#dyana sweet girl. get out of there

[xthecaptainssaviorx]

Tom Glynn-Carney as Aegon ii Targaryen in the new House of the Dragon season 2 promo

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Will you forsake me, my love? And the babe I carry?❞

[ You had made a mistake. A slip up. You had overlooked the extent of Otto Hightower and his greed. Now you must make it right... or pay in fire and blood. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 5,504 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt-wife!reader (aegon's twin sister),

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader— gets darkish but not yet dd:dne - targcest, angsty as fuck, pregnancy - nsfw: p & v sex, oral (male receiving) - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i... actually dunno how i got here tbh. thankfully, this isn't dead dove quite yet, but you, yes you, as jace's manipulative targ wife, almost did, girl, jfc. ahahaha! comments, reblogs & like at will, mwa! 💝 + now that there is a second part, and a third part i'm plotting (uh huh), this is officially a series!! its v loosey goosey, but it'll have a masterlist so... it means it has a taglist! message me to be tagged 💝 & if there are any drabbles/blurbs you wanna see!! message me lmk!! i have so many thoughts about jacey & manipulative reader hehe + dividers by @danowh0re

The only warning you receive is the missive hastily made by your twin.

In his panic, Aegon's scrawl had been barely legible, but the cold sweat that shot through your spine at making sense of the text had you keening over; fingers over your mouth, a dangerous gurgle in your stomach.

The world tilts, the air sucks inward.

Fear... Cold, weightless fear, settles in your heart.

"Princess!" Your maid, Dyana, shrieks, hands grasping your elbows to prevent you from falling. She turns to the door. "Call the maestre back! Now!"

You shake your head rapidly. "No, no. No Ser Addam. I am alright."

"But princess—"

"No, Dyana, I am alright." But you are pale, and a thrum shakes through fingers, rattling your ribcage and trying to yank your heart out of your throat. You have to find your footing or all will be lost. You grab Dyanna's arms and she winces. "Tell me- the prince - where is he?"

"I'm not sure, princess, I can—"

"Quickly! We shan't lose precious more time."

You turn to Meera. You had invested in her from the early age you had taken her in from the orphanage. Loyalty, in its absolution, must be rewarded.

And ease for your own plans can be disguised as a reward.

She steps forward obediently, hands clasped behind her back like a soldier awaiting orders. She is nondescript with plain features, easily able to hide between other common folk; and no one, truly, looks at a maid.

"Go to the Sea Dragon Tower, wait on the Rookery for Johan. Only Johan, do you understand me? Keep the missive that I will dictate to you close to his heart, hidden, and he must depart immediately. Throw extra gold at the captain, I do not care. Meera, no other eyes must touch the paper I will send, tell him of the utter import such a thing. No other than another Spider. We cannot unravel further than this or we will start burning."

Meera's gaze darkens, her posture straightening. "Yes, your grace."

You grasp her hands, your mind whirring— so many plots, so many lies, in between them, he flashes in your mind; the dark hair, the warmth of his hand, the sweet, simpered smile and the flicker of rage that dances like a flame. In and out and calmed and wild.

Dutiful. A Perfect Son. A Beloved Prince. Your Lord Husband.

He flashes in between plans and unraveled lies. Along it, Aegon's missive, quickly written, panic seeping in every vowel.

Grandsire had gotten to Aemond's head. Went to Storm's End. Met Lucerys. They are calling him Kinslayer.

Your head is pounding. Kinslayer, Kinslayer, Kinslayer. It churns your stomach, dries your throat. Lucerys dead. Aemond beheaded. Jacaerys' rage. Rhaenyra's. Dark Sister in the Rogue Prince's hand. All your clever threads, your webs and tales, everything you have sacrificed to get here— they are unraveling, the lives you care about, your fondness and love — the fear has moulded and churned; the Stranger now haunting the skies, searching for names, trying to grasp for your neck.

Aemond, You, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, Jaeheara, Jaehearys, Maelor—

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Your baby brother. Marred and disfigured, dutiful and dedicated. Sarcastic and princely; dancing with you if you ask. Reading with him in the library. A flickering hearth, a kind eye, a protective arm.

Your baby brother, beheaded, gaping mouth and bloodred eye.

Justice spun and spun, but oh so corrupted when they had taken his eye and no name step forth to claim.

Disfigured, marred, and dead.

Focus, you think, your mouth moving, words spilling, plans stretching. Focus.

Otto Hightower must die. It is a pressing thought, digging into the centrefold of your mushy, wet brain. Pressing and pressing like a fever as words of instructions, orders, must be sent along one spider to another.

Your hand drifts to your stomach as Meera leaves, in her head the words that must reach King's Landing. That must pass only the cleverest of hands. Your hand curls, your fist tightens enough that blood clots and beads through crescent rings. Clever girl. Clever spider. You have to believe in Meera and the people under your hushed employ.

You have no choice. You have built your webs, you must trust your spiders.

Not when you can't even trust your own fucking blood.

It took a while to get your network going in Dragonstone. As soon as the smell of brimstone and dragon broached your nostrils, the plans for moving what you had started in Kings Landing became the forefront plan. There is only so much movement you can make in a board full of enemies; and with so many more things to do, you cannot be restrained.

People with stakes, with ambitions and wants of their own— be that money, a good future, a house with warmth and love — if you can provide it enough, dash it in enough kindness and care, people, like ants, could move mountains for you.

It took most of hyour life to have what you established in Kings Landing. Most of your free time— feiging afternoon teas, walks along the garden; young lady things that will not arouse suspicion, fit for a pious, devoted daughter of Alicent Hightower — was spent building and building webs.

Thankfully, as a Princess of the Realm— and as the future Heir's wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms (the title tingles and throbs, comes alive in gasps and winning hands) — you can have your pick of maids and lady in waitings here too. Connections are important, and Jacaerys did not bereaved you of choice.

In fact, he so encouraged you to make changes to Dragonstone as you so chose fit.

"You are my wife," he sighed, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of your head. When he was wrapped around you like this— arms around your torso, a finger, almost absentmindedly, rubbing just the underside of your breast, and the smell of him, boyish but smoky, like a fireplace and first kiss, swaying you to a rhythm he is fond of, absentminded almost — it reminded you of how Vermax oft like to wrap around small hills and large rocks. A dragon mimicking another dragon; a twin soul so connected.

He sighed again as you run your own fingers against the back of his palm, against the side of his head behind you. "You may do so as you wish," he finished, nuzzling further into you as if he wants no more than to become one with you, flesh and blood. An engorged monster of sorts.

"Just your wife?" you teased. The wedding had only been a few moons ago. The missive had been immediately sent to Kings Landing (under your orders, of course, your new husband none the wiser as he had preferred a few more days of just you), and before lunch, your hand on Jace's thigh, his eyes more than hungrily looking at your lips— Caraxes screech alongside Syrax' wing pattern shook the walls, demanding answers.

Jace had looked nervous for a second, not at all prepared to be facing his mother so soon, his Queen, and his stepfather... whose own daughter he was supposed to marry. Better prepared to face all of them in Kings Landing was his plan.

But you had grasped his hands, had mounted girlish excitement shining in your eyes (an expression so familiar to you to adopt that it so perfectly hides the sharp edges of your excitement; your smugness. It oft reminds you of Aemond)— and Jacaerys had melted.

"My Queen," he reimbursed. You turned as his hands cupped your face. Gentle, possessive in its own way. You sighed, eyes fluttering close with a small, satisfied smile on your lips. "My beautiful queen."

A Maiden in love is not a hard thing to emulate. And he does not make it hard to be.

On some days, you even think it will be easy to actually fall in love with him. You already do so feel his warmth for you permeate your own being. His attention is addicting for one; it is whole and preserving. He makes it known when he is looking at his lady mother, at Baela, his former betrothed (who had given you a meaningful eye when Rhaenyra and Daemon escorted you back to Kings Landing to face the rest of your consequences), and other ladies of the court versus when he is looking at you.

He does not hide his adoration. His so obvious desire.

When you reward him for his loyalty, for private little ticked boxes you keep for him— siding with you in arguments, defending you upon ugly whispers in the Keep, requesting from his mother, a more permanent residence of your own in Dragonstone, in the guise of newly wedded bliss to hide growing your connections far and wide (once Rhaenyra takes the throne, Jacaerys will be named Heir and Prince of Dragonstone; your spiders and people must reach each end of Westeros, and Dragonstone is the perfect central chatter) — you mount him and bask at the lust contorting his features, at his hands gripping your waist in a staccato rhythm of feeling and gasp, each harsh bounce of your hips sending you both to bliss. You feel him inside you so deeply, enjoy his eyes rolling back and exposing his neck for you to sink bruises on.

Most oft, he enjoys mounting you. And you like the alternative of his choice to be buried so deep you feel him in your throat; to hold you down and hold you close, telling you to keep your eyes open for him as you come undone again and again— time and practice can manage his newness to the act. His enthusiasm, both for the act and for you, definitely helps his case, and he is so fond of finding your pleasure, of leading you to the precipe, so addicted to your sounds and writhes.

"There? Is that it, little dragon?" he huffs against your mouth, so attentive as he held your wrist and watch as you gasp, your face twisting as he hits that point inside of you, that sweet, sweet spot of undeniable pleasure buried so deep within— that he laughs. Not meanly, but of pride as he pulls back and hits it again. More insistent. You mewl and scratch his back, your toes curling as you seek the pleasure he so enjoys insisting you into.

"I've found it again, didn't I?" Another snap of his hips, another cry of your lips. "I will fuck your sweetest spot until you- are- crying- my name in that sweet, sweet whine of yours, shall I?"

But it's not really a question privy to an answer, surely not by your own mouth but by your body, as he manhandles you easily and does not stop until you are a quivering, overstimulated mess against wet sheets.

Sometimes, when you can't help but reward him as soon as possible— so excited from his gallant display; the perfect King bowing to his wife — you drag him to shadowy corners and solemnly drop yourself on your knees, unlacing his breeches with deft precision. You place your hot mouth against his manhood, your eyes fluttering delicately, making him reach completion enough times that he is left with a dopey, simpleton of a smile afterward, a soft, chaste kiss against your your head, your nose, your lips. So tender to how he was fucking your mouth not but seconds ago.

"I love you," he whispers against hot skin and cool, salty air.

And it eases, every time he looks at you like that, holds like you that. His love is patient, sweet, kind, and devouring. It overflows and seeps into you that when you whisper back, just as soft, just as troublingly honest, "Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes, I love you, my dragon," the truth of them bleeds further and further into your heart.

Jacaerys.

A warm grief swells within you. Your hands twitch, flattening your grief beneath your chest, deep in your gut. Deep below. You fought hard to be here. You cannot lose him now.

Otto Hightower must die.

A cruel thought, a natural order. With your marriage to Jacaerys meant a relative peace, a truce. Moving to Dragonstone many moons was more than just to establish your position, your future. It was also for your darling sister to take better control of her position back in the centre of power, alongside her husband.

Aged well with a stronger alley who most would not dare defy— a vainglorious guard dog, really, one who isn't afraid to sic people with a mere nod from his master — more than evens out the playing field.

The Queen To Be is prospering. And in her prosper, meant your husband's position more than fulfilled. He was to be King, and with you as his Queen, his reign will want for not.

You should have known it would put Otto on defense, would panic and use your siblings and your poor, nervy mother, to move in unfeasible decisions.

Aegon had taken to calling him grandsire again. Aemond... Your spiders had told you that Lucerys was sent to Storm's End as no more than a casual reminder of Lord Borros' oath. Viserys was in no doubt in worse conditions than he had been the last time you or your husband had visited him. Rhaenyra was settling on her position, reminding the Great Houses which heir was meant to rise soon, so close to the changing of the guard.

And your little brother no doubt was moved in panic.

This was a slip up on your part. Once the King was dead, Otto Hightower would hold no cards; Rhaenyra would never take him as Lord Hand, and his daughter would no longer be a foreground of power. Rhaenyra has her heir. The winning hand is more than ensured on her part.

His only move would be an usurpation, and would ruin your chance at being Queen... it was a good move. Your twin was not made for duty whilst you craved it. He knows you better than you know yourself; you will not be played in his palm. You would be useless to him.

"I should have killed him," you murmur to yourself.

Yna, the last maid in your arsenal, steps forward. She is the youngest of your main three wards, and the newest. She is still learning her letters, but she is young and always eager to serve.

"My lady?"

"I am going to find the prince. Whatever happens, tell them Vermax must not leave with his rider. Make up any excuse you must. My husband must stay in Dragonstone until I say otherwise." You raise your chin, tone icy. "Anyone who dares to defy my orders will be beheaded."

"At once, princess."

Your steps are measured, your breath held between lie and tongue. So many pretty rings on your fingers, twisting and twisting at the idea of the confrontation plagues you.

But you raise your chin. You will not be defeated. All is not lost.

Dyanna had caught you at Aegon's Garden, windblow hair and wide, fearful eyes.

You had braced yourself. "The Prince?"

"The Stone Drum, my princess, he is..."

"Angry," you supplied. She nodded jerkily. "Tell me everything."

"The Prince was talking with Ser Robert, was about the missive sent from Kings Landing says Kevan, not soon after your own." Another spider, one that follows most of your husband's movements. Unassuming and quick on his feet. A good soldier. "Prince Lucerys is alive but badly maimed." The breath you had withheld between grit and fright unrolled, the world slamming back into the ground in a giant's fitful wake. "He still hasn't woken up, says Arrax took most of the damage— one wing torn but is awake. Dunno about recovery for dragons, 'specially against Vhagar. Mournin' the prince, Kevan says. Makin' loud, sad dragon noises."

"But he is alive?" you pressed. Aemond's life hung in its balance. Your sweet, vengeful baby brother who bore his tragedies between muted teeth and rage.

"Yes."

"And Aemond?"

"No word in the missive or between them." It made your throat tight, the convulsion restraining your neck once more.

"It's fine. As long as there no mention of his death. Then that's all I need."

"My lady, there's more. There might be a reason we haven't been getting much word from King's Landing. Or Oldtown. It seems to connect is all."

Your pulse jumped. "Tell me later. I have to see to the prince. No one is allowed in Stone Drum for the time being. Not unless absolutely necessary." You think and you think hard. "Ready to call in a maestre."

Dyanna had looked alarmed when you left her, but you only gave a pensive smile. A soldier's nod.

He is bent over the Painted Table, shoulders so hunched, reminding you of monsters and tall tales. A dragon, really. He may not have Velaryon blood, your husband, but you— nor others — could deny the thrum of fire in his blood. Roiling and boiling, so engulf in his rage, his voice is quiet at the approach of your footsteps.

"You have bound me to Dragonstone," he says calmly with all the quiet rage you can hear in your very soul. It makes you shiver, but you stand resolute.

He is still turned away, away from you, palms flat on the surface. The iron brazier is lit up, and so is the Painted Table itself.

"Can you honestly tell me you won't try and kill my brother if I let you, ñuha valzȳrys my husband?" you say softly. You plead. His refusal to turn to you spikes your madness in corners. The night reaches and you finger your rings as you try not to spill all over the floor; your own madness, your own fears, your quiet, quiet webs. "Aren't you at least satisfied at the thought of your stepfather excelling at planting Dark Sister to his neck? At least cheery at the idea of him suffering inside those dungeons?"

He spins then, rage—white hot and spilling — breathes as he bellows, "He has harmed my brother!"

You calmly met his gaze. "You do not know that for sure."

He laughs without mirth, arms wide and daring. Crazed anger outlandish and wild, while in response you tighten and become small.

But you do not cower. No truth cowers. And you are a princess. A dragon the same as he.

Lest all, he is a mere husband.

"What else could it be? Your brother has called us bastards our entire lives," he spits. "Neither of us are blind to his dark looks. Despite your family's attempted plots, his rage beholds him. His grudge is stronger. He attacked Lucerys, on fucking dragonback— Arrax, a dragon Luke has barely flown against your brother's war dragon — and that makes him a kinslayer."

Your blood leaps, and you cannot control your own fear, your own anger. "Do not throw that word around so carelessly, Jacaerys! My brother has killed no kin!"

"He has tried, " he hisses and it makes your eyes burn because he has never looked at you so before. At his thunderous footsteps to reach you, to aggravate you, you fight the urge to flinch. His anger spills and spoils you. You try not to curdle. You keep yourself braced. Kinslayer is so ugly said aloud. "That is enough of a brand to call him kinslayer."

Your jaw tightens, tears unleashed from your eyes and there's a glimmer there— a spark, of your Jace. Your husband. It is small and short, a comet so faint it is almost nothing, but it is there.

He does not like to see you cry, your Jace. Not if it isn't from pleasure.

You raise your chin. "My brother is no kinslayer. Lucerys is alive. Do not make Aemond what he is not."

He laughs humourlessly against your face, his hand reaching for your jaw, thumb over your chin, but the mock gentleness wounds you worse. "And who has alerted you of the news? Your twin usurper?"

"W-what?" Blood rushes to your head. Something is missing. He knows. He knows about grandsire's plans. Dyanna would have said. Dyanna didn't know. "Aegon is not an usurper," you whisper, faint but firm.

His thumb rubs against your bottom lip, his eyes tracing your face. "Is this the plan all along, then?" he says softly. "While your brother and grandsire plot to usurp the throne from my mother, and your younger brothers raise bannermen from Oldtown to Storm's End, and try to kill my own when they get the chance, I suppose your job is to warm my bed and to ensure I'm out of the fray before you kill me in my—"

His words stutter for you have slapped him. It is not the hardest move on your part, and he stops not from pain but from shock. Tears freely flow down your face now as you push him off you.

"I know nothing of these plots you speak of." That in much is true. These plots are half-assed. Made in panic and fear, and it makes you curse Otto Hightower to the depths of further Hell. "And you may bully me as you wish, husband, but I will not take it as if it does not hurt me. As if- as if I would take pleasure from your death."

He raises his chin, so defiant in his own anger that he clenches his jaw. "Are you telling me you took no part in your grandsire's plans?"

"We have been married for many moons now. I think, out of anyone on this island, amongst our family even, you would know me best. I have only ever truly bloomed in your presence," you say softly. Lies and truths are balanced so precariously; they spin and spin in a tantalising grip that even you don't know where fabrication meets honesty.

If your own lies befuddle you, why not your truths to him?

"If you are doubting me, then you are doubting our marriage, is it not?" You give a mirthless laugh of your own, chin wobbling as you brush your tears away. His eyes track your movements and his brows are furrowed. "Is it ease, that has turned you so from me? Has your doubt been seeded long before you took us to Dragonstone? To affirm your mother that you have wedded me? Yes, Aegon sent me a missive a mere hour ago. He says Aemond had been urged by our grandsire, no doubt played with as he had done so to our mother, as he tries with Aegon. With me."

Jacaerys' eyes darken. Bottomless pits of dark, dark eyes. You've grown to love them you realised.

"I will give you all the violet-eyed heirs you desire," you had purred once in your new marriage bed, having just christened (one to a few times) your new marital chambers in Dragonstone. "But I do so wish I get a babe with your eyes."

"They are hardly exemplary," Jace had said, snorting. His hand rested on your back while you rest on top of him. The air is acrid in sweat and sex, but neither of you mind. "They are not a show of Valyrian blood."

"Who cares?" You reached to dance your finger against his lashes. "A daughter with your eyes... I fear, I would spoil her rotten. She would be an absolute beauty."

"Are you calling me a beauty?" he teased, trying to hide his rosy cheeks.

"Your eyes, yes," you teased back.

"If I was such a pawn to him," you say now. "If I was using you as you so callously accused me of, why would I bother with a marriage with you? You are right, they have accused you of not being a trueborn Velaryon—" He flinches. "—So why would Otto decide marrying you was a good idea at all? Any babes I carry would be questioned, and it would serve no benefit at all if the main plot was Aegon usurping the throne. To keep you entertained? Hardly. It would serve him better, as was his earlier plan, if I had married Aegon myself."

He loses his stance, a grit in his teeth gives you way to a slow curl of possession. A renewed sense of anger. His fists clenched at his sides.

You found a thread. You don't just unspool, you decide, you will yank, and you will yank hard.

"Aegon is a firstborn male heir, even as twins. It made sense to anyone who understood Targaryen customs that marrying us would be the natural order. It did not matter any past transgressions he may have had, I keep him better. I am his tether to this world. It was obvious to anybody with eyes that if we were to marry, we would breed good Valyrian stock, our children—"

But he has lurched forward, grasping your face, seething, angry at an idea, at a diverted road.

"He wanted us to marry," you continue, a snake's hiss that it is. "But your mother sent a missive asking for Helaena's hand, and I had already told her I wanted someone else. I wanted you." You grasp his leather, pulling him to you in equal ferocity. Madness meeting a mirror. "From the very start, grandsire could not control me for my blood sung for you. I had done my very best to free my siblings from him, resigned myself to be their forever protector inside that Keep with no real power of my own, but when the Gods gave me the chance to have you, I had been selfish. I abandoned them for you. Because I wanted to be yours for a night, I was willing to have that, if it is the only moment you will grant me."

You are crying again, and lies are spinning with their truths, golden and bloodstained, but you are cracking him.

"But it was you, Jacaerys Velaryon, who had asked for my hand. You wanted to marry, whisk us away to Dragonstone, and I love you too much to blind myself to the idea of becoming your wife would not be a totally selfish act, for what act of ours would be considered selfish if it was borne out of love?" you sob hard, grasping and reaching against him, trying to shake and ruin him. "I thought you loved me, and yet here you are, accusing me of plotting? What? Usurping your mother? Killing you in your godsdamned sleep?"

"Wife, I—"

"No. I am sorry for what happened to Lucerys. But if it is vengeance that is truly what you seek, and in the morrow my brother," my choke out. "My brother would be announced d-dead, I would rather you kill me now for it seems I have not only failed them from my grandsire's clutches, I have also failed at being your wife."

Your hands reach in and pull his dagger out, and he is instinctive, a true swordsman, holding onto the dagger before your own. But you do not give up. You yank him forward so suddenly, the dagger now positioned over your heart.

You keep him there, defiant as you are. As no true dragon is afraid of metal. Metal melt in the face of dragonfire.

The tip of his dagger deepens against your skin as war rages in his own mind. Truths and lies spinning and spinning in his head, but your thread— your thread is Hightower green clung in blood and gold — and it's the brightest, twisting beneath his lids and rage. Rage and grief, the tethering madness is spilling, trying to break into the dragon's clutches—

But your Jace is strong. He holds it at bay with a fury.

It is love, it is love, it is love.

But you are not sure. And you have to be.

You have been betrayed already, your Jace cannot betray you. If you are to have a future with him as King, there must be no doubts.

You step forward, letting the blade sink against your skin. It draws blood. A few beads bloom and slide. Thick red in a string or two. It makes his jaw tighten, and you feel, almost impercibly, the strain in his hand give.

That flash of panic, panic bathed in love, in adoration, is all you need.

You grasp his hands in yours, blade nestled between two grips now, and he gasps, thinking you were going to push him away finally, but no. You hold on tight to his hands, nails digging into his skin, keeping the blade where it is before you push forward once more. The tip sinks into your flesh, blood gushes as pain explodes.

"What are you doing!? Let go!" he roars, but you stare at his eyes, brown, so pretty, framed in featherlight lashes, did he even know there are violet flecks in his eyes?

You will not harm me, you think. You realise. For you have given yourself to me body and soul. Even the Gods know.

"Will you forsake me, husband?" your voice is no higher than a whisper, than a wind's hum. It is hollow and cracking. A siren song. In the silence, it is a whip cracking against petty flesh. Against a beating heart thrumming for you. "And the babe I carry?"

Before the words register in his brain, you yank his hands again with every strength you can muster, the dagger, to hover over your stomach. Your Jace roars, pulling with his entire strength as complete fear in floods his beautiful, brown eyes. The strength propels your force of gravity, and you fall with a hard thud. The dagger is flung in the second as he reaches for you, cold-curdled terror ruining his face as he tries to make sense of where to touch you.

The fall is hard enough that you wince. And your instincts, new as it is, is to curl your hands protectively over your stomach.

"M-my heart? Does it hurt? I-I am so sorry, I-A MAESTRE, CALL A MAESTRE FOR THE PRINCESS NOW!"

Your child is strong, you have always known that in your heart.

The second you held suspicion, pressing against the tender flesh of your breast to the nausea that kicked in out of nowhere, before Maestre Gerardys had confirmed: you are with child. Your firstborn. The heir of heirs. You could not wait to meet him.

"I hope it is a boy," you murmur weakly into the darkened space of your chambers. You don't turn as Jacaerys' head snaps, his hands over your own, sat on a chair by your bedside. Relief, guilt, fear breaks and crashes in waves against him, trying to nudge you, but you don't look. You stare from your position on the bed; forward and into nothingness.

"My love," he breathes, hands against your own warm and tight. "I am so, so sorry. I shall call for a maestre—"

"No need." Your other hand moves to your stomach. An emotion glimmers in his gaze at the movement. "My babe is strong. Blood of the dragon that he is. I know him already in my blood. Call for my maid instead. Any of them. Tell them to move my things to a different room, perhaps the one above Aegon's Garden. By morn, I will fly to Kings Landing to be with my family."

Panic fills and breaks. His hold tightens. "I-If that is what you wish, we can go as soon as Maestre Gerardys says it is alright for you and the—"

You turn to him, finally, your eyes dead of emotion. "I will go for I do not think you would like your would-be murderer to sleep beside you, haunting you with a dagger. This way, I can take advice from my mother about births and the like, and you can sleep comfortably. Do not worry, I will not poison you to your child's mind. You may visit him as you would like. You might even take comfort in knowing your mother would look for him as if he were hers. She is so very motherly, I'm sure she would enjoy a grand..."

Your words drift off as he had fallen to his knees, tears soaking your hand as he presses it to his face. You feel like the Mother, looking down on a penitent. Or the Father. Or the Stranger. You feel complete, as his apologies fall in graceless, shaky exhales and sobs. The axe is in your hand. His neck is exposed.

"—I will do anything, a-anything for your f-forgiveness. Y-You can move rooms if it comforts you, I will not s-shadow your doorway, but please. Please. Do not leave me. Anything. I will do anything."

You, and you alone, is the owner of his absolution.

You smile, despite yourself.

Maybe you should reward your grandsire after all.

TAGGED (bold means I couldn't tag you: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata

[pterodactylterrace]

Why exactly did they decide to make Aegon SA the maid? In the books he never assaults anyone. He is known to have a “large carnal appetite” but it’s never mentioned that these women were forced in anyway. The closest we get is when we hear that he won the virginities of two maidens at an auction in flea bottom. Which, by my understanding, means he paid extra to be a whore’s first customer. It wasn’t some sweet innocent girl like we see in the show. The girls already worked in the brothel learning their trade. They don’t just yoink girls off the street and out their virginity up for sale.

So why include it in the show? Was it because they realized Aegon wasn’t nearly as horrible as Rhaenyra, so they had to do something?

Rhaenyra has 3 bastards that everyone knows about, but can’t say anything. Just committing open treason and no one is allowed to point it out.

She had beef with a literal 2 year old. She had multiple tantrums at her little brothers second name day hunt. Also looked right at him and compared the death squeals of a boar to the crying to children.

Suspected of killing her first husband. In the show, she shows Laenor mercy, but has no problem killing off one of his servants because they needed a body. You don’t understand! She reconnected with her uncle by fucking him on the beach at his late wife’s funeral! She just HAD to marry Daemon instead! Who cares that Laenor was in the process of recommitting himself to their marriage when she sprung this idea on him? He gets to live penniless with his boyfriend in Pentos or something! All he had to do was give up his family, his inheritance, his power, his place at court and all his wealth, along with the life of one of his father’s servants. Sure, he could have kept all those things, but then Daemon would get all broody about how he can’t openly fuck his niece!

Her second eldest is adamant he doesn’t want the Driftwood throne. She forces him to fight for it anyway rather than just quietly sending word that Luke is willing to allow Vaemond to inherit in his place.

Suggesting Aemond be tortured to learn where he heard her sons being called bastards after Luke just slashed out his eye. Not to mention that snobby “Thank you, father” that was totally inappropriate, unnecessary and sent Alicent over the edge.

In comparison, Aegon is a teenage boy who… likes drinking and jerking it. The worst thing he has done was mock his brother with a pig. Alicent corrects this behavior, and from what I can tell, the two boys were friendly towards each other after the time jump. Aemond and Aegon are chatting before dinner. Aemond stands to defend Aegon when Jace acts like he may try something. When Aemond gets punched by Jace and then pushes him to the ground, Aegon grabs Luke before he can do anythjng. Clearly they have grown close.

We see the twins at the fighting pit where Aegon allegedly goes often. How can they know that, though? Earlier in that episode Otto asks his personal guard (either Erryk or Arryk. Their names sound the same and they have the same face, I don’t know who is who) where he is and his guard admits that Aegon exploits his authority to order him away and then evades him. He admits he doesn’t have a clue what he gets up to. Then, later we see a boy with blonde hair and purple eyes, and it’s Aegon’s. No doubt in anyone’s mind. Clearly Aegon is knowingly breeding child fighters for the pit. Weird how he wasn’t there, though.

Matter of fact, the white worm just found him drunk off his ass and stashed him in the sept. That’s what he was getting up to. Getting drunk and likely paying for sex.

Now let’s analyze the scene where Alicent confronts Aegon.

Alicent is IRATE and Aegon is half asleep. Looks like he hasn’t moved in a while, tbh. Aegon asks if something happened. Don’t you think he would know if he did something? His mother reminds him about Dyana, and he seems very nonchalant about it. Not the kind of reaction you would expect from someone that just forced himself on a struggling servants. He saw it as just a bit of fun. His reaction just seems… off.

Now, we know GRRM likes to repeat plot points. One in the original series was Cersei only laying with Robert when he was drunk so she could finish him off some other way, and he wouldn’t remember. Aegon is a known drunk. There were no witnesses. Who’s to say Dyana isn’t a spy or a mole sent to fuck shit up?

She is in season 2. Why bring back an SA victim in season 2 if she doesn’t have more to add to the story? Sure, there could be a revenge arc, but from my understanding, Dyana is at a brothel in season 2. Now, did she wind up there after the Aegon incident (hard to believe considering she was given a pouch of coin to start a new life and she only made it to the end of the palace driveway) OR she went back to where she came from. Back to her mistress, the White Worm. We see she employs young women in her service. Who’s to say they didn’t make the whole thing up to try and sway more people towards Rhaenyra’s cause? Nothing makes a man look worse than SA.

So all the horrible things Aegon has done so far, has been hearsay. We don’t see anything other than him bullying Aemond when they were kids. So either the writers had to do something totally awful with his character, or it wouldn’t be such a landslide siding for Rhaenyra.

You know if they hadn’t decided to assassinate his character, it would be much closer to a 50/50 split. They also had to whitewash the hell out of Rhaenyra to make her more likable. In the books, SHE orders Vaemond’s death and feeds him to her dragon. So in the same episode they blackwashed Aegon and whitewashed Rhaenyra so the audience would root for her. Then they had the balls to say WITH THEIR WHOLE CHEST that they aren’t biased in their writing.

[achaoticeternal]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2x3 THOUGHTS

I did throughly enjoy this episode though!

***Spoilers Below!***

the change to blood over threads??? maybe i didn’t fully watch the title sequence earlier???

please be BENJICOT!!!

slayyyyyy house blackwood! NOT LITERALLY NO! the shot of all the bodies…

thank you rhaenyra for burying the twins together

BABY JACE IS PISSED

criston cole - i will literally always be your biggest hater

did aegon appoint his FUCKING FRIENDS TO THE KING’s GUARD??? this man refuses to think anything through!!!

aemond at the council, where he belongs…

Daeron mention #2

CRISTON IS USING AEMOND’S PLAN (that coin twirl though…)

LORD JASPER WYDLE - love you and your sassy cuntiness

MY SWEET RHAENA you do not deserve this

Harrenhal just looks like it smells musty

ALYS YOU BEAUTIFUL LADY

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF…

ser crispy’s hair cut…. it ain’t it sis…

What up GWANYE; you cunty bitch. I do like him though.

CALL THEM OUT RHAENYRA!!! Tell these men who is QUEEN!

Why can’t anyone support my girl Rhaena? Like DAMN

Why is Rhaenys the only sensible one???

THEY TEARING THESE FAMILIES APART AND MY HEART

Larys… just like… slither away

It is sad how much Aegon gets fucking played

i genuinely enjoy seeing all these city life scenes. I want to see more of the smallfolk always.

DYANA!!! BABE ARE YOU OKAY???

I GASPED!!! (aemond looks so good though)

THE GASP THAT I GUSPED PART 2 (and then blushed way too hard)

i support Aemond and all his future crimes (still team black though)

Lord, please take all of Rhaenyra’s pain and give it to Ser Criston cole

YES BAELA!!! SHOW THEM YOUR FIRE POWER!!! DRACARYS!!!

The sound design of the episode was exceptional

ALYS…

MILLY SURPRISE!!!! Daemon’s regret…

SHE SEES MUCH AND MORE!!!

She (Rhaenyra) still serves face even dressed as a septa

A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE!!! ALICENT KNOWS!!! BUT WAR WILL COME!!!

[silver-dragonborn]

Here are some of my thoughts on a few fics I may or may not finish due to work, real life, and depression. Episode One of HOTD gave me some new insight into Alicent Hightower and the family dynamics of the Blacks as well as the dragons...specifically Cannibal (got a crack theory for this one).

-) 1. When news of Lucerys' death breaks out, Rhaena steals a horse in the middle of the night and sneaks off to claim the Cannibal. Don't get me wrong, I love Morning and I want Rhaena to hatch her pretty pink Barbie dragon, but I'm angling for a darker turn in which Rhaena swears a terrible oath of vengeance and claims Cannibal.

I have a theory that Cannibal is a dragon-like alien who fell from the deepest corners of space and has lived this long because dragon eggs and hatchlings provide him with the nourishment he needs to replenish his strength to make the long trip back to his home planet.

However, if he were to eat a much larger dragon, like Vhagar, he'd grow in size and never have to eat a single egg again. Cannibal is unnatural and does not belong on this planet, but when this slip of a girl approaches him with promises of a grand "feast" his interest is piqued and he lowers his wing for her to climb upon his back. It's only after Cannibal devours Vhagar's corpse (bones and all) that he realizes that he finally has plenty of strength to return to the stars...but this little human has shown much courage and kept her end of the bargain...it wouldn't hurt to stay. After all, his human is a delight, and this funny human war will provide him with more dragons to feast on and make him even bigger...and stronger.

Rhaena claiming the space eldritch monster is what I need and poor Sunfyre and Tessarion are next on the menu. Also, Rhaena the Devourer has a nice ring to it.

-) 2. The older Black kids, Jace, Baela, Rhaena, and Luke, are sent back in time to avenge their family and crown Rhaenyra. Super dark because they're war-torn adults trapped in children's bodies, dealing with issues ranging from PTSD, lack of sleep, trauma, short tempers, etc. They're not in a merciful mood and will go scorched earth on the Hightowers as well as re-establish House Targaryen once more as the House not to be fucked with. Poor Rhaenyra will wonder what happened to her sweet boys while Daemon can barely recognize his daughters who are suddenly far more vicious than him.

Expect lots of gore, senseless violence, political machinations, and each Green meeting their demise. Dyana will also be making an appearance and serving as the right-hand woman of Baela because damn it, if anyone deserves justice and a happy ending it's her.

-) 3. Mourning over the loss of his son, a drunken Aegon accidentally stumbles upon Ser Cristol Cole and his mother messing around in Rhaenyra's chambers and loses his shit. His wine-addled mind causes him to blame their pair for his son's death and he proceeds to put them on trial, but not before gelding Ser Criston and flogging his mother. From there, the Greens unravel from the inside and turn on each other like rats because, by the end of the day, there is no honor among thieves. In short, Rhaenyra takes back her throne without losing any more children because the Greens turned on each other.

It just goes to show that traumatizing your kids, physically abusing them, forcing them to obsess over their older sister, and cruelly denying them their true heritage all because its "queer customs" make you uncomfortable will blow up in your face and then some.

Alicent is going to find out real fucking quick that the men she has fought for her entire life will happily throw her into the fire to keep themselves warm and that the cruelty of the Faith knows no bounds.

-) 4. Aegon makes Ser Criston Cole his Hand after sacking his grandfather. Now the second most powerful man in Westeros, Criston proposes marriage to Alicent, but like Rhaenyra before her, Alicent rejects him, reminding him of his low rank and their incompatibilities. Once again, Criston turns against another noblewoman for rejecting him, except now he has the power to make Alicent's life a living hell. Alicent realizes with cold clarity the type of man he truly is and that she should have left him to rot on Driftmark.

There is...a special kind of horror of being at the mercy of cruel, powerful men who have no respect for women. Remember, this is the same man who bashed. another man's face and tormented Rhaenyra for YEARS all because she refused to be poor with him. I will be writing Criston as he is: A petty, cruel incel who has no business being in charge. Emphasis on the cruel part...poor Alicent is not prepared for what he has planned for her nor is she prepared for how Aegon and Aemond will turn a blind eye like Viserys did. After all, Criston is the dad who stepped up, and his "sons" have inherited the worst of his traits from him.

[maybeijustwanttobeme]

Chapter 2: At the Sound of their Roar

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Female!Reader

Warning: swearing and arranged marriage.

Summary: What happened when a dragon and a lion fall in love.

Notes: Italics is in the past. Aegon still not have engage in non consensual activities (we believe in Dyana). English is not my first language.

The flags of the Lannister houses waved proudly as they reached the Red Keep. The princes Aegon and Aemond saw the small army following the lioness arrive. 

-She has always liked to make great entries.- Aegon said looking out of his mother’s bedroom window. 

-She likes to ride a horse. I don’t see how that’s a big entrance.- Aemond replied, as he looked at Aegon in disgust at the way he played with the fruit. 

-Do you think she comes in red?- despite Aegon’s mocking tone, the eldest of the brothers was curious. The Lannister girls' tradition was to wear pink until their father felt they were old enough to seek a betrothal. 

When they were old enough, they wore the characteristic red of their family. A very visual way of representing that she was a woman. 

-I don’t know. Jason wants to wait. He still thinks she is young. 

-Mother was already married, and with child at that age. Even our older half-sister was already looking for a husband. 

-I can’t imagine her being married.- Prince Aemond was uncomfortable with the idea of Y/N's marriage. The idea that she would never live with him again. Despite her seasons at Casterly Rock, she always came back to him. Knowing that another man would be the one to receive her sweet smile and laughter. Another man would get all her attention and be the one to take care of her cubs. 

-Then you should marry her.

-I’m going to marry... 

-Don’t say your whore’s name.- he interrupted. - Even I am not stupid enough to think I can marry a bastard. Fuck her, let her have your bastards, but no one would object to you marrying Y/N. 

-Why do you defend her so much. Do you like her? - since some years Aegon stopped bothering her and ignoring her, and started to be her defender. Aegon had never tried anything with her, but Aemond knew his brother’s activities. 

-No, she’s beautiful, but I respect her too much to even think of her as a woman.

-Why? I’m not sure you respect our mother. 

-It’s different. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the story.- he pours himself some wine. 

-Aegon is too early.- he tried to take his cup.  

-Go get her, and if she comes in red don't be a fucking coward and ask her to marry you.- he left with the cup of wine and left the young prince thinking. 

Aemond knew that he couldn't marry the woman he loved. Y/N would be the perfect choice to get married, but he loved another woman. He would not make her suffer what his mother has suffered so many years from being the shadow of the woman his father loved. They both deserved love. He knew he couldn’t marry the woman he loved, but Y/N still had a chance to find a loving marriage. 

***

Y/N with grace and beauty unmount her white horse. Helaena ran to greet her friend. 

-My dear Y/N, you are finally at home.- the Princess gave her a warm hug. 

-My sweet Helaena. How has everything been? 

-We should have tea together.- with that statement, the lioness knew there was new and important news. 

-My princess, I think the tea will have to be by tomorrow. My niece and I have many to talk about. - Tyland interrupted the conversation. 

-I’m sure I can have tea with the princess and with you, dear uncle.- they walked to the lioness's room. 

-Do you have time for three conversations?- Aemond caught up with them downstairs. Y/N and Tyland made the proper bow to the Prince. 

-Looks like I’m gonna have a busy day. 

They both smiled for different reasons. Y/N was happy to see his friend, and Aemond was thrilled to see that pale pink dress that fit her so well.

Helaena saw her brother’s smile and Y/N. They need their time. 

-I think we’ll have to wait for Lord Lannister.- she turned to him.- I need help looking for my mother.- Tyland understood the message and accompanied the Princess. 

-Helaena has given me to understanding that there are news.- Y/N started the conversation when they were alone. 

-You’ve been away almost eight moons. It'll take some days to catch up with every new and gossip. 

-I heard you’ve been negotiating in the Riverlands and the Vale.  

-You were well informed, Lady Lannister. 

-Let us walk in the gardens.- Aemond offered his arm, and the lioness took it with pleasure. 

Aemond told him about the journeys he had. As were the castles and the lords of each of the houses. Some rumours had not yet reached the court. 

-You have something to tell me.- she interrupted. The lioness saw how the Prince was tense and nervous. He wanted to avoid a subject, but it was consuming him.  

-How? - Aemond asked surprised by the ability of Y/N to read him. 

-You’re anxious. You play with your fingers. 

-It’s impossible to hide anything from you. I have heard that the negotiations in Highgarden with the Tyrells and the Hightowers have been a success thanks to you. You were the golden piece. 

-I’m part of the pride.- she said proudly. The Realm learned that the lioness was not only to be admired but also had claws and fangs to be feared. 

-You are the pride. 

-What thoughts are consuming you?

-My father.- they sat in the garden watching the sea. 

-How is the health of the King?

-He lost an eye. His illness consumed it. I thought I would feel some kind of satisfaction. 

-What happened? - the lioness gently held his hand to support him as he told the story.

The Queen told their children his father was losing an eye and that the family should support him as their children, and give him confidence and love. Helaena and Alicent sat next to him to tell him the stories he loved deeply. Aemond was sitting far away but always with him. Even Aegon was there for a while. When Helaena and Alicent went to rest, the young dragon promised them that he would stay with his father. When he sat by his bed, Aemond thought the pain would finally make him apologize or say something, at least about that night, but it wasn’t what he expected. 

***

The King complained that the effect of the milk of the poppy was beginning to fade. He began to wake up and Prince Aemond took his hand. 

-Father.

-Water.- the King asked his son. Aemond helped him to drink the water slowly. 

-Aemond, my boy. 

-I’m here. Your family is with you.- Aemond held his thin hand. He felt no strength from his father. He did not know him as a strong and healthy man, but he remembered his hands making his model of Old Valyria. 

-Rhaenyra? - asked the confused King. 

-She’s not here, Father. She’s still in Dragonstone with her family. We’ve sent her letters and we’ve had no response.- although the Prince tried to make his half-sister look bad in front of his father, he realized he was only telling the truth. It was they who took care of him. 

-My sweet girl must be busy. Don’t bother her with my illness anymore. 

-Sure, Your Grace. I’ll tell my mother not to send any more letters. - the King didn’t notice the irony in his son’s voice. 

-Now we’re more alike.- Visery tried to joke with him.- Although you have Targaryen traits, you have a certain resemblance to Otto. I think you inherited more from your grandfather than from your father. Do you still serve wine? - after his attack on Driftmark, his grandfather had invited him to be a cupbearer, and now he sat next to him to continue learning the work of Hand of the King. It had become clear to Otto that at least one of his grandchildren needed to learn how to run a kingdom. Aemond that night showed him that he had the determination. 

-No father. I sit next to my grandfather to learn. 

-It’s good you learn from him. I think I remember that you were learning to use the sword; now that you can’t use it, you better learn politics.- after Driftmark, his father had stopped watching them train. Aegon and Aemond concluded that he never saw them but his bastard grandchildren. 

-That is my intention. 

-Anyway, four younger kids beat you in a fight. Otto must have taught you not to start fights you can’t win, but you must teach your children that lesson. 

-You had to teach me that. You are my father. - Aemond let go of his hand and stood up from his chair. 

-I’ve been sick, boy. - Visery’s kind tone turned hostile.

-You defended them sick. - Aemond breathed and controlled their emotions as usual.- I'll fetch the Maester. Over the years, he has been perfecting an ointment so that you do not suffer what I, father. 

-Aemond!- the King tried to stop his son but failed. 

-I wish I had taken your father’s eye as yours were taken away. Rhaynera and his bastard will hear us roar. - the lioness took her free hand to cupped Aemond's cheek. 

-They will know how dangerous a dragon and a lion’s roar are. - Aemond knew he would burn cities for his lioness. She had given him a new eye and a new way of looking at life. Even though not being together, she would always have a dragon fighting beside her. 

-There’s something else you want to tell me. - the lioness was sure that his father wasn't what consumed the dragon’s thoughts. 

-My mother wants to know if you’re going to be at the Maiden’s Day ceremony this year. This year will be a grand event because Helaena will go to light her candle. She's older than you, but the finest suitors will come. 

-My Prince, the Lord Hand is calling you urgently.- one of the Hand's guards interrupted them. 

-When you want to tell me what’s really going on, you know where to find me.- she told him before he left. 

-Bring tea, fruit and cheese to my chambers. I will be with Princess Helaena.- Y/N ordered from one of her handmaiden ladies who were nearby. 

***

-Lord Hand. Lord Lannister.- Aemond greet when he arrived at the Tower of the Hand. 

-According to what my brother and nephew sent me, Y/N did excellent diplomatic work in seeking an alliance with the Tyrells. The only areas we need to secure are the Riverlands and the Vale. 

-Rhaenyra’s mother is of the House Arryn of the Eyrie. The Vale will not support our cause. I was more successful in the Riverlands, but we may encounter problems in the future. Lord Grover Tully would be in our favour, but his grandson Elmo did not agree with him. It may be a short alliance.- Aemond explained. 

-A wedding with the Tully- suggested Otto. 

-A Hightower? A Targaryen? - Tyland replied. 

-He has no daughters Grover.- Aemond reminded them. 

-A Lannister? - Aemond and Tyland went into a defensive mode with Otto's suggestion.

-Tyrell would be a better marriage option for Y/N.- Tyland said. 

-According to Y/N, the Tyrells will be with the Hightowers.- Otto knew that one of their golden piece was Y/N. They would have to seek the most advantageous marriage for her. 

-I can’t speak for my brother about Y/N’s betrothal. 

-What do you think, Aemond? - his grandfather asked.

-Have you thought of a Prince of Dorne? - Aemond did not think about the most advantageous alliance, but about the safest marriage for Y/N where she could live away from the incoming war, even if it meant stopping seeing her.

-The dornishmen are not going to participate. - Tyland said. Exactly, the Prince thought. 

-But if we have Y/N in Dorne she can force their hands to support us. If anyone can mobilize the dornishmen it would be Y/N.- the Hand calculated.

-I’ll talk to my brother. It’s time for Y/N to wear red.- Tyland called one of the guards. - Go get my niece. 

***

-Helaena, the dress is beautiful. - said Y/N looking at the princess’s blue dress. 

-It had to be a special dress. My betrothal with Aegon will be announced. 

-Oh! Everything will be fine. We both know Aegon, but it can always be worse.- Aegon was Aegon, but she knew a worse man than him. 

-I’ve thought about it a lot, and my life isn’t going to change much. I’m going to stay here near my mother, my grandfather, Aemond and for a while you. I’ll just have to breed his babies. 

-Realistically, that’s true. 

-Where do you think you might end up? - the lioness had thought a lot that her marriage was only political. If she could, she would marry near Casterly Rock or Kingslanding. 

-The Vale or the Riverlands is where alliances are needed. As long as I don’t end up in Stormlands, I’ll be fine. I don’t think a Baratheon and a Lannister can coexist. Their anger and our pride sound like a combination that can only bring disaster.- she had already rationalized almost every option. 

-They must be angry all day because it never stops raining.- Helaena said sincerely, making them both laugh. 

The Lannister guards interrupted. 

-Lady Lannister, your uncle, and the Hand of the King request your presence. 

-I will see you at dinnertime. My mother wants to see you.- Helaena said as she got up, and the handmaiden ladies took the dress with her. 

***

Upon reaching the Tower of the Hand, the three men and she made the corresponding greetings before starting with what mattered to them. 

-I’m told the negotiations have been a complete success for an alliance between the Lannisters, Hightower and the Tyrells. 

-The rumours are true, grandfather. Even Harrenhal heard of the new negotiations. Besides calling her the golden beauty, now, they also say she has a golden tongue.

-Thank you, my Prince. We have reached a commercial agreement with the Tyrells, so we do not have to marry anyone to a house that is a natural ally.- she said as she approached to explain with the maps.- Also, it will put the Hightower house above the Tyrells. Products will trade off in the ports of Oldtown and Lannisport. It is faster and safer for products to cross by sea than land. Driftmark used to take care of that, but with the war of Steptones someone has to cover it, and Lannisport can trade by sea and land. The River Road and Goldroad lead everywhere. The Tyrells had no choice because their Ocean Road only connects with Lannisport, and Roseroad only connects to Kingslanding. The Tyrells will rely on the Lannisters and the Hightowers to move their crops. 

-How did you agree to depend on these two families? A marriage would have worked better for them without compromising the Hightowers to gain even more power. - Tyland asked surprised at how a family as powerful as the Tyrells had sold out. 

-Lord Martyn Tyrell has kept a low profile because he has been ill for many years. His wife, Elinor Hightower, will be regent as there is little expectation for Martyn, and her son Lyonel is an infant.- Aemond explained.  

-It wasn't difficult to convince Elinor, but Martyn was worried that one of his bannermen would be much more powerful than them. But when they saw the possibility of obtaining more gold and a more concrete alliance with the Lannisters, the rose gave up his pride. Oldtown’s gonna have to protect the infant heir and his mother; we can afford that. They need protection and gold. - the lioness finished the explanation. 

-Thank you very much for this alliance, Y/N. The Kingdom thanks you, and we will make up for it.- Otto said as the lioness left the room. 

-It’ll have to be Elmo Tully.- Tyland said by looking at the map. 

-Not necessarily. Riverrun is very close to Westerlands, and the advantage that would give us in the territory is minimal The Trident is where we need to control and to control it, we need Harrenhal and we have it. Marrying Y/N to Elmo Tully may not bring us any real benefit. - Aemond knew history tends to repeat and that most battles took place in the Riverlands. Y/N would be sent to a very likely death. Aemond would not risk Y/N's life.

-Elmo Tully is a suitable option. - Otto was curious about how much his grandson was disgust by the mere option of Elmo Tully. 

-I'll talk to my brother personally. - assured Tyland.- Elmo Tully is a good choice and can give us control of The Trident. 

-Elmo Tully will be with Rhaenyra. We would be wasting the option that the Martells can support us.- Aemond almost growls. The dragon’s blood was starting to warm up, and Tyland might burn.- We can marry Bethany Hightower. The Tully house is not rich. With the new trade gains, we can raise the dowry.- Aemond tried to reason with both. 

-I’ll talk to my brother. - Tyland left.

The tension between Aemond and Otto grew. The whole conversation felt like a betrayal to Y/N. Aemond shouldn't be discussing her betrothal without her knowledge. 

-Why do you defend with fire that Y/N does not marry Elmo?

-We can defeat the Tully. Jason and Y/N should know... 

-If you want to marry her...-Otto interrupted. 

-No.- he interrupted back sharply. 

-You’re not marrying that whore.- his grandfather warned him. 

*** 

After a long argument with his grandfather. Aemond went to Y/N’s room, the guards announced him, and he found her about to eat a lemon cake that she liked so much. 

-Aemond! - she left the cake on the table with papers. 

-You shouldn’t be eating lemon cakes before dinner. You’re going to ruin your appetite. - he stole one of her cakes. 

-If you want more, we can ask for more.- she wiped her hands with a napkin. 

-I’m sure you only ate fruit all day. - he scolded her. 

-And cheese. - she laughed. 

-You need to eat more than that. 

-Don’t worry... - Aemond interrupted. 

-I will always worry about you. I will always take care of you as you have for me. - Aemond felt guilty for not telling her about his affair in Harrenhal and fixing something as important as her betrothal. 

-My sweet Aemond.- she took his hand as she had done in the afternoon. 

-What are you doing with all these maps? - he changed the subject by seeing several maps on her table. 

-With the North and the Vale, they have a great advantage; and they have more dragons. I’m looking for something that might bring us an advantage, but I think I’m too tired of the trip to think. - she confessed to him as he looked at the maps and she sat on the bed. 

-Driftmark, without Corlys and his wars, they are vulnerable. I heard in the small council that they have emptied their coffers, and without the trade, everything will get worse. - Aemond should not give her that information, but together, they had always thought better. 

-You are a genius! A Lannister controlling Driftmark.- she was excited about that information. He saw her mind start thinking about different scenarios. 

- A Lannister? 

-Yes, my father and brothers will not give money to a territory we can not control like Harrenhal.- after the fire in Harrenhal, the Lannisters gave money to Larry Strong to rebuild and to have control of Harrenhal and the favour of Larry Strong, who could be strange, but dangerous. 

-Which Lannister? 

-It can be Tymond with one of the daughters of Laena or...- Y/N kept silent. The mere thought made her burn in anger. 

-You? - Aemond would burn Driftmarke before she was married to one of the bastards. 

-No, because it would be Lucerys, and I would take his two eyes before he laid a hand on me.- the lioness’s eyes were as if she was going to hunt.- Vaemond has children? 

-Yes, two Daeron and Daemion.

-They can be a marriage option for me. You should bring that option to the table - Y/N knew they had run her out of the room because they were seeing the best betrothal for her. 

-I...- Aemond tried to explain. 

-I know you’ve talked about it. I know my uncle will talk with my father and he’ll come with a red dress. I can suggest and make alliances, but I don’t think I’ll have much of a voice in my future husband. I trust you to support my decision. 

-I promise you. - Aemond approached her. 

I had to tell her everything. She deserves to hear it from me, not from Aegon, Aemond thought. 

-I have something to tell you. In my travels, I fell in love.- making it longer would be harder.  

-Oh! Aemond! That’s great news. Who is it? - The lioness’s heart stopped, but she managed to fake a smile. She didn’t understand why it hurt so much. From childhood, she felt more than friendship for him; but as they grew up, she knew it could not be anything of him because their families were already allies, so she gradually took him out of her heart, but apparently the dragon's ashes were still warm.

-Her name is Alys.- Y/N interrupted 

-Alys? You can’t be in love with Alys Waxley! she’s only twelve!

-No, it’s not Alys Waxley. It’s Alys Rivers.- he immediately interrupted the sermon that came from the lioness. 

Rivers a bastard. A bastard. 

-My dear Y/N! - The Queen interrupted the conversation. 

-Your Grace- they both bowed. 

-An apologies for barely coming to see you, but I’ve had a lot of business to attend to. - the Queen was happy to see Y/N and came to give her a big hug. 

-You don’t have to apologize, Your Grace.

-Aemond, my boy, I expected to see you until dinner. - she said as she hugged his son. 

-I won’t be at dinner. I have unfinished business, but Lady Lannister has only eaten fruit, cheese and lemon cakes. She needs to eat better than that at dinner, mother - Alicent knew where her son would go. Her gaze was clear to both that the Queen was not happy. 

-You’ve always had sweet tooth. You’ll eat something better. - the Queen smiled and would have to talk again with her son about his activities in the city. 

-Your Grace, Lady Lannister.- Aemond left the room. 

-You have to tell me all about your trip. - Y/N smiled and started telling her even though her mind was just repeating the name: Alys Rivers. 

The irony with which the Gods played could even make the most serious knight laugh. 

[darkwolf76]

@emilykaldwen really got me back into HoTD with her lovely OC Abrogail, and as she and my OC Deidre are fictional sisters of House Strong, I did a little writing with the two of them, to get back in the swing of things. Very much in the spirit of the hurt/comfort prompt: "It's going to be okay. I promise you."

Deidre felt it before she heard it. Twas a peaceful night. Yet, the air tasted bitter and felt heavy in her lungs. Samwell told her the feelings were her anger over of the whole affair. How the crown had treated them, and her family, House Strong, after so many years of loyal service. ‘Things will get better once we’re out of the clutches of the Dragons, and back in the Riverlands where we belong,’ he’d said. But even as servants packed the possessions of the Blackwood household, she gathered her brood close to her.

It been harder than she thought, getting her children to spend one evening away from the dragon princes and princess they’d all grown up along side, spent their childhoods intertwined with, as Deidre had with both their mothers. It made Deidre see just how much they really needed to leave King’s Landing, at least for a while.bDeidre thought perhaps she’d write to her father of letting her take Abrogail too. Her childhood had been woven just as close to the Targaryen and Valeryon princes as her own children’s, Blackwood and Rivers, but the more time that passed, Deidre questioned how dangerous that was.

Time back among the rivers, in Harrenhal’s walls, might be good for Abby, to reconnect with their cousins and roots in a way Deidre had not been able to at her age. And Harwin would be there, and she would be, for their little sister. Abby was a part of Deidre’s brood, as much as the four children she’d birthed. Her little sister wasn’t even a year older than Dyana and Tristan, her little Rivers twins, and she owed it to Celeste, her stepmother long passed, to mother Abrogail, when Celeste had been such a mother and sister to her, in Deidre’s time of shame and despair.

“I don’t understand why Helaena can’t join us.” Abby frowned, her blue eyes questioning, as she sat at Deidre’s feet, letting her little niece Elyssa braid a part of her bright red hair. Elyssa frowned up at Deidre, a lighter blue gaze boring into her as well. “Is something wrong, mama? Queen Alicent said we could stay the night with Helaena. She was going to let us pick flowers from her garden to weave into each other’s hair.” Deidre stroked her daughter’s ebony Blackwood locks, before turning to look at her little sister, smiling. “I just thought it might be nice for us to spend the evening as a family. It has been a while after all…”

Abby's blue eyes met her older sister’s green. “But aren’t the Queen and Helaena family?” Deidre tensed when she saw the girl didn’t look convinced by her reasoning.

Deidre sighed. “They are your kin, sweet girl. But…” She knelt by her daughter and sister as the words died on her tongue. These two were her family. And Deidre had spent enough of her life acting as a sister to dragons that did not think the same of her, when the truth of it all came out.

She turned her gaze to Dyana, sitting across the room. Her little Rivers lass possessed a temperament so much more fierce then her sister or aunt and was much more likely to be found near the tiltyard than in the Queen’s or Helaena’s room. She was of an age with Abby, but so different. Dyana boasted sun-kissed copper skin, complimented by dark eyes and hair, hinting at the Dornish in her blood, while Abby sported a fair complexion with bright copper hair and deep blue eyes, testaments of her Riverlands and Westerland heritage. Abby sweet girl that she was, must have sensed Deidre’s discomfort. Instead of demanding more answers from her older sister, she tried to make her happy, bringing all the girls of their family together. “Dyana, I can braid your hair! Helaena showed me a style that would look lovely on you!” Deidre’s Rivers lass, as fierce as she normally was, thankfully was quite happy to have Abby mess with her dark brown hair.

Deidre smiled at all her girls gathering close, her two daughters and little sister, and she breathed a bit easier. She knelt by their side and stroked all their hair, bright copper, dark Dornish brown, and Blackwood ebony. Her boys, Tristan and Benjicot, sat on the balcony within her sight, her Rivers boy reading to her Blackwood boy, brothers though they could not say it. Once Sam returned for the night, most of her family would be safe, within reach. And soon enough they’d all be back in the Riverlands, close enough to Harwin to ensure he was safe too. Father and Larys would be missing, but both would be fine here in this city of Dragons. The Targaryens had not sunk their claws in and drawn blood from them, not yet, not the way they’d done to Harwin, to her, to her children, to Abby.

The smile that spread across her lips died when Sam returned not an hour later, and the air in her lungs turned to stone, as she took in his grim face. The Stranger walked among them. The gods had stolen someone once more. Her husband’s voice grew muffled as he drew near, placed firm, steadying hands on her and Abrogail’s shoulders, and spoke in low calming tones to be a balm against the pain of his words.

Deidre froze up, a statue numb and cold, while Abrogail’s emotions burst forth in a way they usually did not. Deidre faltered in her own shock. She failed to be the motherly rock the little girl needed as Abrogail’s face crumpled, tears and sobs tumbling out of her at Samwell’s words. She shook her head, yanking away from Samwell’s grip, and Deidre simply sat, staring, when she should have reached for the little red headed girl, her little sister. Twas only once Abby ran from the room that Deidre found her feet. Sam shaking her shoulder jolted her back. Dyana’s fingers on her cheeks, asking her mother what was wrong, made Deidre realize the tears pouring down her face. She stood, looked at Samwell, entrusting him with the four children that called him father, before she picked up her skirts and ran out into the Red Keep to seek the little girl that now had no parents to call her own.

Deidre must have looked a mad woman, tearing through the halls with her skirts bunched in her hands, tears running free down her cheeks as she called for her little sister in a broken, desperate voice. She could have been looking for Abby for a moment or hours, before the despair over took her. She leaned against a pillar, panting as a sob tore from her throat. Deidre leaned forward, covering her mouth, trying to force back the tears. She needed to be strong, for Abby, for her own children. All of them would grieve the loss too. But Abby, especially. She was just a little girl. Deidre was a woman grown, married with babes of her own halfway to adulthood. Abrogail was still such a young little thing. Deidre wept as much for her as for herself. They’d both lost their father that day, and their oldest brother, who’d been their most ardent protector. She needed to find Abrogail desperately, to show the young girl that she was not alone. That she still had someone who loved her, that she still had a protector and caretaker, a family that would love and shelter her against this cold, cruel world.

Of all the people to find her, she did not think it would be him. “My lady.” She flinched, her eyes wide when she felt his touch on her shoulder. Criston Cole had not laid a hand on her in well over a decade. Her heart hammered out of its chest as her green eyes met his brown. “I heard the news of your loss from her Grace, the Queen. I am sorry.” His tone and face held none of the hardness nor anger that had become his norm the last ten years. Concern, genuine sorrow, even tenderness lay in his eyes. A bit of the young knight she had so loved. “Do you need…is there anything that I can…” His words were cautious.

“I need to find her.” Desperate for comfort, support of any kind, Deidre leaned into his touch even though she knew she shouldn’t. “Abrogail. She was in my family’s rooms when the news came. She ran away before I could stop her. I need to…I need…” She broke down into sobs, and Criston caught her as her steps faltered, as he often did many years ago. And for a moment, she let him hold her, leaning into his gleaming chest plate, before he coughed and shifted her away.

“The Queen sent me in search of Prince Aegon. He rushed off in search of Lady Abrogail as well, when he heard the news. Perhaps they’ll be together.” His calm tone and steady gaze brought Deidre back from her unyielding tidal wave of grief. She nodded, and took a deep breath to steady herself, before closing her eyes. She dung her nails into her palm so hard, a small bead of blood came out. ‘Take my offering, and show me my sister. She needs me, and I need her,’ she prayed silently in her head. She then listened. And she felt the smallest of breezes, the smallest whisper, brush her skirts. Her eyes still closed, she let her feet follow it. Let old, nameless gods guide her, shield her from the grief. She heard Ser Criston call out after her, his heavy armored foot falls followed her, but she did not stop for him.

Her feet guided her to the Red Keep’s small godswood. At the base of the weirwood, a little girl with hair just as red as it’s leaves curled up, and a prince with hair as silver as its bark sat beside her. Deidre stopped a little ways a way, taking in the scene. How familiar, how similar it all looked and felt. True blood sisters she and Abrogail were. Though Abby did not follow the old gods as she did, both sisters still found comfort under the same tree, anf silver haired dragons were never far behind to comfort them. But also to claim them and tear them apart.

Aegon looked so tender with Abby. A boy no one thought capable of such warmth or care anymore, and yet he was with Abrogail. But then again, so had Criston been that way towards Deidre, once upon a time, and that had ended in only pain for them both. “You’re not alone.” Deidre heard the prince whispering in Abby’s hair as she approached. “I’ll take care of you. Mother will let you stay with Helaena, I’m sure of it. And when you’re old enough, I’ll marry you, and you won’t ever have to leave.” Truly, sweet words from the boy, despite his arrogant and increasingly boorish nature, that had only sweet intentions, Deidre believed. But they were poisoned all the same, dangerous words that hinted at a dangerous future, that neither Aegon nor Abrogail realized. One Deidre had to save her sister from, all her children from.

“Abby!” Deidre called out, too tired to hide her despair as her voice broke again. She ran forward as Abrogail looked up in shock. She knelt down next to the girl and pushed Aegon away so she could fully enclose the girl in her own embrace.

“Hey!” Aegon shouted, tenderness turning to anger as his lilac eyes shifted from the younger Strong sister to the older. Deidre squeezed her sister tight to her as anger flashed in Aegon’s eyes. So similar his temper was to Rhaenyra’s, Deidre would have chuckled at it, had protectiveness not seized her heart. She’d faced Rhaenyra’s wrath enough times over the years that this boy prince would not frighten her. But before either could further act, a strong authoritative voice called “Aegon!”

Ser Criston approached, his eyes hard, and an unreadable expression on his face. “Your mother wants you in her chambers, immediately.”

“What could she possibly want with me? Abby needs me—” Aegon’s argument was cut off by the Kingsgaurd.

“Lady Abrogail is well tended by her family. The Queen demands your presence now, my prince.” That harsh tone that Deidre had come to loath over the years, she could not be more grateful for in that moment. The prince only glanced back and forth between the Strong sisters and knight a few times before he gave into the command, letting out a growl before he said, “I will make sure you’re safe, Abby. I promise.” Deidre watched Aegon follow Ser Criston out of the godswood, squeezing Abby tighter to her as the knight nodded to her, before leading the prince away.

Fearful of Aegon’s words, Deidre pulled Abrogail tight against her chest and muttered into her little sister’s red hair. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you. Father and Harwin may be gone, but I will love you fierce enough to make up for it. You’ll be safe in the Riverlands with me and Sam. You’ll want for nothing. I promise, ceann beagg.”

Abby cried harder at the epitaph. Little one, in the old tongue, an affectionate nickname Lyonel had used for both his daughters in their youths. Deidre wished to be strong, that she could dry her younger sister’s tears, reassure her that all would be well. But the fire of Harrenhal had made orphans of both of them that day, and taken a protector from both of them in Harwin too. It did not matter their separation of age and life experiences. They were full sisters in grief, though only half by blood, and Deidre could only share herself with her sister, broken as she was. “I love you, Abby.” Deidre hugged her sister tight as Abby squeezed her. “I cannot fill the hole our father, or your mother left behind. But I will try. I will try.” She hugged her little sister, stroked her hair, rocked her, even as she sobbed just as hard as Abrogail. All night they shared in grief and tears, not disturbed until the first rays of dawn, when a tap of a cane followed foot steps.

Abby had fallen asleep against Deidre. Though Larys was their brother, and the fire had made an orphan out of him too, Deidre still tightened her grip on Abby as Larys came walking down the path, expression unreadable as he fixed his bluish green gaze on his sisters. “Sister, it seems you both have heard the sad news.” He frowned, his tone sorrowful, but grief did not reach his eyes.

“We did,” Deidre croaked. She stroked Abrogail’s hair in comfort. “I’m sorry Larys…it must be hard for you too.” Larys simply gave a small smile, she supposed it was supposed to be sad, and shrugged. Deidre shivered, squeezing Abrogail tighter, and waking the small girl.

“Deidre?” Her voice seemed so fragile, so weak. A little broken bird.

“It’s alright sweet one. Larys has joined us.” Abrogail shifted in Deidre’s arms, sniffling as she turned blood shot eyes to meet their brother’s gaze. He smiled at Abby and slowly approached his sisters. He reached his free hand out and brushed over Deidre’s brown hair before settling his hand on Abrogail’s head.

“Abrogail, how are you faring this morning?”

“I’m fi—”

“You do not need to say that sweet girl,” Deidre cut her sister off. She narrowed her eyes at Larys. “None of us are well brother, nor shall we be for some time I wager.”

“Aye,” Larys sighed, leaning on his cane as he gave a pensive look up at the heart tree they stood under. “This tragedy has made orphans of us all. Its a small comfort at least that we have each other, untouched by the flames, as I take up our father’s mantle, that should have been Harwin’s.”

At the mention of the fire, Abrogail shuddered and started to cry again. Deidre rubbed her back and pulled her tighter against her body, to give her some comfort. Something about Larys’ words strummed something cold and horrible in Deidre’s veins. She narrowed her eyes at their older brother in censure. “I will do my best brother, to support you in your burden, and to care for our sister.” She swallowed before forcing out the words, “Has Uncle Simon sent any word about arrangements for Harwin and Father’s…” Deidre bit her lip to contain a sob. “Have you started making your travel plans? Sam could help…we were already making preparations to travel home. It wouldn’t be too hard to make room for you and Abby in our retinue. We can stop at Harrenhal before heading back to Raventree Hall.”

“Uncle is still assessing the damage I’m afraid.” Larys shook his head. “But as for me and Abrogail, we shall not be traveling to the Riverlands for a while yet, and perhaps you will want to change your own plans sister, after speaking to the Queen.”

“What does the Queen have to do with our family’s affairs?” Deidre snapped. Abrogail pulled away from Deidre a bit at her harsh tone, turning her confused, bloodshot gaze between her older sister and brother.

“Word came from Driftmark that Prince Daemon’s wife, the Lady Laena, has died. He is bringing her and their daughters back home it seems to give the lady a proper burial. The whole royal family and their attendants are expected to attend the funeral to pay respects. You were friends with Laena once upon a time were you not, sister?”

“Yes, but she is not my kin! Not like Harwin or Father! Why in the nine hells would we worry about her funeral when we have theirs to attend?”

Abrogail started crying again at Deidre’s words. Larys moved to put a hand on her in comfort, but Deidre grabbed Abrogial and pulled her against her roughly. Larys frowned, raising a brow, before saying, “You and your husband are free to do as you wish sister, but I as, a member of the Small Council and Abrogail, as the Queen’s ward, we will be expected to attend the rights of Driftmark. We will of course travel to Harrenhal after to pay our respects.”

“Since when have you been a member of the Small Council, and Abby the Queen’s ward?”

“The Queen let me know the honor while I was dining with her last night . And once I received the horrid news of our father’s death, I turned to her for advisement on how to ensure our sister’s future. She kindly offered to take Abrogial into her own household, as her kin.”

Deidre squeezed Abrogail tighter to her still, even as the little maid gasped and tensed in her sister’s grip. “As am I Larys! I am her sister! I have helped father raise her since her mother passed. She needs to stay with me! She needs to see our father and brother buried, not be used by the crown it whatever scheme you and Alicent are making together!”

“As the head of House Strong now, what Abrogial needs is my responsibility to determine, sister, not yours. The Queen is her kin, and has served as a motherly influence, just as you have these past few years, but can offer her better opportunities and education than you could. Do you not want the best for our little sister?”

Abby squirmed in Deidre’s arms enough for Deidre to tear her gaze away from their brother. Abrogail’s blue eyes were wide, scared, darting between her siblings as they bickered about her future. “I’m sorry, ceann beagg.” Deidre forced a tearful smile as she stroked her sister’s messed red curls. “We haven’t even asked you…what do you want? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t want to leave my home. Or my friends…” Abrogail muttered. “I don’t want you, or your family, to leave either. We’re family. Shouldn’t we all stay together?” Deidre’s heart constricted at her sister’s wide eyes, her sweet words, not understanding the games all these dragons played, Alicent and Larys along with them.

“I won’t leave you, ceann beagg,” Deidre promised, resigned, hugging her sister to her. “No matter what. I promise.” Despite Deidre’s efforts to free her family from these dragons by fleeing back to the Riverlands after Harwin, her sister would remain chained to them. Not long after, Alicent so graciously offered to take Tristan Rivers as a ward as well, to stay in King’s Landing to train as a knight and continue to serve as companion to her sons, such good friends as they were. Not to be outdone, Rhaenyra offered to take Dyana Rivers into her household on Dragon Stone, as a lady for her new stepdaughter, Lady Baela. And how could Deidre refuse, for her Rivers twins loved the dragon children as much as Abrogail, and Larys was right? Royal wards were afforded the best opportunities. Her sister and her children would never be free the Targaryens’ reach, and therefore, never would she. And Deidre already knew, for the Old Gods whispered to her, all within the dragons’ reach would burn.

[dirtytransmasc]

let me make one thing clear; 

Otto and Viserys are the only one’s to blame for the Targaryen family’s actions and downfall. Otto is the only one to blame for anything any of the greens did, from making his daughter a child bride to what happened to Dyana. 

Otto ruined his daughter, made her untrusting and hungry for any control over anything. The damage he did to his daughter spread to her children, she abused them all emotionally and sometimes physically, filling them with the same fear and hate that ruined her life. She made Aegon her cover up and her scapegoat, while projecting onto her golden child Aemond, making him feel like he had to give up his wants and needs to be perfect for her and the family’s image. Helaena was betrothed to an angry manchild and forced to have his children that neither of them wanted (they were still her world, but not her choice, and because of it she had to raise them alone in the already lonely world she lived in because of her families many issues). On top of it all Otto abused Aegon and between that and Viserys’s own abuse and neglect, killed off the little boy who loved his family, nephews included. They made a boy who never really grew up and would rather drown himself in wine and ale then actually live through each and every day. They made a boy that felt the need to ruin his image to avoid a fate that was constantly forced on him, make a spectacle of himself to be seen as who he was and not what other’s wanted of him, and eventually a person who was capable of hurting that little girl. He would have been just fine with Nyra taking the thrown, letting him live free to do what he wanted; but instead he was constantly told that if he didn’t become king Rhaenyra would have him and his family executed, and it drove him to drink far to young, act out and receive punishmets that broke him, and he eventually became both a monster and a pawn. 

Viserys let his family be destroyed, let his children grow up without a father due to his favoritism, and never raised a finger to help any of them. He did the same to his brother, always expecting the worst of him, pushing him to do more and more in hopes that he would finally earn his brother love and respect. He ignored Rhaenyra’s wrongs and hurt people around the two of them instead of actually handling them, creating a world where Nyra would only know enemies (I love Nyra but she’s not innocent, and she always believed she could just get away with it, it put her and her children in constant danger, and Viserys never gave her that wake up call to tread a little lighter, to see that her image and reputation were not invincible). 

At the end of the day, none of them were truly to blame. They did what they had to to survive, even at the sacrifice of one another. They were all drowning, pushing each other under to get their own heads above the water, while Otto held his hand in front of Viserys’s eyes, the two stood safe and dry on land.

~~~ I have to put some of my ‘tags’ here cause tumblr keeps deleting them and I have more to say in the ‘rambling in the tags’ type of way and I’m about to fucking scream and cry because this is all too much right now. 

- Aegon deserved better, because if anyone had stepped in earlier in his life he would have had a chance. But instead he was left to the hands of his grandfather and he was turned into a monster. He was such a sweet kid and a gross teenager but thats what being a teenager is. He makes my heart hurt so badly, especially as an eldest child, I felt his pain. 

- Aemond he was the perfect golden child, he never lived for himself because he was too busy trying to please his mum and make her happy, she lived through him vicariously and he allowed it to see her smile. He was the people pleaser child, and because of all his repression he grew to be so angry all of the time, especially after he lost his eye. He was told that the anger would only stop when he got revenge and that idea ruled over his life, until it drove him to make a very stupid childish mistake that took his nephews life. traumatizing him and starting a war in the process. 

- Helaena deserved a life to be free and happy, not stuck in a palace of angry people that all thought she was weird or a nuisance. All she had were her kids and her bugs. Not even her own mother knew her enough to know not to touch her. The autistic daughter in me cries for her, like we weren’t even shown that much of her but that part of me just knows her life was rough in the way only a repressed autistic daughter would know. its such a special form of trauma and thinking about it makes me feel sick. 

- Daemon is so misunderstood by the majority of this fandom but one of the things that really pisses me off is that people fail to realize it was viserys neglect that was the reason for most of his actions. he tried so hard to get his brother attention, upping the anti every time viserys accepted the worst of him or made him feel like he wasn’t enough. he was just such a classic little brother. he just wanted his big brothers love and attention. he tried so hard to make his brother love him, he almost died and went mad, time and fucking time again to do it, and it was still never enough for him. 

- I love Nyra with all my heart, but she has sheltered favorite child syndrome. she does whatever she wanted, created problems for herself, and then questioned why the world and the people around her were so cruel. it was viserys’s fault for constantly covering for her, never letting her realized she wasn’t invincible, but people really need to start realizing that she needs to start shouldering some personal blame, it wasn’t always someone elses fault. she put herself and her children in danger and helped tear apart alicents life when she needed her most.  

- Alicent is a spitting image of my mother, and I want to hate her so badly because of it, but I can’t because I know its because she was hurt so badly. she was like a wounded animal, lashing out at anyone who got close to her because she was scared and hurting. she was hurt the worst by the few people she should have been able to trust and it made her weary of the world. she was so isolated and so spent, she was exausted from the years of being used by men with little to no her best interests, raising children alone, and just being afraid that everyone around her is also going to hurt and use her. but she was so alone, she had no one to fall back on, no one to turn to when she was ready to just give up. 

[megabadbunny]

No Place Like Hohm (4/8)

“This is bollocks,” Rose announced to the room, staring at each and every one of the captives in turn. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Isn’t anyone going to stand up to them? Won't any of you fight back?”

***

(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe. Ten/Rose, all ages, full of angst, fluff, a pinch of romantic bickering, a dash of mutual pining, and a dollop of swashbuckling adventure!)

Note: This chapter contains a brief allusion to a past experience with a spiked drink; see notes at the end for more information.

***

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Chapter 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8

“Some of us get to go offworld, at least,” was the first thing Rose heard as consciousness slowly flooded back in.

Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open; they kept her eyeballs trapped beneath, moving without seeing. Rose was not certain exactly what had happened to her, or where she was, but she was certain that she didn’t want her captors to know she was awake yet—maybe they would talk more if they thought she was still asleep.

“Anyone can go offplanet,” another voice responded; it sounded like two young women talking, Rose thought. “It’s all about whether or not you’ve got the money,” the second voice added.

“D’you happen to know the state of his finances?” a third voice asked—male, this time.

The first woman sighed. “Well, it’s not like I could ask, is it? Didn’t exactly have the time!”

Her companions hummed morosely.

“What about her, though?” the second woman asked, her voice so hushed and low that Rose almost couldn’t hear it—but if the burning in her ears was anything to go by, it felt an awful lot like the woman was talking about her. “An offworlder, by the looks of her.”

“That’s what I thought,” the man agreed. “Wonder who’s her Champion?”

“Saw her flirting with that Geoffrynn bloke from the third quarter,” was the reply, and a sudden flash of memory lanced through Rose’s vision, filling her mind’s eye with Geoffrynn’s handsome face, his charming smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he handed over her last drink—

Her drugged drink, Rose realized. That poncy horse-git had bloody drugged her!

Fists clenching by her side, Rose swore that when she got out of this mess, she was going to hunt that pretty bastard down and throttle the living daylights out of him.

“It’s all right,” a new voice spoke up, low and velvety-sweet and only for Rose to hear. The surface beneath Rose rippled—a cushion? That’s what it felt like—and Rose could only guess the newcomer was sitting next to her, the better to whisper in her ear. “You don’t have to pretend to be asleep,” the new voice said.

Rose bit her lip. “How could you tell?”

She imagined she could hear the other young woman smile. “You stopped snoring.”

Rose’s eyes snapped open, her mouth fully poised and ready to let this person know that oi, she most certainly does not snore, thanks, but upon seeing the speaker, her words escaped her.

She was one of the loveliest women Rose had ever laid eyes on.

Of course, Rose had noticed quite a few pretty faces on the planet—it was hard not to, what with the bodies attached to them launching themselves at Mickey at every available opportunity—but this young woman was simply breathtaking. Delicate smatterings of ivory-white freckles shone out against her brown skin, dotting the landscape of her nose and shoulders. The freckles were even further drawn out by the brightness of her short, densely-curled platinum hair. Many a woman from Earth would have envied her arched brow and high cheekbones, and her eyes were so green, Rose couldn’t help but recall the polished jade treasures she’d seen in fourteenth-century Kyoto.

“Oh my god,” Rose blurted out. “You’re gorgeous!”

The young woman laughed, ducking her head. “Well, at least you’re honest,” she chuckled. “You’re not so bad yourself, but I guess that doesn’t make us any different from anyone else here.”

“Really?” Rose asked, pushing herself up on her elbows to see what she could discern about the mysterious here.

The first thing she took note of was, strangely, the floor. While the Temple of Dance (that she’d been so rudely abducted from, she remembered with a grimace) had an earthen floor, much like every other establishment she, Mickey, and the Doctor had visited, the floor beneath her cushion was smooth and white, almost like marble. It met four stark-white walls, which trapped perhaps two dozen other people inside, most of them women, all of them lounging about or awakening on cushions like Rose had, or isolated into groups chattering nervously, or eating from a long table absolutely covered in fruits and breads and sweets. Rose had clearly been brought to some kind of upscale place, she thought, because while everything else she had seen on Hohm was all wood and straw and white stone and hand-woven cloth, here she saw silken tapestries on the walls, fine rich rugs on the floor, golden goblets and glass sculptures adorning the table between tureensful of food. Even the heavy wooden doors were gilded with gold.

Everything in the room was quite lovely—and that went for the people, too, Rose noticed. Tall, short, middling; slender, curvaceous, athletic; fair, dark, freckled, tattooed; short hair, long hair, curly hair, no hair; horse-person, humanoid; each person in the chamber was quite different, and quite visually striking, for that matter, showcasing an impressively large spectrum of beauty.

It sort of made Rose wonder where she fit in.

Silently, she chided herself. That line of thought was unhelpful, not to mention ridiculous. Her looks had given her a decided advantage many times in the past, she knew, and besides—she had bigger things to worry about than insecurities involving certain flighty Time Lords.

“Right,” Rose said, scanning the room for any additional clues about where she might be, and why. “So…where exactly are we?”

The woman frowned. “You don’t know?”

“Nope,” Rose replied with a grin. “Sort of why I asked.”

The young woman rolled her eyes, and Rose realized that she was probably going to like her.

“Guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, in a way,” the woman said. “You’ve practically got offworlder written all over you. Still, sort of shocking you’d come here right now, if you didn’t come for this—seems like someone should have warned you.”

Sitting up straight, the woman held out her hand for Rose to shake, and she gratefully accepted. At least this was something she recognized. “I’m Dyana, by the way,” the woman—Dyana—said, with a strong and firm handshake in accompaniment.

“Nice to meet you, Dyana,” replied Rose. “I’m Rose. Now, can you tell me where I am? Not to be rude or anything, only I haven’t got the faintest clue what’s going on.”

“You know about the Championship Tour, don’t you?”

Rose thought back and recalled the posters strung up about town, the pictures of dragon and sportspeople and spears. She remembered Mickey’s eagerness to watch the event, and the Doctor’s dismissal. “Yeah?” she said uneasily.

“Well,” Dyana said, unable to quite meet Rose’s eyes as she scratched the back of her neck, “…we’re sort of the prizes.”

Rose blinked a few times. Her mouth fell open.

“We’re what?” she demanded.

 ***

 “So what, the blokes on this planet just find girls they like, drug ‘em, and then compete for ‘em in some bizarro alien Olympics?” Mickey asked in bewilderment, struggling to keep up with the Doctor as he darted about the console, flipping switches and pulling levers and jamming his fingers into various buttons as if they had offended him personally. Ever since the Doctor had returned from his search—and by returned, what Mickey really meant was tossed into the TARDIS on his arse—his mood had taken a sharp turn for the manic.

“I don’t get it,” Mickey continued, speaking mostly to himself. “This planet can’t possibly be that backward!”

“Not just the blokes, and not the whole planet,” the Doctor shot back as he surveyed the figures zipping by on a viewscreen. “It’s a local custom, albeit an archaic one. Why would you have arranged marriages, uncertain alliances, or shaky betrothals when you can compete for your mate in the ultimate gladiatorial-style spectacle? It’s fun for the whole family!

“Only,” the Doctor went on, slapping the side of the viewscreen when its readout displeased him, “A lot of people didn’t like it. Turns out many would-be spouses or breeders didn’t enjoy being fought-over like so much farmland—go figure. Citizens would try to conscript unknowing or unwilling targets into the competition only to be met with some rather violent resistance—plenty of Hohmish are well-known for their fighting skills, did I mention that?—ergo, the city council eventually introduced the allowance of…”

The Doctor paused for a moment, thinking, one hand pinwheeling as he searched for the right words. When he found them, he spoke them with great distaste. “…pharmaceutical persuasion,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “The whole rotten business died out a few centuries ago for obvious reasons, but it looks like someone must’ve decided to revive the tradition.”

“So they drugged her,” Mickey said, his blood starting to boil. “They were gonna drug me—and they just got to Rose first.”

“Well, that’s what you get when you accept a drink from a stranger, isn’t it?” the Doctor replied. “Rose should have known better, shouldn’t she?”

After a few moments of silence, the Doctor glanced Mickey’s way, and Mickey realized that the Doctor expected him to agree. But Mickey was too preoccupied with the searing-hot anger seeping into his face, his hands clenching so tightly they shook with the force of it. He was sure to find little half-moon marks dug in his palms later.

“No,” he said, his voice quiet.

The Doctor arched an eyebrow at him. “Come on now, Mickey. You’ve got to admit—”

“No,” said Mickey again, louder this time.

“—sort of seems like she’s traveled enough by now, got to be smarter about that sort of thing—”

“How’s she supposed to be smart about something she had no way of knowing?” Mickey half-snapped, half-shouted. “You’re the one who knows everything, and you’re the one who brought us here—why the hell didn’t you tell us anything about this place, why the hell didn’t you warn us?”

“Honestly, have I got to do all of your thinking for you?” the Doctor asked, unimpressed. “It’s basic common sense: don’t accept drinks from a stranger.”

Mickey’s cheeks burned hotter and hotter. “And you’ve never done that, have you? Never accepted a gift from someone you didn’t know?”

The Doctor hesitated, rolling his eyes. “Of course I’ve—”

“It’s not something you’d ever have to worry about, is it? Someone doing something like that to you, trying to take advantage of you.”

“That’s not—”

“I mean, are you genuinely this thick, or is it just because you’re being jealous and petty? It had better be the second one, cos I don’t think Rose would want to stay with you if you’re the kind of person who really thinks like that,” Mickey spat.

The Doctor fell quiet, then, dangerously silent, his jaw tense and rigid, his eyes boring into Mickey. But Mickey gathered up his courage and continued.

“Was it her fault the first time it happened, too?” Mickey asked. “When she was sixteen, and some bloke down the pub slipped something into her drink? Someone she thought she could trust?”

Something in the Doctor’s face shifted, then, his anger growing darker—deadlier. “Who?” he asked, in a voice that made Mickey shudder.

Mickey crossed his arms stubbornly. “Does it really matter, if it was all Rose’s fault?”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed, and for a brief moment, the air between them was charged, thick and heavy like the atmosphere before a storm; the hair on the back of Mickey’s neck stood up on end, the way it does before lightning strikes.

He wondered if he should start running while he had the chance.

Swallowing, the Doctor looked away, letting his gaze drill into something else for a little while. The tension dissipated, and Mickey could breathe again.

“What happened?” the Doctor asked quietly.

“Rose should really be the one telling you all this,” Mickey said, to himself just as much as the Doctor. “If she wants you to know at all.”

He drew in a deep breath. “All I really know for sure is that her drink got spiked, and I only even know that cos Shireen told me. She’s the one who called me from the pub. Asked me to pick her and Rose up. Gave me the details of the story later, all the bits she knew. But Rose has never mentioned it since, and I’ve never asked.”

The Doctor’s gaze hardened, and unbelievably, Mickey almost felt sorry for the bloke, for whatever the Doctor might do to him, if he found him. (And Mickey was absolutely certain the Doctor could find him, if he wanted.) But then the Doctor just scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping it like he was wiping the anger away.

“You’re right,” the Doctor said, and at least he had the decency to look suitably ashamed. “My anger was…misplaced. Rose had no control over whether or not someone else tried to hurt her. It wasn’t her fault at all.” Then, quieter, “Of course it wasn’t.”

Slapping on a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the Doctor began his journey around the console again, entering coordinates onto a number pad on the far side. “You’re a decent human being, Mickey Smith,” he said, flashing his grin Mickey’s way.

Surprised at the words even more than the emotional whiplash carrying them, Mickey laughed uncertainly. “Er…thanks, I guess?”

“And you’re a good friend.”

Mickey relaxed a little. “Thank you,” he said, in earnest.

After a few moments of awkward quiet, punctuated only by the clackity-clack of keyboard keys and the TARDIS’ ever-present hum, Mickey decided it was safe to speak again.

“So what’s the plan?” he ventured.

“Wellllll,” said the Doctor, and he was doing quite a bang-up job of acting almost completely like his normal self, “The competitors fight against a number of different elements on their quest to claim a partner. They make this whole great quest out of it. Champions will fight off anything and everything from wild animals, physical obstacles, harsh terrain, even other competitors, in the effort to win someone. You make it to the end of the course with a person in hand, they’re legally yours.”

The Doctor pulled one last lever on the console and the TARDIS whirred into gear, its lights flashing and central column grinding as it prepared for takeoff. “So the plan, Mickey-my-lad,” the Doctor said with a grin, “is to go win Rose.”

He pushed the lever back down and the TARDIS shot into the Vortex.

 ***

 This Rose girl was…interesting.

Dyana wondered how often she’d been trapped in situations like this—surely there was no other explanation for her calm but constant alertness, the very specific questions she asked (What are these walls made of? Are we above-ground, or below?), or how she charted every detail in the room, lips moving almost imperceptibly as she cataloged what Dyana could only assume were points of interest.

Interesting, indeed…she wondered if Rose had picked up on any of the same things she had.

When one of the heavy gilded doors groaned open, the Golden Guard marching inside, Dyana noticed that Rose’s muscles tensed and her focus narrowed. Several of the captives blocked her view as they crowded about, hesitantly inspecting the Guards’ offerings; each wheeled in a cartload of silks and jewels and baubles, all of them glittering in the candlelight. But Rose didn’t move any closer. Instead she hung back on her cushion, glancing at the door, watching the Guards in front of it. Dyana, in turn, watched her.

“What’s all that, then?” Rose asked, nodding toward the carts and their treasure.

“Adult dress-up,” replied Dyana. When Rose shot her a questioning look, Dyana sighed. “Well, you want to look your best, don’t you? Make sure you look good so you get a good Champion.”

She barely resisted wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You want to look like you’re worth fighting for.”

“Gross,” said Rose, pulling a face. “No, ta.”

Standing, Rose marched right up to one of the Guards and planted herself firmly in front of him. “Right,” she said, drawing up to her full (if unimpressive) height. “I don’t want to be in your Championship-thing. I’m not from Hohm, I didn’t know about any of this, and I certainly didn’t agree to it. This has all been a big misunderstanding. So let me go.”

She paused for a moment, considering. “Please,” she added.

When the Guards did not respond, Rose frowned. “Did you hear me?” she asked. “This is all a big mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. Let me go.”

The Guards did not reply, but continued their stony-faced silence, staring at the wall opposite them as if their eyes were fixed and immobile. Dyana looked on as Rose waved a hand in front of their faces. When neither of the Guards reacted, Rose stepped back, determination wrinkling her brow. Her eyes flickered from the Guards to the open door behind them, and Dyana could practically see the plan formulating in her mind.

Unable to suppress a smirk, Dyana propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hand, ready to enjoy the show.

Rose tried to slip by the Guards first, starting out with a slow and unassuming pace, then sprinting for the door. The toe of one shoe had just crossed the threshold when one of the Guards whirled around and seized her by the arm. With a shout, Rose dug her heels in and tried to break away, but the Guard simply yanked her back, handling her as easily as if she were a doll. He threw her bodily to one of the cushions on the floor.

Several of the captives tittered and gaped at the spectacle, but not Dyana. Her smirk faded away, to be replaced by something else altogether. She watched as Rose sprang up again, desperation etched in her face.

“Rose—” Dyana said in halfhearted protest, but Rose ignored her. She ran full-pelt at the Guards but this time they merely stepped back out of the room, throwing the doors shut behind them so that Rose slammed against the doors with a sickening thump. She staggered back, cursing under her breath.

“Let me out!” she yelled, punching and kicking at the doors. “Let us all out!”

“Sorry sweetheart, but that’s not going to happen,” said one of the other young women, a pretty blush-haired horse-girl Dyana knew from school as Vareem. She pulled a pink silk dress from one of the casks and held it up against her creamy-pale skin, admiring the play of gentle color even as she sighed in resignation. “No one gets out unless they’re claimed at the Championship, so you might as well make the best of it.”

“This is bollocks,” Rose announced to the room, staring at each and every one of the captives in turn. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Isn’t anyone going to stand up to them? Won’t any of you fight back?”

No one replied, but that didn’t surprise Dyana. She agreed with Rose, of course, but still—Rose wasn’t from Hohm. She didn’t completely understand. She couldn’t.

“You can’t honestly be okay with this!” Rose said, exasperated.

Vareem shrugged defensively. “It’s going to happen whether we want it to or not. So what does it matter if we’re okay with it?”

Glancing between Vareem and Dyana and all the other captives, Rose shook her head, her mouth hanging open in wordless disbelief. One by one, the captives turned away, returning to their task of sorting through dresses and gems, pulling pieces and examining with an efficiency like they had prepared for this day their entire lives—which, Dyana knew, many of them had.

“Doesn’t it bother you, though?” Rose pleaded with Dyana.

Dyana examined Rose closely, looking her face up and down. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to trust Rose—she did want to, very, very much. She and her allies could use every scrap, every crumb of help they could get, no matter how small.

(But probably her sister had trusted someone too—and look how that turned out.)

“Why did you come to Hohm?” Dyana asked suspiciously. “If not for the Championship, why?”

Rose’s face darkened. “I was tricked.”

“By a Champion?”

“By an idiot. An idiot who had better bail me the hell out of this if he knows what’s good for him.”

Dyana scoured Rose’s face once more, seeking out any indicators that Rose might be lying to her, but she saw none—her eyes didn’t dart away, she never played with her hair, her cheeks never flushed nor did her pupils dilate. If anything, all she saw painted across Rose’s face was fear, tempered with a healthy amount of anger.

Ah, what the hell, Dyana thought. The plan was probably doomed from the start anyway.

“Hypothetically,” Dyana said slowly, “—all theoretical, nothing practical, you understand—someone might be planning something. It might possibly be an escape. Possibly. Perhaps.”

Rose’s eyes widened, brightening with hope.

“If that were to happen,” Dyana continued, keeping her voice carefully casual, “would such a thing interest you?”

Rose nodded. “How can I help?”

Head held high, Dyana stood up from her cushion, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress.

“How do you feel about going out in style?” she asked.

 ***

 “There!” Mickey yelled, pointing at the vidscreen. He swiveled it round so the Doctor could see. “Looks like some sort of stadium—that’s got to be what we’re looking for, right?”

The Doctor glanced up from the console. The image was too fuzzy for him to make out much—unfortunate, but only to be expected in the Vortex—but he could see a vast Colosseum-like structure, filled with what appeared to be terraformed mountainous terrain, if he were to hazard a guess. But with the TARDIS trembling and groaning all around him, his mind was admittedly a bit elsewhere.

“Let’s hope you’re right!” the Doctor shouted. He pulled a lever on the console and the entire ship pitched forward violently, throwing Mickey against the railing.

“Oi!” Mickey protested. “Watch your driving!”

“And watch your footing,” said the Doctor with a grin, “cos it’s about to get worse!”

 ***

 “Honored Champions, treasured guests, ladies and gentlemen and variations thereupon!” the announcer’s voice boomed throughout the stadium; “Welcome to the pre-games for the fortieth anniversary of our glorious restored Championship Tour!”

The crowd erupted in a wave of noise, the massive stadium echoing endlessly with the roar of an audience ready and eager to see treasures claimed and blood spilled. Each of the thousands of people shouted and cheered, clapped hands and stomped feet. Each of the thousands, that was, but a small scattered few.

“But before the pre-games begin, we have something special to share with you,” the announcer continued, his voice as jovial and slimy as the worst sort of used-car salesperson. “In light of recent events, our Esteemed Protectorates of the City Council have decided that this year’s celebration will mark a true return to our core values—a return to our prestigious roots—”

The crowd cheered.

“—a return to our glory days—”

The crowd yelled even louder.

“—a return to tradition!”

The crowd shouted its assent, people leaping out of their seats and pumping their fists into the air.

“And now,” the announcer shouted gleefully, “Let the games begin!”

The crowd screamed out a cacophony of indiscernible pandemonium, bellows and chants and cheers all competing viciously to be heard over each other in a wave of sound as heavy and dense as the planet itself.

Unnoticed amongst the chaos, several crowdgoers snuck between the stadium-bleachers, each of them drawing hoods over their heads.

***

Previous | Next

***

Author’s Note: For anyone worried about Rose's earlier encounter with a spiked drink: she has always had a good friend in Shireen, who, despite having one of the best flirts of her life that night, noticed pretty quickly that something was wrong with Rose when a bloke--a friend from school--brought her over, claiming that she was pretty far-gone, so he "was going to make sure she made it home safely." But Shireen and Rose had gotten sloshed together enough for Shireen to know that Rose was at least a four-drinks gal on a bad day, so at one drink in, there was no way Rose should have been stumbling like that, no way she would have needed the support of the bloke's arm around her, no reason for her eyes to be cloudy and unfocused like they were. So Shireen struck up a fuss, the other patrons of the pub riled around her, and the nasty bloke was tossed out on his arse on the street like the nasty piece of garbage he was. And Shireen (see above, re: good friend), after calling Mickey, spent their entire time waiting making sure that Rose was all right, keeping her supplied with glasses of water, wrapping an arm around her protectively, and wiping her smudged makeup away. Fortunately Rose experienced no harm beyond imbibing a spiked drink, but she felt such an overwhelming mixture of (incredibly undeserved) stupidity and shame that she avoided talking about the whole thing in the hopes that it would all go away. And by the time the Doctor came into her life, she had all but forgotten about that night. (And a few rounds of Torchwood-mandated therapy, in another universe, just before her and the metacrisis Doctor's happy ending, will settle her mind about the whole thing once and for all. <3 <3 <3)