#hotd big bang

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Pearl of The Realm | Sneak Peek

Story Warnings: arranged marriage, canon-typical sexism, smut, 18+, loss of virginity, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

A/N: This story has some wonderful art done by @aegonx which will be available to view alongside the full fic when HOTD Big Bang is in full swing 😙 in the meantime, enjoy the teaser!

He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.  What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned. That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.  Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.  He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court. 

Coming to @hotd-bigbang in November '23!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Denouement (Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

Art by the lovely and talented: @barbiedragon be sure to take a look at the moodboard at then end, too!

When the daughter of Lord Swann is sent to King’s Landing to find a match to improve her family’s damaged reputation, Prince Aegon is eager to learn whether she takes after her famous cousin, the Black Swann of Lys. But he learns more than he ever wanted to - about her, and himself.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x House Swann!Reader

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, attempted rape/non-con, Aegon swears a bunch

This is my submission for the @hotd-bigbang ! Shout out to everyone who participated, especially @ewanmitchellcrumbs for being an amazing organizer!

Denouement

Aegon was sprawled across his bed, entirely unclothed and clutching a mostly empty bottle of wine. How much of the wine he had drunk, and how much of it had sloshed down his chin and chest to dampen the sheets below him, he neither knew nor cared.

He had planned to go back to Fleabottom and find a cheap cunt or two to relieve him of his frustrations. Yet every time he tried to get off the bed, it was like some invisible force pushed him back down into the mattress. He simply could not get up if he tried – and he did try.

Well, he tried once.

But it was hot, and the wine was very good. Besides, there were plenty of women in the Red Keep for him to choose from, even though they wouldn’t be quite as easy as the whores. He decided that after a short nap, he’d go find one. Or perhaps one would come to him – it was about the time of day when a maid or two would come to replace his bedding, after all.

He was just about to doze off into a dream of forever burying himself in some woman’s soft, enormous breasts when trumpets blared from the courtyard below, startling him so much that his poor wine bottle tumbled to the floor and broke apart.

“Oh, fuck off!” he shouted to no one in particular.

The blaring noise had set his ears ringing and his head aching, making it entirely impossible for him to now find sleep. He slung his arm over his eyes and let out a protracted groan of extreme displeasure. What was supposed to be a relaxing day of drinking and fucking was now thoroughly ruined.

More noise began to float up to his window from the courtyard. Infuriated and somewhat vengeful, Aegon crawled across the bed and draped himself over its edge to grab another bottle of wine – this one empty, but intact. He had it raised behind his head, ready to send it through the window when he finally heard what the voice in the courtyard was saying.

The Lord Matthos Swann, and his daughter, Lady Swann.

Swann… Aegon knew that name somehow. It prickled something in his memory that he was, at this moment, too drunk to reach. But the prickling was enough to bother him, enough to make him drop his bottle and slump back into his sheets, close his eyes, and try to sort through the chaotic workings of his mind.

He did not know why this particular piece of information was so important for him to remember, but it felt important nevertheless. So much so that when two little maids came to change his bedding, Aegon shouted at them to leave rather than attempt to bring one of them into his bed.

Helaena came and went, reminding him that there was to be a welcome feast for the noble houses that were just arriving in the capital, and he was expected to attend. He rolled over and clamped his pillow around his head, and she soon left.

It was not until the sun had nearly set and the wine had nearly faded from his blood that Aegon howled with triumph as he sat bolt upright and threw his pillow in the air in glee.

“Johanna Swann!” he exclaimed as he fell onto his back, a wide grin on his face as he stared at his ceiling, remembering the bawdy tales he’d heard of the Black Swan of Lys.

He had only been a babe when Lady Johanna was kidnapped by pirates of the triarchy. They’d asked for a ransom from her uncle, but he refused, and she was then sold as a courtesan in the most infamously libidinous city in the world. Since then, she had become the most powerful person in the city, all thanks to her apparently magical cunt. Every so often, her latest doings would appear in the gossip of the Red Keep.

Oh, how some of those tales titillated Aegon when he was young. He had even encountered a small portrait of Johanna, hung in a place of honor at one of his former favorite brothels as if she were a goddess.

But it couldn’t be Johanna herself, he realized with no small amount of disappointment. She would have been announced on her own, not as merely the daughter of Lord Swann.

Who was it, then? A cousin, a sister, or maybe some distant relation brought into the family to try and repair their reputation?

Whoever it was, Aegon instantly decided that he not only needed to meet her, but he would have to sample her as well, to determine whether Johanna’s prowess was her achievement alone, or if it was a skill this new Lady Swann would possess, too.

-

When Aegon arrived in the Great Hall, his hair was still visibly damp from dunking his head into the cold water of his washbasin in a hasty attempt to make himself at least somewhat presentable. The formal introductions had already finished, and the meal was halfway over. He received a quiet scolding from his mother as he slipped into his seat, but she seemed relieved that he’d shown up at all, so it could have been much worse.

His father, as always, ignored him entirely. Not even a look of greeting to his firstborn son.

As soon as he sat, Helaena turned to him and held out a stuffed beetle that she’d snuck into the Great Hall. It must have been a new one, for he had not seen it before. It had black and white stripes that extended across its body from tail to antennae, save for one white patch with only a circle of black in it. With its neat appearance and long antennae, it was very nearly elegant – for a bug.

“Very pretty, Hel,” he whispered, giving her the best smile he could when he was looking at an insect just before eating.

Helaena smiled back, pride shining in her eyes. Then her face went blank, and her hands tremored slightly. She’d had episodes like this before, even when she was too young to speak. It was during these that she rambled nonsensical words that Aegon could never understand.

“Black and white, death and life, evil and good,” she whispered. “Neither triumph. All fades to gray.”

Aegon cringed slightly, usually her ramblings weren’t so negative. They usually made him feel uncomfortable, but something about these particular words greatly disturbed him. He shivered, as if a cold wind brushed against the back of his neck. He gave Helaena a weak smile and turned to his food.

It took him a while – and half a chicken, two rolls of bread slathered with butter, and a pile of vegetables that he only ate so his mother wouldn’t scold him – to brush off the last of his unsettlement and finally look across the gathered nobles scattered at the four great tables that had been set in the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, he looked up just as servants were moving those tables to make room for a dance floor, and what was a smattering of bright colors soon became a whirling, twirling mass of more colors than Aegon could count or name. Reds, blues, greens, oranges, obnoxiously bright yellows, and even a few pinks and purples all swirling together in an ostentatious and nauseating display.

However, it made it easier for Aegon to spot his target for the night. For though she did wear a gown to match the heraldry of her house, the Swann colors were simply black and white.

Aegon’s wine-blurred vision cleared as he finally set eyes on her.

This young Lady Swann was beautiful.

And yet she bore little resemblance to the depiction of the Black Swan that he’d seen in the brothel. Her coloring was different, her features softer, and her eyes – demurely downcast – far kinder.

Despite her beauty, there was not a single hint of a seductress in her.

Her gown proved as much. It was finely made and surely expensive, but there far too much of it – a neckline more prudish than even his mother’s, long voluminous sleeves that hid her hands, and a puffy mountain of skirts that left her figure a mystery.

One that Aegon was not quite sure was worth solving.

Still, his curiosity was piqued. At least enough to keep an eye on her while he perused what were certainly easier options.

Nearly every detail he learned about her was a disappointment. She was very intelligent. She was pious. She was obedient – although that was something he could turn into an asset. Even her sobriquet, ‘The White Swan,’ was dull. ‘The Black Swan’ was far more intriguing. A white swan was just an ordinary bird.

She was nothing like her more famous cousin. Or sister. He still hadn’t figured that out.

What was the point of coming here, then? Aegon supposed he at least looked nice and clean for when he inevitably snuck out to the Street of Silk. The girls were always more pleasant when he was clean.

“You appear unusually deep in thought, brother.”

Indeed, he had been so busy deciding where on the Street he wanted to go tonight that he didn’t see Aemond approaching until he spoke.

Aegon scowled and took a long drink from his wine to give himself time to concoct an answer. “Just observing the new arrivals.”

“Observing them for what purpose, exactly?” Aemond asked, looking briefly at Helaena, who was still sitting in her chair and not-so subtly playing with whatever insect she had brought with her.

Aegon narrowed his eyes as he understood the implication behind that glance. Why must Aemond always harp on about this if Helaena herself didn’t give a shit?

“I may be a married man, but that does not mean I cannot appreciate beauty when I see it.”

“If only you stopped at mere appreciation.”

“At least I am able to comprehend the beauty of a woman, and possess the skills to do something about it,” Aegon snapped back. A low blow, perhaps, not that he cared all that much if he hurt Aemond’s feelings. If he even had them.

But Aemond did not snap back, nor did he retreat to sulk on his own or to dote on Helaena. He sighed and turned back to the crowd. “Many young ladies arrived today. Is there one in particular who has caught your eye?”

Aegon’s brows rose in surprise. Not since their trip to the Steet of Silk on Aemond’s thirteenth nameday had he asked his elder brother about women. Or even really mentioned one – at least, not one that they weren’t related to. He even once said that he never wanted to see another person naked ever again.

“And why do you care, Aemond?” Aegon noted the glimmer of resigned frustration on his brother’s face and broke into a wide smile. “Oh! Have mother and Otto finally declared that you must find a bride?”

“Hmm.”

“Aha! That means yes!” Aegon exclaimed. Perhaps coming here would not be a waste, if he had the opportunity to watch Aemond attempt to flirt with various ladies. “Did you actually think you could remain unmarried forever?”

Aemond sighed. “One can hope. Will you please answer my question now?”

Looking back at the dancing crowd, Aegon considered the question. There was a lovely brunette in a shiny green dress. A stunning blonde in red. A girl with piercing blue eyes wearing pink. And one young lady with the most magnificent breasts he’d ever seen threatening to spill from her yellow dress at any moment.

Yet even with all the delicious treats in front of him, his eyes kept going back to the girl in black and white standing to the side of the dancefloor, smiling at the dancers, but never joined. She had a very soft smile, her pretty lips curving ever so gently.

He knew she would never let him taste those lips.

But that didn’t mean she had to go to waste. A lovely, intelligent, pious girl who likely had as little interest in the art of the bed as Aemond might make a perfect pair. Though when Aegon turned back to his brother and opened his mouth, he could not say it.

Aemond raised a brow expectantly.

“Well, her, obviously!” Aegon pointed to the girl in pink with the blue eyes, then tapped Aemond’s eyepatch. “You’d match.”

There was a tense silence between them, Aemond scowling down at Aegon for a long moment before turning and stalking off without another word.

Aegon laughed to himself before turning back to Lady Swann across the Great Hall. There were objectively more beautiful women who would likely leap at the chance to gain his favor by joining him in his bed. Many of them in the very room where he stood. Yet he was most drawn to her.

Why had she captivated him so?

More importantly, how could he get rid of this feeling?

He forced himself to turn away, pour more wine in his goblet, and down the entire thing. The alcohol helped clear his mind as it settled in his stomach. Fully back in his comfortably intoxicated glaze, he was finally able to think.

The answer was simple: he just needed to take her once, confirm that there was truly no reason for this strange, involuntary obsession. Then he would move on to the next conquest – most likely that girl in yellow with the massive breasts.

Yes, it was that simple. It had to be.

-

Lady Swann excused herself from the feast early, leaving alongside those guests whose hair had long since gone gray. Her father only allowed it because she claimed the music and bright colors of the ballroom was beginning to hurt her head. In truth, she had simply tired of it all.

Crowds of such size had always overwhelmed her. Not for ordinary shyness, she quite enjoyed the company of others. That ended the moment she found out that the quick glances people gave her were not for the desire to know her, but for their curiosity about her – if she had been influenced in any way by her infamous cousin.

It did not matter that she had been only an infant when Johanna was captured and had had no contact with her since. Every so often, Johanna would send her father a letter, which was either ignored or thrown in the fire.

As a child, Lady Swann often wished that she knew her cousin. That Johanna hadn’t been kidnapped. That her father had paid her ransom. That some gallant knight had travelled to Lys to rescue her. That she herself had not grown up as the only child in Stonehelm.

No god granted her wishes. Nor the stars, nor the sun or moon, not even the Weirwood tree she had once visited at some keep her father took her to which she no longer remembered the location or name of.

So, she was alone. Sometimes, her father’s visitors would bring their own children, and she would ask them as many questions as she could before they left. She wanted to know everything about them – where they lived, what they did for fun, and what they did with their other friends. They always had other friends at home.

When her father told her they were coming to court for a few moons turns, she had been thrilled. Finally, she would be able to spend more than a few days with people her own age, get to hear stories from all over the realm, perhaps even make actual friends – ones who would not leave after only a few days.

But when they arrived, the stares were immediate. The disdain at her father for not paying his niece’s ransom. The pity for her, and the curiosity about whether she had been somehow corrupted by her cousin.

Making friends would not be as easy as she thought.

Worse, it seemed none of the young men even wanted to be friends with her. They were far more interested in courting her, and many of them were so persistent that it nearly scared her. And while the young women were polite, it was without much sincerity. They all looked at her in suspicion when they thought she wasn’t looking.

So, she feigned a headache and left the feast early.

Her father had remained behind. There were more lords and merchants he still wanted to talk to, it seemed. She had the sense that he would do far more to secure her betrothal than she herself would. Though she was at peace with that, she still hoped her future husband would be relatively kind and from an interesting place.

Suddenly, she realized that she had been so deep in her thoughts that she had wandered somewhere unfamiliar - in the intersection of two dark corridors. All the halls of the Red Keep looked practically identical, but she still had the sense that she had never been there before. There weren’t any windows nearby, so she did not even know what part of the castle she was in.

She stood there for a moment, wondering which pathway to take, when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned to face what she expected to be a servant who could direct her back to her rooms but froze when she saw who it really was.

Prince Aegon.

He looked different than he had at the feast. His distant, morose expression was gone, replaced by a sly smile and a low brow over hooded purple eyes. Even when she was still, he continued approaching, like a cat stalking a mouse.

Gods, her father had warned her about this. Had told her to stay away from the prince, and any other man who approached her like that.

She should run, she told herself. But where would she go? She didn’t know where she was, or how to get back to her rooms. Surely the prince knew the halls better than her and was likely much faster.

Her fear held her in place and numbed her enough that she didn’t feel it when the prince wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her into a dark alcove partway down one of the halls. Nor did she feel the cool stone against her back when he pushed her against the wall and pressed himself close to her.

“My dear Lady Swann,” he purred, his voice low and melodic, even when laced with darkness. “You’ve driven me absolutely mad tonight, and yet you would be so cruel as to leave without apologizing?”

What was he talking about? They hadn’t spoken at the feast. He wasn’t even there when she was introduced to the royal family. How could she have possibly offended him?

“I am sorry, my prince,” she whispered, her voice seeming foreign. “For whatever I did to make you feel this way, I am very sorry.”

He let out a laugh that sounded half like a purr as he brought his face close to hers. He ran his nose along her cheek until his mouth was a hair’s breadth away from her ear. His breath was hot and reeked of wine. “How sweet of you to apologize, my lady. Though I am still not quite satisfied. But I know a way you can make it up to me…”

All the blood left her body, leaving her hardly more than a shell. This was exactly what her father had warned her about – what she feared most about coming to the palace.

Still, she could not run. The prince was far stronger than her, and she knew her legs would betray her if she tried.

No one was coming to save her, and she could not save herself.

She bowed her head and prayed to the gods who had never answered her. Though she expected nothing from them, she hoped at least one of them would watch, so she didn’t have to endure this alone. Perhaps they would even pity her.

When she finished her prayer, she willed her body to relax. Prince Aegon made a soft sound of surprise and pulled her flush against him. One hand rose to roughly cradle her face, while the other floated down to her hip. A possessive and entirely unmannerly touch.

“Please, my prince,” she begged. “Do what you must, I will not fight you. I simply ask that you are gentle with me, and that you not leave marks upon my body. I do not want my father to know my shame.”

She felt the prince’s body stiffen, his grip around her waist so tight her breathing shallowed.

Then he released her and stepped away.

After a moment to regain her breath, she raised her head to look at the prince. He stood several steps away from her, frowning. His eyes were distant, his confusion clear. He met her gaze and shook his head slightly.

“I…” He looked almost disgusted. At what, she did not know. In fear of what he may yet do to her, she remained still, only lowering her eyes.

He scoffed, then sighed, then he left.

She counted his steps as he retreated. Ten… twenty… thirty… She reached 47 before the sound was too distant for her to hear.

Still, she did not move. Her mind raced as she tried to process every strange thing that had just happened. Her fear. The dark look in the prince’s eyes. His breath against her cheek. His grip on her– both hard and soft. How he had stepped away from her with near revulsion on his face.

While she was grateful that he had done nothing but briefly hold her, she did not understand why. Though, did it really matter, so long as she was unharmed and unspoiled?

It may have been a single minute, or many hours, but finally, Lady Swann pulled away from the wall and once again began to wander, eventually finding her way back to her rooms.

She did not sleep that night.

-

Aegon was sprawled across his bed, still clothed and clutching a still corked bottle of wine. There was not a chance he would make it to the Street of Silk that night, not when he could not bring himself to open the wine or undress himself.

All he could do was think about Lady fucking Swann.

The way she had so entirely captured his attention. How her dress swayed as she wandered through the castle halls. The shock in her gorgeous eyes as she realized that he was the one following her. The way her body felt against his. The soft whisper of her voice. Her words…

What the fuck did those words do to him?

Most of the women he’d approached like that had fought him – screamed, tried to push him away, or hit and scratched him, or sometimes all of it. She’d not fought him at all. She’d practically gone limp in his arms, then gave him permission to do whatever he wanted to her, so long as he didn’t leave a mark.

It was that last bit that got to him – the no marks. He’d never cared what bruises or scratches he’d left on the women he fucked. Never even looked to see if there were any before either leaving or dismissing them.

But with her… the thought of leaving marks on her confused him.

In part, it excited him. Some buried territorial instinct, perhaps because of the dragon blood that was said to run in his veins, practically preened at the idea of claiming her so thoroughly. He wanted everyone to know that she was his. It was a feeling he’d never had with any of his previous partners.

The other part, however, imagined her covered in red and purple marks and grew furious. No one and nothing – not even him – should be allowed to hurt her in any way. She was too pure, too innocent. She was a perfect white swan, and he would let no one sully her.

He just couldn't figure out why he felt that way.

Since he first learned he could, Aegon had fucked as many women as he possibly could – women of all ages, shapes, and temperaments. He had never cared for any of them in this way. Except, of course, Helaena. But even that wasn’t an exact match to what he felt now.

With Helaena, his protectiveness was because she was his sister. He loved her, and wanted to care for her, but it wasn’t a romantic love. Hells, there wasn’t even lust between them. Their children were only conceived because they knew it was expected of them. It was a struggle each time, even for Aegon.

Yet he felt so much for this girl he’d barely met, who he had very nearly dishonored, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Still, Aegon would try. And the first step was to take care of his painfully hard cock, which had been fully at attention since he first saw his Lady Swann smile.

-

For two weeks, Aegon fucked as often as he could. Serving girls, noble ladies, professional whores, and even his fist when needed. None of it brought him the satisfaction he sought – the end of whatever it was he felt for Lady Swann.

It didn’t help that he saw her so often. She was at every meal and event, and even sometimes in an obscure part of the keep that he had been sure would be safe from her.

And there were always other men flirting with her. Handsome lordlings, overconfident heirs, even a few gnarled old lechers. He should have expected it, as it was clear her father brought her to the capital to find a husband, but each time he saw another man make her smile, or brush his hand with hers, or even so much as look at her with lust in his eyes, he wanted to run them through and spit on their corpses.

His rides on Sunfyre grew longer, farther, and more furious. It was not uncommon now for great bursts of golden flame to appear in the skies around King’s Landing.

Finally, Aegon broke. After sixteen days of desperate drinking, flying, and fucking, he simply could not take another moment of this turmoil. He looked out the window for a moment, letting the bright sun set his resolve, and set out to confront his tormentor.

-

Each afternoon, all the eligible young ladies staying at the Red Keep and in the surrounding estate houses gathered in the courtyard of the Weirwood Tree so the bachelors seeking a wife knew where to find them. Reluctantly, Lady Swann joined them.

By now, many of the women had already fully captured the attention of at least one man, so the gatherings were thankfully not as frantic as that first feast had been. And since no men had decided to focus their wooing efforts on her, she was able to simply relax with her back against the Weirwood, watch its leaves sway, and attempt to capture their beauty in her sketchbook. All in all, it was a rather peaceful way for her to spend her afternoons.

Until Prince Aegon again came looking for her.

The soft noises of conversation immediately halted, drawing her attention away from her current study of the many veins within a fallen red leaf. She looked up and saw the prince pushing aside lords and ladies alike as he stomped towards her.

He did not look like he had that night. Then, his gaze was full of lust. Now, those violet eyes only held anger. Terrible, bone chilling anger.

Several of those gathered in the courtyard fled. More still stayed, positioning themselves far enough away to satisfy decorum, but close enough that they would be able to hear everything. Though it was, in the end, unnecessary.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” The prince roared – so loudly that several birds left their perches in the tree and flew out of sight.

She was speechless, her heart pounding so fast and hard she was sure he could hear it.

“Answer me!” the prince shouted, now so close to her that she could see nothing but him. His reddened eyes, his flushed cheeks, and the furious set of his brow.

Her lips fell open, and she stumbled over her own name as she gave it to him.

 “You know that’s not what I mean, girl,” Prince Aegon sighed, pursing his lips and pressing her harder into the tree. “What did you do to me?”

“My prince, I have done nothing to you,” she pled, tears spilling from her eyes. Distantly, she heard yet more people leaving the courtyard, some of them wondering aloud if they should fetch a guard, or perhaps the queen.

“What are you?” It was like he hadn’t heard her words at all. “Some kind of witch, here to ruin me? Did Rhaenyra send you to destroy my reputation so she could ensure she takes the throne?”

She was so frightened that her mind was muddled, and in her frantic search for safety, she reached out and grabbed the first thing she could find. Unfortunately, that thing was Prince Aegon’s tunic.

He blanched and looked down at her fingers clutching the worn green fabric. When he faced her again, he did not look so angry – he looked almost afraid. “What are you doing to me?”

Lady Swann suppressed a sob and pulled her hands away. “I don’t know what you mean, my prince, please.”

The prince shook his head, finally taking a step back. “What you said to me… I don’t understand it. Why did you say it? What did it mean?”

“I…” She thought back to that night, the only time she had spoken to him, when she had said so little. “I wanted you to not hurt me, that is all.”

He frowned, his brows knitted together. “But you didn’t fight back. Why?”

“What could I have done to stop you?”

“But you didn’t even try,” he nearly begged. “Why didn’t you try?”

“Because my father warned me about you,” she answered, now savoring the grounding bit of the tree’s rough bark behind her. That pain was far more pleasant than this conversation. “I thought it would be… easier if I let you take what you wanted.”

Prince Aegon just stared at her. Not making a move to move closer or touch her. Like the very idea of someone near-willingly giving him what he wanted was unbelievable.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hardly believing it. Why did she feel the need to apologize to the man who had very nearly assaulted her, and who was now no doubt causing irreparable damage to her reputation. But there was something in his eyes that made pity wrench her heart. He was a wounded animal, and she could not let it die. “I’m sorry for making you feel like this way. And I’m sorry for whoever else hurt you to make you behave in this way.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

The rage returned to his eyes, and he reached out to seize her shoulders, pressing her against the Weirwood tree until she was certain her dress would tear. “I don’t need your fucking pity,” he hissed.

He shoved her once, then stepped away. “I don’t need anything from a whore like you!”

The gathered crowd poorly hid their gasps of surprise, and not so subtly watched the prince as he stomped out of the courtyard, somehow even angrier than he had been when he arrived. But they made no attempt to hide their stares when they turned back to Lady Swann. She could practically see the gossip forming in their heads.

Not wanting to hear their speculations, she fled from the courtyard.

At least now, she might not have to marry. For no one would want her after what Prince Aegon said.

-

Aegon was sick of sprawling out on his bed to contemplate the pile of dog shit that was his life. So, he let himself slide ungracefully to the floor, taking his fur blanket and an overstuffed bed with him.

Instinctively, he reached for a bottle of wine from the small crate he kept by his bedside. Alas, it was empty. He’d finished it all the day before and had therefore been so drunk he had not remembered to tell a servant to restock it.

It was probably for the best. He did not deserve the holy ecstasy a truly expensive bottle of Arbor Red brought him. Not after what he’d said to Lady Swann that afternoon.

How could he be so fucking stupid?

The obvious answer was that he was, in fact, fucking stupid. Yet it still felt like something beyond that. Something within him – the feelings he could not rid himself of – had taken away what little sense he still had, and stoked the fire of his anger until he could hardly see for his rage.

If he was a better man, he would apologize. But he was not a better man. He wasn’t even a good man – perhaps he never had been. Perhaps he was incapable of being a good man. Though, a truly bad man would not have considered that he should apologize.

Nor would a truly bad man be haunted by the warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever he remembered her final words. ‘I’m sorry for whoever else hurt you to make you behave in this way.’

As he gazed at the moon through his window, he had a revelation that utterly terrified him, down to his very bones – Lady Swann’s pity felt better than anything anyone else had felt for him.

-

Lady Swann had not been expecting anyone to call on her. Not a single suitor had called on her the evening prior, not after what happened between her and Prince Aegon. So when her lady’s maid announced she had a visitor, she was entirely unprepared. Her dress was old, but the most comfortable she owned, her hair had been left unbraided, and her eyes were still red from weeping.

What she was most unprepared for was seeing that her visitor was none other than Prince Aegon himself.

Quickly, and despite the fear welling in her gut, she curtsied. When she stood, she did not look him in the eye. “Welcome, my prince,” she greeted, wishing that her voice was not so wavering. “It is an honor to have you visit me.”

He laughed, a rich, deep sound. “Your manners are very fine, lady. But I do not delude myself in knowing that you are neither honored nor pleased to see me.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. He was right, of course, but his words were almost… kind? Or at the very least, not rude. Just when she opened her mouth to reply, he spoke again.

“Please, allow me to begin.” He waited for her to nod her approval before continuing. “I have come to apologize for my behavior. I have been quite rude to you – though that is a mild way of putting it.”

The prince sighed and let his shoulders droop slightly. “Your first impression of me could not have been worse. It was wrong and cruel of me to pursue you the way I did that first night. I apologize sincerely for that, though I know that is a great insult to forgive.”

“I most especially want to apologize for what I said yesterday. My words were harsh and spoken only in anger. I should not have said them in the first place, and certainly not in front of so many witnesses.” He wrung his hands, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I do not expect you to forgive me, but I hope that you will not allow my abhorrent behavior to ruin your visit. And I will take every measure to quell the rumors surrounding our encounter yesterday.”

Lady Swann was more surprised than she had been when she saw him first walk into the room. Not only had he apologized, but it seemed sincere, and almost eloquent. He was right, that forgiveness would not come today. Perhaps not ever. Yet she could not find it in her heart to hate him. At least, not yet.

“Why did you do it?” The question burst from her unconsciously. But she had to know.

Prince Aegon again sighed, then ran a hand through his unkempt, greasy hair. “As for why I followed you, there’s not a good excuse, I simply wanted to have you. At first, it was to see if you were as skilled as your sister… or cousin? The Black Swan, I mean.”

She felt her cheeks flush at the mention. Her stranger of a cousin would never stop haunting her. “She is my cousin.”

“Right, well,” he stared intently at her shoes peeking out from under the too short hem of her dress. “I wanted to find that out, but also, you were simply beautiful that night. And you are now, too, of course! But at the feast, I truly could not take my eyes off you. I needed you.”

“And yet you did not take me, as you have so many other women.”

“Yes, well…” He finally looked in her eyes again, but looked away not a moment later. “It was what you said, about not wanting me to leave marks. None had ever asked me that before, and imagining you bruised was simply too much for me. I could not bring myself to do it.

“But then, I couldn’t get you out of my head. Even when I was with…” his flush faded into a blanche, “No matter what I did, I could not stop thinking of you. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, so I was, honestly, frightened. I let my fear turn to anger and my anger turn on you. I’m sorry.”

Lady Swann was silent, not knowing how to respond to the prince. He apparently took it as a sign she wanted him to continue.

“Then what you said, about someone hurting me and making me this way, that frightened me, too.” He laughed, the sound pained and inauthentic. “Because I don’t believe anyone made me this way, I’m just… rotten.”

At that, she finally found her words. “No one is rotten from the beginning,” she said, quoting something her Septa had once told her. “Everyone in born good, it is what happens to them and what they experience that rots them.”

Prince Aegon smiled. “That is a sweet sentiment, but I don’t think I agree. I cannot remember a single moment where I felt good.”

“For that, I am very sorry. That is something no one should feel.”

He looked at her intensely, as though she held some long-sought answers. “It is a bad feeling, yes. Though, you make me feel like not all of me is rotten. Like there is some shred of me that still longs for goodness. And you are so good…”

She smiled softly, unsure why a small thrill went through her at the words. “We have spoked very little; how can I make you feel that way?”

“I don’t know… but, if you are willing, I would very much like to find out why. And I don’t want to lose this feeling. If you would allow it, may I call on you again?”

There was something different in his eyes. Something that she only now noticed, as his eyes were no longer clouded by rage or lust. A great sadness – an eternal sadness. Like an entire ocean of tears, or an immortal grief.

She wanted to chase that sadness away. So, she inclined her head to hide her smile. “I will allow it, my prince.”

“Please, I would prefer you use my name.” He blushed nearly scarlet as he made the request, and smiled bashfully.

“Very well. I will allow you to visit me again, Aegon.”

-

Prince Aegon and Lady Swann began their friendship sitting in stuffed chairs on opposite sides of her solar. He was careful not to do or say anything that could be possibly misconstrued as a romantic or sexual advance. He wanted her to feel safe and comfortable. Most of all, he wanted her to like him. It didn’t matter if she ever felt the same longing he felt for her, so long as he could be near her, he was content.

After three turns of the moon, they began sitting on the couch together – but as far apart as they could be. Slowly, as she began to feel more comfortable looking him in the eyes, smiling at him, or even laughing at something he said, he began to return the gestures. He even grew comfortable enough to start trying to make her smile or laugh. Even though his heart sank every time he saw it, knowing he would never get to kiss it away.

After five more moon’s turns, they began to move closer. An inch every few days, until their legs were nearly touching. Aegon had to suppress the shiver than raced through his body each time they accidentally touched.

By the next moon’s turn, they hardly ever sat without touching – much to his delight. Some days, she would rest her head on his shoulder. Others, he would lie with his head in her lap. And on rare occasions, they laid across the couch together, with Aegon’s arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

He could almost be content with just this, not being able to kiss or touch her as he truly wanted to. But he knew it would one day disappear. She would marry, he would never see her again, and he would go right back to the way he was before her.

So, he cherished their afternoons together while he could. They never spoke about anything of consequence, but still, Aegon left her each day feeling happier than he had when he walked into her solar. And a little sad, for he knew he wouldn’t get to talk to her until the next day, and that one day, the conversation would be their last.

It usually took him at least a week to realize that they had spoken about something of consequence. Lady Swann had hidden a revelation she had somewhere within her gentle words, having figured out the source of his buried anger or a wrong that was done to him. Aegon never understood immediately, but once he did, he ran back to her the next day to talk more about how she knew, and what he could do to fix it.

He eventually came to privately call their meetings ‘good man lessons,’ for even though they never spoke of ancient philosophy or even religious morality, Lady Swan had a way of making him see more clearly the mistakes he had made and how he could be a better man.

He also came to privately calling her ‘hontītsos.’ Little bird. His little bird. The White Swan who sat on his shoulder and whispered her wisdom into his ear. Perhaps not the best metaphor, as swans were far too large to perch on his shoulder, and notoriously violent. But since it was only between them, he did not feel the need to come up with something cleverer.

As their friendship neared the end of its first year, he genuinely thought he’d been doing better. A better friend. A better brother. A better husband and father. A better son.

That had been his folly.

At the evening meal one night, he had spoken to his father. He tried to speak to him in the same way Lady Swann spoke to him when they first struck up their friendship, simply asking about the king’s day and if anything interesting happened.

Then the king called him ‘Daemon.’

His own father did not recognize him – his firstborn son.

He supposed it was to be expected. After all, the old man was decrepit and half-rotted beneath his gaudy golden mask. Surely that decay would have extended to his mind by now, if it hadn’t long ago. But still, it stung.

Aegon was the son his father had dreamed of, according to his mother. The boy fated to wear the conqueror’s crown. It seemed Viserys had forgotten that dream as well. He never forgot Rhaenyra. Only Aegon and his full-blooded siblings.

It was a hurt Aegon thought he was accustomed to. He remembered so clearly how his father had all but ignored him when he was young, especially once Rhaenyra’s bastards came along. He attempted to befriended the little runts to draw his father’s attention – to no avail. Though, he had been quite a shit in his youth.

Still, he had thought all his efforts to become a better man would make his father notice him, perhaps finally see him as a suitable son and or even an heir. He felt so foolish to think that. But he was comforted, in some small part, that he would talk to Lady Swann about it the next day. Then she would make him feel better. She would make him feel like the man he was trying so desperately to be.

The hours he had to wait to be beside her again were hell, but finally, he found himself once more lounging on a couch in her solar, his legs hanging over the armrest while his head was laid in Lady Swann’s lap. Her fingers combing through his hair was absolute bliss. Though they halted when he blurted out the sentence that had been clanging in his head since dinner the night before.

“You don’t want to be king?” she asked in disbelief, raising her brows in surprise.

Aegon smiled at the expression, she looked so pretty today. He nodded up at her. “To save my family, I would do it. But no, it is not what I would choose for myself.”

A short silence passed before she responded. He loved that, how she thought so carefully before speaking every time. “What would you choose for yourself, if you were given the chance?”

The question weighed on him like an anvil of iron on his chest. He had never even considered another option before. It had always been either become king, or be killed by Rhaenyra to eliminate any threats to her throne.

“I don’t know really,” he finally answered. “I never let myself think about it for too long.”

“Think about it now, then.”

He both loved and loathed how she challenged him. Of course, he knew it was good for him, but some days he just wanted to relax and bask in her very presence. She was the only comfort, save for his children, that he had found in this godsforsaken place. At least, since he had stopped drinking and fucking with abandon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the Street of Silk or had drunk more than a single goblet of wine at a meal.

“I’d leave Westeros,” he declared. “There are too many memories here. To many reminders.”

She thought about her answer for a moment, her eyes narrowing in the adorable way they always did when she was thinking very hard. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?”

“Yes, of course.” He began to truly think about the possibility, of how it would happen – How he could make it happen. “Perhaps I could take Helaena and the children with me. She would be glad to leave court, and the children are young enough that they wouldn’t remember anything before we left. Mother and Aemond wouldn’t leave, nor Daeron. But I would write to them often. More to mother than my brothers.

“I think I’d go to Braavos. I want to see that big statue they have and experience the cold. And I’d like to have my own boat to navigate the canals. That would be fun. I could be a fisherman! Though I’d have to first learn to fish… fisherman go out in the mornings, don’t they?” He looked up at her for confirmation. Of course, she would know, she knew everything, it seemed.

“I believe so,” she said with a mischievous smile. It was not one she wore often, but one he savored each time he saw it. “Which means you would have to learn to wake quite early. Do you think you could do so?”

“I could!” He feigned offense, but he knew she was right. Even now that his routine had changed, he still often didn’t wake until the sun was well into the sky. “But I’d have to find something to do the rest of the day. Hmm…”

Aegon stared at the ceiling, imagining what he could do if he was free of his obligations, if he would finally be able to do what he wanted. “I could learn to paint? Yes, I think I’d like that – to be able to create something beautiful. All by myself.”

She smiled down at him, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. The smile was genuine, he could tell, but laced with sadness. “That sounds like a wonderful life.”

“Of course, I would only go if you went with me.” He had not meant to say it. He didn’t want to scare her, not after spending so long rebuilding what he had broken with his first words to her. And yet, it was true. If he was imagining a perfect life, it would be incomplete without her there beside him.

“Aegon, I…” her smile had faded, leaving her looking down at him with wide, sad eyes.

“I would be too scared to be alone,” he said, raising himself from her lap so he could look her in the eyes. The temptation to reach out and take her hand was immense, but he resisted – he had already fucked this up enough today. “I’d need someone to talk to. Helaena and the children… I love them, but I can’t talk to them. Not in the way I do with you.”

She was silent for a long while – far longer than Aegon was really comfortable with. Then, she finally said the best thing he’d ever heard.

“I think I would like that, too.”

-

SWANN POV: After she tells him that her father would take her home soon, Aegon admits to LS that he loves her, and wishes that he’d met her before he’d been forced to marry Helaena because he loves her. Aegon comes up with an idea to keep her in King’s Landing

Lady Swann sighed in contentment as she laid upon the couch with Aegon in comfortable silence. She had not wanted to let their conversation end – not today. So, they sent for their evening meal to be delivered to her solar and continued to talk.

By now, Aegon’s eyes were closed as he rested his head in her lap while she absentmindedly traced the patterns of embroidery on his tunic, considering how impossible she once would have found the arrangement when she first came to the Red Keep. He had been so cruel to her those first weeks. She had been afraid of him. And now, she could not imagine life without him.

Did it make her weak, that she could forgive what he had done to her, and what he had tried to do? Perhaps she should have shouted his wrongdoings from the top of the highest tower, but she didn’t. And she could not bring herself to regret it.

“Hontītsos?”

She let out a pleased hum at the sound of the nickname, especially when his voice was so deep and gravelly from exhaustion. “Yes, my prince?”

Aegon opened his eyes, the peace fading from his face as he looked into her eyes. He looked unsure, almost afraid. It was a look she had not seen since he first came to her asking for her friendship and aid. She hoped it would vanish soon. She did not want to end this night sadly.

“Am I a good man?”

Her hand immediately stopped in its path as she considered the question.

“You have a good heart, Aegon,” she said, resuming her gentle caresses.

Aegon frowned. “That is not the same thing.”

“No, it is not.” She placed one hand over his heart, feeling it falter and race, and the other on his cheek to ensure his gaze remained on her. “You have done terrible, wicked things. Things that a good man would not do.”

He nodded, all too aware of his past evils. She watched his eyes glaze as he remembered his past misdeeds and knew how sharply his regrets pained him. His chin wobbled as he looked back up at her, tears slipping out of his eyes. “Will I always be wicked?”

“No,” she assured, wiping away his tears. “But when you act on what your good heart tells you to do, when you atone for the wickedness of your past, I believe you will become a good man.”

He smiled as his tears fell, leaving shining pathways on his face. She could not resist tracing them with her little finger.

“I think I am in love with you, hontītsos.”

Her heart skipped a beat, then another, before it began to beat again.

“You only ‘think?’ you’re in love with me?” She tried to keep her voice light and bordering on humor, but she did not think she succeeded.

“Well… I have never felt love before, so I don’t know what it’s like.” Aegon said, like he was talking about the simplest thing in the world. “But I think what I feel when I see you, or hear your voice, or feel your touch… I think that might be love.”

Perhaps she had fallen asleep on the couch, and this was some wild dream. “I would describe to you what love feels like, but I am afraid I don’t know myself. I have only ever read of how love feels.”

“Then tell me what you have read, please. I need to know.”

She did not look at him as she recalled what she’d read in her favorite storybook. “When you love someone, you feel it in your heart. It feels like it can only truly beat when you are with the person you love, and when you are apart, it aches for them.”

At last, she looked back at Aegon. “Is that what you feel?”

There was no hint of hesitation or doubt on his face when he smiled. “Yes. That is exactly what I feel.”

Again, her heart stopped. But her mind raced. This was real. Aegon had just declared his love for her. The man who had tried to take her virginity unwilling and publicly called her a whore, now he loved her.

Why did that fact make her so happy?

In the past months, he had become so much more than that man who had so easily made her miserable. He had practically become a new man. That man, she liked very, very much. It had been so easy to define love while she was looking at him. Was that because…?

“I feel that way, too.” Her words were soft and unconfident, but Aegon beamed at her, nevertheless. “But I –”

“No!” he raised a hand to cup her cheek. “No buts. Buts mean something is wrong, and how can anything be wrong right now?”

“My father is taking me back to Stonehelm in ten days.”

-

SWANN POV: Aegon tells Lady Swann that Aemond has agreed to their proposal. Overjoyed, she kisses him, and they make love for the first time.

“I need you to propose to Lady Swann,” Aegon told Aemond as he prepared for his morning training with Criston Cole.

Aemond stared back at him with a face like stone. How could he be so damn menacing with only one eye?

“And why do you need that?” Aemond turned his back on his brother as he spoke, carefully selecting a weapon from a table full of dozens of knives, daggers, swords, axes, and a few weapons Aegon could not name.

It may not have been the best idea to ask for this favor when there were so many weapons around.

Aegon sighed, “Because her father will take her home if she does not find a marriage within the next nine days.”

Aemond faced him again, staring at him as he ran his nail along the edge of his sword. “And why does that matter to you, brother?”

Bastard. Aemond had grown from an annoying twat to a despicable bastard – though he would never say that out loud. “She…” he sputtered. “She has become a close friend. She does not want to leave the capital, so I am trying to do her a favor.”

“So, I must marry her, rather than any other man within the city?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Can you stop asking me so many questions?”

“I will if you answer me.”

“Fuck you,” Aegon grumbled. Though Aemond didn’t react, it was clear he’d heard it. “It’s because… it would be a beneficial arrangement for both of you.”

Aemond cocked his head. “How would it be beneficial for me?”

“You said you would stop asking questions.”

“Your answer prompted more.”

“I hate you so much,” Aegon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was already sweating in the morning heat, yet Aemond looked perfectly comfortable and dry. “It would benefit you because it would stop mother and Otto from hounding you to find a bride. And you wouldn’t be expected to perform the normal duties of a husband.”

At that, Aemond raised a suspicious brow. “What duties are you referring to?”

With a smirk, Aegon whispered, “Your duties in the bedchamber.”

His eye widening, Aemond glanced around the training yard and lowered his voice to not be heard. “We would still be expected to produce an heir.”

“Ah, but there is another way to seed her with Valyrian stock, dear brother,” Aegon said with a triumphant waggle of his brows.

Aemond said nothing for a moment, then gave the barest hint of a smile. “I had my suspicions. Thank you for confirming them.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

“I will.” Aemond sheathed his sword and began walking away. “Would you convey the proposal to her, I think she would enjoy it more coming from you.”

-

Lady Swann had been sitting on the same spot on the couch for so long that the cushion below her had sunk several inches. She simply could not move. Now when, at any moment, Aegon could walk through the door and change her life forever.

The sun had reached its peak when he finally appeared, a broad smile across his face.

“Aemond agreed?”

“He did.”

She did not know what possessed her, but she threw herself off the couch and into his arms, crashing her lips against his. The kiss was sloppy and unskilled, but full of hunger and passion. She figured that Aegon wasn’t put off by her lack of experience by the way he growled into her mouth.

He forced her to pull away to catch her breath, which was a good thing, as she would have gladly kissed him until she suffocated. With a smile, he brushed her hair away from her face and pressed his forehead to his.

“Why Lady Swann,” he teased. “How improper you are. Shouldn’t you wait to give me your virtue until after you’ve married my brother?”

-

She did not wait, much to Aegon’s delight. She gladly allowed him to show her everything he’d ever learned about pleasing a woman. To his surprise, he even discovered some new tricks in his time with her.

They spent every night together, making love until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Aegon introduced her to his children and Helaena, who were all immediately taken with her. As if there was any other possibility. And eventually, he became proficient in pretending that he was not about to stab Aemond when he saw him standing next to her, holding her hand as was proper for a betrothed pair. Eventually.

Aegon was happier than he had ever been. It was wonderful.

And it all fell to shit so fast.

The sniveling bastard who had taken Aemond’s eye was officially declared the true heir of Driftmark. After, the king commanded a family dinner, which had gone about as well as Aegon expected – though he did not think it would be Aemond who struck the final blow.

Then, the king did the kindest thing he’d ever done for his younger children, and promptly died. The relief was short-lived, however. Otto and his mother sent guards to pull him out of Lady Swann’s arm and truss him up for his coronation, which had somehow been even worse than the dinner.

Lady Swann had been inconsolable that night, distraught that Rhaenys and her dragon had come so close to killing him. Aegon promised the next day would be better, but it was not. Otto smashed her betrothal to Aemond so he could make a more advantageous match in preparation for the war Aegon actually prayed would not occur.

Aemond struck the final blow there, too. Killing little Luke Velaryon in the dark skies above Storm’s End. At least the betrothal with one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters remained secure.

But that slight would not go unpunished. Mere weeks later, assassins had entered the keep, and slew Jaehaerys, Aegon’s heir. Right in front of his mother and siblings. It was truly a war then.

No one could know what would happen, and no one was safe.

Aegon had already endured the loss of one of the people he loved the most, he could not endure it again. So, his remaining children, Jaehaera and Maelor, were sent away for their safety.

As was Lady Swann.

She had fought him fiercely. But their relationship was still not publicly known, and if the news somehow came out, she would no doubt be Daemon and Rhaenyra’s first target. It was for that same reason that Aegon forbade her from contacting him. He would send messages when he could – he had worked out an extensive, illogical route with Grand Maester Orwyle that would make them impossible to track. Even then, the messages would be few.

Eventually, she agreed to go. Only after Aegon had broken down in tears in front of her, begging her in a way entirely unbecoming of a king. But she had to be safe.

So, six days after the loss of his son, Aegon stood in his rooms – his old room, now – and looked down at the courtyard and his beloved got in her wheelhouse and went far away.

-

My love,

It had been less than a moons turn, and already, I miss you desperately. I hope you have settled back into Stonehelm well, and that you are safe and comfortable. Though I am glad you are safe, I still find myself aching for your voice, your smile, your touch. Getting them back is my greatest motivation to win this war.

As much as I do miss you, I told you that I would only contact you when it was necessary, and I will hold to that. In ten days, Aemond and I will be flying to Rook’s Rest to join the siege. It is our hope that this will draw Rhaenyra or Daemon, or perhaps both, to come to their ally’s rescue. If all goes well, which I am confident it will, we will cripple the Blacks so thoroughly that the war will be all but won.

Pray for me, darling. Though I am confident, this is my first battle, and I admit that I do feel somewhat nervous. But only slightly! You know your love is a brave, strong man, and I do not want you to think otherwise.

With luck, I will see you soon, my hontītsos,

Aegon

-

Everything hurt.

Aegon was burning – one moment with fire, the next with ice, as if he was torn between two hells.

It was hard to tell what hurt the most. Was it the ringing in his ears, echoing unending through his head? Was it the way his every breath seemed to shatter his bones anew? Or was it the impossibly heavy weight upon his left arm that felt like it was made purely from the God’s wrath?

He did not have time to decide before the world faded to black. It was almost a relief – but not one long lived.

His pain had not lessened in however long he’d been in a dreamless sleep. In fact, it seemed worse.

No longer was he frozen with the pain; his eyes screwed shut of their own accord. When he awoke, the bright light of whatever hell the gods had condemned him to shone bright as the fires of the sun itself.

There were others in this hell, whispering around him, but he could only make out their shapes against the brightness. We’re they his fellow damned, or his tormentors?

That question was answered when a searing pain ripped through his arm, worsening the agony it was already providing him.

Aegon screamed. A sound to wake both demons and angels.

They were cutting through him, slicing his flesh away bit by bit. When they had fully disassembled him, would they put him back together only to start again?

Oh gods, he was not in the hells.

His eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, and he wished he was in the hells. But no, that was Grand Maester Orwyle standing above him, a small, sharp knife in his hand. There was some Maester in training beside him, looking nearly ill as he held up a great bowl.

Aemond. Aemond was there, standing in the corner next to their grandsire and Larys Strong. They all stared at him in both fear and disgust. Aegon could swear he even saw a tear run down Aemond’s cheek.

Worst of all, his mother was there, kneeling by his bedside, his right hand clasped in hers as she wept and prayed.

Each slice of Orwyle’s knife brought a new agony, sending images racing through his mind with every pounding heartbeat.

The walls of Rook’s Rest rising on the horizon. A great army was below him. The shape forming in the distance, growing closer with each beat of its wing.

For a moment, he caught a glimpse of read scales. Caraxes? Had Daemon come? Was it he who had done this to Aegon?

No, not Caraxes. Meleys. Princess Rhaenys had done this to him. He remembered now. The sickening sound of claws ripping through scales. Sunfyre’s horrible howls of pain. Fire. Blood. Death.

What happened to Rhaenys? Had they killed her, or had she escaped? Aegon vaguely saw the massive form of Vhagar racing towards him. Perhaps after he and Sunfyre had fallen, Aemond had finished her off.

Gods, Sunfyre. Where was he? Was he as hurt as Aegon was? Who was tending to his wounds?

His throat burned as he struggled to force breath and words out, but eventually, he succeeded.

“Sunfyre… alive?”

It was Aemond who finally responded. “Yes, he is alive. He is fine, brother. Do not worry for him.”

Funny, Aegon thought, how his genius brother could somehow be such a terrible liar. It was a wonder how anyone believed his engagement to Lady Swann to be genuine.

Lady Swann.

Was she here? Did she know what happened to him? Was she on her way to King’s Landing to be by her side? Was she safe?

“Hontītsos…?”

Again, Aemond answered, his voice hesitant and words vague. “She is safe, should I send for her?”

“No!” The shout sent throbbing pain echoing through him like the ringing of a bell. “She can’t see! She can’t see!”

He did not know what he looked like, but he knew it couldn’t be pleasant. She could not see him like this, broken and pitiful. Not until he was strong once again.

His mother was asking rapid questions. Who was ‘hontītsos?’ Why did her sons worry for her safety? Why couldn’t she see him?

Instinctively, Aegon turned away from her, seeking to escape the questions which he could not answer.

It was a mistake.

He finally saw what Orwyle was doing to cause him such pain.

The skin of his left arm had gone silver, the metal shining beneath the blood and soot stains. No, not silver, steel.

His fucking armor has melted into his skin.

Now, Orwyle was carving it off, bit by bit, as though he was selecting the finest cuts of meat from a roast.

Aegon screamed anew, and he did not stop until darkness again swept him into a merciful dreamless sleep.

-

My Dearest Lady Swann,

My brother asked me not to write to you, but I could not reconcile myself with keeping you ignorant of this. I know it may cause you pain, and for that, I apologize. But you deserve this knowledge.

I am sure that, by now, you have received news of the battle at Rook’s Rest, or if not, that it will arrive soon. The battle was a great victory, as we were able to end the threat of at least one of my half-sister’s dragonriders. It is a shame, however, to lose a dragon as magnificent as Meleys.

Apologies, that is not the purpose of this message.

In the battle, Aegon was gravely wounded. I will spare you the details, as I have no desire to cause you further distress. However, I will tell that the Maesters say it is quite likely he will live, though they fear complete recovery impossible.

For now, he is confined to his bed and given a substantial amount of milk of the poppy to keep the worst of his pains away. But he is not well, and likely will not be for some time. It is for this reason that the Small Council has bestowed upon me the title of Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm, so that Aegon may focus on his recovery rather than the fight for his throne.

I will continue to urge him to write to you, but I cannot guarantee my success. When I spoke with him of you, he was quite adamant that you could not know the severity of his injuries. I tried to counsel him otherwise, but he stood firm. I believe he fears how you would react if you saw him in his current state. He would not want to frighten you or face your revulsion – which I have told him is not something you could ever feel for him.

If I cannot convince him to write to you, I will take up the duty myself. I know how dearly you care for each other, and I would be remiss if your only remaining connection was severed. As with Aegon’s messages, mine will likely be infrequent and brief. But they will come, my lady, I assure you of that.

I hope you remain well. I will pray for you and Aegon both.

With best wishes,

Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen, Protector of the Realm

Lady Swann ran to Stonehelm’s Sept, the letter still in hand as she fell to the marble floors. There she stayed until the sun had set and then threatened to rise again, praying and weeping. She was sure that if Aegon died, she would die too.

-

Aemond sent her no good news. There were small victories, yes. But they were far outweighed by tragedy.

Helaena was still not recovering from her grief.

Nor was Sunfyre recovering from his injuries.

Maelor was dead.

Jaehaera missing.

Cole had been killed.

King’s Landing was taken, Aegon’s whereabouts a secret.

That was the last letter she received from her former betrothed. It was not until weeks later that she learned why: Aemond had been killed at the God’s Eye, and he took Daemon with him into the lake’s cold depths, along with both their dragons.

She was truly alone now, and she did not even know where Aegon was, or if he was still alive.

Her routine became nothing more than spending each day praying in the Sept. She ate only at dawn and then again whenever she finally returned to her rooms – sometimes at dusk, sometimes while the moon was still high in the sky.

It was a shell of a life, but it suited her. She was, herself, a shell of a woman.

Until finally the news came – in a letter written in a familiar hand.

Aegon was alive, and on his way back to King’s Landing from Dragonstone, where he had been since fleeing the castle. He had captured Rhaenyra, and with Sunfyre as his weapon, finally ended the war.

He was coming home, and he asked that she join him as soon as she was able.

…Though we are victorious, I do not find myself feeling so. But it is my hope, that once you are back in my arms, all will truly be righted…

She was in a wheelhouse by the next morning.

-

The landscapes of the Stormlands and Crownlands passed through the windows of Lady Swann’s wheelhouse in a blur. Though the journey to the capital took just over two weeks, it seemed to her that it passed in mere moments – though some days it felt like an eternity.

King’s Landing itself was little more than a mass of pale stone and red tile, the Red Keep only a mountain of rusty brick.

There was only one thing that mattered to her, one word that repeated in her head like the ringing of bells – Aegon, Aegon, Aegon.

The queen, or the former queen, greeted her in the bailey, or at least she thought she did. Others may have been there as well. But she’s paid no attention to them. She burst through the great doors as quickly as she could.

She ran through the labyrinthine halls of the keep with little care of who saw her or who was in her way. Thankfully, most leapt out of her way the moment they saw her. Only one person, a young servant girl she recognized, even spoke to her. She was grateful for the girl, for she had shouted that Aegon was now in the King’s chambers – he had not yet been moved when she left.

So, she found herself at the carved wooden doors of the the King’s chambers. Doors she had never passed through before. Doors which were the only barrier between her and her love.

Only a moment’s hesitation passed until she swung those mighty doors open.

Aegon.

Someone must have told him she had arrived, for he was waiting for her by the eastern window, framed in gold by the setting sun. He was seated in a large chair with two wheels upon its sides, his legs covered with a heavily embroidered blanket. His eyes still shone as brightly as she remembered, their corners wrinkled slightly as he smiled.

But that smile wavered, and his eyes filled with tears. For a moment, he reached out to her.

“They’re all gone,” he wept. His voice was rasping, and weaker than it had been. But the agony in his words was clear as glass.

She ran to him, kneeling at his feet and took both his hands – one precisely as it had been when she left, one now gnarled and scarred – and placed them on her cheeks. To let him feel her warmth, her tears, her life, which he himself had ensured.

“I’m still here, my love,” she whispered. “I’m still here, and I will never leave you again.”

Aegon gripped her tighter as he lowered his head, placing a gentle kiss to her temple before resting his brow against hers. “You’re here. You’re alive… thank the fucking gods.”

She laughed for a moment, until tears overtook her as well, and she simply held him and wept with him.

It was long enough for the sun to complete its descent before Aegon finally broke their embrace. He pulled away, his hands still cradling her face, and smiled sadly. “I am so sorry you must see me like this, hontītsos. You deserve more than a broken man.”

Her brow furrowed in anger. How dare he think such cruelty about himself?

“You are anything but broken,” she insisted, holding his wounded hand in her own. “You bear scars, yes, but you have not been broken. You have survived what would have killed other men three times over, what would have driven them mad. I do not see a broken man before me, I see a man stronger than anything. A man I love with all I am.”

Aegon gave her a watery smile, obviously struggling to hold back more tears. His mouth twitched like he wanted to speak, but it took him long minutes to finally do so. “I only survived it all because I knew I must live to see you, at least one last time.”

“I am here now, and you will see me every day for the rest of our lives. I promise.” She would ensure it, even if she had to move mountains to make it true. They would never lose each other again.

She placed her hands over his and lowered them to cup her neck – exactly as he’d liked it when he kissed her. Then, she put one hand on his hip, and the other on his scarred cheek. “Does this hurt?”

He let out a breath laugh and shook his head. “No. I fact, the feeling is distant, as if it’s hardly there.”

“So, will you feel it if I kiss you?”

“I think there is only one way to find out, hontītsos.”

She dove for his lips without hesitation, kissing him with all the pent-up love or more than a year gone by since she’d last had this opportunity. His lips felt exactly the same – thank the gods – though there were moments when her nose would brush against the raised skin of his scars and remind her of what had happened to him. But those memories only made her kiss him harder, deeper. She never wanted to stop.

It was Aegon who pulled away. Only slightly, so there was just enough space between them for him to speak. “Marry me, my lady Swann.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. She never thought she would ever hear those words for him. It had always been impossible. But now…

“You need a new queen,” she whispered in realization.

Aegon nodded solemnly. “And new heirs.”

“Jaehaera isn’t your heir?”

He laughed, though there was no joy in his eyes. Only grief. “After all that’s happened, I would have to be incredibly stupid to try naming a girl as my heir.”

She supposed it was true. Though there were few Targaryens left to contest the choice if he made it. Still, he wanted to marry her.

There were no more false betrothals, no more sneaking around the castle, no more lying to everyone about how they truly felt about each other. At last, they would be able to publicly declare their love for each other, to sleep in the same bed without fear of someone finding them, to be able to finally do everything they wanted to do, together.

It was far beyond the paltry dreams they’d allowed themselves. It was perfect.

“Of course I will marry you, Aegon. Nothing would make me happier.”

He kissed her again, and they did not stop until the morning.

-

Only a few days later, Aegon sat alone in the same wheelhouse that had once taken him to his coronation – what he’d thought to be his final damning. Perhaps it had been, but it was hard to feel like a damned man that day.

For it was the day he was to make Lady Swann his lady wife.

The morning of his wedding to Helaena, he’d gotten so drunk that Aemond had to keep him standing through the ceremony. If only he could still have them with him, to laugh about the memory.

He would not get drunk today. He wanted to remember every detail of this glorious day – the day that would forever seal his victory in this horrid conflict.

Though, perhaps he would take one or two sips of the wine bottle someone had put in the wheelhouse, just to calm his nerves. He truly feared that she would look so beautiful that he would forget his vows, or burst into tears, or even just faint at the sight of her.

So, he took one sip, then another, then stopped himself. He did not want to over-imbibe when he had not done so for so long. It would not do to appear out of sorts at his wedding. This would be a happy day.

The wheelhouse was halfway up the serpentine steps when he felt the first pains.

At first, it was easy to dismiss it as the result of nerves, or the winding ride, or even the burn of the wine in his throat.

But then it got worse. So, so much worse.

It started in his stomach, then spread to his chest. From there, it radiated through all his limbs and climbed up his throat with teeth and claws and rage.

He was burning again. But there was no fire. He was burning from the inside.

By the time he realized it was poison, he no longer had the strength to call for help.

He fell back in his seat, the goblet tumbling to the ground and spilling the tainted wine over the floorboards. Already, his breath was becoming shallow, his vision blurring, and his body numbing.

But he did not think of who had done this to him, or why. What did it matter? It was done.

One last word escaped his lips, one last thought echoed in his fading mind.

Aegon whispered her name as he realized he would not get to see her in her wedding gown.

Then he died.

-

Lady Swann knelt on the stones of the middle bailey, her white gown stained with tears and dirt and blood. Everything was perfect, and then it wasn’t.

The screaming of the footman had drawn them from within the Sept. Every person who saw what lay within the wheelhouse also began screaming. Except for her.

She just knelt there, unable to even climb into the wheelhouse to sit beside him – his body.

His skin had gone gray, a fowl, unnatural color. Veins were visible beneath his skin, a darker shade of grey. As if his very blood had turned to stone. There was no color on him at all, save for the lovely violet of his eyes, and the horrible stain of red spilling from his mouth.

Someone was saying her name. Whispering it. Crying it. Screaming it. But it was distant – as if it were being said across the narrow sea. And the sound of her name, the once familiar letters and syllables, now seemed foreign. Like it no longer truly meant anything. Like it no longer belonged to her.

She had been called so many things. The White Swan. Prince Aemond’s betrothed, then that poor spurned girl. The future queen. Hontītsos.

What would they call her now?

It didn’t matter. She knew who she was.

She was the girl who loved Aegon Targaryen.

But Aegon was dead.

[azperja]

Time Can’t Stop Me Quite Like You Did

Artwork by me, based on a fic written by the eternally amazing ✨ @randomdragonfires ✨

Created as part of the HoTD Big Bang 2023

Read it at: AO3 | Tumblr

[ripdragonbeans]

Look At Me /modern!Aegon x Reader

My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! You can follow all the fics @hotd-bigbang

Lovely mood board, banner, and dividers by the beautiful @ewanmitchellcrumbs and my beautiful betaa were @asa-do-your-thing and @khaleesihel

WARNINGS: angst, smut, p in v, she/her pronouns, voyeurism???, oral (f and m receiving), physical violence (reader has some anger [not towards Aegon])

"God fucking dammit," you muttered as you reached out to open the unlocked door to your shared apartment with Aegon.

An unlocked door meant one thing: Aegon brought another girl back for a quick, thoughtless fuck. After countless years of suffering this, starting in your freshman year, one would think it would be easy to ignore without a thought. This night, however, was not the ideal night to handle Aegon’s shenanigans. Work had you tiresomely stretched out, often staying up all night to meet deadlines: an old habit you optimistically thought would cease after college. On top of that, lately it felt unbearing, that the universe seemed to have dismissed you, seizing every opportunity to strip you from an ounce of joy or serenity.

The small yet infuriating incidents from spilling coffee all over yourself or dropping a burger over your work attire, pens running out of ink at times you desperately needed them, your computer randomly restarting for an update, it was everything bundling and boiling up to breaking point… And it felt like tonight was that night.

Taking a deep breath, mentally trying to prepare yourself for the incessant and unfortunate familiar banging of the walls, alongside the mindless moans and grunts, you turned the handle and stepped into the room.

Nothing. There was nothing.

Worry pierced through your head. The door was unlocked so Aegon had to be here, right? You paced across the hall, keeping your steps as silent as possible when you arrived at Aegon's door. Pressing your ear against the door, hoping to idly eavesdrop into a conversation, yet all you could gather was silence from the other side.

"Aegon?" You enquired through the wooden shield of the door. "Aegon, are you in there?" Now ardently knocking on the door a little harder than you should. "Aegon, please! Please tell me -"

The door swung open to reveal a pissed off woman clad only in a matching set of lace underwear.

"Who the fuck is this, Aegon?" She looked you up and down with distaste

Aegon gave a little chuckle. "Don't worry, Sara, that's just my roommate."

You peered past her to see Aegon laying on his bed with only grey sweatpants on. He had a lazy smile on his face and gave you a knowing wink. Blush crept up your neck to your cheeks and you had hoped Aegon hadn’t caught a glimpse at your bashful state. Yet despite the mild distance between you two, you could see him scan your face. His smile grew when he noticed the pink shade across your cheeks. He rather enjoyed making you envious, basking in your natural reactions. All you needed was a little more pressure from him to admit the truth.

Or at least that's what he believed.

"You didn't tell me you had one," she glanced over you once again, "but I guess it's nothing to worry about."

"My roomie is no one, babe, I promise," he said as he gave her a flirtatious wink, a habit he seemed to share with the entire female campus.

"Hmmm…good." She slammed the door leaving you stunned and to some honest degree, honesty, irritated.

No one. He said you were no one, his harsh words echoing in your restless mind.

A tight sensation began to burden your chest, and hot tears threatened to fall, yet you shoved it all down, swallowing the large gulp painfully caught your throat, just like you always did. Consuming the raw heartbreak, you gather yourself and the mental walls, you hid yourself behind in defense, slowly making your return to the living room.

If you went to your room it was a given that you would hear everything that was a realistic and harsh possibility, yet you found your feet moving towards the familiar space. A few minutes passed until you heard a faint moan echoing from the direction of Aegon’s room and the light banging of the bed against the wall. Sighing in defeat, you place your noise canceling headphones on and searching up YouTube to mindlessly watch some video essay explaining this new ARG, Welcome Home. You found that submerging your senses to the very unnerving voice of Wally Darling was a great way to tune out the other background noises..

As much as you loved Aegon, you could never not be annoyed by this grotesque habit of his. Every other week was a new girl to fuck and mess about with, with no care nor implications in the world. None of them ever meant anything to him, you knew that much. No, you could tell. His lilac eyes never lit up when he saw them, his warm smile never reached his eyes, and he never talked about them willingly. The only times he would mention them was whenever he remembered to give you a heads up that he'd have one of them over for the night. You figured if he was inviting them over they'd be decent people, respectable enough to acknowledge your presence. You had hoped they'd be decent because Aegon deserved at least that. Whenever they'd show up you would do your best to be polite and welcoming in a weirdly humourous way, one time you’d even blurted to some poor victim of his hookup "hey you're here to suck my roommate", only to be disregarded and treated like utter shit. It was as though you didn't exist.

More so, you despised the way he acted when one of them came over, putting on some macho facade. Aegon would become old Aegon. The Aegon you initially met, the one who wore the mask of a guy who didn't give a fuck about anyone or anything. He was snarky and cocky, with the only priority of having the highest known body count. Yet you knew better, you saw through that careless exterior. After being paired together on assignment you two started hanging out. About a month or two after the project was assigned, he opened up. He played the part of the college frat fuckboy flawlessly, yet you could see right through that. You did your best to be someone he could trust; you knew there was more to him. Soon enough, your assignment partner became your best friend, your go to person, a person you'd do anything for. And that's how you ended up sharing an apartment with Aegon.

But there was something else.

There was a tug drawing you to him. Whenever you were away from Aegon there was a palpable ache in your heart. Whenever a sorority girl stayed the night your heart shattered, only to be slowly put together the next day by your very own hands. At the time you didn't want to admit it to yourself but eventually you had to.

It wasn't terrible at first. You lived a domestic life with your best friend with no worry in the world. Until he started bringing friends home. Just the occasional random girl moaning in his room once a month or so but now it was every other week. You hate to admit it but it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. You wished it was you in that room but you wouldn't tell him. It would ruin your friendship.

You loved Aegon, not just as a friend but as something more. The only problem was that you loved Aegon so much that you'd want him to be happy, even if it meant seeing him being with other girls. Yet you could never see yourself with someone else, only with him.

After watching every single reaction video to Welcome Home, Sara finally left Aegon's room wearing one of his shirts.

"See you next time, roomie," she said as she gave you a mocking smile before exiting the apartment.

You rolled your eyes as you started to pick up your laptop to move to your room when you heard him enter.

"Done with your fucking for the night?" You refused to look at him.

"Yeah," he leaned against the wall. "Unless you wanna be my round two."

"I'm not interested in sloppy seconds, Aeg. Next time just give me a heads-up, yeah? I don't like coming home to your moans."

"Oh, you know you love coming home to my moans," he teased. He loved riling you up like this.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. Unlike me, who has to endure your headboard slamming against the wall," you bit out.

Aegon was taken aback by your sudden hostility and couldn’t fathom a response. Taking his silence as confirmation that he didn't care, you finished gathering your stuff and headed to your room. But as you passed Aegon, he abruptly stepped in front of you, halting you in your tracks.

"Hey, you're not seriously mad at me, are you?" His brows furrowed worriedly. "It's been a few months of this and now you're getting upset about it?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been annoyed with this the whole time." You sighed and rubbed your tiresome eyes. "It wasn't too bad at first, I could ignore it fine but then it kept happening more and more often than favored. Each girl was more terrible to me than the last. And you never do shit about it, you never defend me. You seemed perfectly happy to let these one night stands walk all over your best friend, it seems." You glared at him, "You said I was nothing, Aegon.. I understand you put on this whole facade to get laid but that… that was cold, Aeg… Even for you. You're back to your old habits and it makes me want to run. Anyway," you took a deep breath, wanting this conversation to end, "I'm going to bed, I’m too tired for this right now… Night, Aegon."

He called your name and adamantly tried to follow you. You knew Aegon didn't like it when you were upset with him. You hoped he would try harder to get to you and say you were right and that he needs to look at himself again.

When you turned around to hear his side he shut down. Instead of saying anything he just blankingly stared at you. You could see his poor attempt to gather the courage to talk, yet no words fell from his soft lips. For the first time in weeks you two looked at each other, really looked at each other. The friendship between you has always been strong but you've been feeling it deteriorate, eating away slowly and slowly. You were hoping to see the bit of your best friend in those eyes, yet all you saw was regret.

When you turned to your door you found yourself saying more. "I'm tired, Aegon. I'm tired of this." You put your hand on the doorknob. "I miss you." You entered your room and locked yourself in before he could say anything.

You crawled into your bed and curled up, hugging your knees. Once again your chest tightened and tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. Only this time, you let them fall.

It's been weeks since Aegon invited someone to spend the night and it kind of pissed you off. You lost your cool one night and suddenly he just stops. It felt as though he was babying you, which was the part that was pissing you off. The other part of you felt relieved, hoping everything could go back the way it was before. You wanted goofy, vulnerable Aegon, not the one who was around a few weeks ago.

However, it didn't last. Just when you thought it was over, you came home to find Aegon's face buried between some random girl's legs. She still had her clothes on, as though Aegon couldn't wait to taste her. It was only her blouse unbuttoned and skirt that was bunched up and her legs spread that immediately clued you in to what was happening. Her head was thrown back, eyes were shut, and a silent scream left her body as Aegon brought her to the edge.

Anger bubbled inside you, threatening to pour over. The girl turned her head and smirked at you as though she knew you were there the entire time. She took her time slipping off the counter, fixing her hair into something slightly more put together. Once she painstakingly straightened herself up she fully turned to you and flashed the biggest smile.

"Oh, hey, roomie." It was Sara. "I didn't think I'd see you again. Aegon hasn't hit me up in a month so I thought he was fucking you." She laughed. "Sorry, I'm a little tle out of breath. He really knows what to do, not that you'd know anything about that, right?" She gave you a teasing wink.

All you could do was stare at her.

"I'm just joking, roomie. I know he'd never fuck you. Anyway, I figured I'd pay him a visit just be sure. Glad to see I was wrong."

She finished buttoning her top and smoothed down her skirt as Aegon got up. Sara quickly turned and pulled him into a mockingly deep kiss. You rolled your eyes when you spotted Aegon flexing his hands trying not to touch her. You walked in on him eating her out. His attempt to not touch her in front of you was an insult. You looked back at his face and saw his eyes glued on you while Sara tried to stick her tongue in his mouth. You've never seen him so uncomfortable with someone else like this. He looked almost apologetic yet he did nothing to move away from her. Sara finally pulled away, but not before grabbing one of Aegon's hands to run over her chest.

Sara turned back to you. "Same time next week? Maybe we'll try it in your bed, roomie. Gotta keep it exciting."

She gave you a demeaning wink before bending down to pick up her purse, obviously giving you a view of her ass. You looked over at Aegon, fuming, but only saw him trying, and failing, not to gawk at her backside. As though he felt your stare, his eyes shot to you and immediately looked ashamed. Sara was taking her sweet time getting up and gathering her things, steadily coaxing your anger with little comments here and there about how much she looks forward to next time, what they should try out, and what she wanted to do again. But it was her last comment that made you explode.

"You should move in with me, Aeg. You'll get sick of her sooner or later. You know I'm better for you anyway. She's no one worth remembering and obviously does nothing for -"

"Get. The. Fuck. Out," you growled.

Sara slowly turned to you and pursed her lips in mock sympathy. "Aw, is the little roomie jealous? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find someone desperate enough to fuck you."

Red flooded your vision as everything became blurry. You didn't have control over your actions anymore. You launched yourself at Sara with your hands curved into claws. She had no time to move before you tackled her down and dragged your nails across her face. As she screamed you pulled her hair to force her to look you in the eye.

There weren't any deep scratches on her but you drew blood. Sick pride washed over you when you looked at her. A mix of eyeliner, tears, and the slightest tint of blood splotted across her face.

"You can dismiss my existence and waltz around like you own the place but let me make something clear," you whispered. "You will never call me desperate, you will never call me being worthless, and you will never force me out of my home. This is my place, not yours. It never was and it never will be."

You took a deep breath before pulling her back up. Sara was standing with your hand still gripping her hair.

You made sure your next words burned.

"You will never have a place in Aegon's heart. I know you think I believed your smug confidence and the terribly misplaced belief that you were his but you were wrong. Not for one second have I ever believed that Aegon would actually love you. You want me to be nothing to him but that will never happen. You can't sleep your way to Aegon, you only think you can. The truth is that you know nothing about him. But I do. I'm the one who has Aegon's heart, not you."

Sara whimpered when you tugged on her hair.

"Now," you breathed, "you're gonna get the fuck out of here and never come back. Do you understand?"

Sara broke her terrified stare from you to a pleading one to Aegon. "Aegon, you know I'm better for you. She's nothing compared to me. You said it yourself, she's nothing."

Aegon didn't try to comfort her. He looked straight at her without any trace of emotion.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Sara."

"Seriously?!"

"You were a mistake. Every girl was."

You lips pressed into a tight smile as you dragged Sara, still by her hair, to the door. "If I see you here again," you growled, "I will do more than simply scratch your face." You threw her out with your final words and slammed the door shut.

Tension engulfed the room. It was as though The red in your eyes slowly faded away until your head cleared up. All you could do was stand there. You didn't realize how fast your heart has been beating, how hard you've been breathing, until you came back to reality. What you just did felt like a dream. There was no thinking involved, only instinct and anger.

Aegon coughed, breaking the silence. "Hey, so, um," he scratched the back of his neck. "I guess -"

"Don't." You turned to face him. "I'm going to take a shower, grab some whiskey, and crash in my bed. Maybe we'll talk later. Or maybe we can just forget this happened," you let out a mirthless laugh, "and you can go back to fucking someone new every week."

"Wait, hold up, we need to -"

You held a hand up. "Stop, Aegon, please. I said a lot of things in the heat of the moment. Don't worry about me."

It's been two weeks since you kicked Sara out, which meant that it's been two weeks since you blew up in front of him. Everything you said was true, whether or not Aegon wanted to believe it. If he was too much of a coward to admit anything then so be it. But since then he's been almost non-existent. He was never in the apartment when you were and if he was he kept his door closed. As much as you wanted to check in on him you also wanted to hold your ground. What he did was stupid and hurt like hell.

After working an exhausting ten hour shift, you dragged yourself into the apartment. The lights were off but you could see a figure sitting on the couch and hear a dull thump from something hitting the table. You creeped closer to get a close look at them.

It was Aegon.

He was wallowing in his own self pity, drinking as much as he could. There were two empty bottles of beer on the table. A third half-empty bottle was in his hand. Wearing worn out black sweatpants and a ratty hoodie, Aegon took a swig before muttering some curses to himself. As you got closer to him you could smell the alcohol.

"What a fucking idiot," he laughed. Aegon took another swig of whatever bottle he had in his hand and promptly slammed it down.

You wanted to keep your mouth shut. You knew it would be better to walk away but it's been so long since you've talked that your resolve broke.

"You better not be talking about me," you said when you slipped into a spot next to him.

"Fucking hell," he flinched, spilling the contents of his drink. "Great, now it's on the fucking floor. Thanks." He threw a pillow on top of the mess figuring it would be better than nothing.

The two of you sat there in taut silence. Aegon didn't even reach for another drink. You were simply sitting in the quiet darkness together. You were about to break it when he spoke up first.

"I fucked up."

You let out a cold laugh. "Yeah, you really did."

He turned to look at you. Even in the dark you could see his eyes were a bit bloodshot. "I'm fucking trying, okay?" He rubbed his face. "No, you know what, forget it." Forgetting the bottle was empty, he picked it up to drink. He muttered a curse before setting it back down.

He got up to leave but you grabbed his hand before he could go any further. It was as though time was frozen. The second you took it everything became still. Aegon's hand was limp but you gave it a small squeeze encouraging him to stay.

"We need to talk about this. I know I've been avoiding it but you've been avoiding it, too. Hell, you've been avoiding me, Aeg."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before sitting back down.

"What do you want to talk about? How you went fucking ballistic? How you basically confessed your love for me?"

"Yes. All of that."

He nodded his head, asking you to go on.

"You changed so much, Aeg, and I didn't know what to do. When we first moved in you were my goofy best friend. You know, the one I tell everything to. Then one day it's like back at university before we met. You starting bringing in girl after girl to fuck and it just drove me up a wall. What the fuck happened?"

"What happened was my dad dying." He picked up an unopened bottle of beer and took a swig.

Your eyes widened at the confession. "Your dad died so you thought fucking someone new would help?"

"No - I mean yes, but it was more than that."

"It was more than that? I know you didn't give a shit about any of them."

He yanked his hand away. "Maybe not, but they have a shit about me!" He exploded.

"Excuse me?" You dangerously whispered. That has got to be utter bullshit, you thought.

"Sure, it may have only been to fuck me but it was something!"

"Just because they fuck you doesn't mean they care!" You jumped up. "They didn't fucking care but I did!" You pressed a finger to his chest. "I always have and I always will. Don't you fucking get it? I've been here since the beginning and you try to blame me for your dumb ass actions?"

Aegon grabbed your hand and pulled you close. "If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have to distract myself."

"Distract yourself? Did the death of your dad really fuck you up that bad? I know he didn't give a shit and you didn't either. Don't pretend to be so beat up over it." You tried to pull away but he held you tight.

"It fucked me up because it made me realize that I can somehow be better than my dad by caring about people."

You laughed. "And you care about every single girl you've fucked. Absolutely believable, Aeg."

He let go of you, almost pushing you away.

He dropped his head before speaking. "You said you cared. If you cared you would've been able to see the change."

You were gentle with your next words, "I can't read your mind. Just because I know you so well doesn't mean I can figure out every emotion you have."

Silence.

"Aeg, just tell me what's going on, please."

Still refusing to look at you, he dropped back to the couch. "I fell in love with you, that's what happened. I don't know when but I did. For some godforsaken reason my dad dying set off everything. All I could do was ignore it and I did that by taking someone to bed almost every night." He brought the bottle up to his lips but didn't drink anything.

You sat down next to him.

You didn't want to believe him.

"I know you've been drinking all night. You're just saying things."

He scoffed and chugged the rest of the beer. "Just because I've been drinking all night doesn't mean I don't know what I'm saying."

"Okay, fine. Let's assume everything you've told me is true. You may love me but nothing more than a friend, right?"

"No, that's not true."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

He locked eyes with you. "I wanted to push you."

"Push me? What did you need to push me for?" You questioned. "Besides, I think you pushed me pretty good when I attacked Sara."

"I pushed you too hard, I know that now. I did it because I wanted to get you closer to me. I wanted you jealous."

"First off, that's a fucking stupid plan. Second, I'm already close to you. Or at least was," you murmured the last part.

Aegon rubbed his eyes in frustration. "You don't get it. You're so fucking smart but you don't get it!"

"What don't I get?" You challenged.

"You don't get that I wanted you to make the first move!" He settled down before continuing. "I see the way you look at me. I see your reactions. I know you want more. But for once I needed you to make the first move. If you wanted me it had to be on your terms." He took a deep breath. "And you're right. I didn't give a shit about the girls I fucked. The only one I give a shit about is you. But when you didn't do anything I did what I know best. I didn't want to distract myself from my dad's death. Again, something you were right about. I was distracting myself from you."

You searched his eyes for any trace of dishonesty but didn't find any. "If you had said something I would've said yes." You reached out for his hand. "What you did was stupid but…I get it. Kinda. You were scared."

"Yeah, I was scared."

You scooted close to him. "Then take the leap." You were gentle with your words.

Aegon pulled you in and lowered his head to yours. "I don't want to fuck it up." His lips brushed against yours.

"So don't." You pressed your forehead against his.

For a few moments that's how you stayed. It was just you and Aegon. When you separated you gave him a soft smile. His eyes darted to your lips and you took your chance. You softly brushed your lips against his before giving him a true kiss.

Your eyes fluttered close. His lips were soft and joined you in tandem. It wasn't rough. The kiss was pure love. Emotions poured into the kiss. He pulled you on top of his lap before deepening the kiss. You smiled against him as you moved your hands up his arms and to his hair.

More. You wanted more.

You nipped at his bottom lip and he gladly opened up. When you slid your tongue in he snaked one arm around you right while the other ran up your sides. His arousal was beginning to prod against you and it spurred you on even more. You slowly rocked your hips against him.

"Fuck," he pulled away and buried his face in your neck. He kissed his way up and nipped at your ear. "You are so much better than the others."

"Don't talk about them. Look at me," you commanded.

Aegon looked up at you with big eyes.

"Take me to your room and I'll show you exactly what you missed out on."

He pushed you off his lap only to grab your wrist and practically run to his room. But before he could open the door you pulled him back and trapped him with one arm against the wall. You gave him a mischievous smile before dragging your hand down his body and to his hard cock. He tried to suppress a groan when you began palming him over his pants.

"Let it out, babe. I want to hear every sound you make."

You took pity on him when you could feel his cock getting harder. When you pulled your hand away he couldn't help but groan at the loss of contact.

"This is what happens when you play with me," you smirked.

Releasing him from the wall you let him take you into his room. Immediately you grabbed him by his hoodie to pull him down to you to crash your lips against his. Gone were the soft kisses. Now it was pure passion and lust.

You moved one hand to grab his and the other to place on his chest. As soon as you pushed him to the edge of the bed you took a step back.

"Strip for me," you commanded.

Aegon was quick to rid himself of his hoodie and sweatpants. When he went to pull down his underwear you stopped him.

"Let me do this." You came up to him and lowered yourself to your knees as you slid his briefs down.

His cock was at full attention, red and angry. You licked your lips and cupped his balls, slowly massaging them. He threw his head back.

"No, no. Look at me. I want you to watch me take you in."

All he could do was bring his head back and nod.

You moved your hand from his balls to his cock and slowly worked him. Leaning in to the tip you gave him small kitten licks. Once you got him breathing heavier you took all of him in your mouth. Never did you look away from him. You slowly began bobbing your head back and forth, loving the feel of him in you. When you decided to push him a little more with a hum around the cock he twitched. You hummed once again and brought your hand to his balls.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck, I'm gonna cum," he breathed.

As soon as he said that you released him with an obscene pop. Aegon whined when he left your warm mouth.

"Don't worry, there's more. Now, lay back. No touching."

He nodded his head.

"I need to hear you say it."

He gulped. "I promise I won't touch myself."

"Good boy," you smiled.

You ran your hands over your tits before reaching down to brush yourself over your clothes. You brought your hands up to slowly take off your top. Once again you ran your hands over your tits, this time playing with your nipples through your bra.You looked over at Aegon to see him grasping the sheets and slowly rolling his hips into nothing.

"Are you so desperate that you have to hump the air? Aw, poor baby," you taunted. You reached down to the top of your pants and pulled it down. "This is a better view, isn't it?"

You walked to the bed and sat on your haunches between his legs.

"Be a dear and take off my bra for me."

Aegon sat up and ran his hands over your breasts and stopped to play with your hardened peaks before unclasping the bra and throwing it across the room.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," you chided. "That wasn't nice. I guess I have to punish you now. Lay flat on your back." You could feel yourself get wetter telling him what to do.

He did as he was told, shaking with anticipation.

You climbed up his body to his face and slowly lowered yourself down.

"I want you to make me cum. You deserve to have a mess on your face."

He didn't need to be told twice. He pushed your panties to the side and licked a strip up your folds. He moaned and grabbed your thighs to keep you steady. He left open kisses all over your pussy. A coil began to tighten in your stomach.

"Fuck, babe. You're so good at eating my pussy. Do I taste good?"

You heard a muffled yes and smiled to yourself.

He moved from your folds to your clit. You rolled your hips against his face as he sucked and licked your bud. Every swipe of his tongue had you throwing your head back in bliss. It was almost too much but he didn't stop. He was bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Aegon moved away from your clit only to replace it with his thumb. He rubbed lazy circles as he dipped his tongue into your dripping cunt. He sped up his fucking and pressed on your clit sending you over the edge. The coil in your stomach released as you made a mess on his face.

You moved off his face. "What a good boy," you praised. "I think it's time for a reward."

You lowered yourself down his body. Wrapping a hand around his cock you worked him up to full hardness again. You gave him a few licks before taking the head in you mouth and sucking just a tiny bit. It was enough to make him moan and buck his hips up ever so slightly.

Letting go of him you chuckled when you moved to straddle him and lined up his cock with your pussy.

"Are you ready for me to ride you?"

"Yes, yes please."

"Good."

You slipped off your panties and let the drop next to the bed before sinking down on his cock. The stretch had you moaning, feeling every inch of him inside you completely. The way he filled you couldn't be described coherently. You began to move your hips slowly, taunting him. Aegon whimpered as he fought the urge to grab your waist

You leaned down to whisper in his ear. "You can touch me," you tell him. "I want you to touch me."

That was all he needed to let go of the sheets and attack your body with his hands. He ran over every single curve trying to commit them to memory. You swore you saw his mouth water when he reached up to play with your tits. You leaned down to give him better access. Immediately he took a nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

You could feel that coil tighten again. Your hips rocked against him when he brought one hand to your clit. You had no choice but to sit up again and bounce on his cock.

"Holy fuck yes! Please, please, please, Aegon! Gods, you're so good at fucking me!"

He let out a deep groan as he pushed his hips up even higher. "You're tightening around me - oh, gods - you're gonna make me cum inside you," he moaned. His hands moved to your hips helping you ride him but he was getting sloppy.

"Do it." You were clenching around him tighter than you ever thought was possible.

"Do it, Aegon. Cum for me."

The thrusts became desperate and wild. You and Aegon let out a scream as you came together. You felt him empty himself inside you. His cock twitched weakly as you tried to control your collapse on him. He wrapped his arms around you.

"Can we stay like this?" He asked, his cock still inside you.

"Yes, of course." You turned your head and kissed his cheek. "I want this. I want you, Aegon."

"I know."

A few minutes passed before you moved off of him. You felt empty without him inside you but you got up anyway and kneeled on the floor so you head was by his. You ran a hand through his hair and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Let me clean you up, babe," you whispered.

"Okay." He reached over to cup your face and traced a small circle on your cheek.

You got up to go to the bathroom to clean yourself up then returned with a wet towel. Giving him a small smile, you ran the towel over his body. You were extra careful around his lower regions knowing he was still sensitive. When you finished cleaning him you slipped yourself into his arms.

"Look at me, Aegon." You said. "You're not gonna fuck this up."

"I don't want to hurt you." His eyes filled with worry.

"We are not going to fuck it up," you paused. "I love you, too. Always have and always will."

[asa-do-your-thing]

The Shadows of The Lost Court

Dark!Aemond x F!OC - 18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 8.6k TW: dubcon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Shameless Smut, Angst, Fellatio, Misogyny, Internalized Misogyny, Non-Consensual Drug use, Religious Imagery, Symbolism and guilt

Art made by the lovely @nyctophilic0vitnir - thank you so much sweetheart! <3 And thank you so so much @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organizing this @hotd-bigbang , you are amazing!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Elisabeth shuddered and stopped, turning around, coughing to try and relieve her dry mouth. 

She knew. She knew… She knew something. Something was following her. 

Leaning against a grubby, crumbling wall, Elisabeth tried catching her breath. There was nothing there, neither on the left, nor on the right. Only cobwebs; cobwebs, moss and the smell of decay.

 ‘Is The Stranger a something or a someone?’

Tonight was different. The milk came sooner than usual.

Elisabeth struggled - where some people love the rush and the calmness afterward, she hated it. Hated the way it made her sick. Hated the way it lamed her tongue; hated the way it hid her. She knew better than anyone that her doses were calculated. Maester Rithyr must have gotten the order for her to be silenced, not addicted. That wouldn’t look good. 

Elisabeth peered out of a window, only to see thick tendrils of fog curling up from the ground like ghostly fingers. The dim light filtering through the mist gave everything a spectral, otherworldly hue. She took notice of how broken everything looked: shattered windows, splintered doors and debris scattered across the dusty floor. She sighed heavily as she rearranged her long, dark brown hair under its veil, trying to keep it in place amidst all the chaos. And then, she heard him again - his footsteps echoing through the ruins.

The sound made her feel uneasy; it was too quiet, too lonely. For a moment she wondered if she was in trouble or hurt. But then a chill ran down her spine and she realized that perhaps it wasn't just the desolate ruin around her making her feel so cold and scared.

“You swore to obey me. You swore before the gods, you brutish whore. After all I’ve done for you…”, the voice echoed around her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was closing in on her. The staircase seemed to be miles away, yet still, she pushed herself away from the moss-covered stones and cautiously started walking. Elisabeth grunted, her legs burning. It was as if she was walking against a current of water, one that swept her slowly closer to him. She stepped over a rotting tapestry and tightly clung onto the handrail of the staircase. 

‘Why would The Stranger think of me like that? Is it time for me to… die?’

Carefully descending down, she peered up the stairs. The window let in cold, humid gusts of air and Elisabeth was sure that she could see his dark robe in the shadow. Knowing that the Queen’s Ballroom had no other exit, she trudged past it, stopping to catch her breath along the way.

Out. Out of Maegor’s Holdfast, her mind urged her. But where would she go? As soon as the Kingsguardmen saw her, they would gently escort her back into her chamber. That’s the way it has been for a long time. Biting her lamed tongue, she quietly walked down to the entrance and glanced out. No one was there. No one, except for the occasional rat that scurried through the lower bailey. 

“I saw the way that the Strong bastard looked at you. You were with him, weren’t you? Was it not enough to tell him about our political strategies, but to also give him your useless cunny? Do you even know the shame you bring onto this realm?”

Her breath hitched as she saw him closing in on her, his dark cape billowing in the light wind. Glancing up at the serpentine steps, she felt a thick raindrop splashing down onto her. That was just what she needed - collapsing on the slick stairs, The Stranger close behind her. No, risking embarrassment by climbing over the ledge into the Godswood was far more appealing to her. 

“Leave me be! I beg of you!”, she whined, her lungs on fire.

'I cannot do this anymore, not long, anyhow, my feet... my lungs... The Stranger... Death...', she thought, unable to focus on anything else than him.

The Godswood was an ancient and sinister place, a twisted forest lurking within the heart of Maegor's Holdfast. Towering weirwood trees with their deathly white trunks and faint streaks of crimson formed a menacing roof above, and the loamy earth seemed to swallow her every step. Elisabeth took a raspy breath, feeling the icy, dank air fill her lungs. The stench of decay surrounded her, the smell of putrefaction and rot. Rain drops pelted down onto her skin, the soil beneath her feet sodden.

Elisabeth moved with a sense of urgency, her feet burning as she weaved through the dense trees. The pattering of rain on the leaves above offered her some concealment as she made her way between the shelter of one tree to another, hoping to avoid detection by her pursuer. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her and she whirled around, only to hear the sound of footsteps growing louder and louder.

Her heart in her throat, she ducked behind a gnarled oak tree, taking cover from the ominous presence that was closing in on her. She could feel every drop of cold rain as it streamed down her face and hair, running down her back and soaking through to her skin. Each breath was ragged and tumultuous as beads of perspiration bubbled up on her forehead. Elisabeth shuddered uncontrollably in the frigid air before finally forcing herself to keep moving forward through the relentless downpour.

Elisabeth could hear the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make her way through the Godswood. She was shaking with fear, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. She knew that The Stranger was close behind her; she could feel his presence like a dark cloud looming over her.

She stumbled over a tree root, nearly falling to the ground, before weakly righting herself and continuing on. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck,  her clothes were soaked through. However, insignificant concerns like the dampness penetrating her to the core were overshadowed by her urgent need to elude her relentless pursuer.

Abruptly, a chilling sound pierced the silence, causing her blood to freeze in her veins. It was the eerie scrape of something sharp grating against the gnarled bark of a tree, almost like the sound of a blade being sharpened before an execution. Her heart raced as she whirled around, and there, amidst the gusty winds, stood The Stranger, his ominous dark robe unfurling like a spectre from the shadows.

"You can't escape me."

Elisabeth recoiled in terror, her wide-eyed gaze darting around frantically, searching for a possible escape route. However, the Godswood resembled an inescapable labyrinth of winding trees and dense underbrush, leaving her utterly trapped.

The Stranger took a step forward, his eyes fixed on her. Elisabeth saw the hunger in his gaze, the hunger for her soul. She knew that she was doomed. With a cry of despair, she turned and ran, darting between the trees as fast as she could. The Stranger was right behind her, his footsteps pounding on the wet ground.

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, cold and ...familiar? Shaking her head quickly and looking up into the sky, she saw the towers again. She probably ran around in circles, her dazed mind tricking her into thinking she had been trapped in a forest.

Frantically sprinting out of the oppressive Godswood, she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air as her gaze fell upon the dilapidated Outer Bailey. The once-glorious stone walls loomed ominously over her, crumbling inward from age and neglect. Threadbare tapestries hung limply in the breeze, swaying like ghosts in an abandoned graveyard. Gaping holes in the walls revealed chipped statues that had been carved centuries ago, still standing guard despite their years of neglect. In the far distance, the towers soared into the sky, dark voids against a backdrop of gray clouds.

Elisabeth inhaled deeply as a thick, unsettling aroma engulfed her. The scent of lavender and jasmine combined with the decaying smell of rotting fruit and mildew. In the distance, Elisabeth could hear the faint sound of buzzing from unseen insects lurking beyond the shadows. She stumbled forward, mesmerized by the air that was heavy with an ominous foreboding.

At last she reached the entrance to The Sept - an imposing structure made entirely out of pale stone blocks that glowed in the fading light. Stone steps rose up to meet two large wooden doors while several small windows peeked out like watchful eyes looking down on her every move.

Elisabeth, feeling the stinging of her lungs, ran into the Sept and fell down on her knees. She laid atop the golden seven-pointed star on the floor and looked up at the statue of the Mother, trying her hardest not to look at the Stranger. To calm her head, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, running her dry, cracked hands over her burning calves. The tears continued flowing over her pallid face, running down into her dirty gown. 

‘What is happening to me? Why on earth would the Seven punish me so?’

She remembered her wedding. It was magnificent, aye. But then again, it had to be. After Joffrey’s death at Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding tourney, she was quietly whisked away from the Stormlands and settled into the Red Keep as a way of keeping the Lonmouth’s - and to a greater extent the Baratheon’s - good graces, so as not to let them favour Princess Rhaenyra’s claim in the case of King Viserys’ death.

The time until the courtship was quiet, that much Elisabeth still remembered. She grew up alongside Princess Helaena - Helaena being three years older than her. Endless hours of handiwork, study and prayer had shrouded her in relative solitude, so when she turned four and ten, she was shocked to be invited to the Royal Table more often and to be invited for strolls with Prince Aemond. Back then she had still been Lady Elisabeth, not 'Princess Bess'.

Later she understood why the engagement happened. Prince Aemond had to marry to secure the crown’s security and to show the green faction that they had gotten the Stormlands support.

She often asked herself why they had chosen her over the Baratheon girls. They were more comely - Elisabeth's stature was short and plump, giving her the appearance of a child much younger than her age. Her brow was rounded, her cheeks plump and her eyes large with dark, scared pupils. Her Monmouth blood - the one that made her relation Joffrey so beautiful - must have passed her by. Her long, dark hair was thick but formless, hanging in her face without curls or ringlets. It was clear to her that Aemond was not interested in her, not in the romantic sense at least. 

As days turned into weeks, Elisabeth discovered that Prince Aemond was the first man with whom she could engage in conversations almost as equals. His cold, yet encouraging words had ignited a spark within her, urging her to delve deeper into her thoughts and ideas. Over time, an unexpected fondness began to blossom in Elisabeth's heart for him. In his unique manner, he exuded a charming gloomy aura that drew her in. Many hours passed in their quiet companionship, their noses buried in books, immersed in shared moments of silent contemplation. Their intellectual pursuits were often overseen by the watchful presence of Princess Helaena, serving as a discreet but ever-vigilant chaperone.

But now, as she lay on the floor of the Sept, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake somewhere along the line in her life. Should she have taken her vows? Life as a septa would’ve suited her far more than whatever tragedy her current situation had turned into.

Aemond had changed since they were wed. Princess Helaena said that that was the case for most men, yet somehow, a small glimmer of hope still arose that it might have been different. He had become more... mean. It was as though he was a different person entirely.

Although... he had always been the quiet sort. The kind of man that you could hear exhaling slowly whenever he heard a foolish remark, the kind of man that judged everyone for everything, the kind of man that doesn't even think himself superior - he believes it.

Elisabeth couldn't help but think of the Stranger. It was a foolish thought, she knew. But in some ways, Aemond reminded her of the mysterious figure. Both were dark, brooding, and unpredictable. 

Elisabeth had always been on edge when Queen Alicent was around; her hawk-like gaze followed her every move and her scornful words cut deeper than any blade. Every time Elisabeth tried to be independent or think for herself, the Queen would chastise her that those were qualities meant just for Husbands.

After months of having to constantly please the Queen and ignore her own wants and needs, Elisabeth felt like a teetering ball ready to burst with the slightest push. She was too afraid to say anything, though, in fear of making things worse.

Then arrived the fateful day of her wedding, a lavish spectacle replete with tournaments, sumptuous feasts, and exhilarating hunts—a grand display of House Targaryen's power and influence. The exuberance of the festivities infected all who attended, making it effortless for others to revel in the celebrations.

However, beneath the surface of the revelry, Elisabeth harboured a mixture of anxiety and excitement, uncertain of what her future held in store. In the midst of it all, Prince Aemond had become a steadfast presence in her life, forging a deep connection with her. He seemed to grasp the essence of her being, affording her the precious gift of solitude for introspection, or so she believed. He made sure to squash her hopes.

For most, that had been a grande and joyous event. For Elisabeth, it was the start of her misery, though she did not yet know the full extent. As the Queen had instructed her, she treated everyone courteously, demurely.

That she did, or at least she thought that she did. Her husband disagreed, though. As soon as they were escorted into his chamber (he had wished for the doors to be closed), he spun around and pushed her against a wall. Aemond asked with a steely voice, towering over her, if she had been cavorting with the Velaryons, the way she had smiled at them, the way Jacaerys’ lips lingered on her hand as he greeted her.

Aemond questioned if she thought him to be blind. Elisabeth whimpered and gulped, trying her hardest not to hold Aemond's hard gaze, when she explained that she was told to be courteous to everyone, only to be cut off, when Aemond had pushed her even harder, making her yelp in pain, her shoulders burning from his strong grip. He ordered her to hush and questioned her why she would associate herself with usurpers, bastards and sodomites. 

What followed was of no particular interest to her, not anymore, anyways. Someone outside of the chamber, presumably Maester Myntheon, cleared their throat and told them to settle any disputes after the ceremony. Aemond had quickly slipped off his breeches - the fact that he didn’t even care enough to fully undress stung her after it had happened - and made sure to get her naked as soon as possible. 

She laid there, freezing, looking up at the tapestries next to their bed as he quickly stroked himself. ‘Do not do anything, lest he should think you a whore’ ran through her mind so often, that she almost thought that a small version of Alicent sat in her brain, spewing her nonsensical rules over and over so she could drive herself insane. 

“Open up.”

When Aemond saw her puzzled expression, he sighed, shook his head and gently pried her legs open, pulling her down the bed so that she was close to the ledge, closer to him and his half-hard member.

“I need to get to your cunt. Don’t make this more difficult for us than it has to be.”

Elisabeth felt her face heat up, and even though the room was dark, she could feel a heavy blush take over her neck and cheeks. She opened her legs wider and tried to steel herself for what was to come, but all too soon Aemond was pushing himself inside of her. She gasped as he entered her roughly, not giving her time to adjust. He kept thrusting into her with more force than necessary, making it hurt even more than it should have. Did he know it hurt? Did it hurt him?

She tried to cry out but he put a hand on her mouth and told her he was almost done. Tears started streaming down Elisabeth's face as Aemond kept going for what seemed like an eternity until finally his body went limp on top of hers. He rolled off of the bed without saying a word and left the room without so much as glancing at Elisabeth again.

Elisabeth lay there in shock, touching herself gingerly where Aemond had just been. For the first time ever she felt ashamed of herself; despite all that had just happened she still felt pleasure deep within herself that made her feel worse than before - something no one had prepared her for or warned about prior to this momentous night.

Was she a wanton whore? Was.. was Alicent right?

That was that. After that, he visited her fortnightly, stated his needs and left again. Although, Elisabeth noted quickly to herself, he had gotten gentler after seeing her bruised cunny. Proving she was a virgin had been no great feat. Her fear had made her so stiff and dry that there were multiple splotches of blood on the bed sheet, so many that even Alicent deemed to congratulate her. That was also the time where Alicent had started giving her milk of the poppy and after that, Elisabeth could not remember anything reliably. 

Even if she could, she noticed it was not the time to reminisce anymore. His eyes were dark and bright at the same time, void of feeling even while raging with anger. The candles flickered nervously on the altars as he stalked into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Slowly turning around, she tried looking up at him despite her shaky vision. He was tall, wearing a cape with a large hood that covered his face.

If he wouldn’t … glide and give off a sense of dread, one could almost think it was Aemond himself. Yet, the way she knew him, he would not have spent such a long time chasing her and taunting her. He made it clear enough to her, she didn’t matter. 

“Have you come to confess? To repent?”

The Stranger offered her a hand, which she eyed cautiously. 

“Have you come to take me? Or are.. You taunting me?”

He laughed ominously. “You know me, I could never taunt you in a sept. But… taking you? That is a very bold request, Lady Wife.” 

Lady Wife? Elisabeth shivered and groaned, taking his cold hand. She was not instantly taken away to the realm of the dead, which made her glad and worried at the same time. 

“Wh… why..? And… why Lady Wife? I’m Elisabeth, don’t you know?” 

The Stranger helped her up and held her for a while until she gained complete function over her legs again. Letting her go, he stepped away again and looked around the Sept. 

“You're quite perplexing. You've yet to respond to my allegations, and instead, you've led me on a convoluted journey through the Red Keep, Bess.”

Calmly folding his arms behind his back, he strolled through the small hall, making sure his eyes were firmly on her shaking form.

“You even took me here, just to ask me to be with you, despite your previous reluctance. Has something changed, perhaps due to a newfound perspective from The Maiden?”

Elisabeth cocked her head to the side, trying her hardest to identify the figure in front of her. Why would… why would The Stranger care for her relations with Princess Rhaenyra and her sons? 

Why would… why would he want to engage in an amorous congress with her? Was that a cruel way the gods were testing her? 

“Well… You chased me… I thought you meant harm to me…” 

The figure hummed and it almost looked like his face turned into a doleful expression. 

“I could mean you harm depending on the answers you shall give me. We are in a sept - if you lie, you are damned. Do you know that?”

Elisabeth took a few steps back and lowered her eyes again. So it was the Stranger. He was asking about her sins so that she might repent before he took her away. That realisation hit her gut like a punch. Tears started welling up in her eyes. 

“I… yes, I do, but believe me, I-”

“I shall decide for myself if you are innocent, Lady Wife. Spare me your tales of woe.”

Closing the distance to her again, the figure gently took her chin into his hand and forced her to look up into his eyes. He quickly smoothed her hair and wiped the tears from her face.

“Before I ask you though, I need to take you. I need to take what is mine; you have ignored me long enough and now that you’ve asked me, I would be a fool not to take you up on your offer.” 

Elisabeth whimpered and stood rooted on the spot. If it weren’t for the weird pull in her stomach, she would have pleaded, would have fled. But something… Something about the way the figure touched her so gently, so caringly, made her heart leap in ways that have seldom happened. Nothing made sense anymore. 

On one hand, she wondered why on earth the Stranger wanted to take her, yet on the other, she knew that what the Gods willed was destined to happen. And if that wasn’t the Stranger? Well, but who would it be? A dream figure? But why would she dream of such things? Was she so depraved and craven? Maybe she was. In that moment, delirious and flush with adrenaline, she threw all concern out of the tiny window of propriety that she still had in her foggy mind. 

Placing a trembling hand around the Stranger’s waist, Elisabeth nodded lightly. 

“Take me then, if you must,” she whispered. The Stranger smiled in response and embraced her tightly, pulling her close to his chest as he kissed the top of her head.

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity and Elisabeth swam in a sea of emotions like never before. She could feel his heart beating against her own, slowly but surely drawing them closer together. 

He smelled familiar. Something in her mind told her she knew him; the smell of leather, dragons and sweat. Could it be...?

At long last, the figure pressed his cold lips onto hers, almost possessively. Even though it had been one of her first kisses, he guided her strongly, making sure that she couldn’t doubt him or his intentions.

Bess tried her hardest to banish the thought of Aemond in her head. No, it couldn’t be - Aemond never kissed her. It had to be the Stranger. Was that the metaphorical kiss of death? 

Answering her doubts, the Stranger slowly started to undress her, as if he was uncovering a precious gem. His hands moved with a slow and patient rhythm, almost like a ritual or dance as they explored every inch of her body. He caressed her curves and memorised every quirk on her figure until Bess had no more will left in her to resist.

For a moment it felt like time had stopped. As if the entire world was focused on them and their lovemaking; their own little bubble of pleasure and passion that nothing could penetrate. Aemond let out a low moan of pleasure as he drew his lips down Bess’s neck, relishing in the taste of her skin against his tongue. She shuddered beneath him as his fingers slowly moved ever lower, exploring each inch of her body without an ounce of inhibition or shame. She gasped when she felt his tongue swirl around one sensitive spot near the base of her spine before finally coming to rest between her legs, ready for exploration…

Elisabeth found herself melting beneath Aemond’s touch as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body in response to his ministrations. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what buttons to press – it was almost like he was born again.

It was almost like Elisabeth had been born again. The grogginess in her mind had subsided almost as soon as she had felt the pleasure; so had the illusion of the Stranger. But then again, her Aemond had never been kind, gently, loving in bed. He had always been rough with her, pulling her hair if he got too excited. And this man…Her Aemond had never touched her the way he did right now. Was she still dreaming?

Aemond stepped back, the space between them electric with passion and anticipation. His smouldering gaze locked with hers, and she felt a rush of heat that paralyzed her body and mind. Even though he had desired her since the day they were married, he thought she despised him, yet now in a sept the intensity of his longing was palpable. The air around them was thick with desire.

"I need you to taste me. I need to see you naked, on your knees, here, in front of the gods. Elisabeth, I finally want to claim you as my own, as my wife, and not as a piece of meat I spill my seed into every fortnight."

Despite all of her hesitance and apprehension, Elisabeth obeyed without any objection; he was still her lord husband and adhering to her spouse was the utmost important action she could take as a dutiful wife.

With trembling, cold hands she took his long, hard member and guided it towards her mouth. Was that her punishment? But for what? She had done nothing to warrant this perverse humiliation, but as he placed a hot, determined hand on the back of her head, she knew that she hadn't had much of a choice.

Gently, Elisabeth opened her mouth and engulfed Aemond’s cock. She could feel him shudder at her touch, and the heat that emanated from his body caused her pulse to race. His breathing was ragged as he gasped her name again and again, urging her on.

With a gentle hand, she guided Aemond’s hips closer to hers before taking him deeper into her mouth. The sensation of his velvety smooth skin against hers was electrifying. Her tongue gently danced around him, exploring every inch of his manhood until he could no longer hold back the intensity of his pleasure.

Elisabeth felt embarrassed and exposed; this seemed like something she should never be allowed to do in front of the gods. But the sheer pleasure that it evoked in both herself and Aemond kept her going. Gods, it felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.

"Fuck. Yes, Bess... You belong to me... Not to The Strong bastards, not to Aegon, not to anyone else... You're... fuck... mine..."

Aemond's hands tightened around her head, making sure she was as deep as her mouth allowed her to be as he released a long moan before spilling himself inside her mouth. It was hot, salty and Elisabeth tried her hardest swallowing it without looking up at him.

With a throbbing head, she released him and covered her face in shame. She knew the milk was dangerous - yet making her dream of death and running through the Red Keep? Taking Aemond's cock like a... a dirty Harlot?

That was more than she could take. Now he knew that she was a weak person, that there was only a weak will buzzing around inside her. The last thing she needed now was the usual gloating expression on his face - his unbearable questioning. 

“I’ve done all you wanted. Ask me your questions, so that you might finally understand that none of this was ever my will,” she said as she wiped her mouth, her voice brittle.

Aemond gave her a cold look of confusion and cocked his head to the side, closing his breeches and slipping his doublet on again, after he had caught his breath. 

“What wasn’t your will? Giving yourself to me here?” 

Elisabeth sighed. "You're my husband. Your wish is my command."

Aemond, in his usual fashion, looked away from her in shame, flaring his nostrils.

"Alright then. If it is your wish again to make me feel like the worst human being in the world, then I shall do so too. I thought I could take you to your chambers again, get you a hot bath... Alas, my Lady Wife, you asked for the interrogation yourself."

He walked over to the Statue of the Mother and gave her a cold look, his tousled white hair gently floating down his back. His eyepatch made him look even scarier than it usually did.

"I've heard rumours that you've taken moon tea. Do you want to avoid giving me an heir? Swear on the Mother."

Elisabeth shivered and slowly dressed herself again, making sure not to break eye contact with Aemond. The milk made it's presence - or rather, abscence known again - it made her desperately queasy. The aftertaste of Aemond's spunk in her mouth certainly did not help.

"I swear on the Mother I haven't been taking Moon... Tea."

Aemond raised his eyebrow in a quizzical manner.

"Then what is that concoction that Maester Rithyr brings you? I can't imagine it being a skin cream."

If looks could kill, Aemond would've joined the Stranger's embrace right then and there.

"Do not mock me, Lord Husband. You and your filthy snake of a mother know exactly what it is he brings me," she seethed, her voice thick with venom. "It is exactly the thing that made me think you were the Stranger chasing me through..."

Anger was not the only thing that bubbled up inside her. Retching, she emptied her stomach onto the marble floor, the large marble hall making the splattering sound of her vomit uncomfortably loud.

Aemond's eyes blazed with fury, one hand pulled back in a fist ready to strike. But before he had the chance, Aemond's gaze fell on her frail, sweaty body next to a pool of her own bloody vomit and his arm fell limp. He was held in place by the sight, unable to move or even blink as his anger turned into fear.

"Bess, gods, tell me what it is he gives you! Come clean to me, you foolish girl!"

Elisabeth flinched and wiped her lips, groaning weakly. Aemond had not seemed like someone who would lead her into danger or punish her for being honest - if he wanted to be so cruel, he could've hit her when she cursed his mother. She took in a deep breath and tried to rid herself of the sour taste in her mouth, then nervously patted her clammy palms on the stained fabric of her dress. Leaning against the statue of the Father, she felt a little bit safer.

"From the moment we were wed, your mother has given me milk of the poppy. Told me you'd stop trying to give me an heir if I continued to act the way I did."

Coughing, she shook her head and gave Aemond a cold look. His face was unreadable - no reaction was a reaction, Elisabeth noted and took a deep breath before continuing.

"The people in front of our door at our bedding ceremony told her of your indignant attitude to me and my inability to give you an heir after that. She... She thought I was denying you and that you were too courteous to take what was yours."

Elisabeth heaved once more, so Aemond propped her up and held her hair back. As she vomited, a worrying amount of blood appeared - it was nearly just that. Frowning, Aemond used a piece of fabric from her dress to clean up her lips afterwards.

"Please continue," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and wished she were in bed with a warm blanket instead of being forced to confess. But the more she said, the better chance she had of avoiding drinking that awful milk again.

"She was always displeased with me and she did not hesitate to tell me so. She told me the Daeron's future wife - a certain Clara Lannister," she gave him a sharp look putting a finger to her lips, signaling to him that it was a secret and that he didn't hear it from her, "would have made a much better wife to you than I have. She's even more pious, meeker, prettier..."

Aemond huffed. "Clara's a feeble twelve year old hussy and she has wrapped the court around her pretty little fingers. I still cannot quite comprehend why my mother would try... try to drug and shut you up."

Elisabeth raised her eyebrow and gave her husband a sorrowful look. “You remember why, don’t you my Lord Husband? You were displeased that I was fraternizing with the Strong bastards. You said to her that I wasn't serious about state affairs. You told her you couldn't go through with our marriage vows and that I was too...” A tear slid down her cheek as she shook her head. She wanted to avoid any more tears rolling down, so she looked up in an effort to stop them. "You called me Bess just as the others did to show how much of a simpleton I was and you continue doing so! You would've beat me senseless if I'd have called you Monny!"

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh before taking a seat next to Elisabeth on the cold marble floor, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders in comfort and pulling out a handkerchief from underneath his cloak which he tenderly offered for for her to clean herself off with.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “We all make mistakes.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted it towards him so she had to look him in the eye. “I thought you hated me after our marriage ceremony, and I foolishly told my mother about it in a fit of anger.” Despite his words, there was something uncomfortable in the way his gaze held hers.

Elisabeth erupted into desperate sobs, pounding her fists against his chest with each cry. The dried blood that stained her hands flaked off like dust as she grabbed him in despair. "How could you do this to me? We should have talked it through, together! Instead of understanding why I had changed after our marriage, all you ever did was lash out at me and let your mother drive me to the brink of madness - treating me like a stranger and I can barely recognise myself anymore! If I didn't love you so much, I would hate you right now. But even then, my heart still aches for you... Oh gods, Aemond..."

The strain of her confession was too much for her. Elisabeth tipped forward, still gripping onto Aemond’s tunic with her bloody hands, as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Aemond caught her, gently placing her down onto the floor, then stood up and looked around the sept. He felt torn; part of him wanted to believe what his mother said but the other part of him knew it couldn’t be true. He had made a horrible mistake by allowing his pride and anger to drive him to such lengths, and he now he had to face the consequences alone. With a heavy heart, he summoned some guards who helped move Elisabeth’s lifeless body to his chambers where she could rest peacefully and recover from her ordeal.

Aemond was left with an overwhelming feeling that something fundamental in his life had shifted during that conversation in the Sept — not just between himself and Elisabeth but also between himself and his mother — an unspoken understanding that things would never be the same between them ever again. As he walked off in a daze towards his chamber, thoughts of revenge raced through his mind as he planned how best to confront her about it all — but for now, all he could do was hope that Elisabeth would recover quickly enough so they could make sense of everything together.

He was determined to take care of Elisabeth and as he watched her sleeping in his chambers, the rage that had been building up inside him slowly melted away. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and sighed resignedly — he had no control over what happened next, all he could do now was to care for her. As best as he could, Aemond pulled the blankets over her body to keep her warm and placed a pillow underneath her head for extra comfort. He sat by her side all night, silently willing for herto open her eyes so they could talk this out together, but it seemed like she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

The hours dragged on and his frustration only heightened with every minute that passed until finally Aemond couldn’t take it anymore. He ordered one of the guards to stay with Elisabeth before storming off in an attempt to clear his head. As he walked through the corridors of the castle, images of their conversation in the Sept replayed in his mind but try as he might, Aemond still couldn’t make sense of it all – what did this all mean? Could they ever go back to the way things were before?

Aemond was prepared to take matters into his own hands, he always was. He thought that this evening would end in him seeking a divorce or a mistress at court, arguing with his senseless simpleton of a wife, yet nothing could have prepared him for the confrontation he would have with her. 

Storming up the steps up to her apartments, he quickly shooed away Ser Criston Cole and opened the doors. He followed the light through the Entrance Hall up to her solar, where Alicent sat quietly on a settee, getting her feet rubbed by a lady in waiting. She raised a questioning eyebrow. 

"Whatever's the matter, Aemond? Is Helaena all right? Did Aegon do something?" 

Aemond's nostrils flared with fury as he fought himself to remain silent. How dare no one tell him - Elisabeth's husband - that his own wife had become a shadow of her former self, her mind so clouded with drugs she was practically a ghost? He could feel the rage building in his chest, threatening to escape and take over.

"Milk of the Poppy. Have you lost your damned senses?"

Alicent flinched a bit at his dangerously low, cool tone and sent her lady out. He could not make out her facial expression - it could have been anything from boredom to indifference - which angered him even more. Trying not to act too rashly, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. 

"Say something! And don't you dare deny it, I know it was you! Maester Rithyr told me everything", he lied effortlessly. He knew he had to - everything else would put Elisabeth in great danger.

Alicent lowered her eyebrow again, donned her slippers and stood up. Her face changed into a caring and hurt one, leaving Aemond a bitter taste in his mouth. 

"Wasn't it you who told me she was cavorting with Jacaerys? Didn't you complain of her disobedience, my dear?"

'So it is my fault now', he thought and took a deep breath, stepping closer to her and grabbing her tightly by the shoulders.

"What I wanted was for you to give her spiritual guidance and help in transitioning into her role as a princess. Why-"

"You cannot turn Mice into dragons, Son. Everyone knows that Bess doesn't fulfil your needs and our doubt will only be confirmed if she continues to be barren."

Alicent interrupted him icily and tore herself from his grip, sitting back down. 

"I have received a raven from Boros Baratheon, he said his daughters had only just flowered. What do you think? Or would you rather prefer Clara Lannister? I could..."

Aemond was taken aback, this conversation had gone way beyond his expectations. How could his own mother suggest such a thing? He knew he had to put an end to it before it was too late.

"Stop right there, Mother", he said sharply interrupting her mid-sentence. "Contrary to popular belief I like Elisabeth a lot and do not wish to take another wife."

He glanced coolly around the chamber and smiled unsettlingly.

"You must forget yourself, dear Mother. Helaena is Queen Consort now so it should be in her responsibility to judge on these issues and you know how much she likes Elisabeth. And besides, if the court would know of your... hysterics, who would continue to take you seriously? You know how your dear father, the Hand, dislikes your moody tendencies."

His words must have struck a chord - Alicent paled significantly and shrunk in her seat, clasping her hands on her lap.

Aemond continued with a calm, yet terrifying tone:"I don't wish for you to continue giving her the drug. I think the milk of poppy may be causing her infertility and I won't let that happen. You barred me from having heirs - who knows what you did with Helaena or you will do with that Lannister girl? It's almost treasonous, you know."

Alicent was desperate and scared, she picked at the skin around her nails to distract herself from what she knew would be a losing battle.

"My son-", her voice was small and trembling. She wanted to argue with him but his implacable gaze made it difficult for her to even look him in the eye. He had always been so strong willed, just like her own father. She had never been able to get through his hard shell of pride and arrogance, no matter how hard she tried.

"I only wish the best for you and our kingdom," she said softly trying to reason with him but he merely scoffed in response.

"Then how can you suggest me taking another wife? It would do more damage than good." His words were cold and final - this conversation was over before it began. Aemond stepped away from her and towards the door, pausing momentarily as he grabbed the handle."Remember our discussion mother", he said sternly before leaving the room without another word.

Aemond stepped out of the chamber, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. He had hoped that his mother would be able to understand his point of view, but it seemed she was too entrenched in her own ideas about Elisabeth's faults to do so.

He walked down the corridor that led to the castle courtyard, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts. But as he walked, he couldn't help but think about how much he had changed since he had been married with Elisabeth. He had never imagined himself being such a cold and vengeful man, no.

The thought brought a sharp pang of guilt - what if word got out that the heir presumptive to the Iron Throne was considering taking another wife? It could cause widespread scandal and potentially put him at odds with some powerful houses. He shook his head in dismay, knowing that this wasn't an option for him - not now, not ever.

Aemond made his way to the training yard to clear his mind. He picked up a sword and began to practice with it, swinging it in powerful arcs and thrusts as if he were fighting some invisible enemy. His body moved in sync with the blade, becoming increasingly faster until sweat was dripping down his face from the exertion. The familiar movements soothed him - they allowed him to forget about the pressures of court life for a time, giving him respite from all of its trifling problems.

Once he felt sufficiently calm, Aemond returned back to his chambers and changed into some clothes more suited for the upcoming feast. As he finished dressing, he noticed something odd - there was a faint light coming from his bedroom. He rushed over to see what she was doing, hoping that she had woken up again, which she had, indeed.

Elisabeth looked up at Aemond with an anxious expression on her face before hastily turning away from him. "I don't wish to cause trouble," she muttered quietly before standing up and making her way toward the door without another word. "I shall just... retire to my chambers, Lord Husband."

Aemond watched as she stood up, feeling confused and slightly hurt by her actions - why was she so distant? What had happened happened to her?

"Elisabeth?"

He said her name softly, stepping closer to her and taking a gentler tone. He had meant to apologize for his earlier words, but something else came out instead.

"I wanted to thank you, for telling me the truth yesterday. I know it must have been difficult for you. I spoke with my mother and she will never give you milk of the poppy again if she values her life and social standing."

Elisabeth's dark eyes widened as she stared at him in shock. She had completely forgotten the events of the previous day and that Aemond had cared for her after her hallucination - another one of the side effects of the milk. His kind words made the feelings of guilt and confusion wash over her anew, and it was hard not to be taken aback by his unexpected familiarity with her. If she wouldn't have felt that painful yearning in her soul for more of the drug, she would've believed that she was still dreaming.

"L-lord Husband? How...? Why...?"

He smiled, realizing that she must'nt have remembered what had happened yesterday.

"It doesn't matter now," he said kindly. "What matters is that I would like for you to join me at the feast this evening, so people can see how beautiful and intelligent my wife truly is."

Elisabeth gave him a weary look before returning his small smile. She quickly glanced at her reflection in the mirror, before blushing self consciously.

"I give thanks to the Father for leading you to discover the truth... Before we go, can I take a moment to change my clothes?", she questioned quietly, gazing up into his eyes. Once they had filled her with unease but now caused her heart to flutter with a hint of love.

Gently laying a kiss on her forehead, Aemond motioned for one of his loyal servants to come forth. He commanded them to fill the grand bath with steaming hot water and to bring a most exquisite dress for her. "Let me be the one to tend to you my darling. I must have you look as though you are mine," he uttered in a commanding yet affectionate voice.

The servants quickly scurried to do his bidding, bringing forth everything Aemond would need to make Elisabeth beautiful. They filled the bath with fragrant herbs and oils, as well as a variety of soaps and lotions for her to use. They also brought forth an exquisite gown of rich green silk and delicate lace, complete with matching slippers.

Elisabeth silently slipped into the soothing hot bath while Aemond knelt down beside her and began to lovingly bathe her body. He took great care not to scrub too harshly on her bruises and scrapes, something that she had not expected from him. The heat and his gentle touch made her trust him more with every second. "Lord Hus- um, I mean, Aemond, might I ask you soething?"

Aemond squeezed out the sponge in his hand and gently caressed her body. He truly missed out on all of this due to his anger against the Blackss, he noted grimly in his mind and gently started brushing her long, dark hair.

"You may speak freely, Elisabeth."

Elisabeth flushed and hastily sought to conceal the exposed parts of her body, aghast at being presented thus before her husband. "I had been given milk of Poppy yesterday, which has stripped my memory," she ventured nervously, attempting to tread carefully knowing full well his notorious temper. She hoped that whatever grievances between them had subsided in his mind and uttered in an almost meek voice, "Could you tell me what happened? I..."

"Elisabeth, you do not need to be so shy and meek around me," Aemond said soothingly. "I know that is not your true temperament. I will try to reign in my anger more if it makes you feel better." Reaching for a cloth, he dried her body before helping her out of the tub and into the dress they had brought for her. As he arranged it around her frame, Aemond thought about what he should tell herknowing that avoiding certain topics would not help them move forward any better. He gathered his thoughts before finally speaking gently yet firmly.

"I do think it's best for us both if I... do not recapitulate everything, my darling." He tied the ribbons at the back of her dress and gently guided her to a seat, giving her a few pins and such so that she could arrange her hair. His member twitched slightly as he thought back to her, naked on the marble floor, her lips flush against his skin. "You hallucinated something about The Stranger, ran around the Red Keep and then you confessed to being drugged by my mother. We then reached an understanding and I carried you here," he said matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to banish the thought of her full, naked figure from his mind.

Feeling a little flustered, Elisabeth swiftly pulled her hair into a loose bun on her head, letting one or two strands flutter down onto her chest. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear I subjected you through this, I thank you for listening to me and for forgiving me," she said softly. After finishing her hairdo, she stood up and bowed towards Aemond. “Thank you, my Prince, for everything. Shall we go and have dinner?”

When the doors to the Hall opened, a hush fell over the crowd and all that remained was an eerie stillness. With an air of grandeur, Prince Aemond Targaryen strode in, his purple eye sweeping the room like a hawk, the other hidden behind his leather eyepatch. But what shocked the court even more was who he had with him. Princess Elisabeth Lonmouth walked tall and proud beside her husband, having not been seen much since their marriage six months ago. She appeared almost otherworldly with her petite stature and unusual looks, her dark hair waving languidly as a gentle breeze wafted into the Hall. Her chin was raised high and there was no hint of submission or fear in her presence.

The star of Aemond Targaryen had risen again - ready to face the Dance of the Dragons with Elisabeth by his side.

[hotd-bigbang]

Thank you to all who took part in this year's edition of the House of the Dragon Big Bang! Below the cut is a round up of everyone's contributions.

Look at Me by @ripdragonbeans with art by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Pearl of the Realm by @targaryenrealnessdarling with art by @aegonx

You're the Lighting of the Blaze by @emilykaldwen with art by @nyctophilic0vitnir

The Shadows of the Lost Court by @asa-do-your-thing with art by @/nyctophilic0vitnir

Moonlight Thoughts by @anjelicawrites with art by @4yvle1

Bright Eyes by @just-some-random-blogger with art by @/ewanmitchellcrumbs

Body and Blood by @/nyctophilic0vitnir with art by @selfproclaimedunicorn

Something Wicked this Way Comes by @the-common-cowgirl with art by @ice-mint

Doves and Ravens Fly the Same by @cocoalover1956 with art by @/the-common-cowgirl

Sweet Summer by @/ice-mint with art by @/ewanmitchellcrumbs

Denouement by @exitpursuedbyavulcan with art by @barbiedragon

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did by @randomdragonfires with art by @azperja

One Word Can Start a War by @/barbiedragon with art by @/just-some-random-blogger

Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon (When Dragons Fall) by @valleyof-goldenlilies with art by @/asa-do-your-thing

No More Than I Was or Than I Am by @acrossthesestars with art by @niocel

The Color Violet Never Seemed to Glow (Until I Saw it in Your Eyes) by @synkverv with art by @/ewanmitchellcrumbs

The Dragon Boy by @in-a-mountain-pool with art by @cyeco13

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon (When Dragons Fall) [Jace Velaryon x Reader]

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: nothing explicit, just lots of character deaths, as in F&B canon

Word Count: 10k+

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to @asa-do-your-thing for the lovely artwork provided in this fic! I love both the collages you created for the teaser and the actual fic itself, and bless you for putting up with me and my slow responses 💕 this fic is dedicated to the both of us, and I hope you will enjoy it even though I was a complete hot mess struggling with writer's block when I came up with it haha. Special thanks also goes out to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for putting together this Big Bang! I'm honoured to have been a part of it.

A/N: This is the first part of my new fic, Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon, submitted for @hotd-bigbang! The rest of the parts will be released sometime soon, as I was only able to write the first part of my fic in time for the deadline haha. It's my first time writing a Jace x Reader fic, and it is rather lacking in romance, most unfortunately. Still, I hope you enjoy the fic. Thank you for supporting my mess of a writing!

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was aged only ten and two when he heard the prophecy for the first time. 

Ever since his mother had decided to relocate their family to the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, Jace had spent much of his days with nothing but the same foreboding walls he was slowly growing tired of. He swore he knew every single crook and cranny in Dragonstone by now, having spent much of his youth traipsing through the home of his forebears, poking and exploring every inch of it. 

Dragonstone was a sleepy island, which did little to quell the young Jace’s thirst for adventure and exploration. But once every six moon turns, the inhabitants of the village located on the rocky shores of Dragonstone would come together for a festival of foods and goods. It was initially a small affair, but upon Princess Rhaenyra’s moving of her household to Dragonstone, many merchants and revellers from all parts of the Realm had flocked to the island like sheep, hoping to curry the favour of the numerous Targaryen royals currently residing at the island, or various nobles who visited the island to pay homage to their queen to be with their goods. 

And the festival was exactly where Jace found himself on the cusp of his thirteenth nameday. Sick of the constant gloomy atmosphere of the castle, he had snuck out after bribing one of the stablehands, disguising himself in the simple raiments of a peasant, along with a satchel of various coins concealed in his cloak. He had thought of bringing his dagger for protection, but he winced as he recalled the incident on Driftmark, and decided to leave it in his chambers. He wasn’t expecting any trouble tonight, anyway. All he wanted was a bit of harmless fun, and freedom, under the cloak of anonymity. Just for one night. 

The festival painted an animated and cheerful scene, so refreshing in contrast to the rather dismal air in the fortress. For a moment, Jace thought he had been transported back to the streets of King’s Landing, where the nightlife atmosphere was second to no other place in the realm. Fascination lit up his brown eyes as he bought samples of snacks from the street food vendors. Many of them were varieties of whatever fishes that could be caught in Blackwater Bay, but due to the expensive nature of imported spices from Essos, the food was seasoned rather simply. Jace enjoyed it however, the whole experience felt liberating. Here, he could just be among the commoners, someone unnoticed. 

Even though their relocation to Dragonstone after the Driftmark incident had brought some reprieve, deep down, Jace still felt tormented by the rumours of his parentage. Harwin Strong was long dead now, and so was his father, Laenor Velaryon, yet Jace still felt affected by their passings, though his mother oddly didn’t. One was his…his sire, the other the father Jace had been brought up to believe as his for his whole life, and though both men had not been present for nearly half of Jace’s life now, Jace still missed them. He remembered Laenor’s smile, his guffawing laugh, his warm touch whenever he herded them back from the Dragonpit and back to the Red keep. And he remembered Harwin’s presence - detached, as a respectful nobleman would keep in deference to a royal, but also warm and more constant than Laenor. Daemon was oft far too occupied with his mother to pay attention to him, Lucerys, and Joffrey, though he seemed polite enough to Jace. 

But what Jace craved deep down was for the presence of a fatherly figure: strong, brave, caring. And ever since his mother and Daemon have had little Aegon, Jace oft found that those fantasies of his were becoming more and more impossible to come true. Especially now, when he was coming of age soon, and was expected to bear the brunt of his duties as future Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne. Little sentiment can be found in his world. 

Jace sighed, milling around and mingling with the smallfolk, trying to purge those thoughts from his head. And that was when he caught sight of it.

A caravan sat in a corner of the street, its dark red and blue exterior a stark contrast against the earthy cobblestones of its surroundings. The caravan was beautiful, even in its age, and Jace let his eyes trace over the woodwork and craftsmanship of the carvings of various celestial bodies and strange creatures on the caravan. A simple wooden sign hung outside the bright blue painted door, ‘Come have your fortune divined on this joyous day. Should you choose not to, you might not live to see the next day.’. 

Jace chuckled at the words, feeling some derision upon knowing what craft the inhabitants of the caravan possessed. He was not a faithful man, by any means. He worshipped the Seven, like any future crown prince of Westeros ought to, yet he felt no connection to those gods. His mother held a reverence for the gods of Old Valyria, and Jace had inherited that, but fortune telling? It all seemed a bit absurd to him. No one can see the future after all, He began to turn his back on the caravan. 

However, Jace was seized with a sudden urge to go inside the caravan. It felt like an invisible force was pulling him towards it, despite his disdain for such practices. What is wrong with me? I am a Targaryen prince for god’s sake- But it was like he was under a spell, as his legs moved on their own accord, much to his dismay. 

‘You know what, I came here for a night of relaxation after all. This might prove more entertaining than I expect it to be.’ 

With that thought, Jace found himself knocking tentatively on the door of the caravan, as the door swung open to reveal the dim interior of the caravan. He found it strange that there was no one behind the door, but shrugged it off, taking in the plush furnishings. Gas lamps and candles lit the small space up, giving the interior an inviting glow. Colourful tapestries depicting the sea were hung on the walls, and thick soft carpets covered the floors - such that Jace felt bad for wearing his dirtied boots into the caravan. But all those thoughts of guilt vanished from his mind as he laid his eyes on what was possibly the most beautiful woman in his life. 

She didn’t even look old enough to be considered a woman, no, this was a girl so beautiful, he thought that maybe he was looking at the form of the Maiden himself, descended upon this land to grace him with his loveliness. 

“Welcome, my prince.” Her voice was soft, nearly encasing him deeper into the spell that was her, until he realised how she had addressed him. Shock surged through his veins, along with a faint uneasiness. “You know who I am?” The fortune teller tilted her head, lowering the hood of her dark red cloak. The colour of spilled blood. “Of course. My god knows the true faces of all people who enter this caravan. And their fates as well.” She motioned for him to sit in front of her, and Jace obliged, sinking down on the cushion, unable to take his eyes off her. It felt like all coherent thoughts had left him. The fortune teller studied him back, her eyes glowing with the knowledge of endless possibilities. 

“My god senses some doubt in you of my abilities, my prince.” Jace was startled by her words, but he quickly recovered, a sheepish smile on his face. “I must confess I don’t quite believe in these things.” 

“And yet here you are.” “And yet here I am,” Jace echoed back. The fortune teller slid a cup of tea to him, and he wondered how he didn’t see her preparing it. He eyed the steaming tea, debating on whether he should drink it. 

“Relax, my prince, I have no reason to poison you, if that’s what you fear.” Jace was growing more unsettled, it seemed like the fortune teller was reading his mind. Was his thoughts really that obvious? He caved nonetheless, lifting the cup to his lips. Its taste soothed his nerves, and he felt some of his former rationality returning. “If I may ask, who is the god you owe your powers to?” 

The fortune teller shook her head with a smile, tapping the crystal ball between them lightly. “Does it matter, my prince?” “Well, it does, if you want me to have some faith in your readings.” The fortune teller looked amused. “You will believe what you want to believe, my prince. And my god prefers to withhold his true name from non-believers.”

Jace wanted to roll his eyes a little at that. It was clear this girl was a con-artist, but suddenly, her eyes grew sharp as her crystal ball filled with dark smoke. Jace drew back instinctively, nearly spilling the cup of tea. “W-what’s happening?” 

“My god is revealing your future,” the lightness in her voice was gone, replaced by a sort of seriousness. As sceptical as Jace was, his eyes were fixed on the swirling dark smoke. He was entranced by it when he suddenly felt a warm grip on his wrist. His eyes widened when the fortune teller tugged his hands towards the crystal ball, a slight flush in his cheeks. “Put your hand on the crystal,” her voice was filled with urgency. “There is something you must see.” 

Gripped by curiosity, Jace did as she said, placing his palms against the cool surface of the crystal. The curiosity vanished in an instant, replaced by a morbid horror as the scenes were seared in his mind. 

The sickening smell of blood. Fire everywhere, the distant roars of a dragon roaring and the screams of soldiers on the battlefield. Two opposing armies, one bearing a quartered banner with the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Arryn sigils, the other bearing a golden three-headed dragon on a black field, clashed with each other. Corpses littering the shores of a river. Three dragons lashing at each other in the sky, as one fell to the Earth with an agonised screech. And now Jace was in the sea, watching as ships were set aflame and a dragon that looked like Vermax falling from the skies. The sky was glowing with the colour of freshly spilled blood, smoke filling the air. Jace felt like he was on fire, as the soft, solemn words of the fortune teller reverberated throughout the horrific scene of bloodshed before him. “As dragons battle with each other, and fall from the skies, kin shall betray kin, kin shall murder kin, and Westeros shall burn alongside House Targaryen’s power.” 

Then, fire engulfed Jace as he jolted away in shock. The sound of a teacup clattering on the ground pulled Jace from the nightmare, and he was back in the caravan: far away from the smoke, the screams and the flames. He was still shaking as he recalled the searing sensation of fire on his skin, scorching his bones. The dark tendrils of smoke had seeped out of the crystal ball and were creeping up Jace’s fingers, and he hurriedly pulled away and shook his hands until the smoke had dissipated, feeling sick. “What in the Seven Hells was that?” His voice was tremulous with fear. 

The girl’s eyes were grim as she fixed her gaze on him. “The future of your family, and House Targaryen.” Now Jace was shaking with something much more than fear: anger. “You must be mistaken,” his words were not as steady as he had willed it to be, and he tried to correct the quiver in his voice. “Your god is a sham. All that was just illusions of the mind. You’re lying.” She must be.  

Now it was the girl’s turn to look incensed, and it was like the fury of a thousand sea storms crackled behind her eyes. “Do not dismiss the abilities of my god because of your fear, Prince Jacaerys. You know that war is inevitable between your mother and your uncle, and you would choose to play ignorant?” Her words struck him as he winced while recalling the scenes he had seen. Despite the cool night air flowing into the caravan through its small windows, Jace couldn’t shake off the dreadful feeling of being on fire. 

“...it just can’t be possible,” Jace murmured to himself, running his hands through his hair in distress. The scenes plagued his mind like a disease, and the smell of burning flesh was still ever present, making him nauseous. He reached out and gripped the hand of the girl desperately, “You said that there would be a war. My mother wins, right? She’s the rightful heir after all.” The girl looked troubled, “I cannot divulge more than what my god has allowed you to see.” 

“Not even if I paid you a golden dragon?” Jace pressed. The girl’s nostrils flared with indignation. “The visions granted to us by my god is something none of your paltry money can buy, my prince.” 

Jace was gripped with despair, as he tightened his grip on the girl’s hand, pleading, “Fine, forget about money. Just please, tell me if my family survives. I need to know, please.” Jace could see the girl’s eyes softening, and he tried to implore her even further. “Please, miss. I just need to know that. Your god has already been so merciful to show me so much, surely one more tiny bit of knowledge will not hurt?” 

The girl bit her lip, and looked downwards, as if contemplating. It was true that the prince’s future was bleak, and she knew of his eventual ending, but she must not go against her god’s limitations. And yet, she felt compelled to tell him the truth, to tell him of the bleak fate that awaited him. So she prayed to her god for leniency as she locked eyes with Jace again. Her voice was quiet as her reply echoed through Jace’s mind: which would prove to soon be his source of torment that plagued him for his next years. 

“No.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For years, after being told the prophecy, Jace felt like he was no longer in control of himself. His sleep and dreams no longer belonged to him. Instead, they fell victim to the visions and the prophecy that had plagued every one of his senses since that night. His attempts at seeking Maester Gerardys out discreetly for doses of Essence of Nightshade had only succeeded in eliciting the alarm of his mother and brothers, so he had stopped taking them. He found no reprieve in the dreadful tea anyway. 

Instead, Jace tried to find solace in other mediums. The library at Dragonstone had essentially turned into his bedroom now, along with the yard where he and Lucerys trained at arms. He toiled through the histories of wars and conflicts, pushing himself until blotches of crimson began to dot the ancient tomes. 

He trained at arms diligently, in an almost ruthless, cutthroat manner. Lucerys had since long given up on duelling him in arms, and the knights that had trained the both of them since they were old enough to pick up a sword had pleaded with Jace on numerous occasions to exercise more leniency on his younger brother. Jace’s only response to that was, “Will leniency be afforded to you on the battlefield, Luke?” 

To Rhaenyra, Lucerys and the rest of Jace’s family who cared deeply about him, it was admirable that Jace was pushing himself so hard. He clearly wanted to prove himself worthy of the title as future heir to the throne. But Rhaenyra could see far deeper than that. She recognised a reflection of her youth in her eldest son: the constant, debilitating need to prove himself. However, Rhaenyra did not know to whom he was trying to prove to. She had told him countless times of how proud she was of him and his prowess, but it was never enough. 

Rhaenyra had not seen a genuine, happy smile grace her son’s face since his thirteenth nameday. 

Jace could see his mother’s concern, could feel the worry of his brothers, the anxiety of Baela and Rhaena. He knew his refusal to open up had caused a slow, but increasingly noticeable rift between their relations, but how could he allow his family to witness his demons? To see the darkness that had been eating away at him like a parasite since he stepped foot into that godsforsaken fortune telling caravan? 

He couldn’t. 

He wouldn’t let the darkness taint his family’s joy, no matter what. This was a burden he must endure alone. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day of Vaemond Velaryon’s petition brought out Jace’s paranoia which had been slowly building up over the years, like an ugly mountain of coal, to the forefront. 

But as it always was, fate rendered Jace’s promise useless when they received word that the Greens had repudiated the succession and crowned Aegon as King of the Seven Kingdoms in sight of the smallfolk. 

Jace nearly tore himself apart in rage, agony, and horror, at both himself and at the usurpers. How could this have happened? Jace’s mind was numb as he listened to the pained screams of his mother echo through the halls of Drgaonstone. How could he have failed so utterly in his promise to defend his family? 

He felt like beating himself up even more when he failed to get Daemon to at least accompany his mother during her labours. It seemed like such a triviality to be angry at, given their circumstances, but watching his mother’s vacant-eyed stare at the corpse of his dead sister just made him want to bash his head with a rock. He felt like a complete failure: he had failed to control his temper around his uncles and to behave in the calibre which the future heir to the Iron Throne should have acted as, he had failed to foresee and prevent the Greens from usurping his mother, and he couldn’t even effectively convince his stepfather to be there for his mother. 

And his snowballing of failures had led to the continuous, ominous echoing of the prophecy in his head. The constant feeling of being burnt alive. 

But then, the Seven, or whatever capricious deity that held the strings to his miserable life, shone a beacon of light into his life again. When his mother gave him and Luke the task of going as envoys and renewing the allegiances of various lords and ladies in the Realm, Jace was determined to use this mission to make amends. He would not fail his mother no matter what, he told himself as he swooped through the clouds, Vermax rumbling under him, as though sensing his rider’s fierce determination. 

He had landed first in the Eyrie, where he had initially received a frosty reception from the Lady Jeyne. With skillful persuasion and a reminder of the lady’s own familial ties to his mother through his grandmother, and the promise to send dragonriders to the Vale, Prince Jacaerys had just successfully completed his first envoy. 

He didn’t stay for long however, flying off the next day upon a restless sleep in the Eyrie’s chambers. Time was not on his side when it came to the prophecy, and Jace dreaded to think that every single second he took to idle or dawdle would cost his family their lives. He didn’t want to see the vacant-eyed stare his mother had at his sister’s funeral mirrored in her death. 

He then flew to Sisterton, then to White Harbour, and each time, he spoke with the lords firmly, yet charmingly, persuading them to his mother’s cause with promises and betrothals and reminders of their oaths. Jace found that he might yet be a fluent speaker in the language of diplomacy. 

However, now, despite his continuous successes, Jace never felt more nervous as he and Vermax soared above the snowy expanse of the North. Enervated grunts sounded from Vermax, and Jace felt sympathetic to his dragon. He clearly does not take well to the cold. But they couldn’t stop now, not when Jace was so close to completing his mission to his mother. He couldn’t disappoint her now. 

Cregan Stark was a man with a reputation, and not necessarily a helpful one to Jace. he was known to be stern, formidable, but the Northmen were known to be men of their word, and to have never broken an oath. But the Northern lords always had little interest in Southron politics, and Jace feared that the Wolf of Winterfell might take a stance of neutrality in the conflict instead. 

However, he couldn’t turn back now, and it wasn’t like he would do it if given the choice. The prophecy lingered over his head like a dreary cloud as of late, and Jace’s nightmares had intensified in its vivid horror. Vermax let out a shuddering grunt, as if in sync to his rider’s perturb. 

I can’t fail. I won’t fail. Jace thought to himself firmly, as Vermax’s leathery wingbeats began to slow as the structure of Winterfell loomed in the distance. ‘There has to be a way to stop the prophecy’s events from coming true somehow. There must.’ 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jace’s initial reception at Winterfell was as chilly as the climate in the North, even with the heat from the sauna emanating from the walls. Cregan Stark had lived up to everything Jace had been fearing, a stern, formidable man of few words, and seemingly disinterested in the brewing conflict. “The North has no place in Southron politics, my Prince,” Cregan had told Jace. Jace had a feeling he was trying to convey a sort of sympathy in his words, but the man’s face was unyielding as he spoke. 

A sentiment that Cregan had expressed had given Jace a small sliver of hope, “However,” the imposing man said, clinking down his cutlery. “Tis’ true that my late father swore an oath of obeisance to your mother. And House Stark, and the North, will honour that oath no matter what.” 

Jace had attempted to seize on that to leverage Lord Cregan’s support, but the man seemed adamant not to interfere. Jace spent the next moments picking listlessly at his meal, trying to decide the next best course of action. The Northern lord seemed as unyielding as stone, much to his growing frustrations. 

“If I may say something personal, my Prince,” Cregan’s low, thoughtful voice broke the silence. Jace’s heart leaped at the voice, coming to life with the hope for negotiations again. “Please, speak freely, my Lord.” “You remind me of my late younger brother, my Prince.” Jace tried to shove down his spike of disappointment, instead feigning politeness as he asked, “I am flattered. Do you hold fond memories of him?” Cregan nodded slowly, his eyes studying Jace’s every move like a hawk. “Many of them, in fact.” “May I ask in what way do I remind your Lordship of your late brother?” Jace inquired, out of courtesy more out of genuine curiosity. 

Cregan fixed his flinty gaze on Jace, the corners crinkling a little in memory. “The burden. The feeling of all the weight of the world on your shoulders.” 

Jace didn’t quite know what to answer to that, shrinking uncomfortably into his seat as Lord Stark’s gaze penetrated through him. He suddenly felt more aware of his age than ever. 

No other words were exchanged throughout the rest of their dinner. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cregan had seen men driven by many things before: greed, anger, power, but he had never met someone quite like Jace Velaryon. A strange sense of urgency enveloped his every move, like he was racing against an invisible foe better known as time. Every one of his muscles always seemed taut in tension, his eyes broody, his mind clouded with a thousand storms of struggles. 

Perhaps it was this sense of oddity that drew him to become more sympathetic to the young prince’s cause. He had noticed that the young prince had grown more dishevelled ever since their dinner in the hall where Cregan had refused to lead troops in Queen Rhaenyra’s name. He looked like a petrified animal, leg stuck in a trap. 

Over time, Cregan began to warm up to the young Prince, taking his meals with him as Jace covertly tried to persuade Cregan into contributing his troops to his cause. Cregan was amused, but remained otherwise unswayed. 

And then, the raven from Dragonstone arrived. 

Cregan didn’t see Jace for a few days after that. The guards he had assigned to the young Prince had reported him looking nigh delirious, refusing to take more than a few bites of his meals, his eyes sunken in, and the occasional sounds of weeping coming from his chambers. 

It seemed the young Prince had been truly broken. And who wouldn’t be, with the death of their younger sibling? Innocent blood spilled at war, Cregan shook his head as he reread the letter from the maester of Dragonstone. Kinslaying was a taboo among Westeros, and rightfully so. Even Cregan had been hesitant when dealing with his power-hungry uncle a few years ago, choosing to imprison him instead of carrying out the sentence meant for treason: execution. 

When a week had nearly come and gone and Cregan had not caught sight of the Prince, he began to grow worried. The letter Cregan had received had requested for the immediate return of Jacaerys to Dragonstone, but the prince seemed to have no signs of moving in his mourning. 

Cregan was startled to see the young Prince appear while he was breaking fast in his solar on the morrow. While he had sent the young Prince an invitation, as courtesy bode, the sudden appearance of Jace had him unnerved. Jace appeared detached, polite, every inch the prim and proper Prince he was. But what sent a chill through even the hardened Northman’s heart was the look in Jace’s eyes. 

They looked steely determined, yet devoid of life, like he was a soulless shell of the person he was. The Prince before him was no man, but a wraith, worn thin by his inner turmoil.  

As Cregan offered his condolences, Jace had only smiled faintly, thanking Lord Cregan emotionlessly. “I can only hope that the usurpers will be punished by the Gods for my brother’s death,” Jace’s eyes glowed with an unearthly sort of fury, Cregan noted with concern. “My brother committed no act worthy of such a gruesome death. And for the act of kinslaying, my uncle must pay with blood.” 

“Justice will prevail, my prince,” Cregan reassured Jace, his black eyes filled with certainty. But what took Cregan aback was the hard look in Jace’s dark brown eyes: it was like wildfire, blazing and ready to consume everything in its path. And what unnerved the young Lord of Winterfell even more were the next words out of the Prince’s mouth: ‘What I desire is no longer just justice, but vengeance. I will rain fire and blood upon those usurpers who have harmed my kin, mark my words.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since receiving the missive informing Jace of Luke’s murder over Shipbreaker’s Bay, Jace felt like all time had ceased to exist. When once he fought to race against the clock to prevent the prophecy from coming true, now it seemed like nothing mattered anymore. 

Somehow, he managed to secure an alliance with Lord Cregan, having moved the man enough for him to pledge himself wholeheartedly to his mother’s cause. Jace should have felt relieved: that the task he had set out to do was accomplished, but now, he felt naught but a gaping hole where his heart had been. 

Luke had always been his baby brother. Joffrey was his youngest brother, but he was filled with an impish sort of charm and self-assuredness. Luke had been none of those. He was always the more serious, more sensitive of the three brothers. Jace had watched his mother place his dragon egg in his cradle. The first baby Jace had ever held in his arms was Luke. His precious, lovable, younger brother. 

And now he was gone, his remains lost forever to the sea. Along with poor Arrax, and the remnants of House Baratheon’s allegiance. With Luke’s death, it was like Jace’s heart had hardened into cold, unyielding stone once more, like it did when he had feared for Luke’s disinheritance and potential punishment during Vaemond Velaryon’s punishment. 

Dragonstone was an even drearier place now. The lingering feeling of despair that had been left in the aftermath of his mother’s stillbirth seemed to have increased tenfold, seeping into the walls and hovering above everyone in the fortress like a cloud of anguish. 

Rhaenyra had swept Jace into her arms when he had returned. Too tired to even receive her son at the doors, both mother and son held each other and cried in Rhaenyra’s chambers as they mourned Luke, their sweet boy. 

But after that, there was no time for tears. At least not anymore for Jace. Though he was still prone to walking into his younger brother’s room every morning to wake Luke up for their daily sparring sessions, he always halted in his path when he remembered. Luke was dead, and there was no coming back for him now. 

Perhaps it was this constant feeling of gloom that began to drive Jace back into his old patterns of neglecting sleep. With Daemon gone, and his mother barely a fraction of what she used to be, Jace had to take charge as the future heir to the throne. He initially felt miserable, finding it useless to fight with one part of his heart having been stolen away and smashed to pieces. 

Yet the echoing of the prophecy never ceased, and neither did the ticking of time. No, now was not the time for grief. There was still someone left to pay the price for Luke’s death, and Jace vowed that he would kill Aemond One-Eye with his bare hands, along with the rest of his traitorous kin. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hall of the Painted Table was in tumult, voices shouting over one another, loudest and most outraged among them was the voice of Lord Corlys, Jace’s grandsire. 

It had been hours after the Battle of Rook’s Rest, and the Black council was in chaos, as Lord Corlys raged and screamed at Rhaenyra, who looked passive and sickly despite being seated at the head of the table. 

“It should have been you,” Lord Corlys had screamed, his face a tangled mess of pure unadulterated rage and grief. Even Jace himself could not find the courage to stop his grandsire’s tirade, having experienced the death of Luke not too long ago. But an uncomfortable tingling plagued him as he watched his grandsire hurl curses at his already frail mother. He wasn’t sure whose side to take in this argument, so he kept silent, despite his reluctance. 

The Battle at Rook’s Rest had not been the only blow they’ve suffered. Earlier, Ser Erryk had been slain, by the hands of none other than his turncloak brother, Ser Arryk. The bloody discovery had sent jolts of alarm through Jace, as he soon came to fear for the safety of his younger siblings, who were vulnerable should Dragonstone be infiltrated by any more knights such as Ser Arryk. 

The seeds Jace had scattered on his laborious trip as an envoy had begun to bear fruit, and not a moment too soon. Quickly, Jace made arrangements for Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, to make way to the Vale. going with her would be Joffrey, along with his mount Tyraxes. Too small to ride, yet Jace found a greater purpose in sending him as part of his promise to Lady Jeyne. The Vale was the most secure place in the realm, Jace had reassured his petulant brother, who did not wish to be apart from his family. When that did not work, Jace had instead convinced Joffrey that he was being sent to the Vale so that he may defend it against any of the usurper’s dragons, to which Joffrey eventually reluctantly acquiesced, though with a pout. 

Barely had Joffrey and Rhaena been sent away then did Jace start making preparations to send both Aegon and Viserys away as well. Both of them were even younger than Joffrey, and should be kept the in the safest and furthest place possible, lest the usurper tried to use them as hostages. This time, Jace enlisted the help of Lord Corlys, mending the broken bonds between them by naming his grandsire Hand of the Queen, a position Jace knew he had long coveted. With his grandsire’s help, they had made arrangements to send Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. It was more secure than anywhere else in Westeros, his grandfather had reassured him as they sent them both off. 

All this had been accomplished within the matter of a few days, yet Jace still felt restless. An unpleasant knot had formed in his stomach at Joffrey and Rhaena’s send off, and it only multiplied in its discomfort as Aegon and Viserys set sail. But I’ve done it , Jace thought, trying to console himself. That fortune teller can’t get all of my family now. I made sure that they were sent to the safest places in the whole of Westeros and Essos. I’m safe. We are all safe. 

Convinced, Jace had settled into bed that night, shutting his eyes with a grim sort of victory pumping through his veins. See how your god is a falsehood, he wanted to taunt the fortune teller, triumphant in his victories. 

He didn’t feel so victorious, however, when he fell into a deep slumber, and came face to face with the fortune teller’s face. This time his dream was tranquil, with no signs of fire anywhere. Jace had nearly hollered in sheer, utter relief, thinking he was free from the nightmarish landscape of that night’s visions at last. 

A slender hand reached out to Jace, and Jace levelled a baleful glare at the fortune teller, who only serenely shrugged and continued holding out her hand. “It is rude to refuse a lady’s hand, my Prince.” That voice that had once enticed him, that had been the source of his dread for the past few years. 

He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to throttle the woman or kiss her. 

She had looked much unchanged since their encounter in the caravan, Jace thought as he took her hand, slightly relishing in the warmth of it. That certainly didn’t feel like a dream. He looked around, registering nothing but rolling grass fields of an unnatural blue-green hue and trees with leaves of the same colour. Frosty pink roses dotted the landscape ever so often, and their sickly sweet nectar wafted through the air. 

“Is this real?” The woman tilted her head, and Jace’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of her neck. Damn, he cursed himself internally. He needed to get a hold of himself. Keep himself focused on whether this was reality. 

“It’s as real as my god deems it to be, Prince Jacaerys,” she informed him, and a harsh laugh rolled off Jace’s tongue. “Your god, is nothing but a falsehood, my lady,” Jace informed her, his voice dripping with venom at the thought of what he had lost. Luke. His mother’s joy and happiness. His mother’s and his rightful birthright. Though Jace knew it was the greed of the Greens that drove them to such straits, Jace couldn’t help but feel resentful to this unknown, eldritch god who had driven his paranoia for the past few years. 

The woman’s face did not show any visible indicators of outrage, but a thunderous flicker in her stormy eyes made Jace feel a little cowed. He did not believe in the god that this woman did, yes, but he knows that there is something unearthly about the woman before him. Her eyes already narrated such an expressive story, Jace wondered about what would happen if all the power swirling in her was put on display in its full fury. 

“I’m sure you thought you’ve evaded sailing into the eye of the storm,” the woman began to walk. Jace stared after her, perplexed, but began to walk with her nonetheless. The sweet smell in the air began to dissipate, and Jace felt a wave of nausea in his abdomen as he began to smell burning flesh again. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the more calming scent of something like honeysuckle. 

“A man seized by fear may do something moronic in the spur of the moment.. A man who allows fear to take control of him is as good as dead.” Anger bubbled in Jace, though he tried to tamp it down, worried that if he broke the serenity of their talk, the nightmarish scenes of fire consuming everything in its path and the dead faces of his family would return. Not that. Anything but that.  

“Had your god not shown me those visions, do you think I would have become a man ruled by fear?” Jace retorted in a calm voice, as they strode into a meadow, dotted with red roses. Jace was desperate to keep this conversation going, to know if he had been successful in tricking the heavens. He knew this woman held the answers to his success in the palm of her hand. He just wished he could stop his eyes from wandering and admiring her visage instead of the scenery. 

“Every man is ruled by fear, my Prince,” the woman’s voice was amused. “And are you telling me you regret seeing those visions? Would you rather have remained blissfully ignorant?” 

“Maybe,” Jace reached out to pluck a blood red rose, admiring its crisp petals. “Perhaps if I did, then I wouldn’t have to watch the ones I love die in my dreams, slaughtered by our enemies. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to watch my worst nightmares come to reality, to see Lucerys die and be helpless to stop it.” 

“But it’s over now,” Jace and the fortune teller turned to face each other. Her impassive look unnerved Jace slightly, but still, against his better judgement and by some raw, magnetic pull of the universe, he tucked the rose he had plucked free of thorns in the woman’s hair. 

“Joffrey and Rhaena are in the Vale, the safest place there can be in the realm. And Aegon and Viserys are in Pentos. Or soon to be.” He tilted his head upwards cockily. “I have beaten your god. And he would never be able to get the rest of my family. Not now, not ever, and if he wants to, he’ll have to spit on my dead, cold corpse.” 

Jace had intended to provoke the woman, to goad her into admitting that he had played his cards right and well, but her next words caught him off-guard. 

“And what of King’s Landing? The Greens and their dragons?” She reminded him. “The murderer of your brother and unborn sister still remain at large, and the usurpers will live to breathe another day, the same as the rest of your family. Tell me, is your happiness truly just relegated to the safety of your family?” 

“You know you desire more, Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

The meadow filled with an eerie silence. The fortune teller’s eyes pierced through Jace’s, as if extracting all his deepest secrets with just a single, searing glance. 

“...you’re right,” Jace gritted his teeth. “It’s not enough. And I will raze the usurpers to the ground, every single last one of them, for conspiring against my mother. For murdering my brother.” 

“But if it’s a choice between vengeance and the safety of your family?” The woman’s voice was playful, a stark contrast to the subject matter they were discussing. “Is that your god’s way of telling me that I am doomed to follow one path or the other?” Jace asked sarcastically. He noticed that when he got more worked up, the familiar smell of burning flesh became stronger, before being quickly suppressed by a sickly sweet scent. 

“Mortals cannot have it all, Jacaerys Velaryon. We must make compromises.” Jace thought of Luke, poor, sweet Luke, losing his life at the hands of their uncle, thinking of his mother and the pain she had suffered through his miscarriage, hot white anger blinding him. But he also thought of Joffrey, Baela, little Aegon and Viserys, his mother, his grandsire, and Daemon. For all the wrongs the Green had wreaked upon them, if Jace ever came to the position where he had to choose between taking off Aemond’s head with his sword and protecting Joffrey, say, would he hesitate? What would he choose? 

“Not any more,” Jace forced out. “I will be controlled no longer by your god’s visions. By the fear he had instilled in me.” 

“My family has the power. We have the dragons and strength in numbers,” Jace’s voice rose in conviction. “The rest of my family are safely stowed away. What’s to stop us from raining blood and fire upon the usurpers?” The overwhelming smell of burning flesh was overtaking his senses again, and not even the sickly sweet scent of the meadow could hide it anymore. “I will prove your god wrong, my lady,” he informed her, a crude sort of determination in his voice. “The Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, after all.” 

The roaring in his ears grew louder and louder, and suddenly Jace was back in the battlefield of bodies again, the sky filled with shrieks as dragons plummeted to the ground. It was as if the fortune teller’s god was striking him down for his challenge to it. The hellscape blistered with smoke and fire, but Jace was insistent, continuing to yell. “You’ll see! You’ll all see.” 

Jace fought back the urge to flinch as he felt the burning sensation of fire engulfing him, forcing his screams of pain down his throat. That nightmare again. So he hadn’t escaped after all. His breathing grew heavier, as the flames grew greater in intensity and temperature. He could barely see anything now, and it felt worse than all the previous nightmares he had had. Was he wrong to have challenged the fortune teller’s god so boldly? To want to turn the tides of fate? 

“I will prove you and your god wrong!” Jace shouted, thrashing and trying to wrangle himself free from the prison of flames. “You will not touch my family no matter what! No more of them! I swear this on all my ancestors of Old Valyria, that you will have my family’s lives only if you spit and step on my dead body! Just try it!” 

A fiery burst of flame blinded his eyes, and Jace let out an agonised scream as he felt himself being burnt alive.

And then he was falling into an empty pit, his limbs outstretched and his heart seized by terror. 

A figure bolted upright from the lavish four-poster bed in one of the more secluded rooms in Dragonstone, gulping in the fresh air greedily. His sheets were stained with sweat as Jace wearily wiped a hand down his face, dismayed but not surprised to see a patch of scarlet stain his palm as a steady trickle of blood dripped from his nose. 

His heart thudding, Jace tried to recollect himself as his heart thudded in his chest. Yet again, the fortune teller’s calm, flowing voice filled his head as he recalled the last words he heard while he was hurtling through the empty vortex. 

“Dragonseeds.” 

A warning, Jace started, or another prophecy. But what does it mean? 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jace couldn’t quite find the steely strength that used to take hold of him every morning as he walked down to the Hall of the Painted Table. His vivid dream and talk with the fortune teller the night before had not yielded his intended result, to say the least. 

His grandsire was holding court as usual, and they immediately settled on their newest problem now that the younger children were away and out of the castle: the problem of their dragons. While the Blacks did have strength in numbers, having Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and even Baela’s Moondancer, as she insisted, against Aemond One-Eye’s Vhagar, the battle to retake King’s Landing or to withstand an assault by Vhagar would be a risky one. The loss of Meleys had been a devastating blow for the Black council’s earlier plans to take back King’s Landing as soon as possible, for it remained a key symbol of legitimacy that supported Aegon the Usurper’s rule. 

Jace sat stoically in his chair as Baela and his grandsire fielded suggestions and assessments on the risk factor of taking King’s Landing with their current dragons, lost in thought. His mind was focused on the dream he had last night, of death and battle and destruction that somehow felt more real and close to any dreams he had in the previous years, but also because of that fortune teller. 

That darn woman. With her mysterious words, her expressive eyes, her solemn wisdom falling from her very kissable lips- 

“Jace.” Jace wanted to kick himself for even thinking about such thoughts, when his betrothed was right next to him. Baela arched an eyebrow, clearly noticing how distracted he was. “My apologies, did you address me?” Jace murmured lowly to her, averting his grandsire’s disapproving gaze. 

“I asked what you thought about attacking King’s Landing with our current forces,” Corlys’ lips were pressed in a thin line, looking slightly displeased that his grandson had been caught lacking in his duties. Jace was about to repeat just about what everyone in the room had voiced out, when the fortune teller’s words from last night rang through his mind. 

Dragonseeds. Wild, untamed dragons on the island. 

Seven fucking Hells. 

“I would like to make a proposal.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lord Corlys had been dubious but intrigued about the plan of the Sowing of the Dragonseeds, but the Black council, including Baela, had seemed receptive to the idea. Particularly the Council. Jace wondered if he had made the right call when he saw the shifty looks on the various councillors’ faces, clearly hoping to claim a dragon of their own. After all, the Targaryens boasted their dragons as their might, should they be lucky enough to get the chance to bond with one…

The gold and knighthood Jace had planned to offer along for anyone successful enough to tame the dragons would pale terribly in comparison to a dragon. 

Jace was alone on the balcony with a view of the eastern slopes of the Dragonmont, musing, when he suddenly heard the doors slide open. His eyebrows shot to his hairline and his heart pounded with delight when Rhaenyra Targaryen emerged on the balcony, garbed in black. She had only been wearing black ever since Luke’s funeral, or the makeshift one they were forced to arrange without his remains. 

“Mother,” Jace greeted, moving to bow, but Rhaenyra halted his movements, moving to take his hands. “Oh my son,” she murmured softly, stroking Jace’s hair like she used to do when he was younger. “My strength and my consolation.” 

Jace felt a fluttery feeling in his heart, but also a deep pit of longing and sadness in his stomach. This was the mother he had missed sorely, not the one tucked away behind the vacant-eyed stare, face subdued during council meetings and always looking preoccupied with her own thoughts. 

“Mother. Have you heard of my plan about the Dragonseeds?” Jace asked softly, a warmth spreading across his cheeks as his mother gently stroked his hand with her thumb. His mother smiled, “I have. I think it is a sensible plan. More dragons on our side is never a bad thing.” Her eyes glittered with pride as she reached out and cupped Jace’s face in her hands gently. 

Taken aback but not at all averse to the gesture, Jace let himself be soothed, letting all the nightmares, that nonsense about the prophecy be evaporated into thin air. All he needed was his mother’s comfort. 

“Oh, my sweet boy, how I have let you down,” Rhaenyra spoke tenderly, sorrow in her voice. Jace felt something in the spell break, Rhaenyra was speaking to Luke. Not to Jace. A bit of Jace’s happiness gave way to sadness. 

“You haven’t let me down, Mother,” Jace tried to reassure her, but his voice came out a little croaky. “I should be fighting for you. It is my duty as your son and heir to the throne.” 

A little of the vacantness slid back into Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes. “I’m glad you know that, Jace,” she said quietly, but it broke Jace’s heart to see how far away she was. How her heart never fully repaired after Luke. 

But for now, Jace was content in acting as a placeholder for Luke, if it meant that his mother would return to him bit by bit. How long it took did not matter, he just wanted his family to be able to heal, to survive. He would shoulder a thousand burdens if it meant he would see them all safe and sound. 

The prophecy rumbled through his head again, but he tamped it down, not wanting it to poison his moment with his mother. 

“You’ve grown skinnier, Jace,” the pads of Rhaenyra’s fingers gently traced under Jace’s undereyes, where his eyebags were more prominent than ever. “Are you well? You need not feel too troubled, you know. We will win the war, because I am the rightful heir to the throne. The rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” His mother’s voice was so full of conviction, so much like the mother he had known, that Jace didn’t have the heart to tell her that conviction did not win wars. 

Whomever favoured fate did. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Dragonseeds plot had worked its magic, and soon enough, four of the six wild dragons had been tamed. While Jace had not come to trust them just yet, he felt a little abashed. Was he just treating them with mistrust just because they were of bastard birth? He knew he had no prerogative to think in that shameful manner, after all, wasn’t that being a little bit of a hypocrite himself? 

There was no time to dwell on guilt however. With the sowing of the Dragonseeds, Jace, Rhaenyra and Corlys had been advancing the plan for the taking of King’s Landing at breakneck pace. Jace felt a warm relief spread through him as he began to see his mother participate more actively in council meetings, and he could see how much it invigorated the council too. The former self-assured, rosy glow his mother had would never quite be the same, but Jace was content to settle for this for now. 

Alas, all good things did not last. 

They had underestimated the strength of the Greens’ alliance with the Triarchy, as demonstrated when his younger brother, Aegon, returned on a faltering Stormcloud, in terror after having been attacked by Triarchy warships in the Gullet, and losing his younger brother, Viserys in the ensuing melee. 

Rhaenyra turned pale as soon as she heard the news of Viserys’ disappearance, collapsing into her chair and no longer speaking another word. Still, she listened and watched as Jace and Corlys began discussing plans to counter the threat of the Triarchy, knowing that if House Velaryon’s hold on the Gullet broke, it would be a resounding strategic win and gain in resources for the Greens. 

Thus on the fifth day of the new year of 130 AC, a flurry of dragons and ships departed from Dragonstone, all headed for the Triarchy. Jace commanded Vermax, along with the other Dragonseeds, his lips pressed in a thin line and eyes haggard with lack of sleep. His nose had been bleeding oft as of late, even now, as they drew closer to the Gullet, but Jace only wiped it away with a fierce look on his face. 

It was his first battle as the heir to the Iron Throne, and he was going to show those Triarchy bastards they had chosen the wrong side to back. 

Swooping down on a line of Lysene warships, Jace narrowed his eyes as he heard the alarmed calls of “dragon!” among the crew. Good. 

“Dracarys!” Hungry dancing flames licked the wooden remains of the Lysene warships, as chaos broke out throughout the fleet of Triarchy warships. “Hold your formations!” Jace could hear the soldiers scrambling, but more frenzied shouts began filling the air, as the shapes of Vermithor, Sheepstealer, Silverwing and Seasmoke appeared in the skies. 

“Fire!” Jace barely had time to react before a Myrish crossbolt had nearly struck Vermax’s underbelly. His dragon let out an enraged shriek as it swooped for the offending vessel, burning it to ashes. Jace gritted his teeth, they had clearly learnt this tactic from their time in dealing with Daemon in the Stepstones. 

Egging Vermax on with a roar, he bade Vermax to destroy as many vessels loaded with crossbolts as possible. Already, some ships were beginning to turn, a good sign for them. Jace was confident that the battle would end in a resounding victory for them. 

Just then, he flew past Seasmoke, whose rider, Addam Velaryon, looked ashen. Jace’s gaze shot to where he was staring at, where the ships were headed straight for Driftmark and Dragonstone. Fuck. 

“Stay here!” He yelled a command to Addam, already directing Vermax to head back to defend Dragonstone and Driftmark. “I’ll handle this. Burn every ship that has one of those fucking crossbolts, and don’t fly too close to the water.” 

With that, Vermax’s leathery wingbeats headed for Dragonstone once more. Please, Jace begged, hoping to make it in time. No more of my family. Not my mother, or little Aegon. Please no. 

Perhaps if Jace was more careful, more alert, he would’ve noticed the squadron of ships, veiled by the smoke of the fires Jace had set earlier. Perhaps if he hadn’t chosen to fly so close to the edge of the water, hoping to conceal Vermax’s presence and sneak an attack from behind instead of from above, he would’ve noticed the crossbolt aimed at Vermax’s eye. 

A loud roar filled the air, one which could be heard all the way across from Dragonstone. Vermax shrieked and flailed, as both squadrons of ships attacked at the same time, loosing crossbolts at him. Jace panicked, trying to redirect him to fly up, to escape, to flee, but a horrific screech erupted from Vermax as a crossbolt pierced his eye. Jace was gripped with fear as he began to unbuckle his saddle as Vermax careened for the waters. 

In his frenzied fury of pain, Vermax loosed several fireballs, which hit the ships in front of him, destroying the back of some of the squadron headed for Dragonstone. The ships splintered into pieces as they exploded, and the remaining ships shouted orders to row away from the firing range of the dragon. 

As Vermax hit the waters with a loud crash, Jace finally got loose of his saddle. Spotting an adrift, large shipwreck near him, he leaped free…

And landed on the shipwreck, barely clinging on in the freezing waters. He struggled to keep afloat as Vermax continued thrashing about in the waves, and his heart ached as he watched his beloved dragon suffer. 

Then, a sharp, excruciating pain filled his left chest, and Jace looked away from Vermax to see an arrow lodged in his chest, piercing his dragonriding leathers. 

Fuck. 

Jace tried to make himself look smaller, anything to seem less conspicuous, but a volley of arrows were shot in his direction. Most of them missed in the dark, but the pain was blinding to the point where Jace’s feeble grip on the wood slowly loosened, and he thrashed about wildly in the cold sea waters, gasping for breath. The weight of his dragonriding leathers and scarce amount of armour did not work well in his favour however, and the treacherous waves soon dragged him down, into the deep dark depths of the ocean. 

I cannot die now, Jace thought, sputtering for air desperately. My family, my mother needs me. She cannot lose another son- 

The currents were getting harsher and harsher, as Jace bled out helplessly on the water. Armour, he needed to dislodge his armour- he frantically attempted to remove it, but as he lost more and more blood, his limbs grew number and number, and soon, he could barely retain consciousness. 

‘I’ve failed. I’ve failed them all.’ was Jacaerys Velaryon’s last thought as he was pulled beneath the currents by invisible tendrils of water, into the murky depths below. 

‘I’m sorry I failed to protect everyone.’ 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In his dreams, Jace was at the meadow again. The woman was nowhere to be seen, but he could feel her presence all around him. A light, serene sort of happiness filled him, and he felt the phantom feeling of warm arms wrapped around him from behind. 

It was something he hadn’t felt in years. An eerily calm sense of bliss. But Jace didn’t care, he was too busy relishing in the moment where his mind was free of his demons. Free from worrying about his family’s survival, about the prophecy, and about the war. 

In his blurred senses, he could see someone smiling at him, a tender, playful one. A warm breath grazed his ear and the voice from his sweetest dreams and most horrid nightmares spoke in that calm, flowing manner of hers. 

“The living are not quite done with you yet, Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

And that was the last thing he heard before darkness consumed him once more. At least this time there was no pain. 

The first thing Jacaerys registered when he woke up was the faint scent of snapdragons. He groaned as he awakened, feeling an agonising pain in his shoulder as he tried moving. 

Aren’t I supposed to be dead? Jace remembered the events of the battle of The Gullet, where he had watched Vermax flail about in the sea, screeching as he fought not to drown in the cold depths of the ocean. His heart ached at the loss. Another one of my family gone, in the blink of an eye. And in the sea too. He wondered how the battle ended, did they win? 

But that soon became a minor concern as he began pondering…where exactly was he? He looked around, trying to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder forced him to fall back onto his pillow with a groan. So he was still alive then. Sudden panic gripped him. Had he been taken hostage by the Green forces? But if he had, then he would be in a far worse state than he was now. 

He glanced around the small space, noting that he was in a cottage of sorts. The smell of salt was heavy in the air, and the sky outside was grey and gloomy. Had some fisherman rescued him when he washed upon the shore? And if so, where in the Seven Hells was he now? The Crownlands? He definitely didn’t wash ashore on Dragonstone, or he would have been handed over to his mother. His heart ached as he wondered how his mother must have reacted to the news of his death. Once he ascertained his whereabouts and who had saved him, he would fly home for Dragonstone immediately….Jace sighed when he remembered that Vermax was dead now. He would send a raven or any messenger bird he could find then. 

The sound of the front door to the cottage opening caught Jace’s attention and he tried bolting upright, but yelped when his shoulder pain acted up again. He waited with bated breath as the door to his room opened, and revealed his saviour and possible enemy. However, the sight before him left him thunderstruck.

In that instant, Jace’s heart felt like it had stopped and then had been jolted forcefully back to life again by a tight grip. 

No. No, no, no, it was impossible. He had died, had felt the arrows pierce through his chest near his heart, before he fell prey to the treacherous waves of the Gullet, drowning in his failure. This has to be some false afterlife, set up to torment me. 

And yet, the pain in his lungs was overbearing, and definitely real, as he sat on the bed like he had been bolted to it, tightly clutching the coarse bedsheets in his fists. 

The whole world seemed to stand still as his eyes took in the familiar figure, holding a basket of herbs in her arms. Garbed in simple peasant clothing, yet that did not diminish her otherworldly beauty. 

“ You. ” 

“Me.” An insouciant, wry grin graced her lips, and it was like Jace’s most horrible nightmares and his dreams were blossoming before his very eyes. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Prince Jacaerys.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

published as part of the HOTD Big Bang 2023

Part 2 will be published soon! If you made it this far, thank you for reading! 💗

[ice-mint]

My contribution to the hotdbigbang 2023! Art for the fic:

Something wicked this way comes by @the-common-cowgirl

Read at:

[anjelicawrites]

Moonlight thoughts (Aemond Targaryen x reader).

Warnings: ageism and fat phobia (not from Aemond), angst. Suggestive themes.

Here's a sneak peek at my submission for the HOTD Big Bang! A beautiful artwork, made by the talented @4yvle1, will accompany the full fic!!!

“I can hear the wheels in your head turning, dōna ābrazȳrys,” Aemond says groggily. “Go back to sleep my love, it’s awfully early.” “I will, if my beloved faces me. I need to see their beautiful face to have good dreams." Ever since you two made love for the first time, your Aemond had always made a point to fall asleep staring at your face. He doesn’t need to hold you against himself, just to have you as the last image he sees before he falls asleep. You had never denied him this, as cheesy as it can be, yet tonight you are hesitant at turning around, fearing what Aemond would see on your face. "Ñuha jorrāelagon," he says urgently, " What is wrong?"

Coming to @hotd-bigbang in November '23!

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

No More Than I Was Or Than I Am

Ship: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen x Alicent Hightower

Rating: E

Warnings: targcest, explicit sexual content, ffm

Written for the @hotd-bigbang

Art by the coolest person I know @niocel 🖤

The echo of footsteps in the tunnels was loud and she could not tell which direction it came from. Turning back the way she came, she rushed down the corridor, praying her own steps were silent. She rounded the first corner and then another, casting a glance over her shoulder before crashing hard against something solid. Powerful hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her gently back a step, and she looked up into the face of Daemon Targaryen, a hood pulled low, as if to conceal his features.

"Alicent?"

She slowly turned her head, as if afraid to take her eyes off a bear in the forest, or a dragon in the pit. Beside him stood Rhaenyra, wearing the clothes of a peasant, her moonlight hair tucked beneath a hideous little cap. Her delicate features had gone from crinkled eyed amusement to surprise and confusion.

"What are you doing here?" There was no anger in her voice, no bite to her words. Just confusion as she regarded her step-mother.

Alicent stiffened at the question and realized that Daemon still held her. She jerked away and he grinned at her skittishness.

"I could not find sleep," Alicent said, her gaze falling to the princess. "I think the better question is what are you doing here? The both of you."

"It appears we also could not find sleep," Daemon drawled, a cruel little smile curling at his mouth that Alicent felt the urge to slap from his face.

She narrowed her eyes at the lie, her gaze raking over Rhaenyra, who stood so defiantly before her, her slender arms crossed over her chest. But then the princess's eyes softened, as if she too felt the ache of the years that had stretched between what Alicent referred to in her mind as then and now - the time she ached to return to and the life she had been forced into.

"Are you hiding?" She asked, and Alicent thought, for just a brief moment, that perhaps she understood the depth of her question.

Read the rest here on ao3

[the-common-cowgirl]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Special thanks to @ice-mint for creating the art for this fic and working with me on this adventure! ❤️

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Here’s a teaser at my submission for the HOTD Big Bang:

Jace raised his hands defensively, “No, I mean, I think we’re reading him wrong. Daeron talked about this thing, Hanlon’s Razor.”

Baela’s brow quirked, “Which says?”

“Never attribute to malice which is adequately explained by stupidity. Something he learned in college.”

Baela scoffed, “Does he think his brother is stupid?” 

Jace shook his head slowly, “I think, thanks to Daeron’s therapy session,” Baela chuckled and Jace gave her a knowing look, “-that we are all still kids, trying to navigate young adulthood, college, life… and we have shadows of a past that was heavily influenced by our parents looming over us. I don’t think we are all reading each other correctly; we are all attributing to malice where the true cause of strife is stupidity.”

Baela closed her eyes and scoffed, “That’s too smart of a sentence for you Jace Velaryon.”

Jace laughed quietly, “Yeah, no, that was a plagiarization of Daeron Targaryen’s words. But still, I think he’s right. I think we are holding on to things that happened in our past when we were dumb kids and now, we are dumb adults thinking that for some reason, our actions as children, heavily influenced by our parent’s own disconnect, define who we are now.”

Baela furrowed her brows, studying Jace, “And who are we now?”

Coming to @hotd-bigbang in November ‘23!

[aegonx]

Art for Pearl of the Realm by @targaryenrealnessdarling for @hotd-bigbang '23 💕

Read the fic here

[in-a-mountain-pool]

The Dragon Boy (Teaser)

Aemond x Female!Dragonseed OC Vysella

Here is a little teaser of my submission for the HOTD big bang 'The Dragon Boy', with some beautiful artwork to be soon revealed by the amazing @cyeco13 !

It had felt like the end of days, a tragedy painted with vicious strokes of fire and blood. The very ground beneath your feet had shaken, the winds had howled as dragons danced above the skies of the Riverlands in violent flashes of greens and reds, and clashes of razor sharp teeth. Brothers and sisters rode into war for a cause that no longer made sense, as kin marched upon kin, and dragons raged against dragons. History was dying, old magic was fading, all because one man, one King, had made a choice born from love.  But how could love ever endure in a world such as this? How could you fight for a Queen who ordered the death of an innocent child? Or a King that paraded the head of such a gracious beast as Meleys through the streets of Flea Bottom? How could hope live on here at the end of all things, where flames paint the skies, and babes were torn from their mother's arms?  … Helaena’s arms.  Since you’d heard the news from the other Dragonseeds’ on the battlefield you wouldn’t dare speak his name out loud. Bile would rise in your throat at the mere mention of him, the One-Eyed Prince, the Kinslayer, all of these names they’d given him, to the boy with violet eyes who’d captured your heart all those years ago. He had met with his Uncle, your Mentor, above the God’s Eye only a week before. The village folk spoke of a fierce battle, with dragon fire so hot and so ferocious it was like the sky itself had been set aflame, and the Doom of Valyria had raged once more. The two beautiful beasts were said to have torn each other apart, Caraxes the Blood Wyrm sinking her teeth into Vhagar’s neck, before being disembowelled and crashing into the great lake below. He, had always been so careful, even as a child, it was no wonder he’d chained himself so securely to the saddle. Daemon had known this and used it to his advantage. It had been you who had told Daemon so, you who had taught him how to tie the chains to keep him safe. Neither man nor dragon could have survived such a fall. Even a Targaryen Prince.

Full fic to be revealed via @hotd-bigbang November 2023!

[ripdragonbeans]

Look At Me // modern!Aegon x roommate/best friend!reader

I have a fic teaser for you all!!!!

Ngl super proud of myself for writing this, longest one shot I've done and I really like it 🙈

Pairing artwork that will be released with the fic is done by the beautiful @ewanmitchellcrumbs

WARNINGS: voyeurism, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p i v, angst, physical violence

Worry pierced through your head. The door was unlocked so Aegon had to be here, right? You paced across the hall, keeping your steps as silent as possible when you arrived at Aegon's door. Pressing your ear against the door, hoping to idly eavesdrop into a conversation, yet all you could gather was silence from the other side. "Aegon?" You enquired through the wooden shield of the door. "Aegon, are you in there?" Now ardently knocking on the door a little harder than you should. "Aegon, please! Please tell me -" The door swung open to reveal a pissed off woman clad only in a matching set of lace underwear.

Coming to @hotd-bigbang November '23!!!

[hotd-bigbang]

Hello! We have revamped the Discord for the HotD Big Bang - previously, this was only open to those who participated in last year's Big Bang event.

We are now opening this up to all writers and artists who have created, or are planning to create, for our writing prompt events. Please note that this is a creator only space - we welcome those who write and create for the fandom.

This is a place to encourage creativity, build community and share ideas, as well as completed pieces. We look forward to having you!

JOIN HERE.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon Teaser [Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader]

lovely teaser artwork done by the amazing @asa-do-your-thing ! thank you for all your patience and your hard work, it was wonderful collaborating with you on this 💕

here is a little teaser of my upcoming fic submission for the HOTD Big Bang! please take heed of the warnings below.

Warnings: 18+, descriptions of violence, death and war, smut, major character deaths, angst, somewhat dark! Jace

Excerpt below:

Then, fire engulfed Jace as he jolted away in shock. The sound of a teacup clattering on the ground pulled Jace from the nightmare, and he was back in the caravan: far away from the smoke, the screams and the flames. He was still shaking as he recalled the searing sensation of fire on his skin, scorching his bones. The dark tendrils of smoke had seeped out of the crystal ball and were creeping up Jace’s fingers, and he hurriedly pulled away and shook his hands until the smoke had dissipated, feeling sick. “What in the Seven Hells was that?” His voice was tremulous with fear. 

The girl’s eyes were grim as she fixed her gaze on him. “The future of your family, and House Targaryen.” Now Jace was shaking with something much more than fear: anger. “You must be mistaken,” his words were not as steady as he had willed it to be, and he tried to correct the quiver in his voice. “Your god is a sham. All that was just illusions of the mind. You’re lying.” She must be.  

Now it was the girl’s turn to look incensed, and it was like the fury of a thousand sea storms crackled behind her eyes. “Do not dismiss the abilities of my god because of your fear, Prince Jacaerys. You know that war between your mother and your uncle is inevitable, and you would choose to play ignorant?”

coming to @hotd-bigbang November '23 🖤