skin.

His own dagger was lowered as Jacaerys approached. A large hand came to grip his chin, stroking the skin fondly. He tensed in anticipation of the sting of the dagger. He met his brother’s gaze, those hypnotic violet eyes, silver lashes brushed gold in the candlelight. He felt warm, very warm wrapped in Jace’s scent. His hindbrain was alight. Gently, the dagger sliced his lower lip, he hardly felt it.

He blinked and Jacaerys’ thumb was wet with his blood.

The liquid crimson felt hot against his skin as his brother painted the accompanying sigil.

Blood would flow, and their line would continue. 

He watched as Jacaerys’ dagger carved a wound across his palm. Lucerys did the same.

The priest carried forth the chalice and spoke the binding words. An embroidered chord of gold tied them together.

“Hen lantoti ānogar”

Blood of two

“Va sȳndroti vāedroma”

Joined as one

Jacaerys’ hand clasped with his, the open wounds upon their palms bleeding into one another. Unerringly intimate; eternally entwined. The golden chord soaked crimson. Red oozed into the chalice.

“Elēdroma iārza sīr”

And song of shadows

“Izulī ampā perzī”

Two hearts as embers

Lucerys stared into the chalice, at the placid surface of the blood wine, small dots of liquid crimson littered the rim, like crushed garnets. His reflection stared back.

The wine smelled of figs and iron and was thick upon his tongue. He’d never known something so foreign, yet so perfect. Heat raced in his veins when he swallowed it. Jacaerys’ eyes never left his, his hand clutched so tightly…they were a perfect fit.

“Prūmī lanti sēteksi”

Forged in Fourteen flames

Fourteen candles stood taller than the rest.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion”

A future promised in glass

Jacaerys tilted the chalice toward his lips. Lucerys squeezed at his brother’s hand, fresh blood sticking between their palms.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi”

The stars stand witness

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo”

The vow spoken through time

“Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.”

Of darkness and light.

“Your vows must be spoken.”

Lucerys nodded and swallowed the urge to mewl as Jacaerys’ hand squeezed his; both comforting and consuming.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” they spoke the words in unison. The lingering taste of wine on his tongue deepened. The richness of Jacaerys’ scent thickened in his lungs. He could taste only fire and blood…

The priest lowered his hands and inclined his hooded head towards them to indicate the ceremony was complete. Lucerys’ entire being pulsed hotter than the dragonmont. They were married. Bound in blood.

He stared at Jacaerys, still struggling to fathom when his brother’s lips were on his - kissing him, ravenously; like he had waited his entire life for such a moment. And it returned to him, the frayed pieces of a memory, like torn pages in a book, as Jacaerys’ hands gathered his face between them, tender and so familiar - they had done this before.

Oh.

He felt a fool.

He gasped when his brother pulled away, mouth red. Lucerys’ legs felt boneless. His hand clutching Jacaerys’ sleeve, anchored to his brother, his husband, his other half…

Jacaerys’ tongue chased the trickle of crimson from Lucerys’ mouth. He mewled then, openly, unabashedly, without meaning to.

His brother’s forehead touched his, tacky with blood. A deep flanging purr swelled there and Lucerys struggled to remain upright with his knees turned to liquid. A strong arm curled around his waist.

The sky shook with the triumphant cries of Vermax and Arrax. Blasts of dragonfire burst above them in a spectrum of color, yellow-orange, gold, copper, and bronze, swirls of white, pearl, emerald, and jade green. There were streaks of rainbow light where their flames collided as their dragons danced in the sky overhead.

With the wedding complete, only one thing remained…

Their wedding night.

. . .

The inside of the Lord’s chambers were carved in dark stone, the snarling heads of dragons frame towering columns around the bed, a blood-red canopy draped above it.

Dragonstone was not known for its forgiving weather, and despite the chill that was ever-present in the air, Lucerys felt like the flesh might slough off his bones from the heat that raged within him.

A fire burned in the hearth that resembled a dragon’s maw, with flames crackling between pointed stone teeth.

A touch dragged featherlight over his pulse and he gasped, body burning hotter than the fire.

He looked at his brother - his husband with new eyes.

“Forgive me,” He murmured in apology, “I feel…warm.”

Jacaerys offered a smile, a flash of pointed teeth that left Lucerys breathless.

“‘Tis your blood calling.” His husband explained.

Lucerys flushed deeply.

“Do not fret,” Jacaerys hummed, fingers finding Lucerys’ chin, stroking the skin fondly, “We will answer it.”

Lucerys nodded, struck into a demure state, his heart hammered hard in his chest.

There was nothing entirely complicated about seduction, Lucerys knew, most Alphas simply desired a chase. A submissive bit of prey that they could play with before devouring them whole. It became clear Jacaerys was no different in that regard.

It brought to mind a memory far more recent…

“Tilt your head, just gently over your shoulder. A tad more. Perfect. Lower your eyelids. Less, Lucerys.” Daemon clucked.

“I feel like an imbecile,” Lucerys complained, though his step-father chuckled.

“I assure you, you don’t look like one.”

He snorted, “Is this how mother got you to fall in love with her?”

Daemon hummed a laugh, flicking Lucerys’ ear as he passed by, “Don’t slouch, extend your neck. There. Delightful. Any Alpha with a knot between their legs will understand the invitation. And, no, your mother was the exception in that regard.”

Lucerys rolled his eyes. Unsurprised to find that his mother, as always, was so perfect.

“You have no shortage of suitors, even now, but it never hurts to know how to keep them.”

Lucerys flushed, “I have…suitors?”

Daemon nodded, “Many. Amongst our vassals Houses Bar Emon, Celtigar, and Massey have already put forth proposals for your hand. You even have the attention of an Alpha up North…”

“Truly?” Lucerys gasped, strangely flattered.

“He’s been the most persistent of all,” Daemon said with a wink.

“That’s enough practice for today, little one. With any luck, matters of marriage won’t be relevant for some time. At least not while your mother and I draw breath.”

The fresh loss of his parents' death yawned open once more, like a gash across his heart, at the memory, but he ignored the pain. His blood had already spilled today. Lucerys turned his back to Jacaerys as he began the tedious process of removing countless metal pins from his hair. Discreetly, he nipped at the scent gland in his wrist.

The aroma of vanilla and browned butter, rich and sweet dripped into the air. A Siren’s call.

Unlike Ser Corwyn who had merely blushed and floundered at the presence of his scent, his husband however,  evidenced a more promising reaction.

He heard the sharp intake of Jacaerys’ breathing. The subtle beginnings of a growl left Lucerys weak at the knees.

He shook his curls loose with a soft sigh, he arched his back with an indulgent stretch.

When he turned back towards his husband, he did so employing everything Daemon had taught him. His head tilted coyly, his eyes hooded just right, bare neck extended boldly…

“Husband,” he called with intention, his voice a touch higher than it typically was, “shall we- mmph!”

Being kissed was as disorienting as it had been the first time, scorching, the taste of blood on his tongue. His husband’s hand cupped his bottom. Lucerys considered it a rousing success.

He panted, mouth slick. Jacaerys’ tongue glided against the roof of his mouth and something glittery and warm surged down to his toes. His brother’s fingers curled beneath Lucerys’ chin. A softer, kinder kiss was pressed to his crown, and yearning opened up in him like an old wound.

“I’ve missed you…” Jace whispered against Lucerys’ dark fringe. Longing resounded in his voice, spanning deep like the roots of a tree.

Lucerys swallowed, a strange sense of guilt left him feeling hulled. A part of him wanted to feel what his brother did as well, yet there were still pages torn from their story in his mind; pages he feared he may never recover.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t-“ He stammered, frightened that his husband may be slighted by history Lucerys had forgotten…

“I know,” Jacaerys soothed, thumb pressed to the cleft in Lucerys’ chin. A dizzy back and forth was etched in his flesh by the callused pad of his husband’s finger.

When his brother kissed him a second time, it was a slower exchange. Jacaerys’ mouth and tongue coaxed his into action. It was evocative, sensual, reciprocal; dragonsong. It was the stoking of embers, the spreading of wildfire to every corner of his being.

“On the bed,” his brother growled, a crass hand swatted his bottom.

Lucerys nodded.

Their robes were placed aside and Lucerys settled upon the bed, skin bare and pulsing hot.

He laid carefully upon his stomach, firelight licking at his back. His face burned as he arched his back, his bottom sticking out in subtle invitation.

The bed dipped beneath the addition of another body and Lucerys drew in a steadying breath. His lungs were coated with the aroma of white oak and an open flame; heady and thick. His hindbrain secreted pacifying pheromones that left him strangely at peace.

He was going to be claimed, he realized, holding fistfuls of sheets. He would be mounted like a broodmare…

A warm hand grazed his spine.

A breath that smelled of figs and blood wine caressed his ear.

“What are you doing?”

Laid upon his stomach, Lucerys should have felt vulnerable; his neck was left exposed. He tilted his head against the bedding, curls loose as he caught the corner of his husband’s statuesque visage knelt upon the bed.

“I-” Lucerys swallowed, mouth uncomfortably dry. Even now, as bare as the day he was born, he was meant to exude aplomb. Jacaerys clearly desired a confident lover.

“I am not so naive, journals and written accountings detail that being upon one’s stomach is the most efficient way to ensure a successful mount…”

Jacaerys’ expression remained unreadable, but then he chuckled that pleasant sound that buzzed in Lucerys’ ears.

“...a successful mount.” Jacaerys echoed to himself with a shake of his damnable silver head. Lucerys flushed hot with embarrassment, feeling anything but confident.

A warm hand settled upon the small of his back. The simple touch inspired a strange building pressure. Jacaerys’ lips touched his ear and Lucerys exhaled a flustered sound into the bedding.

“You have spent too long with Andals that do not know how to fuck…”

His husband’s voice dripped thick and hot into his skull, like honey, or blood. His quim clenched. His husband seemed intent on showing Lucerys the error in his ways.

“Fucking is a pleasure. And Omegas were made to be pleased.”

There was lightning in Jacaerys’ voice, raw power, like the crackling of logs in the hearth.

“Here,” Jacaerys murmured, “turn over.”

He blinked up at him, at his pale hair, at his violet eyes that were nearly glazed black, at the sharp contrast of gold light and rich velvety shadows painted by the hearth across his husband’s body. His mouth had grown wet at his lean abdomen and sturdy shoulders, at his firm chest and strong arms…

A picturesque virile Alpha.

“There you are,” Jacaerys hummed, eyes so very fond.

His thighs are eased apart and Jacaerys settled between them. Each touch exchanged between them felt like it might set them alight. Mere kindling to a fire.

Every sensation titillated and overwhelmed.

A finger trailed featherlight from the hollow of his throat to the spot above his navel where that building pressure persisted. He was left gasping. Tears beaded in his eyes.

“Mm,” Lucerys sighed, unaccustomed to such intimacy, such nearness as his husband caressed the spot as the feeling worsened.

His fingers dipped lower toward the dark mound of his quim, wiry curls matted with slick.

Lucerys’ hips leapt from the bed with a cry at the barest touch. A clever, knowing thumb unveiled his bud, teasing it. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting his temples, inevitably soaking into his loose curls.

His husband’s damp fingers teased along the seam of his quim; leisurely, as if skimming the lines of a book he had read before.

He felt as a digit slipped down to the knuckle into his velvety embrace.

“Jacaerys,” He croaked. The concave dip of his stomach quivered as his husband’s attention returned to the pink ache of his bud; his fingers made a lewd sound, so thoroughly wetted with slick.

Jacaerys’ silver head lowered with a knowing look and began to kiss him breathlessly; each press of Jace’s lips against his own selfishly stole what air remained in his lungs, and good sense from his mind.

He anchored a fist in his husband’s pale hair if only for an ounce of control, to claim something in return.

He sucked on Jacaerys’ tongue when it dipped into his mouth; he felt his husband’s body shake with a melodic swell of his subvocals.

“When I claim you, it shall be like this,” Jacaerys murmured through spit-slick lips into Lucerys’ panting mouth, their foreheads were pressed together, tacky with dried blood and sweat.

“Not for a ‘successful mount’, but so that I may look upon you, so that I may see the pleasure writ across this face,” His husband paused mouthing at Lucerys’ jaw, weight steadied on a forearm, Jace gazed down at him with such longing, “to have gone six years without it, ‘tis a crime against our nature. Yours and mine.”

Lucerys longed to pry the words apart, like field dressing a fresh kill, to permit nothing to escape his grasp nor understanding. Yet, his husband’s fingers grazed his cunt once more and all sense was lost, bleeding from the pulsing, open wound of his weeping gash.

A few fingers glided into his heat, effortlessly and Lucerys moaned. Ashamed of how easily his body had been reduced to something so carnal.

He was lost in the pleasure, the thick haze of pheromones in his head, and the scent of Jacaerys in his lungs.

When his hips leapt once more, it was to chase the rhythm of Jacaerys’s fingers spreading him open; shaping the walls of his quim like a smith molded metal — with patience and dedication.

His husband’s digits sought deep, fingers squelching amidst the sticky nectar and slick flesh. Without preamble, that knot of tension above Lucerys’ navel was pulled so readily to its limits, fingers pressing at the tender raised flesh until the tension broke.

Lucerys yowled, the sensation smarted, whip-fast as he came undone. His cocklet, stiff and yearning just above the seam of quim, spurted a few delicate ribbons of white against his stomach and chest. His quim gushed as a more potent release took hold, soaking around his husband’s fingers and onto the bed. A pleasure swallowed him so readily that he could not make sense of an end or beginning.

A garbled stream of hybridized Valyrian and common peppered his ears like a rain of arrows.

“There you are,” Jacaerys huffed, eyes ablaze with awe, “Issa lēkia.”

“ābrazȳrys…” he snarled, “mate…”

His body, so laden with pheromones only longed for one thing. To be claimed.

What power you wield, dear brother.

Jacaerys had tasted his blood once already. Surely he wanted more, needed more, needed to sink his teeth into Lucerys’ neck, where his bonding gland lay pristine and untouched.

“I, I need-”

“I shall give you what you need, wife.”

Pangs of longing littered his flesh, like ground glass in raw meat. He watched, mouth wet as Jacaerys’ cock swayed heavy and thick between well-muscled thighs.

It seemed impossibly large then; too large.

“Mm, b-brother… it won’t-”

“It will fit,” Jacaerys assured with a smile that Luke wanted terribly to believe, a brief kiss was pressed to Lucerys’ lips, “you were made for this,” another kiss, “you were made for me.”

Lucerys nodded, permitting his body to fall slack, tensionless, sedate with pheromones and supplicant for his Alpha.

The fattened head of his husband’s cock rubbed slowly along his quim, gathering nectar along the girth.

His stomach quivered as the glistening crown of Jacaerys’ manhood pressed obscenely large to Luke’s quim, puffy and pink.

“Shh,” Jacaerys soothed. His thumb toyed with Lucerys’ bud, rubbing tender little circles as the head applied a hint more pressure.

His legs spasmed as pleasure frothed in his belly.

He whined, the lips of his quim stretching to welcome the thick, drooling head.

His hips inched higher as Jacaerys’ eased lower. He envisioned the steel-tipped head of an arrow piercing the soft cushion of a straw-stuffed target.

The lips of his quim opened like a flower in bloom.

Jacaerys held himself painfully still as Lucerys mewled beneath him at the thin barrier of his maidenhead halting his brother’s path.

His brother kissed the salty spill of his tears; seeming to savor them as readily as he had Luke’s blood.

He awaited the agony that every maester and septa warned young Omegas of, for a geyser of blood to burst from between his thighs as his Alpha sank down to the bulb of his knot.

Yet, as Jacaerys finally slipped completely inside, it wasn’t at all as violent as Lucerys had imagined. It stretched the walls of his quim to what felt like its limits, certainly, but, the sensation did not inspire any pain. Rather, it felt like a wound being sewn shut, flesh knitted together, a sword in a sheath, a sense of completeness so profound that he wished to weep.

Oh.

“There you are,” Jace panted, a wry turn to his lips before his hips eased back.

A hand cradled his jaw as they laid, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Blood upon their skin, sharing the same dewy breath.

One flesh, one heart, one soul…

The motion of Jacaerys’ hips was fluid, they beat against him as wrathful as the gale upon the sea. Every wave threatened to drag him under. Devastatingly beautiful.

Lucerys gasped, mouth agape as his brother’s eyes stared into his. Jacaerys’ hips pumped, large cock pushing and pulling his insides; molding him anew.

There was a harmony to it, the creaking of the bed, the crackling of the logs, the wet rhythm of Jacaerys’ hips colliding with his. The blood-red canopy above the bed quivered like a razed kingdom behind his husband’s silver head.

He dug frantic nails into the muscle of his brother’s back. He felt power. True power rippling beneath his fingertips.

The broad tip of his brother’s manhood found the raised flesh tucked away within his walls upon every thrust; pleasure spiraled and screamed within him.

Jacaerys’ grip tightened around his jaw. He began to lose track of what limbs were his and which were not.

Barely-there breasts bounced with every thrust, grazing his brother’s muscled chest. His nipples pebbled stiff as they scraped against Jacaerys, the sensation worsening the tension that tangled in his belly.

His quim fluttered, each pulse yearned to draw his husband deeper.

Lucerys dug a heel into the flexing muscle of his husband’s buttocks, urging him faster.

He mewled. Beyond words. Thrashing to bare his neck; recalcitrant and desperate. That only made Jacaerys fuck him harder.

Bloated stones, swollen with seed, slapped against Lucerys’ milk-white bottom.

Jacaerys’ free hand dug into the pliant flesh of Lucerys’ soft little bottom, urging his narrow hips to meet every harrowing plunge of Jace’s cock.

The wet lips of his quim, stretched thin, kissed the bulbous swell of Jacaerys’ knot upon every perfect union of their hips.

He urged his hips down, guided by his brother’s hand, yearning in a primal mania to have that knot inside of him.

The head of his brother’s cock kissed his womb, caressing that soft pink channel on every deep thrust.

His insides felt molten, like the flesh may slough off his bones at any moment. Like every cant of his brother-husband’s hips urged a tongue of dragonfire to lap at that sacred place. The place he yearned to have filled.

Jacaerys offered the dripping length of his tongue and Lucerys suckled upon it readily, filled by him so completely.

He anchored himself to his husband, nails caught upon the rippling muscle of his back.

He has no words left to give, save for a garbled string of “please”. 

“Are you close, my love?”

Jacaerys asked, voice little more than a growl, his forehead pressed to Luke’s.

Lucerys thrashed at the delicious torment of his building release, tears streamed down his cheeks. He was close, horrendously so. 

His husband’s lips found his, drinking deeply of his anguish.

The cadence of his husband’s thrust had grown all the more ardent in response. The very bed seemed to quake. Yet all he could see was Jacaerys, the silver of his hair, the violet of his eyes, Lucerys’ own blood painted upon his skin…

“Please!” Lucerys cried out, drunk upon the scent of white oak and an open flame, burning with a longing writ in their shared blood upon his very bones. Stripped of all constraints and vanity, he was simply an Omega in dire need of his Alpha.

When he arched his neck, his husband hadn’t the will to refuse a second time. He mouthed at the spot that so dearly needed attention, he adored it with his lips and tongue.

Each thrust fucked him so deeply into the rich, sweat-soaked featherbed. He arched, yowling at the unbearable sensation of his husband’s broad head at his womb.

“Once more, wife,” Jacaerys panted, breath hot as dragonfire ghosted along his lips, “come for me, brother. Shower me in your love.”

His bud was found and assaulted with the unrelenting press of sword-callused fingers; Urging him and higher.

And in a moment, he was undone, his release snapped like their chord of blood-red and gold and his world shook like all of Dragonstone would fall apart around them. His release gushed from his stretched-wide quim, drenching his husband and the bedding further. Jacaerys growled a deeply pleased guttural sound, his hips continued to pump into the squelching mess of Lucerys’ dripping sex, the firm grip of his hand cradled Lucerys’ jaw, forbidding him from looking elsewhere, at anything but Jacaerys.

He could only watch as a trembling look of awe passed over his husband’s face.

Jace’s hips surged forward and Luke bowed off of the bed at the undeniable ache of his husband’s knot popping inside. The thick head pressed against the slender pink opening of Lucerys’ womb. His thighs shook. Teeth were at his neck, kissing then breaking the skin. The bite was clean and perfect and unifying. Lucerys cried out towards the blood-red canopy above them. In that moment he saw a burst of color behind his eyes: the endless rainbow of their combined dragonfire. A third sharp release was upon him; brief and blinding. His cocklet spurted weakly, his quim clenched, milking the fattened bulb of his Alpha’s knot. A desperate whine fell from his lips as he felt it begin to swell. They were tied now, irrefutably: in body and blood.

His unspooling mind retreated to their vows once more as his brother’s seed distended the concave of his belly —— one flesh, one heart, one soul.

A rumbling purr started in his chest and his fingers wound through Jacaerys’ silver hair of their own volition. It was an intrinsic need as primal as the ache to purr, was the need to touch his brother. His husband. His mate.

He became prey pinned beneath his Alpha. His toes curled in atavistic delight.

He felt unbearably whole like he had found his missing piece.

When his brother’s lips inevitably withdrew from the fresh site of Lucerys’ bondmark, he was overcome with the bone-deep urge to weep. Yet, Jacaerys soothed him with a low, nearly musical flange of his subvocals that said, ‘Rest easy, little brother. I am here.’ Lucerys felt the spike of pacifying pheromones filling his frantic hindbrain, putting him promptly at ease. He felt the press of an aquiline nose to his temple, gentle and familiar. He fought his body's need to fall slack and submissive, instead twisting stubbornly upon the bed if only to feel the tug of his Alpha’s knot keeping them tied. A satisfied prickle of overstimulated tears stung his eyes. A dutiful tongue lapped at the slow ooze of blood from the site upon his neck.

A tug persisted at the base of his skull. A nascent thing through which all flowed. Their bond.

There was no word so apt for his current state other than claimed. Even still, adrift within the overwhelming emotion of it all, Lucerys sought some semblance of assurance; some logic to the disorder Jacaerys had made of him.

His mind scrabbled for clarity, despite how his eyelids drooped and his limbs curled into the preternatural heat of his Alpha’s body, wrapped in the woodsy aroma of white oak and the bittersweet bite of an open flame.

He fell deeper still into a place so utterly content as an aquiline nose and warm lips nuzzled fondly at his hairline. It was not long until whisps of vanilla and browned butter roamed in fragrant curls from his sweat-slicked skin.

“I’ll be going soon,” Lucerys said amidst a yawn as firm fingers pressed warm divots into the underside of his thigh.

“Going where, precisely?” Jacaerys asked, indolent, but displeased. The emotion trickled over, like rainwater through a leaking roof. Lucerys frowned at the feeling.

He thought of propriety, of what he’d been taught of formal marriages such as theirs.

“To my own chambers, husband,” Lucerys informed, though he hadn’t the strength to lift his head while he spoke.

“I could use the rest,” he added sweetly, knowing an Alpha’s ego was utterly in want of stroking.

Jacaerys exhaled through his nose before Lucerys felt its straight bridge touch the upturned curl of his own.

“Mm,” his Alpha hummed, “then rest.”

Longing poured over as a hand settled at the dip in Lucerys’ waist where they lay.

“You are my wife now, Lucerys. My chambers are yours.”

Curious, he thought to himself.

It brought to mind a memory formerly lost to him…

“Let me in!” Lucerys demanded in a nasally whisper, lips pressed to the crack in the door.

“Jace-”

The door budged far enough for him to catch the gleam of his elder brother’s silver-gold hair and he felt a swell of victory.

“I can’t let you in, Luke. Mother will have my head-”

“She will not! Oh, Jace, she won’t catch us. She never does.”

Jacaerys’ face twisted in a conflicted expression, but in his heart, Lucerys knew he had won. The door swung open and Lucerys rushed inside. His hand clasping with his brother’s pulling him towards the bed.

“You mustn’t make a sound, hm?” Jacaerys warned, a finger held to Luke’s lips.

Lucerys nodded giddily.

“I won’t. I promise.”

As the memory faded, Lucerys found himself unbearably drowsy, his head pressed to a strong chest, his cold little feet tucked to the backs of warm knees, as familiar as the lines traversing his palms.

I had mastered you once brother, he thought to himself as he squirmed closer into the cage of his husband’s arms, I can do it again.

[thatwashhingmashine]

A Fitting name..

Although her mother denied it, Maegora Targaryen knew she was not meant to be born and the evidence of it was in her name.

Concieved in a drunken night by Lady Rhea Royce and Prince Daemon Targaryen, her mother despised her the moment she realized Daemon's child was growing on her belly and no matter how hard she tried or how many moon tea she drank, she couln't get rid of it.

The day of her birth was even worse, as the fruit of her union with Daemon was now existing and she was sure the little loinfruit would grow up to be just like her father, if not worse. So she came up with a name fitting for the occasion: Maegora, the female version of the name of the usurper that just a few decades ago had terrorized the seven kingdoms.

When prince Daemon found out, he was livid. He and Lady Rhea spent hours screaming on their chambers, before the first stormed out and flew away from Runestone. Since that day, Maegora would see her father intermittently through the years, Always with a new gift in his hands for her. While her mother teached her archery, her father teached her how to ride a dragon, and even helped her to bond with Vermithor, the bronze fury.

Years passed and while her father was away fighting on the stepstones, Lady Rhea suffered an accident while hawking, and died from a head injury. When her father came to claim runestone on her right, he was refused by the Lady Jeyne Arryn, who took her as her ward and forbid him from entering the vale

Now 23, Maegora traveled all the way to Dragonstone to meet his father’s new wife, Princess Rhaenyra, and her half-sisters by her father’s second wife: Baela and Rhaena. Unbeknownst to her, a threat rises upon them, one that will not allow her to be at peace for a long time.