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goodeapple · 13 days

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dry clean only (modern hotd pwp, jace x sister!reader x luke)

pairing : Jacaerys x Ysilla (sister!OC) x Lucerys

warnings : MDNI. jesus where do i start... this is filthyyyyy. PWP, threesome, sibling incest, rimming, anal, DP, slight coercion, sibling incest, accidental voyeurism, unprotected intercourse, breeding kink (ofc), & did i mention sibling incest?

word count : 4,000+

note : i kind of lost my marbles with this one... brain drove straight to Hornyville and set up camp. in the nicest way, if u don't like, don't read <3

Laundry day. Fucking laundry day.

“Laundry day.” Ysilla had said when Jace stopped her in the hallway, and she shrugged before heading towards her room. So simple, so nonchalant, as if it were normal for her to parade around in nothing but one of his t-shirts. He lasts a solid forty minutes- a new record- before he pauses his game, and yells into the nearly empty house.

“Sil! Get in here!”

She takes her sweet time, minutes passing until she appears in his open doorway, propping her hip up on the jam. “You rang?”

Jace bristles at her nonchalance-ness, bouncing his knee anxiously, still sitting in his gaming chair.

“You doin’ that on purpose, Silli?” He waves a hand in her direction, a sweep from the tips of her white pedicured toes to the spirals of her midnight curls.

His sister finishes texting, before at last giving over her attention.

Ysilla bats her feather duster lashes at him, all doe eyes and a pouty pink mouth. “Course not, I told you. Got nothing else that’s clean.”

“I find that hard to believe…” Jace grumbles. She swipes their mum’s Amex like it’s going out of style. Her wardrobe looks like a Christmastime department store.

“You don’t like that I’m wearing your clothes?” She asks, plucking at the hem of his shirt, pulling the thin material tight over her tits. The shadows of her areolas become prominent and Jace feels his balls draw up tight. Even so, familial annoyance is stronger than that of a hundred men and he rolls his eyes.

“It’s mine. Don’t take my shit without asking, brat.”

It’s a tepid delivery at best, but it has a fire lighting in her that makes her amethyst orbs glow.

“Fine.” Without any preamble, Ysilla strolls into his room until she arrives in front of him and pulls his shirt off and over her head. Tossing it in his face, she crosses her arms under her breasts, her rosy mocha nipples pebbling in the artificially cool air. “Happy?” He misses her smirk but he can hear it in her voice.

“Not on purpose my ass.” Jace growls, ripping the shirt off of him. Springing to his feet, his fist finds its way into her hair and he yanks her to his mouth. She tastes like matcha and spearmint, and the strawberry gloss tacky on her lips.

She melts into his chest, putty in his devout hands. Her own hands rise to cradle his face, still lost in their kiss as she strokes her thumb over the defined edge of his jaw. Jace unwinds his fist, unclenching it to lay his palm flat at the nape of her neck. Too soon, she pulls away, smiling triumphantly as he tries to chase her lips.

“You’re so easy to tease, little brother.”

“Nothing little about what I’m about to give you.” Jace goads, running his hands down her bare back, tracing the twin dimples dotting the bloom of her backside. He pulls her forward until there’s not even a whisper left between them. The new stance does wonders for them both, as Jace slides his thigh between Ysilla’s. She’s not wearing any panties. And she’s already wet. He rocks his knee along her clit, the pearl perked and pronounced, and Jace knows if he keeps it up she’ll cream all over his leg.

“Bed. M’not bouncing on your lap in your game chair.” She whines, tugging off his hoodie and shimmying down his basketball shorts, a woman on a mission.

“Not like you haven’t done it before.” He bites but concedes, ushering her backwards into his bed. He gets her underneath him for a brief, blissful moment before he’s maneuvered onto his back. She likes to be on top- a throne fit for a princess, as she said once before. Plus, I like to see the face you make when you cum.

He spits into his palm, stroking himself quickly. A little extra slide is never a bad thing. “Sissy, spread your legs.”

Ysilla does what she’s told (for once) and goes gooey as Jace slips the head of himself into her opening. He gets a handful of her hips, thumbing at her hip bones as he eases her down, letting her slide onto every rigid inch. She whimpers, wiggling on his lap as she bottoms out on his dick. Gods above. Targaryen men and their horse cocks will be the absolute death of her.

“Jaceyyyyyy,” she whines, the pressure in her lower belly a heaviness she can’t shake.

“If you wanted dick, all you had to do was say so.” Jace chuckles but it’s labored. She’s so fucking tight- he doesn’t know if it’s the pilates she does or good genetics, but it’s like being in a turtleneck in July.

Within a second, his door squeaks open and the two tangled Targaryens would jump apart if they didn’t know exactly who would be getting home at 4PM on a Wednesday.

“Ooohhhh, what are you two gettin’ up to, eh?” Luke’s hand smacks down a greeting on Ysilla’s backside, and she jumps from the sting. He sprawls out in the previously occupied chair, giving himself a front row seat to his brother and sister’s debauchery.

Luke is sprouting, taller than even their dad. He tugs down his trackies, of course a stereotypical grey that hugs him just right, and his cock springs up, bobbing back and forth like a metronome. He’s not super thick around his shaft, but the kids got length that you feel knocking in your stomach.

Ysilla stares, shamelessly, her throat awfully lonely. He notices and lets her attention go straight to his head (both of them).

“See something you like, babe?” Luke winks at her, a cheeky grin plucking up his lips. He pumps himself once, a bead of precum crowning his pretty cock.

“Lukeyyy,” he whines at Ysilla’s croon. His sister is so fucking stunning- gorgeous, breathtaking. He’d do anything for her. She’s the voice in his head, the drive in his passion, the star in his fantasies. She’s been there for everything- it’s hard for him not to be a little bit sprung.

“You forget about me, love?” Jace places a wet kiss at the cradle of her jaw. Ysilla smiles, tangling her fingers in his tight curls.

They have curly hair, all three of them. Ysilla knows Harwin isn’t her dad- her sperm donor, she means. Harwin has been there for all the things that mattered and those that didn’t, he’s her fucking dad. Blood doesn’t get to take that away from her. And in pictures, it’s easy to believe they’re all from the same vine. Until you account for Viz and Aeg and their momma, and then every family photo is a whole motley crew snapshot.

“Don’t be jealous, Jace.” She coos, in a mellow mocking voice.

He rolls his eyes, a pink blush prickling at his freckled cheeks. He steals a proper kiss this time, a wet peck that has Ysilla coming back for more, opening her mouth in a slow, sensual lick. Jace grinds into her, basking in her gasps that he drinks down drunkenly.

A particularly pitiful moan from the foot of the bed reminds her to be generous with her attention. Jace lets go of her mouth, head dipping down just so that he catches her swinging breast in his mouth. He widens his jaw, tongue lapping lewdley at her flesh, looking as if he’s trying to swallow it whole. Ysilla strokes his cheek fondly. He gets so needy like this- needs his big sister to keep him grounded. She lets her head loll back, pinning Luke with a simmering stare that is reminiscent of predator and prey. It shouldn’t twist up his belly like it does but he’s long passed caring about what gets him off. As long as she’ll let him taste her.

“Wanna join us, bud?”

Luke nods, all boyish enthusiasm, eager to please. “Wherever you want me, sis.”

Ooooh, that’s a fun thought. Her mouth floods with saliva, her taste buds perking up at the thought of Luke’s salty spunk. She gives a good handy, she could jerk him off until he busts. Or, she could flip onto her back, ride Jace in reverse and let Luke straddle her chest and maul her tits until he’d gift her a pearl necklace. Decisions, decisions. Ysilla rocks faster on Jace’s cock, dragging him in and out of her in a way that has her clit fluttering like butterfly wings.

Absently, she rubs down her left cheek, still stinging from Luke’s slap, and lets her fingertips dip into her cleft. She’s wet there too- fuck, more like soaked. She was riding her vibrator until Jace had finally called her to him. She’d been dripping since she stole his shirt from his dresser, going absolutely mental at the soft cotton caressing her nipples, his cologne soaked into the fabric. She huffed it like an addict, brought it up to her nose while she rode the vibe until her hand cramped.

Luke’s eyes follow her wandering hand, and his brows scrunch in agonized pleasure as she slips a finger over her tight, clenched hole. Decision made.

“Want you right here, Lucerys.” Ysilla murmurs, knocking her knees further apart, bringing her stomach to stomach with Jace as a result. “Want you both, at the same time.”

Luke’s eyes go gumball wide. “You forreal?”

She bites at her lip, moaning as Jace thrusts hard. He’s as excited by the idea as she is. She nods fervently, arching her back more invitingly and Luke fucking moans, tightening his grip on the base of his cock.

“Fuck, you two are so hot.” He grinds into his fist, his other hand drifting beneath him and rolling his balls between strong fingers. He kicks his sweats the rest of the way off, unable to stop himself as he jerks off faster, his sack tightening in a tantalizing threat.

Jace notices, releasing Ysilla’s breast from his famished mouth. “Don’t blow yet, bro. Wait ‘til you’re inside her.”

Ysilla smirks, turning her sights back to the man buried in her cunt.

“Yeah? Wanna wait until he’s inside me? Want you both to fill me up with your cum ‘till it leaks out of my holes?” She whispers at Jace’s throat, dropping an open mouthed kiss over his Adam’s apple.

Jace can give as good as he gets. “What if I do? What if I want to see my cum drip out of your tight cunny, and plug you up with something so it sticks? Could get you barefoot and pregnant, could get you bouncing on my cock all day long while your belly grows with my babe.” He rubs at her tits, pinching and plucking at her spit slick nipple with a tenderness he means wholeheartedly as he whispers his depraved fancy into her ear.

Ysilla clenches around him, tight enough that his vision whites out for a moment. She can’t help it, bouncing up and down on his fat cock, his words liquid lust in her tummy.

“Oh, Jace. Jacey Jacey, fuck, little brother.” She pants, taking every inch of his shaft over and over again, hissing at the stretch of it burning up her insides. Gods, she never tires of it- his cock is such a treat, one she only indulges in when she has the time to truly savor it.

“You got one more little brother right behind ya, pretty girl.” Luke whispers at her ear, kissing her pulse point with delicate lips.

Jace reaches into his bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle and tossing it on the duvet. “Lube, man.”

The eldest brother busies his hands, grabbing ahold of his sister’s plush backside, a cheek in each palm, and pulls her apart to expose her to their little brother’s lecherous gaze. Dropping to his knees, Luke spits a glob of saliva into her puckered hole, enjoying how her sensitive skin quivers under his attention. He coats his fingers generously with the thick gel, and he’s gentle as he presses one past the thick muscle of her entrance. She squeals sharply before Jace occupies her mouth, shoving in two fingers for her to suck on. Ysilla has an oral fixation- a dick, chewing gum, popsicles, all her go-to’s when she’s stressed.

Luke takes advantage of Jace’s help, gliding in another finger that makes her cry out even louder. Shit, she’s got to gut up if she wants to take his dick. He scissors them back and forth, methodical in working her open. He’s only ever done this to himself, but he’s got the basics down: preparation, lube, going slow, more lube, etcetera. He keeps it up until her whimpers have died down, and when he starts to feel her rock back against him.

Satisfied, he pulls out his fingers and coats his shaft with the lube, hissing at the cool sting on his sensitive skin. He spreads it over his head with a loose grip. He’s already worked up enough, the last thing he wants to do is let his big sister down by cumming on her ass instead of inside of it.

He edges up onto his hands, ready to push upwards onto the bed so that he can take his place behind Ysilla but he’s stopped by something straight out of a wet dream. Luke whistles low. That’s a million dollar shot right there: Jace’s thick veiny cock pulling out before pumping back into Ysilla’s hot pink center, the shine coating their thighs glistening in the late afternoon sun. He wonders if he could convince either of his siblings to let him film them. He knows the answer is most likely a hard no, but a boy can dream.

The carpet beneath his knees is starting to give him rug burn but he's so transfixed, it's like he's been hypnotized. A simple, sinful thought comes unbidden into his mind and he grins. While he's down here, he might as well sightsee. Luke ducks down, and sucks one of Jace’s balls into his mouth, just to hear his brother curse him in Valyrian. He rolls it around his tongue, before releasing it with a satisfied pop! and takes a lick of the cream seeping from Silli’s hole.

Ysilla flinches away, kicking out her foot to shove at his shoulder. He chuckles and relents, adrenaline tight in his muscles as he wraps his hold around her dainty waist and lines up behind her.

"Here goes nothin', gang." Luke shudders out a breath as he maneuvers into position, and edges forward painfully slow as Ysilla's pretty arse swallows his dick. It takes forever and a day, but finally, thankfully, he's all the way in, flush with the back of her thighs and mind melting out of his ears.

“Good Gods above, Lukey.” Ysilla has to remind herself to breathe.

“You okay sissy?” Luke pecks her temple, tucking her bangs back behind her ear. She blushes, cheeks burning hot- he’s such a good boy.

“I’m fine, dude. It’s just… neither of you are small. I can feel you tickling my tonsils.”

“Fucking hell. I can feel him, mercy, I can feel him through you, Silli.” Jace sobs wetly, hands shaking where he has a hold of her hips. Mother, Father and fucking Crone, this is infuckingsane. He can’t last like this, he isn’t superhuman for Gods’ sake.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Jacaerys. If I’m taking both of your cocks, I’ll get time to enjoy it. You’ll cum when I tell you to.” She commands, all eldest child superiority, even with a strained voice.

“Yes, sissy.” He croaks out, his irises misty like a spring rain. She hums approvingly, withholding her praise until he can deliver on his promise.

“Same goes for you, kiddo.” She aims over her shoulder.

“Anything you say, Silli.” Luke draws out, letting her agonize over every long inch before fucking himself back into her arse.

The brothers start to build a gentle push-pull rhythm, one in one out, trying to get her adjusted to having two dicks inside of her- as if that’s something that someone can get used to after five fucking minutes. But as the pain and discomfort fade into a fullness that she feels up to her throat, little jabs of pleasure have Ysilla pushing herself back and forth against her boys.

“This is crazy, holy shit this is crazy.” She gasps, hands wildly clutching at anything she can.

“Never felt something this tight. Squeezing the fuckin’ life out of me, bloody hell.” Luke gasps into her shoulder, eyes screwed shut in concentration, dragging his hips back and forth.

Jace can't talk- all of his focus on not blowing his top and facing his sister's wrath. Sparing a glance at her, he can't help but sigh.

“You're so fucking pretty, Sil.”

The look of love that accompanies Jace’s hushed praise has the tightening snapping loose in Ysilla's belly, vainly getting off from his attention. Well that, and the fact that she's double stuffed like an Oreo.

Her orgasm slices through her, a hot knife through butter, and a violent shiver racks up her spine. She bows upward in some type of silly attempt to get away from Jace’s plundering cock, but all she succeeds in doing is arching into Luke’s greedy hands and greenlighting him into slamming into her hole even harder.

“Oh, oh! I can’t take it. It’s too much, stop!” Ysilla pleads, pushing and pulling at all of the naked skin surrounding her, overwhelmed and overfucked.

“Do you think she really means that, Lukey?” Jace asks, and it’s too sugar sweet to be anything but condescending.

“No fuckin’ way, mate. This ass wouldn’t let me go for anything.” Luke slurs, half fucking stupid, his smarts being squeezed out by way of his prick.

“I’m not a unnhhhh. Not just a hole for you two to fuck.” Her words would land a better mark if there wasn’t a thin line of drool dripping off of her bottom lip, her eyes gone glossy. Her pussy throbs, her heartbeat pulsing there as well as violently in her ears.

Luke fish hooks her, pulling her into his lips by the meat of her cheek. “Shut the fuck up, Ysi.” He says it so adoringly before releasing her, only to keep her quiet as he slides his tongue into her mouth. It does the job, Ysilla suckling at it like it’s a lolli.

Jace lets his hands wander, worshiping the beautiful bodies laid out for his ravenous gaze. His fingers tickle over the dip of Luke’s slight waist, his thumb strokes the flare of Ysilla’s ribcage- his hands discovering and mapping a route of impassioned fealty that he will never forget. They're both his. It's an absolutely mental thought, one he should have no business entertaining but here, in his bed, none of them are to think of anything else but each other.

Jace grabs Ysilla tight by her jaw, ripping her away from Luke’s tongue. He brings her in close, forcing her to stare into his sweet chocolate eyes. “I’m gonna nut in your pussy, sissy, and Luke’s gonna fill that arse up. And you’re gonna take it, like the good girl you are, or I’ll put you on your knees and have you suck my cock until dinnertime.”

Ysilla giggles, delighting in the way Jace’s smirk turns down into a sneer. Humbling her brothers is an A1 skill, one she’s perfected over the years with a constant dedication to her craft.

“Promise?”

Jace chuckles, because he’s sick like she is. Still holding her close, his grip slips down to wrap around her throat. He pushes up, palm tight to her windpipe and forces her flush to Luke’s sweaty chest. He presses his feet into his mattress, praying for leverage, and plows every inch of his thick dick into her cunt.

Luke’s lungs shrivel up, the friction of his brother’s thrusting cock through the thin skin separating Ysilla’s holes too much for him to take. He hunches over her, slinging his arm around her hips. He yanks her into an arch, his forearm digging tightly into where her lower belly meets her mound, and humps desperately at the curve of her backside.

Jace chases them, fucking his hips up into his siblings wildly, the wet smack of his thighs against Ysilla’s fucking nasty. He wraps his legs around all of them, crossing his ankles above Luke’s tight, thrusting arse, keeping them all nice and close.

“Fuckkkk yeah, take that dick. Both of you.”

God bless football, the muscles threaded through his chicken legs all due to his practicing and playing. Fuck, he should make Sil wear his jersey after his next game. Maybe even convince Luke to give him a mouthful of his junk, make him stretch out his throat while Silli rides his lap. Do it in the car park after the match. His tint is dark enough- he could have them together, anyway he wants while the rest of his team would pile into their own cars, none the wiser to sinful shit their star striker gets up to with his own flesh and blood.

Jace knows he doesn’t have much left in his tank; he was ready to bust as soon as Luke slid home alongside him. He doesn’t want to finish yet- somewhat pridefully, not before his little brother. One thing is on his side though: he has a big fucking mouth.

“So pretty, both of my fucking sluts. Gonna knock you two up, breed you until you’re fucking sick of it.”

Ysilla and Luke’s eyes roll back, mirror images of lust, and Jace doesn’t know if he imagines it but he swears he can feel it as Luke breaks, his cum molten hot through the partition of Silli’s walls as he spills deep into her guts.

“Fuckkk yes, cum inside of her Luke. Make it messy, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Jace spits through clenched teeth, digging his heels cruelly into Luke’s soft thighs. As if on cue, both brothers’ trembling fingers dive between Ysilla’s legs, and rub furiously at her clit. She chokes, her nails rooting into each one of them, keeping them close as she breaks the fuck apart. One of them shouts as she clamps down in a vice grip, but it's all static in her ears, her orgasm washing anything away that's not white hot heat. It lasts so long her toes go numb and her knees shake tremors throughout her thighs.

Luke and Ysilla topple like a house of cards, landing in a jumbled pile of limbs and other sweat soaked appendages. Jace’s bed is a King but even so, the trio chooses to remain wrapped up in each other, gasping for breath and stretching out sore legs.

The peek of sky through the blinds gets dimmer the longer they all lie there, the glow from the TV glaring brighter and brighter as the room dips into darkness. Jace searches for his remote, doing his best not to jostle his bedmates, until he finds it under his pillow. Going for the red power button, his thumb hovers over it until a flashing icon in the corner of the screen pitches his stomach like he’s on a rollercoaster.

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to do that.” Luke groans, face buried in his sister’s back.

“Me either.” Ysilla chuckles wearily, already well on her way to unconsciousness, snuggled between her favorite boys. Jace winces, letting them enjoy the last few seconds of afterglow before he ruins the rest of their lives.

“Okay… neither of you can hit me for what I’m about to tell you.”

Ysilla blinks at him, suddenly wide awake at the tense tone he’s taken on.

“Jace… what is it?”

He stares at the F1 pause screen, Aegon T. connected via headset still lit up in green in the top right corner. His own headset rests innocently atop his desk, the mic almost pointing accusingly towards the bed. And there’s no way in any of the Seven Hells that their uncle didn’t just get an earful of his niece and nephews railing each other into oblivion.

“I think we may have a huge fucking problem.”

#hotd #house of the dragon #modern hotd #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys velaryon smut #lucerys velaryon #lucerys targaryen #lucerys x you #lucerys x reader #lucerys x oc #lucerys velaryon smut #hotd smut #hotd kink #hotd pwp

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emilykaldwen · 3 months

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

��It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ‘Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess’ face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 month

Text

The Silver Dragon (15)

The Garden

For the first time in the long years she’s been on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra asks for Arianwyn to join her for a walk in the gardens.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The morning air was cool, heralding winter’s coming before too long. But Arianwyn did not mind; it was quite warm on Emrys’ back. Indeed, the fire within him was so intense that even with the chill in the air and the wind whipping around her, Arianwyn’s brow was still dotted with sweat.

As always, she was loathe to bring Emrys back to solid ground. But Daemon’s threats still rang in her ears whenever she glanced westward to King’s Landing. So, she landed again in the courtyard of Dragonstone and watched with an aching heart as he was guided back to the Dragonmont.

While Arianwyn loved flying, she was decidedly less fond of her riding leathers, especially when the thick garments trapped the dampness of her sweat against her skin. So as long as she had to remain on the ground, she was eager to return to her tower to change into something more comfortable and read Aemond’s newest letter.

When Arianwyn emerged from the dressing room in a deliciously soft gown of gray silk, Brynna was waiting for her in the solar with paper in her hands.

“Today’s message from Prince Aemond, my Lady,” Brynna said, holding out an envelope sealed with deep green wax and pressed with his seal – a silhouette of Vhagar. She fumbled nervously with a small fold of parchment before handing it over. “And a note came for you – from Princess Rhaenyra.”

Arianwyn’s hands froze in the middle of tearing open Aemond’s letter. Rhaenyra sent her a message? Though her mind raced, she could not think of why. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she took the note from Brynna and unfolded it.

Lady Arianwyn, As soon as you are able, meet me in the Chamber of the Painted Table. The weather is pleasant today, and I thought we could take a walk. Princess Rhaenyra

In all the time she had been at Dragonstone, Arianwyn had never been asked to meet with her stepmother. So what reason could Rhaenyra possibly have to call for her now?

Arianwyn refolded the note and looked to Brynna, waiting impatiently to find out what Rhaenyra had said. “She wants me to join her for a walk.”

She was sure Brynna’s look of confusion was mirrored on her own face, but the lady’s maid quickly composed herself, nodded, and stepped back into the dressing room. “Right. You’ll need a cloak,” she muttered, almost to herself. “The wind will give you a chill.”

Once dressed to Brynna’s standards, Arianwyn made her way out of her tower toward the Chamber of the Painted Table. She had been able to find her way through the castle without guards for several years, though Daemon still insisted she be escorted by at least one of his men whenever she left her apartments. Which, in turn, prompted her guards to double that number from their own ranks so they would never be outnumbered.

Unfortunately for her – and Sers Adrew and Ruban – Jace was just leaving the Chamber of the Painted Table when they arrived.

“Dear sister, what an unexpected delight!” A smug grin split his face, and Arianwyn wanted nothing more than to slap him. Her guards wanted to do even more. Their hands drifted closer to their weapons – not a threat, just a reminder. One that Jace wholly ignored. “It’s so rare to see you outside of your tower.”

She faced him, not missing the gleam in his eyes as she did. He seemed to love nothing more than tormenting her. At least when they were alone, she could snipe back at him without fearing her father or endure Baela and Luke’s giggling. Over the years, she found that it was quite a delight watching Jace squirm. “Believe me, cousin, I would much prefer to be in my tower, but your mother has summoned me.”

Jace’s sneer at the word ‘cousin’ faded when Arianqyn mentioned Rhaenyra. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced over his shoulder at the door behind him. “My mother wants to see you?”

“She does. She sent a note.”

“Do you know why?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just curious.” He shrugged, looking up at the stone ceiling in an attempt at nonchalance that did little to fool Arianwyn. When he finally faced her, he had apparently regained his confidence and mirth. He smirked, stepping closer and dipping his chin – ever since he grew taller than her, he relished looking down at her. “Is there something wrong with my interest in my favorite sister?”

Gods, she wished she could tell Ser Ruban to stop holding back and shut Jace up for good. But with one of Daemon’s most loyal guards just behind her and Rhaenyra herself on the other side of the door Jace was currently blocking, it would only result in Ruban’s death. Perhaps the death of all her guards.

So, Arianwyn straightened and met Jace’s dark gaze. “I am not your sister. You are nothing more than a distant cousin and the son of my father’s third wife.”

Jace did not blanche. He did not frown, or bear his teeth, or snarl in any way.

He smiled.

Arinwyn had not been afraid of him since he first pulled the knife from his sleeve all those years ago on Driftmark. She was now.

“Enjoy your conversation with my mother,” he crooned as he stalked away. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

The hall fell quiet as Arianwyn stood in front of the grand wooden doors that led to the Chamber of the Painted Table. It was intricately carved with fearsome depictions of Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes in the Conquest. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the carving of Vhagar, imagining that the rider atop her was not the warrior Queen Visenya but Aemond.

What would he say if he were here? He would most likely encourage her to ignore Jace the same way she did each night at dinner. It had been his strategy in their childhood when Jace, Luker, and Aegon mocked him. ‘Don’t let them see that it gets to you, and they’ll lose interest,’ he once told her when she asked why he didn’t fight back.

But they never lost interest. Not until Luke stole Aemond’s eye.

Aegon, at least, apologized – to Aemond, and to her. It took him a year after Driftmark, but one day, a second raven came to Dragonstone, bearing the seal of a golden dragon.

“I really wasn’t trying to hurt you two. I just thought we were having fun, that I was being a good brother/cousin. I’m an idiot, I guess. So, I’m sorry. If you were still here, I’d do something to show you how sorry I am. With Aemond, I came to the training yard one morning and let him beat the shit out of me. He seemed to enjoy it, maybe a little too much. But he deserved it, or I did, or whatever. It was earned. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I could… I don’t know, read a book you think that I’d dislike? Or send you something? You know I’m not good at ideas, so just… let me know. As long as it won’t kill me, I’ll do it. I promise, Aria.”

After the beating, Aemond accepted the apology, and Arianwyn accepted it, too.

Neither Jace, nor Luke, nor Baela had apologized. They had not even made any efforts to grow closer to her.

If they would not be friendly, then neither would Arianwyn. She would do her best to wound them as they wounded her and hope Aemond would not be disappointed in her.

“Ignore him, my Lady.” Ser Adrew whispered. Lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed him step closer. “He’s not even worth the effort to think about. Pretend he’s a buzzing fly you can squash under your shoe. He’d make a very satisfying crunch, I think.”

Arianwyn smiled. Adrew always made her smile. And he was right.

She looked again at the carving of Vhagar and the image of Aemond astride her that her mind conjured. Though she still missed him to the point of despair, the thought of him calmed her racing heart and gave her the strength to stand straight and proud as she finally signaled for the doors to be opened.

She was surprised to find the grand room nearly empty, the Princess and her constant retinue of guards the only occupants. Rhaenyra stood at the side of the Painted Table, in a position that, were the massive map real, would place her on Driftmark.

When she saw her stepdaughter descending the stairs, Rhaenyra gave the girl a pleasant smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn Kingsguard, from their conversation and moved to greet Arianwyn. “Thank you for coming so swiftly,” she said, gesturing for the girl to rise from her curtsy. “I thought it a fine day for a walk in the gardens, don’t you agree?”

Stunned by the casual way the Princess addressed her, Arianwyn gave a hesitant smile and nodded. That was all the affirmation Rhaenyra needed before she began climbing back up the stairs. Arianwyn dutifully followed, her hands clasped and her head bowed.

The walk to the gardens was silent, save for the clanking of armor which always accompanied their guards. Arianwyn was desperate to know why she had been summoned, but protocol demanded that she allow Rhaenyra, her stepmother and presumptive heir to the throne, to speak first.

It wasn’t until they arrived at the gardens, the one place on the island where Maesters had been able to coax anything beyond grass to grow, that the Princess finally broke the silence.

“How was Emrys this morning?” she asked, fumbling over the pronunciation of the dragon’s name.

Arianwyn had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from correcting her stepmother. “He is well,” she replied curtly. But Rhaenyra stared at her as if expecting more, so she continued, “He very much enjoys flying when the wind is strong, so his mood was quite high today.”

Rhaenyra grinned, “Syrax was the same way when she was young.” She laid a hand over her swollen belly, “I regret that I have not been able to ride recently, but Daemon is quite protective when I am in such a state.”

The slight feeling of ease that Arianwyn had begun to feel was at once extinguished at the mention of her father. If only he had felt the same protectiveness for Rhea.

Sensing she had made an error, Rhaenyra moved quickly to try and break the tension. She cleared her throat, “The Dragonkeepers tell me you have been immensely helpful to Rhaena in her training with Morning.”

Indeed, for more than a year, Arianwyn had spent most mornings in the training yard with her younger sister and the hatchling. The still small creature, with scales the lovely soft pink of a sunset, had hatched from the clutch Syrax laid during Rhaenyra’s last pregnancy.

Arianwyn had nearly wept when she first saw Morning coiled around Rhaena’s neck. She had not seen a person so overwhelmed with joy since she watched Aemond claim Vhagar for the first time. Watching Rhaena bond with her dragon helped to fill the missing piece of her that still regretted not being there to see Aemond do the same.

“Rhaena is a naturally gifted dragonrider,” Arianwyn told the Princess. “I assure you, my help is entirely unnecessary.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “You would not know it by how she speaks of you. It is good you can be a sister to her, with Baela on Driftmark with Rhaenys.”

“You flatter me, Your Royal Highness,” Arianwyn replied, bowing her head slightly.

The two continued to wander through the garden, exchanging formal pleasantries and shallow conversation for nearly an hour. By the time they finally reached the far wall of the massive park and the vista overlooking the sea below, Arianwyn was so overcome with the monotony that she could no longer maintain her demure façade.

“Princess, may I speak freely?” She asked, her voice harder than it had been throughout the afternoon.

Rhaenyra blinked, surprised at the change in her tone. “Of course you may.”

“Why am I here?”

The Princess’ kind face immediately fell into passivity, and she let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I am afraid I do not understand what you are asking.”

Arianwyn steeled herself, looking at her stepmother directly as she spoke. “You and I have lived under the same roof for most of my life. For six years now, I have lived in your castle as your stepdaughter. And yet, you have said more to me just this afternoon than you have in all the past nineteen years. Why?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, though her voice remained friendly – but only just. “Do you think it wrong for a woman to desire to spend time with her family?”

“I think it strange when that desire appears so suddenly after almost two decades of neglect.”

The Princess sighed heavily, turning to face the sea. “That is why I wanted to tell you myself –we will leave for King’s Landing at dawn. You will fly with us on Emrys.”

Arianwyn felt as though her heart might never beat again. She had dreamed of returning home for so long, but now that the prospect was before her, she struggled to trust that it was real.

“Truly?” she asked, her desperation revealed by the trembling of her voice.

“Truly,” Rhaenyra replied. She reached forward to take her stepdaughter’s hand. “Lord Corlys is gravely ill, and his brother is seizing the opportunity to formally contest Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark. We shall go to the capital as a family, united, to refute him.”

Arianwyn looked up into the Princess’s violet eyes, struggling to believe she could ever be any part of her family – the family she shared with Daemon. But Rhaenyra’s gaze held genuine hope, perhaps even affection. Before she knew it, Arianwyn was clutching her stepmother’s hand.

“I am sorry for the way I have treated you,” Rhaenyra said, rubbing her thumb over the back of Arianwyn’s hand. “I know I cannot change the past or make up for the time we have missed, but I need you to understand. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

With a smile, Arianwyn nodded.

Rhaenyra continued, “I have loved Daemon all my life, since before I can even remember. When you were first brought to the capital, I was a heartbroken girl, younger than you are now. Daemon had just wed Laena and flown across the Narrow Sea, and I was left in the Red Keep in a marriage that was weeks old and already a failure.”

Arianwyn recognized the look on Rhaenyra’s face. She had often seen it in the mirror—the helpless look of one stranded in a prison beyond their control. Just as Arianwyn had not chosen to live on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra had not chosen her husband.

“Seeing you, the beautiful silver-haired daughter of the man I loved, was torture for me,” Rhaenyra confessed with guilt in her eyes. “I knew it was not your fault, but every time I saw you, I was reminded of the life I could not have – the fairy tale I always dreamed of.” Her words echoed similar feelings in Arianwyn’s own heart.

“It was easier for me to avoid you entirely than endure those horrible feelings,” Rhaenyra said as she raised her hand to Arianwyn’s cheek. “I am so sorry that my behavior has cost you your family all these years.”

At that, Arianwyn’s brows furrowed. She had been alone, surely, but she had not been denied her family. Ser Gerold still wrote to her frequently, as did Aemond. Alicent and Helaena had as well; even Aegon had sent a few ravens over the years. Her family was far from her, yes. But she had never been denied their existence.

Rhaenyra grimaced, “I know your relationship with your father has been strained. And how he treated your mother was…” she trailed off, frowning, “regrettable.”

She continued her plea, but Arianwyn did not hear it. She had seen the look on Rhaenyra’s face when she mentioned Rhea – the pity, the disgust, and even the hint of fear.

Now, all Arianwyn could hear was the rushing of blood in her ears and two words echoing through her mind like thundering bells:

She knows.

It did not matter how she knew. Whether she deduced it or was told by Daemon himself was insignificant. Rhaenyra knew what he had done to Rhea. And still, she loved him. She remained married to him. She carried his child. Still, she would make him King.

What kind of person loved such a monster?

Arianwyn tore herself away from her stepmother, royal protocol forgotten and damned. Her heart, which had only begun to warm to the woman, froze over again. No, she would neverbe a part of this family.

As she stormed out of the garden, deaf to the calls of Rhaenyra and her guards, Arianwyn made a solemn vow:

She would return to King’s Landing, her home, and her truefamily. And once there, she would gladly die before allowing herself to be taken again.

#aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x oc #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fic #hotd fanfic #aemond xf!oc #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #the silver dragon

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topazy · 4 months

Text

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × OC, Rick Grimes × sister OC

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood

Chapter: 3.07

“Aunt Lily! Aunt Lily!” Carl runs towards you holding a green balloon in the shape of a dog; he shows you it proudly. “Look what my dad made me; it’s so cool.”

Smiling, you ruffle his hair. Being surrounded by screaming kids with sticky hands and zero concept of personal space was your idea of hell, but it was worth it to see Carl enjoying his sixth birthday party. His friends from school and a few from his soccer team had attended the party being held in your brother's backyard, and now that the sugar rush and excitement of new toys were catching up with your nephew, his eyes were becoming a lot heavier as his friends started to be picked up by their parents.

You smile, feeling Shane’s lips brush against the curve of your ear. “You want to bail out soon? The little man looks as if he’s about to crash soon, and Lori will rope us into cleaning up.”

“Hmm, what are you thinking?”

Chucking, he kisses the side of your head and then your cheek. “I’m thinking of taking my pretty girl out for dinner and a late-night movie.”

You motion to the cooler full of ice cubes and bottles of beer sitting on the opposite end of the wooden table you were standing beside. “Do you think we could sneak a few of those with us for the movie?”

“That would be stealing, ma’am.”

“Well, I know a few ways to keep out of trouble, deputy.”

Standing up, you smooth out your yellow sundress just as your brothers walk by with a couple of on-duty cops who had dropped by to suck up to Rick by giving Carl a gift. You smile politely at them before leaning back into Shane’s embrace and quietly asking, “You still don’t like them, huh?”

“Rivers and Young?” He finished the dregs in his cup. “The kids have a lot to learn; I wouldn’t want them answering a call for my mom or my girl.”

You knew Shane wasn’t saying this lightly; he often gave rookies the benefit of the doubt.

Groggily, you stare up at the ceiling, feeling devoid of any real emotion as you think back on old memories. Once you had fought to push to the back of your mind because you found thinking of the chain of events that came from that party so upsetting. Jace’s babbling pulls you from your trail of thought. He crawls up onto you, his saliva drooling onto your top. “Thanks, kid.”

He babbles some more, as if he were communicating in his own way.

“Yeah, yeah.” You tickle Jace’s cheek with his finger. His smile lightens your mood slightly. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done, you know that?”

You slide your fingers over Jace’s dark hair as he leans his head on your chest. Sighing, you close your eyes again, but the peacefulness only lasts for a few moments. The second you hear the noise of crutches tapping against the prison flooring, you open your eyes and sit upright.

“Is everything okay, Hershel?”

“How’s your leg feeling today?”

When you returned to the prison, Hershel stitched up your leg to stop the bleeding, but there wasn’t anything he gave you to help ease the pain. “It feels as if it’s getting better, thanks.”

The older man leans against the cell doorway, his eyes crinkled with exhaustion. “I just thought you would want to know Glenn took Carl looking for the breach. They’ve just come back.”

—

You stormed to the other side of the cellblock, where most of your group was gathered. Beth was humming to your niece, Judith, while Glenn explained that they didn’t find the breach. Maggie looks up, surprised when she sees you looking so irritated. She forces a smile. “How’s the little stinker doing?”

“Happy to see you,” you hand her Jace before turning to glare at Glenn. “I told you not to take Carl with you.”

Glenn lets out a frustrated sigh. “Lily, we need to find this breach fast. For all we know, our home could be filled up with walkers or the governor's men at any moment.”

“Exactly, which is exactly why you shouldn’t have taken a thirteen-year-old with you. Carl’s just a kid!” You wave your arm between the two of them and say, "Look at how much blood you are covered in. How many walkers did you need to kill just to get out?”

Glenn shakes his head. Instead of bonding over the trauma you had gone through together, the experience was causing friction between you. Your friendship with Glenn meant a great deal to you, but keeping Jace, Carl, and Judith safe was the most important thing.

Hershel tries to intervene and calmly says, “I still think we should go; we still have time.“

“For the last time, we aren’t running!” Glenn snaps, frustrated.

“We should have grabbed things and left last night; this place isn’t worth dying over.” In your mind, the only reason you had to stay was waiting on Daryl coming back, but you had no idea when he would return, and by then you might have all been slaughtered like cattle by the governor. “We survived living on the road before without any transport. This time, we have multiple cars to use.”

“Last time Hershel had two legs, we didn’t have a screaming baby.”

“What are you even talking about? Jace was with us the entire time, and we survived.”

“Yeah, but we got lucky with Jace not being able to hear loud noises.”

“What did you just say?”

Glenn stares at you with his mouth agape. You glance at Carol and Maggie, who both lower their heads. You are in a constant state of denial, refusing to accept the reality of your situation. Jace’s hearing wasn’t what it should be, but hearing Glenn say it so harshly, it feels like a physical blow to the gut, as if he'd punched you.

“Lil-”

You lick at your dry lips, then turn to face Carl and say, “From now on, you only listen to me or your dad.”

Carl looks like he wants to protest, but he nods without saying anything. You take Jace from Maggie, and in a softer tone, you say, “Right, munchkin, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Lily,” Glenn calls out, “I just meant—”

“Seriously, just leave it.”

—

Standing outside, you lean against one of the cars, watching your brother mumble to himself while wandering outside the prison gates. You had tried to get him to come back inside, but he wasn’t listening. You had left Jace inside to play with the toys Daryl had found under the watchful eyes of Beth. You were well beyond being hacked off; Rick was so damn busy chasing ghosts to even notice how much you needed him; and Daryl was gone. You knew why he was gone, but you were growing tired of feeling so alone.

Hearing voices, you look over your shoulder and see Hershel chasing after Glenn on his crutches. “You’re not going back to Woodbury, are you?”

“No. I’m just going out there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hershel offers.

“I got it.”

“By yourself? How can you possibly think that’s a good idea?”

“I can’t just sit on my hands,” he resorts defensively. “I’ve got to do something to keep Maggie and everyone else here safe. I’ve already failed once.”

“Glenn, nobody blames you for what happened to you and Lily. There was no way you could have known what would happen; there was no way to prevent it.”

“With Daryl gone and Rick wandering crazy towns, I’m the next in charge.”

“Like hell you are,” you frown, making your presence known. “You want to keep Maggie safe, then be here to do it. I get that you’re mad and frustrated because I’m the exact same, but we can’t be making rash decisions.”

Glenn brushes by you and opens the car door without saying a word.

“We’ve already lost Shane, Lori, T-dog... I don’t want you to be the next person we lose.”

Without even glancing back at you and Hershel, he drives off.

—

You and Rick exchange a look as Hershel tries to talk some sense into him, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he was too far gone to register the advice on grief the older man was giving him. Sighing, you go to the wired-up hole in the fence and start to untie it. You’d be damned if you were leaving him as walker bait any longer; he might not have listened to you before, but now you weren’t giving him a choice.

“Lily, stay behind the fence. It’s dangerous out here.”

“No shit-”

A bullet whizzes past your ear, narrowly missing as it skims the top of your shoulder. The sound of gunfire fills the air as you frantically scan the area for the source. Adrenaline pumping, you grab hold of Hershel and pull him with you as you drop to the ground, heart racing in your chest.

Your brother's pained voice echoes loudly, “Lily!”

You feel the heat from where the bullet grazed your skin, leaving a burning sensation. Your vision blurs momentarily as you struggle to focus amidst the chaos.

“Rick, you need to get back inside the fence!”

Using the long grass of the field in the prison yard as cover, you roll onto your stomach and peak up to see the direction of the shooter and see three different men. The governor is one of them.

Son of a bitch.

Rick was pinned down, and you could hear bullets coming from the opposite side of the courtyard, which meant they had someone right outside the prison. The governor was firing bullets into the air; the way he was wasting bullets meant he had a vast supply. You watch in horror as a van crashes through the fence, and you duck down lower to avoid being seen by hun.

The stench of decay hits your nose, and at the same time, the sound of snarling hits your ears, and you realize the drivers realized walkers into the field.

“Lily, Hershel, get the hell out of there!”

Hershel fires at the undead, trying his best to keep them at bay. Knowing you don’t have many bullets left, you grip the cold, rusted pole that’s lying on the ground and use it to stab Walker in the head. With so many undead people surrounding him, the governor and his men retreat.

“Fuck, there are too many of them!”

More walkers enter the field, attracted by all the noise, their eyes filled with hunger and malice. You can see their twisted limbs and rotting skin as they approach. Another wave of dread courses through you when you hear another vehicle course through, but thankfully it was Glenn returning and not another van full of walkers.

He pulls the truck over, and Michonne, who you didn’t even realize was in the field, jumps inside, then Glenn drives it over to where you are. Hearing a cry for help, watch as Rick backs up against the fence, trying to fight off multiple walkers at once.

“No, no, no!” You try to run to him, but Glenn and Michonne drag you back and force you into the truck. “We need to go back; we can’t leave him!”

“He’s not alone!”

When the vehicle approaches the prison yard, Maggie and Carl open the gate to let the truck through. Soon as it stops, you jump and hug Carl. “Are you okay? You hurt?”

“No, but you are.”

“I’m okay, we’re okay.” You look around and notice Axel’s body laying on the ground, he had been shot in the head. “Carl, go back instead and stay with Jace and Judith, okay?”

“I’ll go with him,” Beth says, and the two of them go back inside.

You walk as close as you can to the fence without a walker being able to reach you through the holes, and you watch as Daryl and Merle fight off walkers alongside your brother.

Glenn taps your good shoulder and says, “You should get inside so Hershel can check you over.”

“I’ll wait… Thanks for saving our asses.”

“Always,” he says, giving you a knowing look. “What the hell happened?”

“Whatever this was, it’s only the beginning.”

#the walking dead #daryl dixon/oc #daryl dixon/you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x original character #Daryl Dixon x female oc #daryl dixon x oc #the walking dead fanfiction #tomorrow’s promise #tomorrow’s promise 3.07 #twd fanfiction #the walking dead x oc #fear the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixion x reader

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ride-thedragon · 2 months

Note

Why do people keep insisting on Sara Snow? It has already been stated that Jace's only love is Baela...

Welcome to the wonderful world of racism in this fandom. The same way people said Baela and Rhaena looked similar and they couldn't tell them apart, younger and older. The same way people say they didn't have personality and then complained when they did. It's a constant cycle of micro and macro aggressions with them.

Specifically with Jace and Baela people are upset that he can confide his bastardy into her and not some other girl. They're upset that she's really cool and that Sara was just omitted (she was only cited by mushroom in one chapter).

The same way we have Visenya (dead baby) and Aemma (oc) Velayron or Targaryen as the white daughter of Rhaenyra that tends to have one of their personalities but they're mean to her. White people don't see themselves in black characters and would rather invent one with all the same traits that have to see themselves in a black (looking alone in this case) character. It's a tale as old as time.

But to add nuance, Sara can exist to others. She just doesn't in the show canon. She isn't invalidated or anything just because the writers didn't add her. She can be real to anyone as long as they understand why they're so insistent.

Is it because they like the character and want to explore her or because they can't see themselves in Baela? And why is that ?

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd meta #hotd fandom #hotd fandom critical #its an interestign thought #im a jacaela girl #they were cute in the books too #but im a bipoc individual so im accustomed to seeing myself in any character no matter how they look

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 11 months

Text

👑The girl in the silver dress👑New version (Prt 2) (prt 1 here)

Aemond x reader

Tags: Fluffish, royalty, modernroyalty, theselection

Cool devider credits: firefly graphics

🔷Summary: You are invited to become a selected girl for Prince Jacaerys's selection. You never thought you would fall for his uncle, prince Aemond instead.

🔷Author's note: Based on the books by Kiera Cass, but reading them is not required.

🔷Wordcount :5840

🔷Warnings: Mentions of non-con (Not happening to mc or oc) It will happen to Dyana, and it will be kept very without details. Mc does try to comfort her.

TAGLIST: @connorsui @lportes-22 @thisaccountisrandomsstuff @nikkitc0703

Training continues for months. You are trained how to sit, how to exit a car, how to dress and even how to nod and how to smile. Things you thought you had mastered and conquered long ago, are now fresh tall mountains that you must conquer once again. Lady Aemma has been a resentful and ruthless teacher that does not value tardiness, talking back to her or other inappropriate things.

As the snow begins to fall in the courtyard, and you make your way out for some much needed personal free time, you notice you aren’t alone in the old gardens. Against the cold stone walls, covered in ivy, is a long tall familiar silver haired boy with a cigarette in his hands, clearly lighting it before bringing it to his pink soft looking lips.

You hate how nervous you are around royalty. It has been months and for all reason, you should be prepared for anything they would throw at you. And yet you are terrified of them. You feel like an ant, marching up to a lion. He would not care that he crushes you under his paws. He would not even know or realize.

You make a small prayer to the gods in your head before giving it your all, and making a tiny curtsy for the prince. ‘’Prince Aemond.’’ You say, acknowledging him.

He does not greet you. He doesn't even know your name. ‘’You’re in my nephew’s selection.’’ He says, taking in your gown, remembering when you spoke to him. You give a hesitant nod. Prince Aegon has courted a lot of girls from the selection, and they all have been sent home or worse, even punished for their treason. From the 35 girls, he ruined the chances for at least 5 of them. The Queen covers it up very well, and Lady Aemma protects the girl’s privacy, but you noticed a pattern. Aegon scoops during a lesson, talks with a girl, the next lesson, he brings a gift, and the lesson after that, she is never seen or heard from again.

Aemond grabs his leather jacket, searching his right pocket. He brings out a used pack of cigarettes, broken open and most cigarettes already gone. ‘’Do you smoke?’ He wonders, out loud. You hear Aemma scream in your head, and you never quite liked the taste of cigarettes. So you shake your head.

Smoking was something your grandfather used to do, and now he is dead.

It is a bit attractive, however, because you know it's bad but you don’t need to join Aemond in his activities.

‘’I try to avoid it.’’ You say, carefully picking your words, hearing Jace’s warning in your head.

He smiles, as if lost in thoughts.

‘’Hm. Clever.’’ You feel your cheeks tingle and they turn red because of the cold, you hope it is the cold.

Aemond puts the cigarettes away, and you notice several rings around his fingers. ‘’What is your name, again?’’ He wonders.

You see no harm in telling him that.

‘’Y/N.’’ You say.

He briefly frowns before exhaling smoke. ‘’No Lady or fancy last name?’’ He is right. You should have said that. So why didn’t you?

You feel pressured and anxious. ‘’I-’’

Aemond grins. ‘’I’m teasing.’’ He tells you, closing in a bit.

You nod. You can’t feel your toes because of the cold but you aren’t sure that it matters. ‘’Right. Sorry.’’

He steps back, and just like that the spell he briefly put you under is broken. ‘’Don’t apologize. I won’t.’’ He adds with a wink. It is what you told him at the ball. You feel yourself smile. You step a little closer.

‘’I really appreciate the time you took to talk to me at the ball.’’ You say, and you mean it.

He smiles as if to say he liked it too. ‘’It’s always a pleasure to talk with someone who appreciates history.’’ He takes notice of something behind the two of you and frowns, you follow his gaze, turn around but by the time you have done so, it is gone.

He distances himself. ‘’However, my lady, I’m afraid the walls have eyes here, and ears. I think it is best for you, to go back inside.’’

You feel dread fill your chest. ‘’Did I offend you?’’

Aemond shakes his head, returning to his smoke.‘’I’m protecting you, that is all.’’

Your feelings are all over the place after your talk with Prince Aemond. One moment, he seems very kind and gentle, the next, it seems like he pushes walls around him to protect himself. You quietly wonder who caused him to be this quiet and this alone. He can smoke as many cigarettes as he likes, wear as many suits you wouldn't afford if you sold your left arm, and you would still see a lonely young man in a suit.

Your thoughts are wandering when you walk inside the halls that lead to the rooms of the selected girls. You are so caught up in your thoughts, you don’t notice that you bump into someone.

You apologize, quickly grabbing her bag for her that falls to the ground. It is filled with clothing, crammed into the small bag. When you finally meet her eye, you see its Dyana. You are very happy to see her. Until you see that she has cried. ‘’I’m leaving.’’ She tells you, with her timid soft and even more broken voice.

You frown, recalling how happy Jace seemed when he danced with her. ‘’O, why?’’ Dyana fumbles with a lock of her messy bun, barely looking at you, her eyes far away.

She finally breaks under your gaze. ‘’I’m not fit to marry the Prince anymore. This place only brought me misery.’’ The words leave her mouth in a hurry as she takes off into the direction of the great stairs. You stop her, your chest filled with dread and worry.

You beg her to reconsider.‘’Wait, slow down.’’ Not fit to marry the prince anymore? What does that mean?

She freezes the moment you lay a hand on her arm, and somehow, you already know what has happened to her when you look into her eyes. You drop your hand right away, stepping back to give her space, before tearing up silently too. Someone hurt her, in the worst way imaginable. ‘’He is the prince. The Queen’s son. How was I supposed to…’’ She whimpers. ‘’Say no?’’ The Queen’s Son.

And just like that, your world shatters. ‘’Oh my gods.’’ You mutter, at loss for anything else.

Dyana clutches her bag, tearing up helplessly. You want to hug her so tightly, but you know, not every survivor wants to be touched by strangers, especially not so soon after. ‘’Did something happen?’’ You ask, your voice gently.

Dyana nods, furiously as she recalls what has happened to her. ‘’He touched me. I didn’t wanted it.’’ She is righteously furious and hurt.

You will find that pig. ‘’Who did?’’ You ask.

She shakes her head. ‘’You can’t stop him. He’s too powerful.’’ You become afraid. Was it all an act? Did Aemond play you?

You need to know who did this. ‘’Who did this, Dyana?’’

She sinks to the floor of the hall. ‘’A-aegon.’’ You are relieved, and suddenly it makes sense what happened to all the other girls he ‘’courted’’. He likely won their hearts, took advantage of that, and sent them away to hide it from the other girls. ‘’That filthy pig.’’ You groan, balling your hands into fists.

You look at Dyana, your face softening. You sink to the floors too, not giving a damn about your gown. ‘’We must talk, but we will do it in my room. Walls have ears here.’’ You help Dyana stand up, but give her the choice of accepting your hand. She seems grateful and accepts, still shaking on her legs when you bring her and her bags to your room.

‘’Dy, I’m so so sorry.’’ You tell her, after you have given her a cup of warm chocolate. She nods as if to say she appreciates the gesture and the kindness.

She speaks. ‘’It’s not your fault. You weren’t there, and I thought Aegon was being kind.’’ She is blaming herself. You are enraged. They always pretend they are.

You make a cup of hot chocolate for yourself too. ‘’He should face justice.’’ You say.

She nods, but is unsure how to achieve that on her own. ‘’How? He’s the prince.’’

You have a few ideas. But unfortunately, that idea must wait. Another worry has popped up in your head, the way a weed pops up in a garden. ‘’Dy, I’m afraid I have another very unpleasant question for you.’’ Dyana seems to know where you are going, and nods, closing her eyes, wiping at her eyes.

You gently ask this, knowing it wasn’t likely on her mind earlier. Or perhaps it was. But you need to know for certain. ‘’Did Aegon, use…a condom?’’

She thinks for a moment, before shaking her head, faster and faster before covering herself, hugging her knees. ‘’No. No, gods…’’

She turns to you, terrified. ‘’Do you think i’m…?’’

You remain calm, but let her feel whatever she needs to feel. She is allowed to feel afraid, furious, broken and sad. ‘’I think it is for the best that we find someone to trust. If you are, we must get help.’’

She nods, instantly. And she has a idea as to where to get help too. ‘’The Queen.’’ That is a horrible idea, in your honest opinion. She is the mother of Aegon. She won’t discipline him for anything, and will send Dyana away.

You let her idea down gently. She is Aegon’s mother. ‘’No. We must not go to her. She will only protect Aegon and send you away.’’

Dyana nods, but you can tell that that was her only idea for help. ‘’Who can possibly help me?’’

You sigh, deeply, praying you won’t regret this. ‘’I think I know someone.’’

The rooms of Lady Aemma are decorated with the stuff from the Vale. Beautiful statues and paintings show that Aemma misses her home very much. The colours blue and grey stand out very much as well, as most pillows and trinkets are in those colors.

Her ladyship is dressed for a day in, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, likely her work-out clothing. ‘’Lady Aemma.’’ You dip in a curtsy, and you pray to the gods she will help you but mostly Dyana.

She is shocked to see you here. Worried too. ‘’Y/n. Can I help you? You had a free day today, remember?’’ It is true. You and all the other girls have a day off, every week.

You take a breath, steadying yourself before speaking. ‘’I have a delicate situation.’’

You fill Aemma in on what happened to Dyana. Aemma’s expression changes to neutral, to worried, to upset, to fury.

Dyana is horrified to see who you brought, but you did not know who else to bring. She covers herself, trying to curtsy for Lady Aemma despite everything. Lady Aemma tells her with a wave of her hand to stop it, her face a reflection of Dyana’s sorrow.

Dyana breaks into another wave of tears. ‘’I-I know you must be so disappointed.’’ She says, to Lady Aemma. ‘’I’m sorry, Lady Aemma. I tried to stop it.’’

Aemma comes a little closer, tears silently falling down her cheeks. Her voice is very gentle when speaking, her eyes sorrowful. ‘’Yes. In Aegon, but not in you, sweet child. Look at me.’’ Dyana hesitates, but obeys. You remain silent, knowing you did the right thing.

Aemma grabs Dyana’s hand, waiting for her to push her hands away. She doesn’t, so Aemma takes her hands into her own. ‘’You did nothing wrong. Men will always take advantage of good, kind women. You must not let this crime taint your kind heart.’’ She tells Dyana and you hear Aemma’s voice break as Dyana nods furiously.

She seems so strong as nails and stubborn as iron. ‘’I won’t. I won’t let him win.’’ You are glad, she decided to stay.

She seems afraid of Aemma. As most girls are, that met Aemma. ‘’Are you not furious? I should be thrown out of the castle.’’ Dyana mutters, quietly. You know she is referring to the maiden rule. Before the selection started, you were forced to answer that question as well.

Aemma sighs, but does not aim it at Dyana. It is aimed at the gods if anything. ‘’Aegon should be thrown out of the castle, Dyana. They broke the rules with him bothering you, we will break a few rules now too.’’ You wonder who the they are who she refers to so angrily.

Aemma continues, her disgust getting the overhand. ‘’The rule that only maidens can vouch for the Prince’s hand is such ancient bullshit.’’

You both gasp at her language , but you agree. ‘’Lady Aemma.’’ Dyana mutters, slightly speechless, but delighted.

The lady of the vale chuckles, grinning. ‘’You think Jacaerys is a virgin? Or Aemond or Aegon for that matter? They fucked. It is unfair to disqualify girls when their sheets see more activity than a laundry service.’’ That makes both of you chuckle, and Aemma joins in, grinning as well.

She nods to herself before getting up. ‘’Good. I brought supplies. I will make moontea for you, you can drink it.’’ She shows Dyana a bag with supplies and goes to work in your kitchen. You remain by Dyana’s side when Aemma has left.

Dyana tears up one final time, before reaching out and embraces you, whimpering in your coat. ‘’Thank you so much, Y/n. You might have saved my life.’’ Dyana is given moontea, and goes to sleep in your rooms after that. Aegon can’t find her here anyway.

You shared your room with a girl who was disqualified too, earlier. You quietly wonder if you should have done more for her as well.

You and Aemma leave Dyana be, sleeping peacefully. You turn to Aemma. ‘’I know you told me I shouldn’t be so kind…’’

Aemma suddenly grabs you by your shoulders, shaking her head when tears roll down her cheeks. She laughs, a little emotional. ‘’Oh. You shouldn’t listen to what I say about friendship. I have no friends. I don’t know anything about it.’’ She laughs, but there is a sad truth there. You pity her.

You nod, silently becoming sorrowful too. ‘’So you will keep Dyana’s secret?’’ You ask, just to be certain.

Aemma does not need a moment to think. She will. You see it in her eyes. She too had her own monster who committed crimes against her. ‘’Yes, I will. Unfortunately, I lost all my privilege with the king. I can’t make him punish that pig, sadly.’’ She attempts to leave, wiping at her eyes quickly so the outside world can’t tell how she cried.

You call her back. ‘’Lady Arryn-’’

‘’Yes, Lady Y/n?’’ She asks, turning around.

You smile at her. ‘’You do have one friend. Should you wish it.’’

She clears her throat, clearly touched. ‘’Thank you, Y/n.’’

Since Dyana is resting in your rooms, you can’t go there to read. And it is a good excuse to visit the royal library. The bookshelves are tall as the ceiling, the tables made of special imported wood from the north and the books are centuries old. You are looking for books on Nymeria, your comfort subject for when you are upset.

You see a red leather bound book with her name on the spine, but it is too far above on the cell for you to reach it. You jump up and down in an attempt to get it.

A familiar voice calls out to you, startling you. ‘’Want me to grab it for you?’’ You quickly turn around, bumping into the bookshelf and causing several books to fall down. You gawk at him.

Yet you can’t stop your smile from spreading ever wider. ‘’Aemond!’ He smiles shyly at you when putting the books back on their spot. You mutter when he goes to work. ‘’I mean, your highness, I mean hello. I mean…" You dip into a curtsy.

He chuckles. ‘’It’s quite alright. But that does not answer my question.’’ You try to convince yourself that he should not bother, but you really want to read that stubborn book.

You stare at the book you so eagerly want to read. ‘’Yes, please.’’ You say, instead of lying.

Aemond grabs the book easily, reaching much higher than you ever could. He hands you the book.‘’Thank you so much.’’ You mutter.

He takes in the book, reading the title. ‘’It’s a good one, but I think you’ll like this one better, personally.’’ He grabs another much lower positioned book, also about Nymeria, called 10,000 ships. ‘’That book covers Nymeria better. I think the book you are holding is very Valyrian based.’’ You look at the subtitles and nod. Fire and blood, it’s called. The motto of the Targaryens, and very obviously a hint that the book won’t be fairly written.

He seems to know his history. You quickly read the first few pages and see her being compared to a witch, an escort lady and a traitor in one sentence. ‘’Ew.’’ You comment, dryly, before slamming it shut.

Aemond nods, solemnly. ‘’My sentiments too, when I read it. It’s filled with slanders and lies of her enemies.’’ You let him put the first book back.

You notice he smells very nice. Like coffee and cigarettes. ‘’Thank you, for your recommendation.’’ You say and you mean it. He takes a book with him as well, about Oryn.

Prince Aemond does not mind helping you. ‘’No problem, just happy to help.’’ Prince Aemond says, his voice a bit gentler than usual. He gestures to the gate that leads to the exclusively royal part of the library. ‘’You are welcome to join the royal parts of the library. We have better lighting and comfortable chairs.’’

You aren’t sure. Aemma said that those parts are off limits. ‘’Won’t I get in trouble?’’ You would hate to be thrown out over something minor like this. But you really want to follow Aemond too.

Aemond pretends to think before laughing. ‘’No. You are with me. You won’t be in trouble.’’

He escorts you to the royal parts of the private library. There is indeed better lighting, and way more comfortable chairs. You and Aemond sit down on a couch covered in red and black velvet before each picking up your book. You notice you read the same line over and over again, bored and tired, not having the concentration to read as your eyes keep glancing at Aemond. He peacefully reads his book, lost in another world.

Eventually, Aemond goes to get a snack and you remain alone. You have a lot on your mind and you try to put things in perspective. Aemma seems nicer now, and you are very thankful for her discretion and her kindness she showed you both. Perhaps there is more to her story than you thought. Dyana seems to be fine now, but you must keep an eye on her and remain her friend. And Aegon? If you see him again, you likely strangle him on the spot.

Finally, Aemond returns with a plate of cookies, in the middle of it all stands one lonely chocolate cupcake, the one you ate at the ball. ‘’How did you know?’’ You ask, delighted as he hands you the cupcake.

He hides a blush. ‘’I…I asked. I hope that is alright?’’ He asked. For you. You raise a brow. Aemond blushes, further. ‘’I saw you eating one, at the ball. You liked it very much, you even licked off your fingers.’’ He rambles, a little nervous. ‘’I’m sorry, that must have been so creepy of me-’’ You silence him, grinning.

You quickly swallow the food you had in your mouth to answer him. ‘’Why would it be? I love cupcakes.’’ You say. These taste even better than Jace’s.

He seems very pleased when you eat the cupcakes, not giving a damn about manners or decorum when you lick off your fingers. ‘’I’m glad.’’ He sinks back to the couch, and briefly your shoulders touch. He quickly takes a bit of distance.

You feel a yawn coming up. Aemond whistles, impressed by the size of it. It is your turn to blush but his chuckle reveals he was just joking. ‘’It was a …intense day.’’ That is all you will say on it.

You see worry grow in his eyes as he sits up straighter, clearly listening to you, eager for you to share your worries. ‘’A girl wanted to quit the selection.’’ You tell him, fiddling with your hair.

He nods, as if understanding why someone would want to do that. ‘’How do you feel about that?’’ He must think you are dumb for talking her out of it.

You tell him, anyway. You don’t want to lie to him. You rather have him think you are dumb, than that he thinks you are a liar. ‘’I talked her out of it. Jacaerys seems very taken with her.’’ You recall how they danced and laughed. Before that pig ruined it all.

Aemond chooses his words carefully. ‘’I don’t understand something. You are here for Jace. Shouldn’t you, be…I don’t know, glad that she leaves?’’ You would never be glad if anyone left that way. But you can’t tell Dyana’s secret.

You hope he understands that. ‘’Not the way she left, Aemond.’’ That way was horrible. You sit up straighter, looking at the chocolate on your fingers.‘’I will fight but I will fight fair.’’

Aemond’s pupils seem to dance like stars when you look into them. He whispers a single word. ‘’Admirably.’’ You are unsure if he talks about your strategy or you.

You are reminded of your duties and of Jace, keeping your distance from the prince. ‘’Thank you.’’ A shiver runs down your spine, causing you to flinch.

The prince notices, a frown growing on his beautiful face. ‘’You’re cold.’’

You laugh, rambling a bit.‘’I usually am. Such a stupid habit from-’’ he silences you by taking his leather jacket off and carefully putting it over your shoulders. You smell his scent, and feel the warmth of his body over yours. You blush, unintended. ‘’O.’’

He grins to himself. ‘’Better. I don’t like you shivering.’’ You chuckle. Aemond picks his book back up, and you look over his shoulder reading with him. But it has been a long day, and your eyes start to close slowly. You fall asleep, eventually, snoozing peacefully agains Prince Aemond.

After a half an hour, dreaming about Dornish statues and one-eyed princes, you awake. You notice Aemond smiling at you, still with his nose stuck in a book. ‘’Good evening, sleepy beauty.’’ You gawk, quickly adjusting your messy hair and your gown. You blush too, he calls you beauty.

You feel so embarrassed. He must think you are lazy.‘’I must have drifted off.’’ You mutter.

But he does not seem to mind. He puts the book away, on the table.‘’Yes, but it is fine. I was with you the whole time.’’ He reassures you. ‘’I would not leave you to sleep alone.’’ He is such a gentleman.

You can’t fathom how he is related to that pig. ‘’I don’t understand how you are related to your brother.’’ He would have taken advantage of you.

The prince surprises you with his answer. ‘’I sometimes don’t either.’’ He reveals, his voice very distant.

You think for a while, taking in Aemond’s lucious glamorous Valyrian locks. ‘’I want to teach him a lesson.’’ You tell him.

Aemond leans in a little closer, intrigued. ‘’O?’’

You smile back, enjoying the way you become so brave and fearless when you are with him. ‘’But I need your help.’’

Aemond is a true gentleman, providing you what you need. He has access to the royal rooms, and after telling him that you suspect that Aegon is behind a lot of girls leaving, he does not hesitate to help you at all. You are sitting in your rooms, waiting for Aemond to enter through the door with the supplies for your revenge plan.

Tomorrow, several foreign ambassadors from all over the kingdom will visit. A ball will be held, and time with the prince is on the agenda. But you have a different reason to be excited.

There is a soft knock on your window. Confused, you open it and look into Aemond’s face. In his hands he holds a plastic bag. Your room is on the second floor. You notice there is a small balcony and he likely have climbed all the way from his rooms to yours. ‘’May I come in?’’ He asks, politely. You are shocked for a few moments, before letting him.

He delivers you Aegon’s favorite shampoo bottle, and a few bottles of pink paint. ‘’Did anyone question you?’’ You wonder, as he is finished taking the stuff out of the bag. He shakes his head.

He puts the shampoo bottle on the ground, putting the paint next to it. They are small little squeezable bottles of neon pink glitter paint. Perfect. ‘’No. Aegon’s bathroom is unlocked, so I had no trouble sneaking in. The paint I took from my mother’s room. She likes painting from time to time.’’ Well, you are shocked. The Queen has hobby’s. Who knew?

He rambles on, excitedly to help you with this plan. ‘’I went with the Neon pink unicorn color.’’ He adds with a cheeky grin. You like it when he talks with you. You like it when he becomes comfortable enough to drop his shields and walls.

That is perfect. The ball takes place at night, so if Aegon has neon hair it would be even more funny. ‘’My hero,’’ You declare before grabbing the shampoo bottle, filling it with the pink glitter paint. ‘’I hope Aegon likes pink.’’ Aemond watches you work, as a loyal huntsman seeing his evil queen prepare a deadly poison. Except this won’t kill Aegon.

Your phone buzzes and you look at the screen. Your heart drops several floors. Dyana is on her way.

You curse, quickly hiding the bottles. ‘’Ehm, a friend of mine is coming over. Can you perhaps hide under my bed for a while?’’ You ask, a stunned Aemond. If Lady Aemma was here, she would scream. You, asking a royal to lay under your bed? You, having a man in your rooms? You plotting revenge on the prince? All of this is so unbecoming, but if it is unbecoming, why do you feel so safe with Aemond near you?

Aemond seems fine with that, sinking to his knees before laying down on the floor and rolling under your bed, easily. You thank him silently and wait for Dyana to show up.

She comes mere moments later, causing you to flinch. She smiles brightly, seeming much happier and more upbeat. She brought a present as well, a basket filled with shampoo and soap bars, bubbles and other delicious goods wrapped with a large pink bow and a thank you note attached. She presents it happily to you, and your heart melts when she hugs you tightly.

Aemond is still present, so you must be careful not mentioning what happened to Dyana. ‘’I’m so thankful for what you did for me, Y/n.’’ Dyana speaks. She wipes at her eyes, laughing. ‘’Happy tears, this time.’’ She tells you. ‘’Lady Aemma arranged a therapist for me, I can see her for an hour on my free day. We took up creative therapy, and I learn painting.’’ She tells you excitedly. ‘’Without you, I would have given up. Thank you so much, Y/n.’’

‘’You’re welcome, Dy. Everyone would have done the same.’’

Her eyes become very serious and hollow. ‘’No, Y/N. You are the only one, I think. You are kind, you deserve the throne.’’ She tells you. ‘’I am your ally, should you wish so.’’ You feel a bit uncomfortable with that knowledge. Did no one help her aside from you? And why does she being your ally feel as if you take advantage of her too?

You speak your heart. ‘’Dyana, I don’t want you to be my ally. You are not indebted to me. I do would love to become my friend?’’ You suggest. ‘’The basket was not needed, but it is much appreciated. I love bubble baths.’’ You let out a soft giggle.

Dyana grins and comes closer to your bed, sitting down on it too. Your eyes widen in slight horror. ‘’Of course!’’ She sniffs a few times, taking in Aemond’s scent who is likely freaking out right under her. ‘’Hm. Have you been smoking?’’ She wonders but does not sound judgemental.

‘’No.’’ You say.

She frowns. ‘’Weird. I smell cigarettes.’’ She tries to look under the bed, and you quickly call her attention back by clearing your throat.

You must lie quickly. ‘’Uhm, yes. My former roommate smoked.’’ She nods, getting up and leaves after that, thanking and hugging you again.

Dyana leaves shortly after that and Aemond comes out of hiding.

‘’It was worse than I thought.’’ He speaks when he has cleaned the dust from his hands. ‘’He…He took advantage of her, didn’t he? Of that poor sweet girl that was here just now. That is why you want to teach him a lesson.’’ He eyes the gift basket. That is very much true. He is quite observant.

You nod. ‘’Yes, he did.’’

He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. ‘’I can’t place her voice, so no worries. Even if I do figure out who it is, I will keep her secret. I just can’t stand that pig…’’ His voice trails off. You bring out the bottle of shampoo and hand it to him, your fingers briefly brushing.

He accepts the bottle, putting it in his bag. Aemond seems as if he wants to say something but decides it's for the best if he just leaves. And when he does, he takes a piece of your heart with him.

The ball is in full swing when you and the other selected arrive. Only 20 girls remain, including you, Baela, Floris, and Dyana. Most girls greet the royals first, and you do the same. Your attention is drawn to the well dressed prince Aemond, who hovers around by the buffet, with a plate with two chocolate cupcakes. You wish to run to him, to ask him who he is reservering those treats for.

A sudden pain in your side reveals someone has grabbed you. You turn your head, afraid of looking into the face of a furious Aegon. Instead it is Floris, with her catlike eyeliner and dark golden gown. ‘’I’m so glad you have decided to change the positions.’’

‘’Huh?’’ You mutter, a little stupid.

Floris chuckles. ‘’Oh, it is obvious. The entire world sees.’’ You wonder what that is. Prince Aegon is finally entering the room too, thunder written across his face.

‘’Oh my gods…’’ Lady Baela murmurs. You stifle a laugh, as you see prince Aegon with bright pink glittery dough in his hair that makes it seem like he had a duel with a toddler who’s only weapon was clay.

You chuckle, lightly before grinning at Dyana who lights up right in front of you. A hand is wrapped around yours, and you notice that Prince Jacaerys has joined you. ‘’May I have this dance?’’ You nod, complying.

Aemond watches as you two attend the dance floor, his heart clearly broken as he puts the cupcakes back with a sad grin. You don’t see him at the ball anymore after that. You become more and more aware of your feelings for Aemond and Jace, and what you feel for Jace is friendship. Jace twirls you around before speaking. ‘’You want to go after him, don’t you?’’ He asks, his voice soft and slightly heartbroken as you keep eying the doors, waiting for Aemond to come back.

Yes you would. ‘’I can’t. I’m yours.’’ You speak.

That is a lie and you know it. He shakes his head, his brown short hair shaking. ‘’You are your own. I can’t protect you from the rules, but I can’t stand to see you miserable either, Y/N. You and Aemond belong together.’’ He says.

You still doubt it. ‘’But the rules. I’ll be thrown out.’’ You don’t care about being thrown out. You care about Aemond not answering these feelings.

He sighs, trying to get you to go after Aemond. ‘’Perhaps Aemond can find a loophole. He is very clever.’’ Perhaps. Perhaps he can.

Your feet take off running, to where Aemond disappeared to. Your heart is finally free and open. ‘’Aemond?’’ But you can’t find him. You do find a letter addressed to you, and you watch through the window as a motorcycle leaves the castle gates, and your heart shatters into a thousand pieces. You read the letter before running downstairs, running out in the rain in your ballgown, after the motorcycle. But he is long gone, and you can only cry.

Y/n

I’m leaving the castle until the end of the selection, perhaps after that.

I’ve come to care for you, and my sense of duty has been suffering because of you. I thought I knew for certain that I was a man of priorities and morals, but you make me want to break and risk it all for you.

You are my nephew’s selected, and I can’t watch how he courts and throws away girls left and right, for he does not deserve a single one of you. He does not deserve the kingdoms, he does not even deserve to hold your hand, if you ask me.

I want you, but I know you won’t choose me. No one ever does. I will come back, perhaps. Perhaps not.

The media will call you a whore if you were to pursue me, and no foreign ambassador would ever take you seriously. There will be rumors if our relationship started during the selection, and people will mock every child we will have as a bastard. I can’t put you through any of that, as what the media writes about me, already kills me. I can’t stand to watch you become a bitter and resentful woman, and to see that pure light inside your soul die.

I hope these foolish one-sided feelings of mine go away over time, and I hope you can find the strength to forgive me for writing you this letter, and not speaking it to your face.

I love you, and because of that, I have to let you go.

-Prince Aemond Targaryen.

A/n

Thank you for reading. Part 3 will be the final part!:))

#hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #hotd x oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x reader

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girlbooklover555 · 4 months

Text

Masterlist of my Hufflepuff OCs

[I'm using Google Translate, so there are probably spelling errors, but I hope you understand. 😓 ]

"Imagine staying in Hufflepuff, I think I would quit school."

"I think it's time we showed you how much Hufflepuffs can make you want to stay at Hogwarts, Malfoy."

"funny when everyone wants freedom..."

"or pleasure."

"acceptance..."

"affection..."

"loyalty..."

"a safe place."

"you guys always come to us..."

"who's adopting who?"

What is the current status of the project? Still in the development phase.

☆Among the boys, they stand out as gentlemen.

First book in the trilogy? Planning development! Shortly!

Jace Archibald

"Honestly, Carter, I could care less about this, okay? My little doll needs some love right now."

Persephone Swan

"Doll? Is this going to become a recurring thing?"

Second book in the trilogy? Future project!

Carter Archibald

"I have the divine vision of her nails on my skin every day, do you really think I wouldn't pay for her manicure?"

Gracie Swan

"Great, my first boyfriend isn't really my boyfriend."

Third book in the trilogy? Future project!

Alec Archibald

"Don't expect so little from me, pretty girl, it hurts me. A man has never taken care of you? Wait, let me rephrase that. A real man has never taken care of you? Because if you're going to be my girl, I'm going to take care of you. from you like you truly deserve. What do people really call it? Princess treatment? So listen to me, sunshine, this is going to be the least of it from me if we're going to be together, so take off your heels and relax, okay?"

Amber Swan

"Then Gracie punched her with Luna's shoe, with an expression like 'hide my friend's shoes again and I'll leave my cool girl moral code aside exclusively for you.' The worst thing is that at the time I laughed because serious moments make me laugh."

The books and Tales will probably take a while to be released because I'm still writing and planning the details of creating the story, so... See you soon...

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hauntedwizardmoment · 2 months

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OKAY so: 2, 10, 11, 14, for any oc(s) you wish, but also, assuming you're taking asks about 'em, for jace's former party from blood and turpentine fic series bc I am legitimately obsessed with them and think about them daily

HIII oh my god this got so long i am so sorry but i got carried away:

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

Peregrine: he’s a theater kid! he wanted to be a bard soooo bad or at least multiclass a la Fabian but due to the [gestures at his neuroses around his masculinity] he never did. i think in terms of levels, he ended up a level 20 fighter until he did some paladin training as an adult that put him at like, a 17/3 split between fighter/paladin. in a kinder timeline he’d be doing community theater and taxes with jace. in blood and turpentine. well no spoilers for what im currently writing but it’s not that.

Dagbert: out of everyone in the group hes the one thats into musicals unironically. and not even good musicals. like picture this massive goliath that’s taller than porter and just as broad, i think i have him as like 7 ft 1, and he just fucking loves Cats. he’s obsessed with fantasy andrew lloyd webber. has a jellicle-sona.

Ysvelde: she’s somehow got even less of a solid grasp of her identity than jace does. part of it is that she’s an actress, part of it is that she’s never really lived for anything besides the approval of other people (first her mom, then her adventuring party). she has no idea who she is without the approval of others. if you put her in a room alone she’d start climbing the walls instead of sitting alone with her own thoughts. girl who is constantly experiencing The Dread but she covers it up with a winning smile + really cool artsy makeup.

Aurora: [dan howell voice] one time she had a MESSY night out in [bastion city], kissed a GIRL, and SMOKED A CIGARETTE. no but seriously she has a secret wild side that she rarely lets out, especially as she gets more and more into fundamentalism and what she believes is sol’s true word, the very early beginnings of the harvestmen cult. during their first year adventuring, shes the one that suggested matching tramp stamps while they were all wasted.

Invidia: she’s a romantic. she really does want her friends to find love. she’s at aurora and peregrine’s wedding as a bridesmaid, and when she realizes that jace and porter are serious about each other, she’s genuinely happy for him. underneath all the cattiness and jokes she’s so glad that everything “worked out” (woman who does not know jace is a dead man walking)

10. What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

not to keep talking about this but my infidelity fic which is an au of blood and turpentine? i have so many dramatic scenes from it that i rotate in my head. when peregrine finds out that jace got promoted to vice principal and starts a huge fight about it. dagbert’s father’s funeral. invidia and ysvelde’s falling out. when peregrine finds out about jace’s affair and subsequently gets murdered by porter. aurora’s creepy midsommar-ass family hosting everyone for fantasy easter.

11. What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Peregrine: a lance!! by the time he’s a full-time adventurer i’m sure it’s a magical weapon too, probably has like a +2 or something. hes definitely used it before love a martial class.

Dagbert: his battle axe, absolutely has used it. he’s definitely got a magic weapon too, i think i call out in love’s never meant much to me that it has magic runes on it so yeah let’s call it the same level of magical as perry’s lance

Ysvelde: so she’s a college of eloquence bard and a fiend pact warlock, so i think she probably has a shortsword as a backup weapon but honestly that eldritch blast cantrip is getting her through most of her fights juuuust fine.

Aurora: circle of life cleric, definitely has a crossbow that she’s used a couple times in a panic early on but she’s more a healer than anything. i picture her spiritual weapon (the cleric spell) as a scythe.

Invidia: she’s a circle of the moon druid so i think she’d have a pair of broad claws that do some sick slashing damage, plus obviously her wild shape forms, and her animal companion (a wolf but for funsies ive flavored it as a husky named luna and she loves her so much, she treats her like a child, has little bows to put in her fur, etc. luna is fantasy instagram famous)

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

ohhhh this is sosososo juicy

Peregrine: the true driving force in his life is to be seen as a protector, as a provider, as a good fighter and a good man. he will Freak Out if he perceives anything as getting in the way of that. especially if its his own actions that make him look weak or immoral in any way, i.e. sleeping with jace when he and aurora are on a break.

Dagbert: truly. genuinely. from the bottom of his heart. he could not give less of a shit. he wants to be known as a goddamn professional, unlike the rest of these people, apparently. he’s out here trying to earn a fucking paycheck meanwhile everyone else in his party is ensnared in insane psychosexual drama. he’s angling to get a raise to buy out his ailing father’s construction business from him and let the man retire and this clownshow of a party is fucking it up for him.

Ysvelde: she’s not real unless youre clapping and cheering for her if you dont clap and cheer for her she’ll die. she lives and dies on the approval of an audience. she’s a star. but like for real she needs validation constantly, it doesnt matter where it comes from or how she gets it, she just needs to know that she’s getting a good grade in existing, something normal to want and possible to achieve.

Aurora: her main thing is being right. she’s a cleric, she receives the divine word from sol, she’s his hand upon the world and she’ll spread his light to the darkest corners of spyre and consecrate it for him, make the world holy. she has her convictions and is firm in them, and she wants everyone to see her as a source of good and truth, both in battle and in spirituality. i think after a certain point she couldnt care less what her party thinks of her, she’s mainly looking for the approval of higher-ups in the church of sol to further solidify herself as a priestess and help shape the vision and direction of the church.

Invidia: her and aurora butt heads a lot because she also is very into being correct, but in a way that is entirely divorced from divinity. instead, she wants other people to see her as observant to a scary degree. she wants you to know that she sees what you do, knows your habits inside and out, all your secrets, and is taking notes and filing them away for blackmail purposes. and when you slip up she WILL brag about predicting your downfall to your face. it’s why she and jace are the ivy-and-oisin of their party, they both love gossip and reveling in the misery of people they dont like.

#asks #jadeandquartzes #oc talk

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the-desilittle-bird · 1 year

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Hi! Whenever you get round to your requests, could you see if you can do this one?

OC female Targaryen reader × Aemond Targaryen story. Instead of Aemond accidentally killing Lucerys, he kills her and obviously the whole Dance of the Dragons start and then him and Daemon obviously both fight in the Gods Eye, perhaps he gets reborn but reborn in like Harry Potter universe and he gets told by fates or something that she was reborn there and he has to find her or something?

Not sure if you do crossovers? But you could always just get them reborn again to start again? Just thought crossovers were cool 😎

AN- So, I am writing headcanons for this; enjoy your crossover... Also, Aemond's reborn name is Aries and (Y/N)'s is Delphinus.

Requests are always open and well appreciated.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Being Reborn in Wizarding World with Aemond...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @saraelizabeth26, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13, @candypurplebutterfly, @5moremin, @yariany02, @issybee0611, @gossipandspills, @hopebaker, @kateris-world, @lady-athanasia, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @cherryaemond, @watercolorskyy, @literishdegree99, @sunmoon-01, @savagemickey03, @ultrav0lence, @deltamoon666, @severewobblerlightdragon, @hyacinthus007, @andlizeth, @shine101, @beefbaby25

Warnings- None except for Gryffindor vs Slytherin

GIF Credits to @my-harry-potter-generation

You were Lucerys' elder sister but younger than Jace and your dragon was the Bronze Fury.

You were bastard, just as your siblings; but you were loved more than anyone of them, and played multiple roles for your family.

You were Rhaenyra's darling daughter; Daemon's political advisor; Jace's partner of history lessons; Luke's Valyrian teacher and Rhaenys' little sweetheart.

Instead of Luke, you go to Storm's End on Vermithor.

And you meet your uncle there, beside one of Baratheon's daughters.

Everything went from bad to worst, and ended with your dead and Vermithor went back grieving his rider's death.

The entire Dance unfolded as it had to; Vermithor was tamed by a bastard by the name Hugh Hammer and died a warrior's death.

Aemond met in a face-to-face battle with Daemon above the God's Eye. As a result, both of them died with their respective dragons.

A few years later, Aemond is reborn as a wizard in Malfoy family as the second son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy; younger brother of Draco, by a year.

While you took birth as Sirius Black's child with Marlene McKinnon and were under Remus Lupin's custody while your father remained in the prison.

Aemond was prophesied to have a soul mate when he turned ten.

He only remembered the major events of it.

Him on a dragon. Him killing a lady with brown hair and violet eyes. Him fighting a man with long blonde hair.

He is told of it when he was eleven by his mother, who was kind and loving and reassured him that even if he doesn't find her, then it is alright.

"Aries, I know this is a heavy burden to carry, my son. But even if you don't find her, or him, even then; it's alright. Because love doesn't have to be written in stars, just in hearts."

He reaches at the train, alongside his goon of a brother and his sidekicks; but soon find a vacant couch.

It was then when you met him.

And while he was overwhelmed with nostalgia and overbearing loss; you, Delphinus, were completely unaware of his inner conflict.

Sitting in front of him with a grin, you extend your hand to him, saying your name to him.

That was when he realized that you had no recognition of your shared past.

So, with a headstrong aim of reminding her who she was and of their shared past life.

But, the first problem comes in during the sorting ceremony.

Because he gets allotted to Slytherin, a.k.a. the most devious house of Hogwarts.

While you get sorted to Gryffindor, where you met the Golden Trio, a.k.a. archenemies of Draco Malfoy.

"It's better not to interact with them."

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #aemond targaryen headcanons #house of the dragon headcanons #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond

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nebulaafterdark · 2 months

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good morning I have a request if you could please write a Jacaerys x oc story of our time, a surgeon who has all the memories of what has happened so far in the house of the dragon and tells it to Jacaerys and changes history, saving Harwin Strong and his father, oh, saving his brother Lucerys from death. hands of vhagar and aemond oh the death of the queen who never was Rhaenys

This is such a cool idea! Unfortunately I don’t write modern day AU or for Jace 😭 I love him though, so much sass

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crimxonwrites · 2 years

Text

Blood-painted kisses | Aemond Targaryen x female!OC | Prologue

☽➛ Summary: Nothing satietes Maehrys Velaryon's hunger as well as revenge. Growing up at the Red Keep as the bastard of Rhaenyra Targaryen did not come trouble-free. Her childhood consisted of bitter words and repulsive looks from nearly everybody in the castle. As she grew older, Maehrys grew meaner. Once the Velaryons return to King's Landing to defend Luke's claim as Lord of Driftmark, Maehrys decides that it is time for the people who hurt her in the past to pay.

☽➛ Warnings: heavy mentions of self-harm, mentions of attempted suicide, bullying, mentions of blood, overall 18+!!!!

☽➛ Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x female!OC (slowburn enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers again?? romance is a subplot)

☽➛ Word count: 1.5k

Prologue

!!DISCLAIMER: English is not my first language! feel free to correct me at any time!

29th of October, 112 AC

I was born under the full moon on the last day of autumn’s second month at the Red Keep in King’s Landing. The night was colder than usual, and my dark hair seemed to mirror the chill—cool but not quite icy, like my mother’s. As a tiny babe, I had no way of knowing how my arrival would shape Rhaenyra’s life or the troubles my dark locks would bring.

I was a quiet babe. Rhaenyra’s labor was swift and less painful than when Jacaerys was born. That day was the last time I would be silent.

˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”*°

Maehrys Velaryon, age 6

The oinking of the pig grew louder as I neared the dragon pit. The room was just as gloomy as I remembered, and the thick air seemed almost to suffocate me. Jace, Aegon, and Luke were laughing at Aemond’s expression. They had played another trick on him.

“Looks like you cannot claim a dragon either.” I tried to offer a small smile to comfort my uncle, who had fallen prey to Jace and Aegon’s jest once again.

“I will claim the biggest dragon one day.” Aemond avoided looking at me. “Unlike you.” He turned to face me, his voice dripping with contempt. “Dragons do not like bastards.” His words were harsh, and even the darkness of the dragon pit couldn’t hide the disgust on his face.

My brothers and my other uncle quickly left, leaving Aemond and me alone.

“I am not a bastard!” I shrieked, my vision blurring with tears. I didn’t fully understand the term, but I knew it was meant to hurt, and I could tell it wasn’t a compliment.

“Out of my way, bastard.” Aemond pushed me, and I stumbled, falling to the ground.

Lying there in the dragon pit, I could barely hear the faint noises of the pig. I wondered why my uncle hated me so much. I didn’t understand what “bastard” meant, but I knew it was whispered behind my back lately.

˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”*°

Maehrys Velaryon, age 8

I turned the page in my book about dragons and read about the oldest and biggest of them all: the Cannibal. This dragon was said to be the eldest of all the wild dragons, even older than Sheepstealer. His scales were as black as coal, and his eyes glowed green with menace. The smallfolk of Dragonstone called him Cannibal because he feasted on dragon eggs, smaller dragons, and even dragon corpses. I traced my fingers over the page depicting Cannibal. I didn’t think of him as a beast but as a dream. I never imagined I would relate so deeply to a wild dragon. The smallfolk were afraid of him and cast him aside instead of trying to bond with the majestic creature.

I vowed to grow up and tame the biggest and oldest wild dragon ever: Cannibal.

“You are not allowed to be here.” Aemond’s voice startled me. He walked toward me, his gaze fixed on the book I was holding. “The Wild Dragons of Westeros.” He read the title and laughed, snatching the book from my small hands.

“Give it back!” I exclaimed, but he held it out of my reach. He was taller than me, already maturing faster than me, making it even harder for me to get the book back. He might not have been as tall as Aegon, but I struggled nonetheless.

“You are not to read about dragons, bastard.” He looked down at me with disdain. “Go back to your unhatched eggs.”

“Give it back, uncle!” I tried to hold back tears. I jumped, considering touching his arm, but I feared he might hurt me again. “Please!”

“Fine.” Aemond dropped the heavy book, and it landed on my feet.

I cried out in pain as the book hit my right foot and collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down my cheeks.

If I had a dragon, no one would dare to hurt me.

˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°

Ser Harwin Strong would seize the Velaryon steel blade out of my hands. “Seven hells, what do you think you are doing?” He asked, looking horrified at the open wound on my arm.

I whimpered in pain. I was tired of hearing the words “bastard,” “dark-haired,” and “illegitimate.” The poisonous whispers seemed endless, and I envied the dead—at least they couldn’t hear, feel, or cry. I was exhausted from the taunting and physical assaults, and I wanted to disappear.

I wished my grandsire, the King, would sentence me to death and let me rest.

My grandsire was selfish.

“Maehrys!” Rhaenyra’s voice cracked, her heart breaking. “Fetch me the maester!”

I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t pierced deeper. I hesitated because I felt weak. As my eyes grew heavy and my breathing slowed, I felt a strange sense of peace.

˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°

Maehrys Velaryon, age 10

I mourned my father, Laenor, my aunt Laena, and my only friend, Harwin Strong. People were dropping dead suddenly, and I knew my time might come soon—maybe sooner, after what happened at Driftmark, when my younger brother Luke took one of Aemond’s eyes.

Life felt so fragile, and I remembered Ser Harwin’s words: “Life is precious, people get very little of it lately.” I wished I’d never heard them. I didn’t fully understand what went wrong with my attempt to end my life, but I was somehow grateful for it.

“Mother.” I approached Rhaenyra as she tended to the wound inflicted by the Queen on her arm. I raised my sleeve and placed my arm next to hers. “Look, we are the same.”

“Oh, child.” Rhaenyra sighed and hugged me tightly despite the pain in her arm.

I didn’t understand why my mother cried so often, but I wanted to believe her tears were happy ones—happy that despite our differences in hair color and the cruel whispers, we were still the same.

˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°˜”°

Maehrys Velaryon, age 13

“Enough!” Ser Criston Cole shouted as he shoved me onto the icy ground. “I do not wish to harm you anymore, princess!” He said as he saw me struggling.

I spat blood as I pushed my sword into the muddy ground. My muscles were aching, my head was throbbing, but I didn’t listen to Ser Criston. With the help of my sword, I slowly got up. My tunic’s right sleeve had rolled up slightly, revealing the scar on my lower arm—a reminder of a time when I wished to end my life. “Our training session is not over,” I said, raising my sword despite the pain. The sharp edge was directed at a sorrowful Criston Cole.

“I yield.” Ser Criston threw his sword down and raised his arms in defeat. The cold, heavy autumn rain made it hard for him to see my face, but he could sense my frustration.

“Pick up your sword.” My voice was rough from the blood in my throat. When he didn’t move, I shouted, “I command you to pick up your sword!”

I was young, but I was determined. After the failed attempt on my life, I decided to train every day, hoping to one day defeat Aemond in combat. Not just Aemond, but Aegon too; and Ser Criston Cole, and the cruel Queen, and everyone who dared call me a bastard.

If I couldn’t be one of them, I would become something far worse.

☽➛A/N: Hi! Sorry for being gone for so long, I've been doing uni work and binging game of thrones/house of the dragon. I've had this idea for a fanfic for quite a while now so I finally decided to publish it. !!DISCLAIMER: English is not my first language! feel free to correct me at any time!