When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]
A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜
Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…
Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰
Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.
Word count: 6k.
Link to chapter list: HERE.
Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜
In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.
Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.
In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.
He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”
You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.
You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”
“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.
You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.
You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.
“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”
In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.
Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”
“Who?”
“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”
You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”
“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”
“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”
“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.
“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.
In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.
A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—
“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.
“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”
“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.
“Somewhere near Saltpans.”
“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.
“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”
“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”
“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”
“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”
“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”
You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?
“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”
“What news?” Aegon asks.
“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”
On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.
Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”
“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.
“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”
“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.
“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”
Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.
“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”
Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.
Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”
“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.
“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.
“…And?” Aegon presses.
“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”
“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.
“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”
Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”
“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.
Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”
“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”
Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.
“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”
“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”
“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”
You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”
“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”
“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.
“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”
“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”
“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”
“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”
“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”
Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”
“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.
“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”
“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”
“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”
“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”
You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.
“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.
With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”
“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?
“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”
“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”
When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.
It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?
When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.
“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.
You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”
He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”
“You didn’t.”
“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”
“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”
“Then do it properly.”
“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”
“You were.”
“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”
“It happens more often than you’d think.”
Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”
“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”
“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”
“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”
It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”
You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”
“Why do you think that is?”
You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”
“You aren’t at all concerned?”
In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”
“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”
“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”
He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”
You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”
Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”
“More than once.”
“What prompted it?”
“Does your translation depend upon the context?”
“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”
The alarm must show on your face.
“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.
“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”
Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”
“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”
Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”
You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”
Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”
You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”
This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.
~~~~~~~~~~
He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.
“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”
Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”
“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”
“Yes, all morning.”
Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.
Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”
Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”
“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”
Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.
“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”
“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”
“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”
“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”
“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”
Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”
337 notes
·
View notes
Episode Summary: Myungho is left home alone with his kids for the first time since their youngest was born allowing his wife to go on a much needed break.
Genre: Fluff (and minor angst)
Masterlist for SVTTROS Series
a/n: Mentions of divorce and child custody (TW)
Italics: Narrators Boo Seungkwan (BS) and Lee Minhyuk (LM)
Bold: Staff
Regular: What family member says / what camera films during the show
Listen To: Wonder by Standing Egg
BS: The Return of Superman, Episode 3 “I Think I Love You ” Part 2.
LM: This condo is absolutely breathtaking. The simple black and whites give off the vibe of modern minimalist layout. Once we pull back the floor to ceiling curtains the high ceilings warm up the space by revealing various artwork once hidden in shadow.
The living room is impeccably clean, for a second your daughter, Luna, is shown laying on her stomach adjacent to her younger brother Minho. The two take turns patting away at the foot of a massive teddy bear they received from their uncle Seungkwan.
BM: Ahh! I know who this is.
LM: Really? I haven’t been able to guess because I’ve been so busy admiring the artwork, it looks like Superman is either an art collector or a painter.
The camera captures how the kitchen perfectly overlooks the living room. Such a small detail can make a world of difference when you’re taking care of children. Zooming in closer towards the opened kitchen the audience sees a pair of hands chopping away on the counter top not going past the wrist level.
“What gift should we give Jeongwoo?” a voice asked before transferring the chopped carrots and onions into a bowl.
“Traditionally speaking clothes and Money should be fine. We’re not part of the intermediate family so we can avoid things like gold.” A second lower voice could be heard off screen, the camera capturing him boiling a pot of water.
“Sounds perfect,”she agrees before placing her used knife and cutting board into the sink as she adds, “I’ll stop by the bank on the way home.” She places her apron on a hook inside their pantry door. Dusting off herself from the ingredients she prepared for her husband to cook while she’s gone. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with them?”
“I promise, now go enjoy spending time with your friends. It’s about time you get a break.” A smile of adoration appears on his face before he leans down to give him a kiss just as the cameras pull up to show their face.
BS: Welcome Seventeen’s kind lead dancer and renowned painter Xu Minghao and renowned makeup artist Y/L/N Y/N. Hyung and Noona I missed seeing you!
LM: Myungho! What a sweet husband.
“Hyungsik might stop by, he said Luna left her project that’s due tomorrow at his house.” Y/N continued as she puts on her shoes in the foyer.
“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on the door camera.”
“See you later babies, I love you.” She calls to her kids with warmth in her voice after kissing her husband on the cheek.
Luna is heard yelling from the living room, “Bye mom, I’ll take care of bàba and didi while you’re gone.”
“That’s my girl. I’m so lucky to have you as my daughter.”
“Hello I’m Seo Myungho better known as Xu Minghao. I am one of Seventeen’s artists. I’m also more proudly known as Luna and Mingyue father.”
“Hi. I’m Y/L/N-Park Luna. I’m five years old. I have a baby brother name Ming Yue. I want to become a artist like my bàba.
“My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m a professional make up artist by trade and a passionate skincare business owner. Im also the mother of these beautiful babies. Thank you for inviting our family onto this show I’m a huge fan so this is a dream come true.”
How did you meet?
“I was doing some solo promotions while our Korean members were in the military. Originally I had a makeup artist through PLEDIS but she was about to go on maternity leave. I asked around my friends if they knew anyone that would be willing to take a temporary position. Dokyeom’s wife got in contact with me and relayed how great Y/N was.”
“I worked with Dokyeom doing stage makeup for musical theater since he played King Arthur. I got a message from Lee Y/N asking about Myungho and I immediately said yes. We’ve met before in passing and with other people so I took it as an opportunity for a better introduction.”
“She did quite the job helping with my appearance but also helped calm my nerves when I performed on different stages. Without that introduction I don’t think we would’ve found love the way we did.”
When did you realize you wanted to introduce Myungho to Luna?
“It was pretty early on. I was very upfront about having recently gone through a divorce. Being the amazing man he is, Myungho knew Luna was first priority and wasn’t scared of that.”
“If it were up to me I would’ve met her as soon as we started going out together but, I knew how delicate their situation was, especially because they were figuring out the custody arrangements.”
“Ultimately they did meet in person after 2 years. He was amazing at soothing my concerns and ultimately made me realize that he was in this relationship for the long haul.”
“We officially dated after that, got married and had Mingyue this year.”
What has co-parenting been like for you?
“It’s the best thing I could’ve asked for. I’ve always loved the idea of having a kid and Luna really made me enjoy that even more. I love seeing her grow and figure out who she is. At the end of the day on paper she may not be my biological daughter but in my eyes she will always be my little girl. I have Hyungsik Hyung and Y/N to thank for that.”
“Hyungsik and I much to people’s disbelief ended things on good terms. Now that we’re both remarried I hope that people show us respect for our blended family. I can’t speak for him but I know he’s really thankful for Myungho being another amazing father figure in Luna’s life. I’m so thankful that even when disagreements occur that they look past that because of their love for Luna.”
Do you have any messages for our viewers?
“I know netizens have had their misconceptions of who I am and the relationships I’ve had. I don’t blame them I hope through this show however, they’re able to rewrite their perceptions of myself and my family.”
“Y/N is an amazing mother and partner. To see how the media has manipulated this to benefit their own interests has been something we’ve been trying to fight against. I’m so grateful for the support given to us from my members, carats, Y/N’s fans, and our families for being so supportive during this time. Without you guys I don’t think we would’ve had the courage to share our love story to the public. My goal for our time on this show is to heal from the damages inflicted onto us in the past and expose our viewers to our family dynamic. Ultimately if we help even a single person to become open to blended families like ours I can proudly say that we’ve done our job.”
31 notes
·
View notes
YOU GOT: DENKI KAMINARI
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ matchup for @saikoucorps
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ if you would like a matchup, read this!
'I love laughing and making people laugh as well. I usually cope with humor but I'm able to be serious if needed.'
𓆩♡𓆪 kami can be funny and spontaneous so he can defo make you laugh
𓆩♡𓆪 BUT he is gonna be so charmed by the fact he finally has someone to match his energy and that can make HIM laugh too
𓆩♡𓆪 that's something he never knew he needed in a partner until you are up in this room at like midnight and y'all have tears in your eyes from a joke you told, but you're trying not to laugh too loud otherwise you'll get in trouble since everyone else is trying to sleep
𓆩♡𓆪 but trying to suppress the laughter only makes it even more funny
𓆩♡𓆪 literally a core memory for denki and also the moment he fell hard for you
𓆩♡𓆪 so yeah he likes that you can make him laugh too
𓆩♡𓆪 y'all probably have a friends to lovers sorta romance
𓆩♡𓆪 anyway, he is the king of coping with humour and de-escalating situations with jokes lol
𓆩♡𓆪 so he's glad that you're the same way
𓆩♡𓆪 bc most people (aka bakugo) get really frustrated with him if he tries to make a joke in a tense moment
𓆩♡𓆪 but you just GET him so he's so relieved by that
𓆩♡𓆪 he can be serious too but for the most part he doesn't enjoy it and would rather stay light-hearted, which is why fights between you two are virtually non-existent and when they do happen, they only last a couple minutes before one of you tries to make light of it and move on
𓆩♡𓆪 like he just can't stay mad at you , even if you were to mow down his entire family, steal all his belongings and shred his brith certificate, he'd still be like 'baby i forgive you pls let's not fightttt 😩'
𓆩♡𓆪 (that's a bit of a hyperbole but you know what i mean lol)
𓆩♡𓆪 he can be serious too though, like if you want to have a sombre convo about something meaningful or important, he can defo sit down and listen
𓆩♡𓆪 can't promise he'll give the most expert advice, but he definitely tries
𓆩♡𓆪 you mention having a strong sense of justice too which is good bc .. kami is literally hero / hero in training lmao
𓆩♡𓆪 fighting bad guys and saving lives on the daily, what's more justice than that???
𓆩♡𓆪 he can still make some questionable decisions sometimes but i'm sure having s/o will put him on the straight and narrow
𓆩♡𓆪 additionally, you mention being very loyal and ik he kinda shown to be a simp who will fawn for basically anybody that will give him a lick of attention
𓆩♡𓆪 BUT i so hc that as soon as he gets a s/o he will lock in and not even THINK about other ppl romantically anymore
𓆩♡𓆪 just you , 24/7 , 365
𓆩♡𓆪 bc he thinks what he has with you is just so perfect and it's everything he's been trying to get to he's not gonna let ANYONE ruin it
𓆩♡𓆪 so like even if someone tries to confess ot him by putting a note in his locker, that piece of paper will be incinerated expeditiously
𓆩♡𓆪 he no longer gaf about anybody but you 🤷♂️ (in a romantic way)
𓆩♡𓆪 even when he is sent on a mission where he needs to save someone super famous or very attractive , he'll return to you like 'they made me do it 😥'
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
'I also love playing games with other people, my favorite game is yandere simulator.'
𓆩♡𓆪 your love of video games is a big reason i chose kami for you bc he is defo an enthusiast too
𓆩♡𓆪 he'll be down to play all sorts of games with you
𓆩♡𓆪 i can imagine his favourite games are probably gta or rdr where there is kinda a story but for the most part you get to run around and cause chaos and terror
𓆩♡𓆪 (which is ironic since he is a pro-hero and all but shhhh haha)
𓆩♡𓆪 so if you would be down to play those games together with him and rob banks and burn down strip clubs togehter (#couple bonding activities) then he would so love that
𓆩♡𓆪 and seeing you run over your first pedestrian would be another core memory and falling moment for him LMAO
𓆩♡𓆪 the way he looks at you afterwards 🥺
𓆩♡𓆪 but he would also be down to play whatever you want as well
𓆩♡𓆪 OMG so he probably hasn't heard of yan sim before BUT (iirc) it's kinda just like GTA LMAO
𓆩♡𓆪 hear me outttt plsss
𓆩♡𓆪 like in a sense that they both have a main plot that you are supposed to follow but you don't have to follow it if you don't want to , and instead you can treat it like a sandbox world where you get to run around and cause trouble and kill a bunch of ppl
𓆩♡𓆪 so when you introduce it to him, he is forever in your debt LOL and it starts a short term obsession
𓆩♡𓆪 but as i just said , he will NOT be playing the game the way the dev intended , he has no interest in winning senpai or whatever, he just wants to instill fear into the npc and run a gang and drag ppl into pools by their ponytails lol
𓆩♡𓆪 which i realise as i'm writing this, is technically the point of the game
𓆩♡𓆪 but the difference is that denki won't focus on killing the 'main enemies' , and instead will do whatever he wants. if the game allowed him to, he'd probably torture senpai too
𓆩♡𓆪 so yeah he plays it like a maniac and would love to take turns playing with you (bc iirc it's a single player??)
𓆩♡𓆪 if you want to play the game the proper way and try to win, he would definitely try that too
𓆩♡𓆪 in fact , he is actually quite helpful and lowkey strategic with his plans and ways to off people (it makes you relieved that he chose heroism, bc if he chose to be a villain....... society would be screwed...)
𓆩♡𓆪 when you are good at it too, he is soo impressed by that and he loves watching you play bc of it
𓆩♡𓆪 although while you're playing, he would definitely make sarcastic jokes about being jealous of senpai bc you're doing all this for him and not for denki lol
𓆩♡𓆪 'what does he have that i don't, zero ??? 😢' (fake tears)
𓆩♡𓆪 oh but if you make the same jokes back at him when it's his turn to play, outwardly he would roll his eyes but inwardly he is kickin his feet and blushing at how you match his energy
𓆩♡𓆪 and besides yan sim, there are plenty of other games he'd love to play with you too , probably mc or fps if you are into those
𓆩♡𓆪 but also he'd just play whatever you wanna , even if they are single player and y'all have to take turns
𓆩♡𓆪 he's so the type to say 'one more round before we head off' or 'we'll end on a win!' but then you end up playing tonnssss more rounds until you've been up all night and the sun is coming out
𓆩♡𓆪 but then, that just means y'all can sleep through the day 😋
𓆩♡𓆪 OR if you fall asleep while playing kami would think that is SO cute
𓆩♡𓆪 he would not know what to do in that situation though
𓆩♡𓆪 like whether to wake you up so you can move yourself to the bed or if it's okay for him to pick you up and move you himself
𓆩♡𓆪 in the end he probably ends up trying to pick you up but falls backwards and you land on top of him
𓆩♡𓆪 and you end up waking up anyway lol
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
'My ideal first date is probably a theme park that we basically spend the whole day at!'
𓆩♡𓆪 denki would so love this !!
𓆩♡𓆪 he would probably even be the one to suggest something like this then get so hype when you are like 'that's my dream date!!'
𓆩♡𓆪 he'd think you are literally his soulmate in that moment tbh
𓆩♡𓆪 denki sparkle eyes 🤩
𓆩♡𓆪 he's also the type to go on all the rides with you
𓆩♡𓆪 i can think of quite a few UA characters that, despite being really brave, would NOT be down for rollercoasters. or at least, have a very short tolerance for them and be the type to go on one or two then claim their 'done'. (*cough* midoriya *cough* todoroki *cough*)
𓆩♡𓆪 anywaayyy denki is so not that kinda guy and could go on rollercoasters all day
𓆩♡𓆪 obviously he is a bit dizzy after each one but firstly he knows how to cope with that from his quirk, secondly, having to wait ~30 minutes in line between each ride gives him time to recover anyway
𓆩♡𓆪 omg he is so the type to let you hold onto his shirt or hold hands while waiting in line for the rollercoaster
𓆩♡𓆪 like maybe not full on cuddling but he does let you idly play with his hands
𓆩♡𓆪 OMG and it just occured to me that when he thinks you are looking extra cute he might accidentally zap you while holding your hand bc he's so flustered he starts to overcharge/ lose control of his power a bit
𓆩♡𓆪 nothing crazy like not a power electrical shock but just a tiny little zap
𓆩♡𓆪 but he would still apologise profusely for it
𓆩♡𓆪 only when he does it by accident , when he playfully zaps you on purpose, all you get is him snickering and teasing you
𓆩♡𓆪 he would also love to try all the carnival food with you
𓆩♡𓆪 you mentioned you like to try new foods and i think denki would so want to as well
𓆩♡𓆪 and the amusement park is great for that bc in my experience they always have the most cursed food haha
𓆩♡𓆪 deep fried EVERYTHING
𓆩♡𓆪 deep fried oreo??? deep fried pickles??? deep fried hawks ???
𓆩♡𓆪 and he'd love to try it all with you (bar that last one) and gush about how awesome or awful it tastes
𓆩♡𓆪 giving each other bites of your food?? getting platters to share?? that's a love language in and of itself
𓆩♡𓆪 omg and he'd find it so funny if you were to record / take pics of his dramatic reactions to bad-tasting food and he'd do the same for you
𓆩♡𓆪 and i can't imagine him being a fan of spicy food on his own but he LOVES a challenge
𓆩♡𓆪 so if there are one of spice challenges, where they give you something like fries or nachoes and they put this extra spicy sauce on it and they're like 'if you can eat the whole portion you get a prize'
𓆩♡𓆪 he would sign you both up at the speed of light bc he wants to win and he knows you like spice
𓆩♡𓆪 but your spice tolerance is probably wayyy better than his so he is like stuffing his face, convinced he can do it but then like five bites in he turns bright red and starts breathing fire and screaming for help
𓆩♡𓆪 'ALL MIGHT !!! ALL MIGHT SAVE ME!'
𓆩♡𓆪 but the only pro hero nearby is endeavor and he just makes it worse
𓆩♡𓆪 don't ask what endeavor is doing at the amusement park.. probs there for the deep fried hawks icl
𓆩♡𓆪 meanwhile you are just watching him while laughing your ass off and still eating the fries, completely unfazed yet
𓆩♡𓆪 and if you win he is so going to (jokingly) take partial credit like 'omg we did it babe 😤 !!!' when in reality he had five bites lol
𓆩♡𓆪 but really in your heart you know he's proud of you
𓆩♡𓆪 he will also try to win you those big stuffies but i can't imagine his quirk would be helpful for that .. like at all??
𓆩♡𓆪 like for the carnival games there are like.. knock the milk bottles over with a ball.. throw the bean bag into the hole
𓆩♡𓆪 the only one where i can imagine his quirk would be helpful for is hook-a-duck bc he could charge the water to flip over the ducks
𓆩♡𓆪 OR using his quirk to charge a dart in balloon darts but again, the attendant would see the sparks flying and know he used it
𓆩♡𓆪 so he is just going to have to get you a plushie the old-fashioned way 😤 with perseverance and commitment
𓆩♡𓆪 and he does not rest until you walk out of that theme park with a big massive plushie over your shoulders!!!!!
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
for @saikoucorps: i thought izuku maybe but your interests match denki a bit more , imo
7 notes
·
View notes