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lizzyiii · 9 months ago

Note

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

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spicy30 · 5 months ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s 007

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+

CW: Child trafficking

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29

Side note: I think my writing style from my latest work accidentally leaked in, but oh well.

WC: 14.3k

As you and Helaena flew back to King’s Landing with the goods secured, your gaze drifted downward. The world below stretched out in an endless patchwork of greens and browns, but it wasn’t until you spotted that same spring again—hidden like a secret among the hills—that inspiration struck like a lightning bolt.

“The Romans,” you murmured, tightening your grip on Helaena’s waist. The idea was perfect. You’d introduce the Roman water system to Westeros and claim it as your own invention. Clean water would not only make you beloved among the commons but also mark a monumental step toward the progress you envisioned. A woman who brought both clean water and a functioning sewer system to all of Westeros? Invaluable.

The only issue? You didn’t know the exact formulas.

You began to mentally map it out, your thoughts racing as you soared over the land. A close water source would be ideal. The river running through King’s Landing was an option, but not a good one. Its waters emptied into the sea, and rivers like it were rarely suitable for clean drinking water—especially in a place like King’s Landing, where waste and pollution had long since claimed the current.

A spring, however, was pure. Untouched. Exactly what you needed. And now, you’d found one.

The next challenge was funding.

Your jaw tightened at the thought. Right now, you were broke—your entire fortune consisted of a single gold dragon. One. A pitiful sum that wouldn’t buy the loyalty of a stray cat, much less the resources for an ambitious engineering project.

This was of course thanks to your ‘business’ on the Street of Silk.

But ambition wasn’t something you lacked, and you were nothing if not resourceful.

The woman at the door stood firm, her thin robe clinging to her frame, revealing more than modesty allowed. Her voice dripped with disdain as she let a man pass.

“We do not serve women,” she said flatly, the faint smell of stale sweat and sex heavy in the air.

You squared your shoulders, ignoring the assault on your senses. “I’m here to speak with the madam.”

“It does not matter who you ask. We do not serve women.” Her tone remained cold, practiced.

Your eyes flicked over her, noting the hard set of her jaw, the hollowness in her gaze. She wasn’t much older than you. That thought disturbed you, but you pushed it aside. “I’m not here for service,” you said firmly. “I have a proposal for your madam.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment’s hesitation, she rolled her eyes and stepped aside.

Inside, the stench of sweat and perfume hit you like a slap. The air was humid, cloying, heavy with the sounds of grunts and moans from every corner. You blinked, taking it in—the writhing bodies, the shadowed alcoves where no act was too obscene, no boundary respected.

But it wasn’t the orgies that churned your stomach. It was the private rooms.

Your steps faltered as you caught glimpses through half-open doors: a boy’s small frame crushed beneath a man’s weight, the blank stare of a child too broken to cry. Your throat tightened, bile rising as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Savages.

The word seared through your mind like a brand.

Savages, all of them.

You lifted your chin, forcing your face into a mask of composure as you entered the madam’s chamber. The older woman sat behind a low table, her painted lips curling into a calculating smile as you approached.

“You have the product you promised? Or are you here to reconsider my offer?” Her voice was smooth, almost mocking.

“I have the product.” You placed the jar on the table with a steady hand. “But the conditions have changed.”

The madam’s brow arched. “Conditions?” She reached for the jar, turning it in her hands. “My price remains the same.”

“You don’t even know how to use it,” you countered, your voice cool. “I can teach some of your workers how to apply it properly, but you’ll abide by my terms.”

The madam leaned back, signaling for one of her girls—a nervous-looking young woman who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “She’ll learn, and she’ll teach the others.”

You shook your head, your resolve hardening. “No. You will stop selling children. Anyone under fifteen comes to me. I will teach them.” You leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “If you refuse, our business is done.”

The madam’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “I’d lose considerable profit,” she said, her voice low, almost amused. “Women can still shave.”

Your nose twitched in disgust. “You’ll find other uses for this product. And if you don’t, the next whorehouse will. What happens when this becomes a trade, and you have to buy it back at a premium?” You sat back, folding your arms. “Stop selling the children.”

The room was silent save for the muffled noises from beyond the walls. Finally, the madam exhaled through her nose. “One gold dragon, then. Instead of two.”

Gold was gold. And if it saved even a handful of children, it was enough. “Done.”

She handed you the coin, and you pocketed it without looking. “Gather all your workers under fifteen. I don’t care if they’re in service—bring them to me now.”

The madam hesitated but eventually obeyed. A handful of children were brought into the room, their eyes hollow and frightened. But not all.

You scanned the faces, your stomach twisting. He wasn’t there.

Without a word, you stormed out, ignoring the madam’s shouts. Room by room, you searched until you found him.

The boy.

A man loomed over him, his hand gripping the boy’s hair as he forced him down. Rage boiled in your chest as you shoved the man off, pulling the boy to your side.

“Sinner,” you spat, your voice trembling with fury.

Behind you, the madam appeared, stammering apologies, but you didn’t care. You turned, the boy clutching your arm, and stormed out of the house, your jar tucked beneath your other arm.

It wasn’t enough. It never would be. But it was a start.

The turn of events was brutal—messy and unsightly—but it carved an opportunity. Now, you had eyes scattered throughout the city, keen and unblinking. If wielded correctly, they’d be more than informants; they’d become your personal choir, singing your truths to the masses. A better life than the squalor they came from, surely. It had to be. You wouldn’t allow yourself to doubt it.

As the dragon-carved gates of King’s Landing loomed farther, your thoughts spiraled to the tasks at hand. Your newly assembled web of spies awaited their first test. The Miswak shipment needed delivering, and the children would have hopefully grounded enough charcoal by now. Was that child labor? Perhaps. But you’d gifted them the tools to climb higher—the basics of English, etched into the same rudimentary book you had created for Dyana.

Reading. Writing. Seeds planted for the future, and one day, they would bloom.

…

“Any new developments?” Alicent’s voice pierced the quiet like a needle slipping through silk. Her watchful eyes held you in place, and you swallowed back the biting words that nearly leapt from your tongue. It had been a month, and you couldn’t hold off Alicent—or Otto—much longer. They were shadows at your back, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Nearly finished,” you lied smoothly, then allowed hesitation to creep in, as though you were carefully choosing your words. “However, there is… something else I’d like to discuss.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This had to work. Ever since your reckless encounter with her son, Alicent had grown colder, more measured. You prayed to whatever gods might listen that Aemond was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. Still, the whispers of the maids lingered in the halls, their eyes darting toward you whenever you passed. Your carefully applied makeup covered the marks, but not the rumors. Not entirely.

Alicent raised a single brow, her sharp gaze unnervingly still. Your own eyes flicked to her necklace—a symbol of faith, of purpose. Religion had always been a distant, abstract thing for you. You’d been born into one but never truly embraced it. Still, what was one more belief to add to the list of masks you wore?

“As you know, I am not of this land,” you began, weaving threads of sincerity into your tone. “Yet, I find myself yearning for something greater. A connection… to the gods.” You paused, watching Alicent’s expression shift—a subtle softening. You pressed forward. “I do not know much about the Seven, but I want to learn.”

A flicker of approval lit her face. Strike.

“Do you think I could accompany you the next time you visit the…Sept, is it?”

Alicent’s brow smoothed, her lips curving into a faint, almost maternal smile. “You wish to turn to the Seven?”

“Yes,” you answered with measured conviction. “I want to cultivate a relationship with the gods. I know the Citadel… may not look favorably upon me. But I hold no malice for them.” A small lie. “I seek guidance. I fear I may become lost.”

A threadbare trope, perhaps, but one that never failed to tug at the hearts of saviors. Alicent’s posture shifted; her gaze softened.

“Sweet girl,” she said, smoothing a hand over your hair. “I am glad you have turned to the Seven. I go to the Sept once a week. On the morrow, you shall join me. I will guide you.”

Perfect. You smiled demurely, lowering your head in feigned gratitude. If you couldn’t infiltrate the seediest corners of the city to keep them under your thumb, you’d dismantle them entirely. The parallels between this world and your own were sharp as blades. The Sept—like the medieval Church of your history—wielded untold power, with its followers hanging on every whispered word.

If the Citadel wouldn’t accept you, the Seven would. You would start here, under the Queen’s banner. Her blessing would open doors, and soon, the citadel and the Septons would know your name—not as an outsider, but as a force of change, anointed by faith.

And when the time came, you’d see to it that your web of influence didn’t just spread—it consumed.

With the matter settled, you bowed gracefully and took your leave from the Queen’s chambers. As the heavy doors closed behind you, Otto strode in with his usual air of self-importance. You offered him a polite smile, masking the unease his presence always stirred, and quickly made yourself scarce.

It had been two days since your return to King’s Landing, and time already felt like a double-edged sword. Waiting for your plant to dry had been maddening, leaving you stuck in limbo. Meanwhile, King Viserys, to your surprise, had resumed his seat in the council room, much to Otto’s visible displeasure.

You’d been avoiding the Targaryens as much as possible. Rhaenyra had taken Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Rhaena back to Dragonstone during your absence—a disappointing turn. You had hoped to visit Dragonstone again, at least once more. And as for Jacaerys? So much for his promises.

Well, it couldn’t be helped. It was time to make new alliances.

Friends in high places, you thought. Yet the options were limited.

Helaena? Too peculiar, her words often tangled in riddles you had no patience for. Aegon? Transparent in his intentions and utterly repugnant. Daemon? He hated you, and the feeling was mutual. Rhaenyra? Impossible, not with her husband hawk-like vigilance. Viserys? A King’s favor could be a double-edged sword, and you had no desire to invite further burdens.

Alicent and Otto? Neither seemed genuinely invested in you. Alicent only saw someone she could shape into her ideal, and Otto viewed you as a piece on the board—disposable when no longer useful.

That left…Aemond.

The very thought made you shudder. Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince. A bitter regret clung to the memory of that night, a reckless mistake you’d been running from ever since. It was half the reason you had leapt at the chance to join Helaena in the Riverlands. Facing Aemond again was a prospect you were still too cowardly to confront, though you suspected it would be unavoidable. If handled carefully, though, he might not be the worst option.

Later. That could wait.

Right now, your mind was preoccupied with the daunting task ahead: the water system. You needed to figure out the formula, but where to begin? All you knew was it needed a steady decline for gravity to carry the flow. Underground would be ideal, but if forced above ground, arches would save on materials. The bricks needed to be durable, made with marble cement. And getting it into the city? That would require tearing apart King’s Landing itself.

Reconstructing an entire city—it could take years.

Years.

The word hit you like a falling stone. Years you would spend here, in this medieval nightmare. You froze mid-step, the weight of realization crashing over you. This was the first time you truly thought about it and let it set in. You would never see your family or friends again. Never watch another movie or binge your favorite show. No degree. No cars, planes, or air conditioning. The life you once knew—the future—was gone, slipping further away with each passing day.

Could you even build a life here? Marry? Have children? The thought was sobering. You could survive, but what would survival cost? Medicine here was archaic at best. Pain relief during childbirth would be nonexistent. Vaccines, nonexistent. Plagues, inevitable. You had always fought to survive back home, but this… this was a different beast altogether.

A pang of homesickness rippled through you. How you longed for a lazy afternoon in bed, reading with music playing softly in the background. Scrolling through social media, catching up on sports, watching the Olympics or the news—or even just indulging in Animal Planet for a moment of calm.

You sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you stopped outside a pair of large doors. The library. Maybe you’d find something useful here—anything to distract you from these spiraling thoughts.

Focus, you reminded yourself. Stay focused. Keep your head above water. Make yourself invaluable. You could mourn the loss of modern life later. For now, you had work to do.

The library was a sprawling maze, the shelves seemingly organized by no discernible system. Scanning the spines, you felt the weight of frustration settling in. No math books. Certainly no physics. You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Why would they have math formulas written down?” you muttered. “Wishful thinking.”

As you prepared to give up, a title caught your eye: “Book of Coin - Crispian Celtigar (First Master of Coin) Aegon I ‘The Conqueror’ Targaryen. 1-37AC.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. Of course. The economy here was primitive at best—a loose network of trade and agrarian reliance. Taxes funneled from the smallfolk to lords, and from lords to the crown. Laughably inefficient.

An open market, ripe for the taking.

If you could establish a proper economy, it would mean wealth beyond imagination—and perhaps a system that bore your name. A fully realized, capitalistic economy. It would take years for anyone else to grasp the concept fully. But you’d need to tread carefully; monarchies and capitalism rarely coexisted peacefully. Then again, when had monarchies ever worked well?

Your grin widened. The pieces of a plan were starting to form. The library hadn’t given you what you’d sought, but it had handed you something far more valuable: an idea.

The idea of modern monarchies intrigued you. Weak relics of bygone eras, their grip on power was tenuous at best. Take Spain, for instance—a nation with a king who held no real authority while a president governed the people. Monarchies, by their very nature, stood in direct opposition to the principles of democratic equality, the very ideal you found yourself gravitating toward. Yet here you were, sitting in a castle steeped in the bloodlines of a dynasty that would scoff at such ideals.

You flipped through the book in your hands, letting your mind wander.

The thought of devoting your entire life to dismantling the monarchy felt exhausting. And really, was it even worth it? Life expectancy here couldn’t be much past the thirties—what a chilling reality. Building an egalitarian society would be an uphill battle, and some changes, you reasoned, had to come organically, from the collective understanding of society itself. A leader could nudge the masses in the right direction, pipeline ideas, and light the way, but the responsibility would ultimately fall on those who came after you.

Then there was the media—a double-edged sword you understood all too well. In capable, ethical hands, it could inform and inspire. But unchecked? It could mislead, manipulate, and turn progress into chaos. The thought was sobering.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the monarchy’s unique allure. For all its flaws, it offered something a democracy couldn’t match: continuity, a living link to the past. Monarchs embodied history, culture, and heritage, grounding a nation in its origins while carrying it forward. The public’s attachment to royalty wasn’t logical—it was emotional. They cried for a royal death, cheered for a wedding, and celebrated the birth of heirs they’d never meet. The late Princess Diana was proof of this—her influence enduring even decades after her tragic death.

You grinned, the beginnings of an idea forming. Perhaps the media wasn’t such a bad tool after all, not if wielded correctly.

Otto and Alicent were closing in, you could feel it. You needed something to turn the tide in Rhaenyra’s favor. Numbers alone might confirm the legitimacy of Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, but public opinion was another entity entirely. People doubted what they saw with their own eyes; they’d cling to rumors if given the chance. But with the right narrative, a loyal following could be built around Jacaerys, the future heir. A fan base so devoted, so unwavering, that whispers of bastardy would fall on deaf ears.

Even if the worst happened and the truth came out, a beloved figure could weather the storm. A king who won the hearts of his people would render lineage irrelevant. It wasn’t just about legitimacy—it was about loyalty, influence, and the ability to inspire unwavering devotion.

You leaned back, smiling to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you’d found your strategy.

You pursed your lips. Yeah…get Rhaenyra on the throne and make her children beloved. Those at the bottom are what keep those at the top standing. A country is not made of just numbers. That’s how should be.

First, you’d have to create a source of constant and neutral information. A reliable source. A true neutral source.

Something simple.

A newspaper!

You snapped the coin book shut, grabbing a piece of paper and a quill, heart pounding with excitement. You sketched the first rough outline of something new, something revolutionary. Journalists. Editors. Writers. You’d need them all, but first, you’d start small. One piece at a time. It didn’t matter that Westeros wasn’t ready for it. They’d need it. You’d make them need it.

People, no matter the time, love gossip. You’d have to recruit someone for that. Actually, let's start thinking of the jobs that need to be filled.

‘Journalists, senior editors, assistant editors, editorial assistants, staff writers, printers, Painters?’ Then of course you’d have to do one for every subject you choose, politics, gossip, health, fashion (you needed to start pants or something. These skirts were too much.), travel maybe (You really needed to get out more), business, science, lifestyle, sports. Hell, maybe you’d even start the Olympics here. Make your own city and it will be the capital of progress. Call it Olympus, home of the Olympians, and have major athletes living there and universities there so you’d have the brightest minds. Wouldn’t that be something? Actually maybe… “Ugh! This is so much work already!” You threw your head back and your jaw slackened. Above you was standing the last Prince you wanted to see.

Aemond stood there, his presence suffocating, cutting through your thoughts like a blade.

You shot to your feet, heart thudding. Not now. Not when your mind was on fire. You gave him a tight smile, forced but polite. “Perfect timing,” you muttered. Time to go.

“Journalists?” Aemond spoke and you gave a smile. Definitely time to go! Once this newspaper was started it couldn’t be linked back to you. It wouldn’t give it the fair and neutral reputation you wanted, especially once you started making headlines and you would. The whole of Westeros would know your name once you were done.

You smiled, but it was a wolfish thing. “Just playing with words…” Your heart raced. It was a lie. A flimsy one. But it wasn’t like he’d ever heard of the word before.

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, unreadable, as always. "What does it mean?"

You looked around, feigning thought. The heat of his stare burned into you. "I don’t know yet. Would you like to help me give it meaning?" You let your words hang, soft but charged with a promise. You ignored the way his eye darkened as they lingered on your collarbones.

“Help you how?” His voice had an edge now, dangerous and tantalizing. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned away quickly, trying to steady yourself. No. Not again. You couldn’t fall into that trap again, especially not after making peace with Alicent. You forced a smile, playing dumb. “Figuring out what the word means. I just said that.” Your voice was light, almost too light.

Aemond stood still, his gaze on you sharp and unrelenting. The air between you thickened.

He stepped closer, his presence a magnet pulling at every nerve in your body. You instinctively took a step back, but the intensity in his eyes held you in place. “I thought you were a man with no taste for depravity.” You threw his own words back at him, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

Aemond said nothing as he leaned in. A sudden and sharp pain hit the left side of your brain making your eye sting. You hissed and covered your eye. Aemond lifted a brow and your jaw slacked for the second time that day. Damn. This second time you’ve probably offended him about his eye. To your credit, you really did get hit with a sharp pain which was now forming into a headache. The worst thing that could happen and it’s happening. Rather break a bone than another migraine. However, your migraines usually come with a side of vomit, but that wouldn’t be till much later. You knew you shouldn’t have eaten anything here. It was a miracle nearly two months and with no sickness, hopefully, it was a simple upset stomach.

“Excuse me.” You barely managed to breathe the words, your senses assaulted by a pungent smell that seemed to grow stronger with every heartbeat. Your head throbbed, a sharp pulse blooming at your temple, and you instinctively pushed past Aemond, ignoring the startled lift of his brow.

The moment you stepped into the corridor, the pain in your head flared again, forcing you to slow your steps. Each movement sent another spike of agony through your skull, and you clenched your teeth to keep from groaning aloud. Behind you, Aemond followed in silence, his measured steps too close, his gaze too heavy. You could feel it trailing you, scrutinizing your every falter. Thankfully, he seemed wise enough not to speak.

You finally reached your chambers, but the moment you opened the door, a sickly sweet smell hit you like a punch to the gut. Your stomach churned violently.

“Shit,” you hissed, slamming the door shut and turning away as a fresh wave of nausea rose to your throat.

“What are you doing?” Aemond’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone edged with curiosity and the faintest trace of irritation.

“Headache,” you gritted out, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your fingers to your temples. The small circles you rubbed brought only the barest relief. “Strong smells make it worse. Please—I’m terrible with pain.” The words tumbled out unbidden, desperation seeping into your voice. The sharp, stabbing sensation on the left side of your head had morphed into a vise, squeezing tighter and tighter. It was unbearable. At least with a broken bone, the pain had a clear source. This—this all-encompassing torment—was driving you mad.

“Should I call a Maester?” Aemond asked, his voice steady, though you thought you detected the faintest flicker of concern.

You shook your head sharply, regret washing over you as the motion worsened the throbbing. Another wave of nausea rolled through you, and you turned away, swallowing hard to keep your stomach’s rebellion at bay.

“Unless they have fucking painkillers,” you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop them, “then they can’t do shit for me.” You barely registered the silence that followed, too consumed by the relentless pressure in your skull. But a part of you imagined Aemond’s reaction—his sharp features drawn in surprise, maybe even offense. You’d never spoken like that to anyone here, least of all a prince.

“I need air,” you muttered through clenched teeth, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue further.

“Breathe,” he said simply, placing a hand on your back. The gesture, though likely meant to comfort, did little to ease the suffocating pressure in your chest.

“No,” you groaned, shaking your head weakly. “Clean air. Fresh air. Not the sweet rot in my room or the filth of King’s Landing.” You turned to him then, desperation flashing in your eyes. Another sharp wave of vertigo hit, and you reached out instinctively, gripping his arm for balance. “Please.” The word escaped as a plea, raw and unfiltered.

“Where?” Aemond’s expression was unreadable, his voice calm despite the urgency in yours. Perhaps, if you weren’t so consumed by the pain, you might have noticed the faint crease of his brow, or the subtle glance toward the nearby shadows where watchful eyes lingered.

“Dragonstone,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding in your skull. It was the first place you could think of—cool, constant, and untouched by the suffocating air of this place.

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his expression sharpening with intrigue. “Dragonstone?” he echoed, as though the name itself warranted suspicion. He hadn’t known you were even aware of the place, let alone familiar with it. Has Aegon taken you? His brother had often bragged about his soon to be conquest of you. Fucking you atop Sunfyre’s back whilst you both flew above King’s Landing. Though it did little to bother Aemond. He had already beaten his brother to it in any case. Aemond had dismissed it as a typical Aegon bluster, but now…

“You’ve been to Dragonstone? On dragonback?” he pressed, his eye narrowing as he studied your face.

You nodded weakly, your eyes still closed, every movement threatening to unleash another jolt of pain. The invisible belt tightened further around your head, and you winced.

“How?” he asked, his voice remaining flat, though the edge of curiosity softened his tone. Perhaps it was your vulnerability that tempered his usual sharpness—or perhaps it was something else entirely.

“Does it matter?” you managed to mutter, each word a struggle. “If you’re worried about Aegon, I promise you it wasn’t him.” Your voice cracked with desperation, your patience shredded by the unrelenting pain. “Please, Aemond—my head is killing me.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if debating whether to press further. His gaze lingered on you, an unreadable storm behind his eye, but your words seemed to settle something in him.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped closer, his towering presence both grounding and overwhelming in your current state. “Very well,” he said at last, though the question lingered in his gaze. “But if not Aegon, then who?”

“Not now,” you hissed, cradling your head as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through your skull. “I’ll tell you later. Just… please, Aemond.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. You could feel the tension in the air, his curiosity warring with some other unspoken instinct. Then, without another word, he extended his arm toward you, his fingers brushing your elbow with a touch so surprisingly gentle it made you open your eyes.

“Come,” he said simply. “We’ll take Vhagar.”

You blinked, your breath catching. “Vhagar?” What the hell was a Vhagar? You didn’t have time for riddles—what you needed was fresh air so you could follow your usual migraine routine: a restless nap where you’d feel every pulse in your head, waking up nauseous and dizzy, throwing up, and finally, one last nap to reset. But that wasn’t happening in King’s Landing, not with the air reeking like it did. Yeah, you really needed to figure out those formulas for the sewer system.

“My dragon,” Aemond clarified.

Oh. He had a dragon. Right.

Wait—Vhagar. The name tugged at a corner of your memory, but the pounding in your skull made it impossible to chase the thought down. Whatever. You’d piece it together later.

You gave a stiff nod and started walking, each step down the stairs making your head throb like your brain was ricocheting off your skull. Damn migraines.

You took each step carefully, gripping the railing as though it might steady the pulsing in your skull. Aemond followed silently behind you, his presence a heavy shadow against your increasingly unsteady footing. The scent of the city—a sickly mix of sweat, rot, and filth—clung to the air like a physical weight, and it was all you could do not to gag.

As you reached the courtyard, a sharp wave of vertigo hit. You paused, eyes squeezing shut, willing the world to stop spinning. Behind you, Aemond’s voice cut through the haze. “Are you sure you can manage this? You look—”

“Like hell,” you finished for him, waving off his concern. “I’ll manage if it gets me to fresh air.”

Vhagar was there, looming like a mountain brought to life, her sheer size making your breath catch for reasons entirely unrelated to your headache. Her massive head turned toward you, eyes gleaming with an intelligence that made your stomach twist with both awe and unease. The migraine and nausea suddenly felt like the least of your problems. Nearly made them go away actually.

“That’s Vhagar?” you managed, your voice cracking slightly. Great. Just great. Show no fear, right?

Aemond stepped beside you, his posture as effortlessly poised as ever. “She won’t harm you. Not unless I command it.” His tone was calm, almost casual, but you caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. Of course he was enjoying this.

“That’s…reassuring,” you muttered, not feeling reassured in the slightest.

Aemond extended a hand toward you. “Come. If it's the fresh air you need, Vhagar will take you there.”

You stared at his hand, then at Vhagar, then back at him. The last time you’d been on dragonback was with Helaena, and even then, it had been an ordeal. Now, with your head pounding like a war drum and your balance barely holding steady, climbing onto the back of the largest dragon in Westeros felt like a death wish.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt the heat of Vhagar’s breath as she leaned in closer. The air was hot, yes, but surprisingly clean—free of the acrid stench that seemed to saturate King’s Landing. You inhaled deeply, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in your head eased.

“You said you needed air,” Aemond reminded you, his hand still outstretched. “Trust me.”

The words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You looked at him, his face unreadable but unwavering. Normally this would be a no-brainer to get on but right now you weren’t feeling the best, but nonetheless, against your better judgment, you placed your hand in his.

“Fine,” you relented. “But if I fall off, I’m dragging you with me.”

Aemond smirked, but said nothing, keeping his grip firm as he helped you up toward the saddle.

As Vhagar shifted beneath you, her scales scraping like thunder against stone, you squeezed your eyes shut and muttered a silent prayer to whichever god was listening. Fresh air. That was all you needed. You could survive this. Probably.

And if not…well, there was always the chance that you’d get home somehow.

Vhagar’s sheer size made her every movement feel monumental. As she shifted beneath you, you clung tightly to the saddle, your fingers white-knuckling the leather straps. This wasn’t like flying on Vermax or even Dreamfyre—those dragons, while mighty, felt agile, almost playful in the air. Vhagar, by contrast, was an ancient power given form, each step and breath a reminder of her dominance. She felt…unrelenting, as if the sky itself bent to her will.

Your head still pounded, but as Vhagar began to rise, the ground slipping farther and farther away, the faint breeze turned into a steady rush of air. It was cool, fresh, untainted by the filth of the city below, and for the first time in hours, you felt a thread of relief unwind through your body.

Your stomach, however, had other plans.

“Ginger ale,” you murmured under your breath, your voice barely audible over the growing wind.

“What?” Aemond called back, glancing over his shoulder as Vhagar’s ascent steadied into a glide.

“I need ginger ale,” you repeated, louder this time, though the absurdity of the request hit you even as you said it. “Helps with nausea.” You groaned softly, pressing your forehead against the saddle, hoping the coolness of the leather would soothe your migraine.

Aemond gave you a look—half incredulous, half bemused. “What is ‘ginger ale?’”

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, clutching the straps tighter as Vhagar tilted into a sharp turn. The motion made your stomach lurch, and you pressed your teeth together, determined not to vomit. “I’d settle for anything that doesn’t taste like wine or rot.”

The Prince said nothing, though you thought you caught a flicker of something akin to concern in his eye. If he had a remark, he wisely kept it to himself, focusing instead on guiding Vhagar.

As the dragon soared higher, the wind whipped against your face, stinging your skin but bringing with it that precious, unpolluted air you’d been craving. You tilted your head back, letting it wash over you, even as your grip on the saddle remained ironclad.

Every movement of Vhagar felt heavier, more deliberate than Vermax or Dreamfyre. Where their flights had been smooth and almost playful, Vhagar’s was a commanding march through the skies. You could feel the weight of her wings as they sliced through the air, each beat a reminder of her power. The vibrations resonated through your body, making your migraine pulse in tandem.

“Hold tighter,” Aemond called, his voice steady but edged with a warning as Vhagar banked again. You didn’t need to be told twice. Your arms ache from holding on, but letting go wasn’t an option. Not here, not on this dragon.

“Does she always feel like she’s trying to knock you off?” you yelled back, a mix of fear and awe slipping into your tone.

“Only if she doesn’t like you,” Aemond replied, and you swore you caught the faintest trace of a smirk.

Great. Just great.

“Tell her I’m very likable,” you shot back, though the trembling in your voice probably undermined your point.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he countered, turning his gaze forward as Vhagar leveled out.

Alive, yes. Comfortable, no. But as the air cleared and the scent of saltwater reached your nose, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t King’s Landing. It wasn’t the suffocating sweetness of your chambers. It was fresh, untainted, and as the horizon opened up before you, you allowed yourself a moment to simply breathe.

“Oh god.” You gripped the saddle though through the sound of the harsh wind your ears sounded a high-pitched, almost "cackling" roar, with a mix of screeching and whistling sounds. “What was that?” You squint your eyes looking forward, almost forgetting you had a migraine in the first place. Your eyes try to adjust to the blinding white of the clouds. A small figure flies through a cloud. “Is that?”

Was it Vermax? No. Vermax’s deep green coloring would strongly contrast the clouds. No this one blended in with the brightness of the clouds. Was it white, maybe gold? Do they come in those colors? Clearly they came in green (Vhagar and Vermax) and blue (Dreamfyre).

For a couple of seconds you were able to clearly see a smaller yellow dragon with a familiar face riding on top.

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Goodness, do all Targeryens have dragons then?” You asked, watching and turning back as you watched Rhaenrya go to land her dragon at a bay. Was that the bay where you arrived?

“Majority.” Aemond answered and you nodded.

“What about the King?” If all Targeryens and dragons you would like to see all of them. Study them if possible or to simply interact with them. Jacaerys had spoken of bonds, you like to understand these bonds and how they work.

“My father rode Balerion the Black Dread once before it passed away from old age.” As Aemond spoke, you furrowed your brows. “It was the last creature who had seen Old Valyria in all its glory.”

“Old Valyria?” You asked. What was that? Or more so where was it? Was this like ancient Rome or something?

“Are you not from the East?” Aemond asked and you simply looked back at him over your shoulder with a brown lifted.

“No.”

“Not the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai?” Aemond looked down at you while keeping a steady hand on Vhagar’s reins.

“No. I’ve never even heard of it. Now what is Old Valyria?” The more you spoke you saw suspicion in Aemond’s eyes. Maybe you should’ve just said yes. You weren’t in the best spot right now for you to provoke such things. Yes, you might go home but y’know, you’d rather not fall more than what seemed 200 ft like last time. What if you didn’t fall into water? Regardless you weren’t in a good place to warrant any kind of reaction from Aemond that was not positive.

“Where are you from then?” Aemond asked and you noticed Vhagar’s speed notably decreased and you bit the inside of your lip.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening instinctively on the saddle as Vhagar’s wings beat slower, her flight becoming almost lazy. Was it intentional? Aemond's way of stalling until you answered? Or maybe Vhagar simply felt the change in his mood.

“Far away,” you finally said, deflecting as best as you could.

“Clearly,” Aemond murmured, his tone skeptical. “But ‘far away’ is not an answer.”

You sighed, your mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. Something that could at least buy you time, but your thoughts felt jumbled, your headache dulling your ability to think quickly.

“It’s… not a place you’d know,” you muttered, hoping the vague answer would suffice.

You purse your lips, keeping your gaze forward, trying to keep the dizziness from making you look weaker than you already felt. “Well, the first time I told all of you, you looked at me like I was crazy, so clearly you don’t.” The words slipped out sharper than you intended, but it was too late to reel them in now.

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the slight shift in the air, a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. Something between you was changing, but you couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. Whatever it was, it was pulling you deeper into something you weren’t sure you could control.

“Old Valyria is the place of origin for the Targaryen bloodline.” Aemond spoke moving past his attempt to figure out where you were from. You gave a small sigh of relief.

Targaryen men. Always so unstable. Maybe it was just the white haired ones.

“Daenys Targaryen or otherwise known as Daenys the Dreamer, predicted the doom of Old Valyria twelve years before it happened. Her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, heeded her dream and sold his holdings in the Valyrian Freehold and moved his family and all of their belongings to Dragonstone.” You stayed silent as Aemond spoke, trying to focus on his words instead of an uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat. “With them, they took five dragons, including Balerion. When the Doom of Valyria came, House Targaryen was the only family of dragonriders which survived. Daenys was married to her brother Gaemon, who followed their father as Lord of Dragonstone. Their children were Aegon and Elaena Targaryen. Elaena married her brother, Aegon, and together they had two sons: Maegon and Aerys Targaryen and from them continues the line until the line reached Aegon and his sister wives.”

At this point the Targeyen family tree is a circle. Why is there so much incest!? Whats with the sibling marriages!?

You couldn’t help but blink, the confusion clouding your thoughts for a moment. "So, the whole bloodline... it's just... incest?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. You bit your lip immediately, regretting it.

Aemond, ever composed, didn’t seem taken aback. His gaze, however, darkened slightly. "In our family, the bonds of blood are sacred," he said, his voice still smooth but edged with something harder. "It keeps the power of the dragons pure."

"Pure?" You repeated, the word feeling strange in your mouth. "What’s pure about it? That’s not... how it really works or at least from what I know." You barely managed to keep your voice steady, the migraine pressing heavier behind your eyes, like a constant hum beneath your skull.

"You speak of customs I do not understand," Aemond remarked coolly, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in your expression. "But I will not apologize for the Targaryen way."

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling the tension thick in the air. "No one’s asking you to apologize," you muttered, turning your attention back to the sky. The rush of wind felt cold, too cold against the feverish heat inside you. "But it’s hard to understand... that."

“Not all Valryians were dragon lords. We are the last of our kind. Only those with our blood may command a dragon. Marriages within bloodlines are necessary.” Aemond spoke firmly and you nodded trying not to let your biases control even though, from what you know incest is wrong both morally and ethically.

You hummed and turned back to him. “So say I want to claim a dragon, I can’t because I don’t have Valyrian blood?”

“You would be burned alive the second you stood in front of a dragon attempting to claim it, not just because you don’t have Valyrian blood but because you do not have Targaryen blood.” he spoke with an air of self-importance. You suppose it does warrant that kind of feeling. If only your bloodline can control dragons, you’d be pretty self-absorbed too. “There are those who still have Valryian blood but are not dragon lords. Those in the free cities for example. Many came from Valyrian colonies thus many have some Valryian blood though diluted. Lys has the purest, one can tell by the silver-gold hair and violet-purple eyes, characteristics not found amongst any other people of the world. This can vary from white to silver-gold to blond hair, and from lilac, to deep purple, and pale blue eyes.”

“Okay so your blood is magic and because of that you can control dragons. I understand, I suppose that would warrant…incest,” It was a hard pill to sallow. Admiting to yourself that incest was okay. That was something you never thought you’d say. “So do the people of Lys also have incestual…traditions?”

Aemond was quite seemingly thinking while you tried to keep your ‘little’ headache at bay. “I do not know. They say even the small folk have Valyrian features. I do not think they would. Many call Targaryen customs..queer.” There was a small hit of exasperation in his voice.

Understandable.

(Again you’d never thought you’d be justifying it.)

“I thought you had a headache.” Aemond chastised and you simply looked forward.

“I do. It’s not as bad anymore. The fresh air is always nice.”

It wasn’t long before Dragon Stone came into view. A small smile came to your face. Cold winds. Finally.

Vhagar's landing is definitely a lot smoother and if you’re being honest preferable to any other dragons you’ve been on, despite the fact that she’s as tall as the bridge you fell from.

“I’d like to stay near the beach if it’s not too much trouble.” That was probably the nicest way you had spoken to him today.

Aemond said nothing but Vhagar’s body shifted and you held on tight. Finally when she landed you sat still.

“How does one get off?”

You watched Aemond slide off his dragon.

You took thirty minutes trying to climb down.

Finally on the ground you took off your coat and laid it out before you. Finally to take the first step into getting better. A nap.

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked you as you bent down to lay down.

“Take a nap. My head still hurts. I need to sleep.” You looked up at him as if it was obvious before you laid on your side with your arms to prop up your head as a makeshift pillow.

“You begged me to bring you here to nap?” Aemond spoke unamused and you looked up at him half offended.

You never begged. “I never beg.”

“You begged.” Aemond said and normally you’d go back and forth but right now getting rid of this headache took precedence. You went to close your eyes trying to focus on numbing the ache in your head.

Some ginger ale. It was all you wanted.

As you focused on the sound of the waves an Vhagar’s loud breaths you felt as if Aemond was watching you. Listen you knew that both you both knew each other in ways that were not appropriate for the relationship you’re supposed to have but you’d rather not have him watch you while you sleep.

Speaking of you’re glad he has the decency to bring it up. You’d rather not deal with it now.

“You don’t have to stay y’know. I’m fine, you can even go back to King’s Landing.” You spoke without opening your eyes.

“How would you get back?” He asked and you shrugged.

“I’d figure it out. Besides, I probably won’t be better till tomorrow morning, and her grace, Princess Rhaenrya, will have questions as to why you’re here.” Wow, look at you, using titles when it’s not necessary.

“My half sister has no jurisdiction over me.”

“Is this not her land? Prince Jacaerys told me he has been living here for the past couple of years.” Before Aemond could answer you Vhagar laid her head on the ground not too far from you. The thud of her head landing on the floor made you jump a bit. She was enormous. It was amazing to see just how big a dragon can get.

“If I were to leave you’d stay here all night all by yourself on the beach?” Aemond questioned and you paused.

You…actually hadn’t thought about that. You had been so focused on the pain. You’ve been camping before. Besides these dresses were compact. “I’ll be fine. While I could do with a blanket, I can manage.”

Aemond didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the weight of his stare, heavy and considering. You kept your eyes closed, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. If he wanted to hover, fine. That was his prerogative, but you weren’t about to entertain his protectiveness.

“I should leave you here then,” he finally said, though his voice betrayed no intention of actually doing so.

“Please do,” you muttered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. The cold sand beneath your coat was a relief, soothing compared to the relentless pounding in your head.

Aemond huffed lightly, the sound almost amused. “And if wild animals find you?”

You cracked one eye open, staring at him with as much conviction as you could muster in your current state. “I’m sure Vhagar would scare off anything stupid enough to wander close.”

His lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still here,” you retorted, closing your eyes again.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the distant caw of seabirds, and Vhagar’s deep, steady breathing. It was peaceful, almost enough to lull you into sleep despite Aemond’s looming presence.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond said after a while, his tone softer now, though no less resolute. “In case you try to do something foolish.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, half a laugh, half frustration. “Suit yourself.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable. You could still feel his eyes on you, sharp and unyielding. You shifted slightly, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“I’m not going to disappear into the waves or get eaten by some mythical beach monster,” you said, not bothering to open your eyes this time.

“No, but you do have a habit of finding trouble,” Aemond replied smoothly.

You grunted in response, too tired to argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The sound of shifting sand caught your attention, and you cracked your eyes open just in time to see him settle down a few paces away, leaning back against a smooth boulder. His sword was propped up beside him, his posture as regal and composed as ever, even in the wild.

“Are you really going to sit there and watch me sleep?” you asked, incredulous.

Aemond smirked faintly, his one good eye gleaming in the dimming light. “You begged me to bring you here. Consider this my penance for indulging you.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face to block him out. “I didn’t beg,” you mumbled again, your voice muffled.

His quiet chuckle was the last thing you heard before the sound of the waves carried you into uneasy sleep.

Your routine continued in a haze: ‘sleep,’ though it felt as if you were awake the entire time, struggling to control the relentless headache. Then you’d wake to throw up.

Now, it was dark, and the biting chill of the night cut through the air. Your eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows, a groan threatening to escape as every movement sent sharp, echoing pain through your skull.

Finally standing, you glanced around. Aemond was nowhere to be found, though Vhagar’s hulking form still loomed in the near distance, her steady breaths the only sound apart from the waves. That was fine. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this anyway.

With slow, deliberate movements, you stripped off your dress, leaving yourself in the thin white gown customary beneath it. Normally, you’d mutter endless complaints about these heavy, cumbersome period costumes. But tonight, the layers, even the flimsiest ones, offered some semblance of protection from the icy winds.

You shuffled toward the waves, whimpering occasionally as the pain throbbed with each step. The cold water lapped at your feet, a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth that always radiated from your skin. You pressed on until the waves reached your waist, your body trembling as the chill seeped into your bones.

Lowering your head, you gagged, and your stomach heaved violently. Your meals from earlier surfaced, leaving you choking and gasping as tears streamed down your face. It was disgusting, humiliating even, but slowly—mercifully—the iron grip of the headache began to loosen.

“I hate medieval food,” you murmured, rinsing your face with the salty water. The thought of submerging yourself entirely lingered for a moment before you gave in, diving headfirst into the cold waves.

The shock of the water stole your breath, but you stayed under, letting your body adjust to the temperature. When you surfaced, the fresh air of Dragonstone filled your lungs, sharp and briny. You wiped your eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt. This was the first time you’d been to the beach since arriving here, and despite everything, it felt... nice.

You let yourself drift, floating on your back, the waves cradling you like an old friend. The nagging thought that something might be lurking beneath the surface tugged at the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside. The dull ache in your skull was finally easing, and for once, that was enough.

The water around you grew warmer—too warm to be natural—but your exhaustion dulled your caution. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed at you to get out, to flee the dark, unknown waters of a world filled with magic and monsters. But you stayed, the pain in your head too fresh a memory to relinquish the relief now washing over you.

You don’t know how long you floated in the water shivering in the waves. The water seemed to grow warmer around you, almost unnaturally so, but the relief in your skull dulled your caution. A part of you screamed that this was a terrible idea—floating in magical waters under a night sky that might hide anything, especially in a world like this.

Had you been in a better state of mind, you’d have bolted from the waves the moment you stepped in. Unknown waters, magical creatures, the dark—none of it boded well. But the pain had been unbearable, and now that it was subsiding, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You rinsed your mouth with seawater, grimacing at the salty sting as you tried to erase the acidic taste clinging to the back of your throat. It was crude and far from what you were used to—damn, how you missed a toothbrush—but it would have to do.

The waves carried you lazily back toward the beach. With your ears submerged, the world grew muffled, as though the ocean had swallowed all sound. And yet, it felt as if you could hear every secret the water held—a low hum beneath the surface, ancient and endless.

Above you, the night sky stretched impossibly vast, the stars scattered like shards of broken glass across a dark tapestry. No matter how long you’d been here, the skies of this world never failed to leave you breathless.

It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt.

You stared up at infinity, caught in its embrace, swaying in the currents of another. Forever trapped between two infinities.

Forever was a long time.

The thought pressed heavy on your chest. You were a long way from home, farther than distance could measure. Your family, your friends, your world—they were all an infinity away, unreachable, untouchable.

And for the first time tonight, the ache in your chest felt sharper than the one in your head.

Still, a nagging thought crept into the back of your mind, one you tried to suppress as you stared at the horizon. The warmth of the water wasn’t normal. The fact that you felt better wasn’t normal. And standing alone in the dark with Vhagar’s massive presence behind you wasn’t particularly smart and Aemond wasn’t here if she decided she wanted a midnight snack.

But the pounding in your skull was gone, that alone, at least to you, was more than enough for you to stay.

You stayed in the water a while longer, letting the gentle rhythm of the waves soothe what was left of your frayed nerves. The cold wind nipped at your cheeks, sharp and biting, but it was a welcome change from the suffocating heat that often clung to your skin.

Finally, with a deep breath you dove under the water swimming with the rhythm of the waves until you rose from the waves. The thin fabric hung tightly to you leaving nothing to the imagination. As you walked the weight of the waves wore you down making the trek more arduous than it should’ve been. By the time you reached the beach, your toes were numb, and a deep shiver rattled through your body.

As the wind blew you felt your hardened buds against the wet fabric. It was cold.

Vhagar shifted slightly, her massive head lifting just enough to acknowledge your presence. Her glowing eyes tracked your movements, unblinking, as you wrung water from your gown and sat on the cold, hard sand near the waves lapping at your feet. It was strange how something so immense could feel so alive, so keenly aware.

“You’re not very subtle,” you murmured, glancing her way. “I know you’re watching me.”

The dragon let out a low rumble, the vibrations coursing through the ground beneath you. It almost sounded like understanding.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, pushing it back from your face. Above, the stars blazed brighter than you’d ever seen. You’d heard stories of a time when Earth’s skies had looked like this—before light pollution, when you could see Saturn and its rings with the naked eye. But that world was gone, and this one was an infinity apart.

Your thoughts wandered as they often did. There was so much to accomplish, but would there ever be enough time? Could you even manage it on your own? Lately, it felt like you were spinning in circles, chasing impossible dreams. Maybe it would be easier to give up, to settle into whatever semblance of a normal life this world allowed.

You imagined it for a moment: marrying some minor lord, living quietly far from King’s Landing.

Dragon Stone really was perfect for you.It was remote, beautiful, and peaceful in its own austere way.

Too bad Jacaerys was already betrothed. Not that you wanted to be queen—what a nightmare that would be. Still, the idea of staying here, on this island, far from the chaos of the realm, was tempting.

Your musings drifted to Aemond. Where had he gone? Had he truly left you here alone for the night? Or was he somewhere nearby, watching? Perhaps he was inside the castle, receiving the hospitality due a prince, while you were left out here with the dragon. You could only hope he’d given Vhagar strict orders not to burn or eat you.

Your eyes flicked toward the dunes, half-expecting to see the pale glint of his hair in the moonlight. But there was nothing—only the quiet rhythm of the waves and Vhagar’s occasional huff.

The headache that had plagued you earlier was gone now, leaving behind an odd hollowness. It wasn't a relief, not exactly. It felt more like the eerie stillness that follows a storm.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you rested your chin atop them and whispered to no one, “This place is beautiful. But it’s not home.”

Vhagar rumbled again, softer this time, and for some inexplicable reason, it felt like a response.

You sat in silence for a while, soaking in the world around you. The air carried the sharp tang of salt and seaweed, the waves shimmering silver beneath the starlight. It was peaceful in a way that almost made you forget the strange, perilous world you’d fallen into.

Almost.

The cold eventually drove you to move. You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself, and eyed the faint outline of a cave further down the beach. It looked shallow, but it would block the wind well enough. Glancing at Vhagar, you asked, “Don’t suppose you’d let me sleep under your wing, huh?”

The dragon huffed, almost dismissively, and shifted her massive body to face the sea.

“Didn’t think so,” you muttered. You waded back into the waves to rinse off the sand clinging to your skin, then retrieved your clothes and trudged toward the cave.

The cave wasn’t much warmer, but it was shelter. You spread your coat on the ground and folded your dress into a makeshift pillow. The chill seeped into your bones as you lay down, shivering, but exhaustion overtook you anyway.

Sleep came fitfully, filled with dreams of fire and shadow. Unfamiliar voices whispered in the darkness, speaking words you couldn’t understand but felt in your very core.

When you woke, the sky was a faint, pale blue, dawn creeping over the horizon. You sat up, shivering, your body stiff and cold, and froze when you saw him.

Aemond stood at the cave’s entrance, silent and imposing. His sharp gaze pinned you in place, unreadable as ever.

“You’re back,” you rasped, your voice rough with sleep.

“I never left,” he replied evenly, stepping closer. His eye glinted in the dim light. “You’re more impulsive than I gave you credit for.”

You shivered slightly as you stretched, your limbs still stiff from the cold. Your hair, now dry from the saltwater, felt rough and brittle beneath your fingers—its natural state enhanced but worsened by the seawater. “How much did you see?” you asked, running a hand through the unruly strands.

“I saw you dive into the water, swim in it, and parade yourself nearly nude.” Aemond’s lone eye never left you as you reclined back on the sand, stretching lazily.

“Is that all?” you asked lightly, masking your relief. If he had been far enough away, he wouldn’t have seen the more private parts of your ordeal—the headache and the mess you had to "resolve."

“You are reckless,” Aemond said, his voice sharp with disapproval.

“Reckless?” you echoed, the word sitting oddly on your tongue as you rolled your shoulders, joints popping with every motion. “That’s rich coming from you. And, may I add, I wasn’t ‘parading myself.’ I was walking.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips—amusement, maybe, or something close to it. “I am reckless with purpose,” he said evenly. “You, however, seem intent on tempting fate for no reason. What if someone had seen you in such a state, leaving little to the imagination?”

You scoffed, pulling your coat tighter around yourself against the chill. “Then they’d have seen,” you said with a shrug, as if the idea was hardly worth considering. “It’s not like I have anything to hide, but besides ‘parading myself’ what else exactly did I do to offend your sense of self-preservation this time?”

His eye narrowed slightly, the movement subtle but telling. “Swimming alone in the dark when you’ve no idea what lurks beneath the surface. Lying exposed on the beach with nothing but Vhagar to protect you. Shall I continue?”

“You already mentioned the second one,” you said, tilting your head as though to soften the bite in your voice. “As for the first… Well, life without a little danger is a little boring, don’t you think?”

Aemond’s silence stretched for a moment before he tilted his head, his tone suddenly laced with something more cutting. “Do you always allow others to see what you hide beneath your clothing?”

As you stood up there was a faint pop that punctuated the tense air that your legs gave. “No,” you replied, meeting his gaze evenly ignoring the slight dull paint that was beginning to seep into the bones of your legs. “But if someone happens to come across me… what am I supposed to do about it? It’s not the end of the world.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Then our… encounter,” he began, his voice quiet but firm, “I assume it was not an uncommon occurrence?”

You flinched at his words, quickly looking away. So much for never speaking about it again.

“No,” you admitted after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “That was… out of character for me.”

The air between you grew heavier, the distant crash of the waves filling the silence. You shivered, tugging your coat tighter and debating whether to pull on your dress for more coverage. Aemond, as always, was impossible to read, his gaze steady and unwavering even as you avoided it.

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the space, thick with unspoken tension. You felt the ends of your hair being tugged by the breeze before the warmth of hands settled on your shoulders.

“You smell of the sea,” Aemond murmured, his voice low.

You instinctively stepped away, narrowing your eyes. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable. “In the way you always smell.”

His gaze lingered, and you suddenly found yourself thinking of that night—a memory that had lingered too close to the surface.

“Well,” you pressed, shifting uncomfortably and picking up your belongings, clutching them against your chest to guard against the wind’s sharp bite. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Aemond didn’t answer. Instead, his eye bore into you with a look that felt far too knowing, though unfamiliar in its intensity. You rolled your eyes and strode out of the cave, the wind whipping against you like a sharp rebuke.

“Me duelen los huesos,” you muttered, the ache in your legs creeping higher with each step.

“Where are you going?” Aemond’s voice carried over the sound of the wind, and you turned back to see him still standing in the cave’s shadows.

“To Vhagar,” you replied, your tone curt. Where else would you go? There was work to be done, and indulging in any more moments of weakness was a luxury you couldn’t afford. You had responsibilities—stressful ones that, if neglected, could mean far worse than wrinkles or gray hair.

“She’ll burn you,” Aemond said flatly, turning his back to you as if dismissing the conversation entirely.

“Excuse me?” you called, incredulous, but he disappeared further into the cave. Huffing, you marched back after him. “Hello! I’m better now. I need to get back to King’s Landing—some of us actually have things to do. Things that, I might add, very much determine—”

You cut yourself off, biting your tongue before you said too much.

Aemond turned, his smirk sharp enough to cut through stone. “Like what? What could you possibly have to work on? My father has resumed his place on the Small Council. Isn’t that the extent of your duties?”

His mocking tone, paired with that damned smirk, lit a fire in your chest. He had backed you into a corner, and he knew it. You glanced toward the beach, considering the slim possibility of escape. Jacaerys might be able to help if you found him, but would Aemond even let you leave?

Frustrated, you slipped off your shoes and stomped out of the cave. Vhagar loomed ahead, her massive form outlined against the horizon, her ancient eyes gleaming with something that felt unsettlingly knowing.

“Let me through?” you muttered, stepping cautiously toward her.

Vhagar didn’t budge. Instead, steam hissed from her nostrils in warning, stopping you in your tracks. The heat singed your exposed skin, and you hissed in pain, though the cool wind quickly soothed it.

Meeting her gaze, you felt a shiver run down your spine. There was no getting past her. With a sigh of defeat, you turned back toward the cave, glancing briefly at Aemond, who now watched with a smug, satisfied look that only worsened your irritation.

Once inside, you sat down heavily on the sand, wrapping your cloak tightly around your legs and hugging your dress close for warmth.

“When can we go back?” you asked, your voice heavy with displeasure.

Aemond leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, his sharp eye glittering with amusement. “When you answer my questions.”

You furrowed your brows. “What questions?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, almost predatorily, before pivoting back toward you. “What exactly is it that you do, besides tend to my father?”

“Nothing.” The response left your mouth too quickly, too defensively.

Aemond’s lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk. “You’re lying. I’ve heard rumors of your... misdoings.”

You crossed your arms, lifting a brow in unamused defiance. “That’s hardly a reliable source. If you’re going to accuse me of something, at least have the decency to find the evidence yourself.”

He leaned back slightly, gaze sharp and unrelenting. “I’ve seen you use the secret passages. How is it that you discovered them?”

The memory made you smile despite the tension. “Funny story, actually. I leaned back against a wall one day, and it just... opened. Coolest moment of my life. Felt like a super-spy. Like Carmen Sandiego.” No actually you were listening to music and you were being dramatic while acting out whatever imaginary scenario you had that day and just so happened to open the wall.

The name, foreign and bizarre in this time, had no effect on him.

He said nothing, his expression an unyielding mask.

“You’ve gone to a whorehouse.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration.

God, the spies here really were everywhere. You winced, trying to recover. “Well, I’m avidly against human trafficking—”

“What is a journalist?” he interrupted, cutting you off with no patience for your deflections.

You blinked. “Rude. But as I said, I was messing with words.”

“You invent words, then?”

“Yup. That’s me. An innovator. Ahead of my time,” you quipped. Quite literally, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A journalist.”

“Why are you so caught up on that? Look, it’s just two words smashed together—actually, no, scratch that. I thought of someone who makes journals. Hence, journalist. Boom. Genius at work.”

He didn’t look impressed.

“That night,” he pressed again.

You groaned loudly, leaning back and throwing your arms up. “Ugh! What more do you want from me? My soul? I’m tired of your interrogation.”

“You’ll answer until I am satisfied,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “What was on the table?”

The seriousness in his voice made your stomach tighten. You hesitated, weighing your options before sighing. “Do you really want to know? It’s the reason I need to get back. My life quite literally depends on that sheet of paper.”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer to you and sitting down. Instinctively, you scooted back, putting a safer distance between you.

“What is it?”

“It’s... not as interesting as you think,” you deflected.

“What is it?” His voice was sharper this time, cutting through your weak attempt to delay.

You sighed, knowing there was no escape. “It’s an equation.”

“For what?” he demanded, his impatience evident.

“You said earlier—what purpose do I serve other than tending to the king? Truth is, I don’t have one. The second your father dies, I lose the little protection I have. Your uncle isn’t particularly fond of me, and the feeling is mutual. I have to build my value to stay alive.” It was a half-truth, but it would keep him at bay.

His expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye. You swallowed hard and continued. “I’m no one here. No family name to lean on. The Citadel despises me because I’ve accomplished in a month what their ‘maesters’ haven’t managed in decades. And, of course, that leads to accusations—witchcraft, blasphemy, what have you. So I’ve earned the ire of the Faith as well. No wealth. No rights. And worst of all, I’m a woman. What value do I have that guarantees my survival?”

“None,” Aemond said without hesitation.

You nodded grimly. “Exactly. So I’m creating one. That project you saw on the table? It’s my ticket to longevity.”

“What project?”

You hesitated again, knowing how dangerous this could be. Otto and Alicent had been clear. No one was to know of their request, and you couldn’t agree more.

“To find the pH balance of the spring near King’s Landing,” you lied smoothly.

Aemond furrowed his brows, confused. “What?”

“I’m creating a water system to deliver clean water to the people of King’s Landing,” you explained, hoping the truth buried within the lie would be convincing. “And to establish a sewer system to reduce illness. It’s basic sanitation, really.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you closely, his expression unreadable. “You mean to do what the maesters have failed to achieve for centuries.”

“Precisely,” you said with a small smile, leaning into the absurdity of it. “Like I said—innovator. Ahead of my time.”

You shivered again, warmth creeping unbidden up your face as you and Aemond locked eyes. The silence between you stretched, heavy and unspoken, until you broke it with an awkward cough, quickly averting your gaze.

“Anyways,” you began, your voice a touch too loud in the stillness. “I need to go back. I haven’t figured out the equation yet, and there are people breathing down my neck.”

Aemond tilted his head, his expression unreadable, though his single eye seemed to pierce straight through you. “And how do you intend to fund it? Do you expect the crown to pay for such an undertaking?”

His words carried a subtle edge, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “The crown?” you scoffed lightly. “Please. If I even hinted at asking for funding, the Hand would have me thrown out on principle.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or disdain, you couldn’t tell. “Then how will you manage it? A project of that scale requires significant resources.”

You avoided his gaze, staring instead at the fire crackling nearby. “I’ll find a way,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Heat flushed your cheeks, and despite the chill in the cave, a fine sheen of sweat began to gather at your temples. “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Aemond studied you in silence, his sharp gaze catching the faint tremor in your hands as you brushed them over your arms. “You’re unwell,” he stated flatly, his tone more matter-of-fact than concerned.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to sound composed. Clearing your throat, you added, “It’s just cold in here.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching a brow. “You seem flushed for someone who claims to be cold. You were foolish to go into the water.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m not sick.” You couldn’t be sick. Not here, of all places. Your immune system couldn’t fail you now. Still, the growing ache in your bones hinted otherwise.

No, you decided. You were just dehydrated. At least, you hoped so.

You stood up, but your legs wavered beneath you, and the chill seemed to cut deeper. A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. No, this couldn’t be happening. You only got sick once a year, and you’d already had your turn. Right?

Aemond’s eye flicked to you, unamused. “You need more clothes,” he remarked, his voice cool and matter-of-fact.

You sank back down, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I’ll be fine.”

“You need to be inside. Somewhere warm,” he insisted, his gaze shifting toward the castle.

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, I’ll be fine right here. Just a little more rest.”

Aemond stepped closer, deliberate and measured, his presence imposing. You stiffened, refusing to meet his gaze as his shadow fell over you. “Rest won’t help if you’re running a fever,” he said.

“I don’t have a fever,” you muttered, though the unsteady wobble in your voice betrayed you.

His eye narrowed as if testing your words. Before you could pull away, he reached out, his fingers brushing your forehead. The coolness of his touch against your overheated skin was both a relief and an unwelcome confirmation.

“You’re burning,” he observed, his tone devoid of sympathy.

You said nothing, pulling your cloak tighter as you curled up on the sand. Closing your eyes, you hoped he would leave, though the faint ache in your bones refused to relent.

Then came the rumble.

Your eyes shot open, heart leaping as the ground seemed to quake beneath you. You turned just in time to see Vhagar looming over the cave entrance, her massive jaws parting as an ominous red glow flickered in the depths of her throat.

Panic overtook you as you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking beneath you. “Okay! Okay! I’ll go! Please!” you shrieked, stumbling forward in a half-run, half-crawl. Your limbs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort.

You collapsed onto the sand, gasping as heat surged behind you. Bracing yourself for the worst, you closed your eyes and waited for the fire to consume you.

But it didn’t.

The warmth grew, yes, but it was strangely gentle. Tentatively, you turned back, expecting an inferno but finding Aemond standing before Vhagar, his figure shadowed against the glow of her fire.

He looked at you with a near-mocking smirk, one brow arched in that way that made you want to slap him. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice hoarse.

Aemond’s smirk deepened. “You thought she’d burn you?”

You hesitated, feeling the heat of embarrassment join your fever. “Well, yeah! She had her mouth open and everything!”

The deadpan look he gave you only made you feel more foolish. Slowly, you stepped closer to the dragon, your legs still trembling. Vhagar’s warmth washed over you, and despite yourself, you leaned into it, feeling the tension in your body start to melt away.

“You could have said something,” you muttered, refusing to meet Aemond’s amused gaze.

“And miss the show?” he replied, his smirk never wavering.

You pressed your cloak closer to your body, trying to stave off the shaking that you hoped he didn’t notice. “You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

Aemond raised a brow but said nothing, his gaze lingering on you as you slumped against a nearby rock, the heat from Vhagar providing some relief. The silence between you stretched for a moment before your vision swam slightly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

The ache in your bones had worsened, and the clammy sweat that clung to your skin was impossible to ignore. Your head throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse, and the warmth you’d sought now felt suffocating, as if it was seeping into your very core.

“You’re getting worse,” Aemond said, his tone cool but edged with something unreadable.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied weakly, though even you could hear how unconvincing you sounded. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make the ache in your muscles more unbearable.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he remarked, stepping closer. “Your stubbornness will only make this worse.”

“Thank you, Maester Aemond,” you muttered sarcastically, your words slurring slightly.

He crouched beside you, his sharp eye scanning your face. “Your fever is worsening. You need proper care.”

You shook your head, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness overtook you. “I can’t. I told you, King’s Landing is crawling with sickness. If I go, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Die there?” Aemond interrupted, his voice colder now. He tilted his head, regarding you with what could only be described as irritation. “Your logic is as flawed as your health.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a wave of exhaustion hit you like a crashing tide, and you found yourself leaning against the rock behind you, your body too heavy to fight gravity.

Aemond’s expression shifted, his usual stoicism faltering for a moment. He reached for you again, this time his hand resting against your cheek. The coolness of his touch was a stark contrast to the fire coursing through your veins, and you found yourself leaning into it despite your better judgment.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, his voice lower now, as if speaking to himself.

You shook your head, even though you didn’t believe it anymore.

“You’re not staying here to prove a point,” Aemond countered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You pushed his hand away, forcing your eyes open to meet his. He was closer than you liked, his presence crowding you against the unyielding rock behind you. Your instinct was to retreat, but there was nowhere to go, so instead, you averted your gaze, focusing on the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

“King’s Landing or Dragonstone,” he pressed, his tone firm. “Either way, you’ll be treated by a maester.”

The ultimatum hung heavy between you, and you glared at him, lips pressing into a stubborn line. After a moment, you relented, lifting a shaky hand to gesture toward the mouth of the cave.

“Speak, woman,” Aemond snapped, his frustration palpable as he leaned in closer. You stiffened at the proximity, your discomfort now twofold—his nearness and your mounting fever. Last night’s tension still lingered between you, and you couldn’t forget the distance you’d carefully maintained.

And, of course, your toothbrush was miles away. Oral hygiene was non-negotiable for you, even now.

You shook your head, stubbornly pointing outside again.

“You were speaking fine a moment ago,” Aemond said, his voice low with irritation. “Speak!”

But you ignored him, leaning back against the rock and closing your eyes. The fever had sapped whatever energy you had left, and the only thing you could do now was focus on conserving warmth.

“King’s Landing it is, then,” Aemond muttered, the words barely audible but enough to make your eyes snap open.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could make a move. You didn’t have the strength to argue, so you simply shook your head and pointed toward the cave’s entrance again.

“Dragonstone?” he questioned, his voice softer now.

You nodded, releasing his wrist and pushing weakly against him to create some space. His steady gaze lingered on you, but you avoided it, focusing on the task of standing.

Aemond extended a hand to you, his sharp features unreadable. You glanced at it briefly before shaking your head, lifting your trembling hand in polite refusal.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs wobbling dangerously beneath you. Each step felt like dragging lead, and soft groans of discomfort escaped your lips despite your efforts to suppress them.

You’d get over this. It was just a cold—nothing more. Right?

Aemond’s gaze followed you closely as you staggered forward, his expression unreadable. He didn’t offer another word, but the intensity of his scrutiny made it clear he wasn’t about to let you falter.

For now, you trudged on, stubbornness and fever battling for dominance, with only the distant promise of Dragonstone to keep you moving.

You walked outside, swayed by the harsh wind that bit through your coat like it wasn’t even there. The salt in the air stung your nose, and every gust seemed to leech more warmth from your fevered body.

Tilting your head back, you took in the towering heights of Dragonstone looming above you. Its jagged cliffs and forbidding spires seemed endless, cutting sharply into the gray sky. You let out a dejected sigh, your breath visible in the cold. There was no way you were making it up there in your condition.

You turned your gaze to Aemond, who stood just behind you, the firelight from the cave catching on the sharp planes of his face. His lips curved into a smug smirk as he regarded your shivering figure, his eye glinting with something close to amusement.

“Do you admit defeat so soon?” he drawled, taking a deliberate step closer.

You turned, keeping close to Vhagar's massive frame, using her bulk to shield yourself from the relentless wind. Each step was a trial, the cold gnawing at you, and every ache in your body screamed in protest. Your arms felt as heavy as your legs, your fever-fueled fatigue dragging you down with each passing moment.

By the time you reached the stone stairs leading up to the castle, your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest burning with the effort. The journey that should have been manageable felt insurmountable, and yet you pushed forward, dragging your feet up the uneven steps.

You managed only a handful more steps before your legs finally gave out beneath you, crumpling like they’d forgotten their purpose. The cold stone bit into your hands and knees as you fell, but you barely registered the pain. The icy wind whipped past, tearing through your coat and into your fevered skin like knives, making you tremble violently.

Leaning back against the cold, unyielding stone wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather what strength you had left. Your body felt like it was on fire, each pulse of your heart sending fresh waves of heat through your veins, only to clash with the icy air around you.

This fever—so sudden and all-consuming—had never taken you like this before. You’d been sick before, of course, but never under these conditions. Then again, you’d never tried to climb a mountain of stairs in freezing winds while your body waged war against itself.

Your breathing slowed, each exhale a visible puff in the chill. Despite the danger of the cold and the impossibility of your situation, your exhaustion was overwhelming. Just a small nap, you told yourself, just enough to regain your strength.

The stone at your back felt harder and colder with every passing second, but you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy and unwilling to stay open. You let your head tilt back, your shivering starting to subside—not from warmth, but from sheer weariness.

Somewhere distant, a voice—sharp and commanding—called your name. But you were too tired to respond, too drained to move. Surely, just a moment of rest wouldn’t hurt.

Would it?

Note: This is in honor of me getting sick for like the first time in a year. Anyways lemme know what y'all think! Also So sorry for the delay. Finals are ass.

Previous I Next I Masterlist

To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑/Gen Masterlist

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howyouloveyourdragon · 1 year ago

Text

dividers by hitobaby

͎𓇢𓆸 Lavender Haze ʚɞ Summary: 'Meet me at midnight...', The Realm's Delight has a secret, a secret that she delights in Fleabottom with unapproved company... ʚɞ Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Prostitute!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Brief sexual content

͎𓇢𓆸 Mastermind ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra, eldest child of Viserys Targaryen who is leader of one of the strongest businesses finds herself enraptured by a pretty reporter ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Journalist!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: None

𓇢𓆸 Pearls* ʚɞ Summary: Three women, two purses and one whirlwind affair behind your best friend's back. It was never supposed to go past your uni accommodation but suddenly a set of pearls look very appealing...will you bite the bait? ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Sugar Mommy!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Sugar Baby!Reader x Modern!Sugar Mommy!Alicent Hightower ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (edging, mommy kink, cunnilingus, light bondage, strap-on)

🇼🇮🇵🇸 𓇢𓆸 A Sunset Seal ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra had never much liked the thought of being used like a pawn and especially not after she meets a mysterious man who also hates the chains that marriage embraces. When they both find themselves betrothed to people unknown they plan to run away together...they just do not know how very close they are to their own curse ʚɞ Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male!Martell!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals

𓇢𓆸 Of Lances and Thorns ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra's world stopped spinning the day her father married her best friend but when her wallowing is interrupted by the chastised older Hightower, she finds that there may be some silver amidst her grey. ʚɞ Pairing: Princess!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male!Hightower!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals, misogyny, smut

𓇢𓆸 Perfect* ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra has never been more bored than when on her tour for marital prospects...but then she met that sweet red haired girl with the most sweet doe eyes. What doesn't bore her are all the stirring images her mind curates at the sight of the innocent riña in her bed. ʚɞ Pairing: Princess!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Tully!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut

͎𓇢𓆸 Only Queen ʚɞ Summary: A Queen needs her loyal handmaiden...even when her heart and hope has been broken and torn from her without a further glance... ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Alicent Hightower x Fem!Handmaiden!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: None

͎𓇢𓆸 Last Kiss ʚɞ Summary: 'I never thought we'd have a last kiss...' If Alicent had known that that would be your last kiss then she would have held you a lot tighter... ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Alicent Hightower x Fem!Handmaiden!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Death

🇼🇮🇵🇸 𓇢𓆸 The Set Up ʚɞ Summary: Alicent is determined to find Rhaenyra a compelling match and Y/n is determined to gift his uncle a throne. When they mutually agree to convince the Velaryon's cousin to propose to the heir of Westeros, a young Queen and Lord find their intentions swaying in the worst way. They are falling in love. ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Alicent Hightower x Male!Velaryon!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals, misogyny, tooth-aching fluff

𓇢𓆸 My Breeze of Decay ʚɞ Summary: Falling in love comes easy to you, a love match unites you with a beauty of the Lands and once you are wed, you could not be more elated...until a horrible incident occurs and her fate is left with the gods. Can you travel the journey to her? ʚɞ Pairing: Eurydice!Alicent Hightower x Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Death

𓇢𓆸 Everybody Wants You ʚɞ Summary: You're tired of all the rumours; that your betrothed has found loyalties of the heart elsewhere, in Winterfell. ʚɞ Pairing: Heir!Jacaerys Velaryon x Betrothed!Fem!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Infidelity accusations, miscommunication, angst, eventual fluff

𓇢𓆸 Namesday ʚɞ Summary: You spend your namesday with you two favourite princes... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader x Prince!Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (piv, cunnilingus)

𓇢𓆸 The Heart Bestowed ʚɞ Summary: Jacaerys loves nothing more than a duty fulfilled. Y/n has other impressions. Ever since they were young, they presumed that they would some day find one another in the Sept amongst family and reciting practiced vows to one another. However, they could not be more different nor more infuriated in their joined presence. Neither of them have any greater desires than to quell the other...So why do they feel so disappointed when they are both betrothed to another? ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Tyrell!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals

𓇢𓆸 No Rest For The Dragons ʚɞ Summary: All is quiet but no sense of peace can be caught between your fingertips, not even at night and so it is difficult to find sleep. Not until you win the war and crown your prince victorious...Your betrothed, Jacaerys, seems to have other priorities. ʚɞ Pairing: Heir!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Betrothed!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Talk of war

𓇢𓆸 The Softest Love ʚɞ Summary: Sometimes all you need is a gentle lover and a comforting hand, Jacaerys knows this all too well with you at his side and a crown at his temple ʚɞ Pairing: King!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Wife!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Brief talk of war

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𓇢𓆸 Just a Little ʚɞ Summary: You cannot remember a day where your heart has ever swelled nor a day where your throat has caught so quickly than the night you met Cregan Stark with his broad arms and swoon-worthy stare. He is the epitome of the North, resembling a man stern, sensible and strong. You are sure that no man is more worthy of your love and attention. So you enlist the assistance of your childhood friend Jacaerys. You have never been wondrous in your attempts to charm suitors but the man to have a new love every travel? He surely must know what can romance your newest interest, you are also certain that your love trusts him above no other. They are practically brothers. But when Jacaerys agrees, willing to give you the sun if you so much as wish it, you start to feel a growing warmth in your gut, a curling ribbon squeezing your heart. Oh dear... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Best-Friend!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Mild angst

𓇢𓆸 Lack of Lessons ʚɞ Summary: "Love comes later,, Your mother had told you - promised you - and yet you feel no love as the King's son rolls his eyes at your presence and begrudgingly takes your hand...Until a second prince catches your eye. You find yourself in lessons with his nephew as you both learn to navigate the new world you have been thrust into. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaron x Fem!Highborn!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Rivals to lovers, betrothals

𓇢𓆸 Gold Rush ʚɞ Summary: 'I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush...' Aegon didn’t like most people but he liked you until it tore him from the inside out. You’re perfect, his gold and shimmering light. The problem? He’s not perfect. He’s not even a third of what you will one day amount to and everybody knows it…even him. ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: angst, mentions & depictions of alcoholism, car crash, fluff

𓇢𓆸 Sweet Girl* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon and Aemond are less than impressed when they hear that their sweet girl has been betrothed to a man of House Blackwood. They decide she must be claimed in every way a dragon can be claimed and perhaps they may discover even more. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aegon II Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Prince!Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (piv, oral (male & female receiving,light degradation, spit, praise, corruption, overstimulation, soft, rough, hickeys), possessiveness, incest

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𓇢𓆸 Prince of Rouge* ʚɞ Summary: Moulin Rouge AU - The year is 1899 when you enter your new city's most hailed night club and meet the mysterious Aegon. After a night of passion and lingering glances, you come to find that he has already been promised to another and a choice paints your mind. Fizzle your desires or dance in secret hallways. ʚɞ Pairing: Satine!Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut

𓇢𓆸 The Memories* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon hadn't touched his drinks in years but when he sees your face in his nightmares, he will do anything to forget that fateful night. ʚɞ Pairing: King!Aegon II Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, Betrothals

𓇢𓆸 Eagerness* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon has never craved anything like he has craved the eagerness of your touch... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aegon II Targaryen x Greyjoy!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut

𓇢𓆸 Some Thread of Time ʚɞ Summary: It has been years since Aemond has seen his childhood companion, once attached to the hip and now mere strangers harbouring the same memories but no matter how long it's been, he can't seem to let go ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Highborn!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst

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𓇢𓆸 Some Seam of Regret ʚɞ Summary: Aemond's childhood love has finally returned to court after a less than standard herald calls for her...But she arrives with her husband. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Married!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst, death

𓇢𓆸 Some Ghost of Time ʚɞ Summary: Before betrothals and schemes and untold plots; a prince loved a lady and a lady loved a prince. Never had a soul think such a pairing to be doomed but alas they do not know yet of this tale... ʚɞ Pairing: Young!Prince!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Married!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst, depiction of violence

𓇢𓆸 Crystals* ʚɞ Summary: You have been a travelling bard ever since you were young but after accidentally being left in Harrenhal, you are left at the mercy of a witch and her prince... ʚɞ Pairing: Dark!Alys Rivers x Bard!Reader x Dark!Prince Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, obsession, possessiveness

𓇢𓆸 Maroon ʚɞ Summary: 'The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon...' All will be well so long as Helaena is able to keep her precious handmaiden safe...if she is not? Well that is another question... ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Handmaiden!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst, mention of suicide

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𓇢𓆸 I Think He did It ʚɞ Summary: Helaena has been your friend for a long time. She tells you everything, what she ate that morning, whether her spider, Dreamfyre, snuck out again or how the children are but most importantly where she suspects her husband to be spending his nights because it is most certainly not in her bed. So it is no surprise who you are suspicious of when she suddenly goes missing. ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Best-Friend!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Murder, infidelity

𓇢𓆸 Remnants* ʚɞ Summary: They say that you never forget your first love but the vultures are prey to weakness and intend to infiltrate Daemon’s own desires to preserve his adere riñus (slippery girl). Some say the woman will forever remain in his conscience, guiding his bloodied sword and singing sweet lost lullabies to lay his rest. For it has been too long since the volatile dragon slept peaceful. A prince with more gold than he can keep. A prince who can demand whatever he wishes and command any army. And yet all he is left with…All he is left with are the remnants of her which he swore to cherish as religiously as he would an idol. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Lowborn!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, derogatory language, prejudice, angst, disease, character death, fluff, infidelity, slowburn, classism

𓇢𓆸 The Moon ʚɞ Summary: History remembers names, not blood, he knows that all too well so why are you so important to The Sea Snake, the bastard of the Rogue Prince ʚɞ Pairing: Corlys Velaryon x Fem!Targaryen!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: None

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𓇢𓆸 The Study of Affection ʚɞ Summary: Cregan Stark cannot say that he is used to romance which is why it is so nerve-wracking when he realises the princess expects him to court her rather than negotiate an arrangement. The lord finds himself in need of help and your nephew is more than eager to provide. ʚɞ Pairing: Hand!Cregan x Fem!Targtower!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Pining

#masterlist #house of the dragon masterlist #hotd masterlist #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aegon ii x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #corlys velaryon x reader

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the-fiction-witch · 6 months ago

Text

My Dragoness

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Viserys Targaryen Couple - Viserys X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18 + fingering/ anal/ squirting/ bj/ facial/ ejaculate/ spanking/ mastubating / dom x sub/ Word Count - 2062

Part Two to My Dragon

Viserys's gaze snapped back into focus, his eyes locking onto Y/n's with a calculating intensity. “Now,” he said, “now we begin our true work.” he sighed, “The time has come,” Viserys declared, “for us to reclaim the Iron Throne. We've been waiting for too long, gathering strength and resources in secret. It's time to strike, to show the Seven Kingdoms that we will not be ignored.” He sat up keeping Y/n in his arms, his eyes burning with determination as he surveyed their surroundings. “We need a plan, a strategy to take back Westeros.”

she nodded "I am no good for war my dragon, should I summon your men to discuss? Or should I just listen while I pleasure my king?" She cooed

Viserys's gaze narrowed, his mind racing with the implications of her words. But beneath the surface, a spark of desire flared to life, fueled by the promise of pleasure “No,” he growled, “don't summon anyone yet. Not until I'm done with you. You'll listen to me, and only me, as I tell you exactly how to make me feel.” he smirked, “And as for pleasing your king…Your mouth,” Viserys commanded, “is going to be busy tonight. You'll suck me dry, take every last drop of cum. And then you'll swallow, swallowing everything I give you.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers in a rough, possessive kiss. “Now get to work, my queen.”

she nodded and moved to her knees taking his cock in her mouth without hesitation licking the seed from his cock after the previous orgasms inside her as well as her own jucies,

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head, his body arching off the bed as she sucked him with a ferocity that left him breathless. “Yes,” he hissed, “just like that. Deeper, harder, take it all. Don't stop, don't slow down.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, gripping tight as she worked him over with her tongue and lips. His hips pumped upward, fucking her mouth with abandon as he chased the next orgasm. “I can feel it building,”

Viserys whispered, “a storm is coming, and I'm not just talking about the weather. The people are restless, hungry for power and revenge. They'll follow me, blindly loyal to the Targaryen name.” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a fierce light. “It's time to gather our allies, to forge alliances and make deals. We'll need the support of the Great Houses, their armies and resources if we're to succeed. But there's one thing holding us back…the question of who will sit upon the Iron Throne once we've reclaimed it.” Viserys's gaze locked onto hers, piercing and intense.

she nodded as she sucked and licked

Viserys's grip on her hair tightened, his body tensing as he approached the brink of orgasm. “Don't stop,” he growled, “keep sucking, keep licking. I want to feel it build, to feel myself spill over the edge.” He thrust deeper into her mouth, his cock pulsating with tension as he teetered on the precipice. And then, in a burst of release, he came, spilling his seed down her throat as she swallowed every last drop. Viserys collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent and exhausted.

Y/n swallowed it all but she didn't stop, moaning down his cock as she works

Viserys's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto hers as he felt a surge of renewed desire course through his veins “You're…you're killing me,” he gasped, “with those sounds, with that mouth. Keep going, Y/n, don't stop now. I want to feel it again, I want to come all over your face.” He reached down, his hands grasping her shoulders as he pulled her closer. “Suck harder,” he commanded, “suck it like your life depends on it.”

she sucked and licked as much as she could moaning down his cock,

It was then viserys saw why she was suddenly so vocal, as her hand was between her legs fingering herself and rubbing her clit letting her juices and his seed leak onto her hand as she pleasured herself. All while still sucking his cock.

Viserys's eyes widened in shock, his mind reeling with the sight before him. “Oh, god,” he breathed, “you're…you're touching yourself. While sucking me? That's…that's filthy.” He felt a jolt of excitement run through him, his cock twitching in her mouth, Viserys's gaze remained fixed on her hand, his eyes burning with intensity as he watched her pleasure herself. “You're…so dirty,” he whispered, “and I love it. Come closer,” he commanded, “let me see you touch yourself while sucking my cock.”

she moved onto the bed still sucking his cock as her hand moved passionately desperate for her release

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head, his body arching off the bed as he felt himself slipping further into ecstasy. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted, “touch yourself like that. Show me how you get off. Make yourself come while sucking my cock.” His hips began to pump furiously, driving himself deeper into her mouth as he chased the rush of pleasure.

her sucking slowed as she moaned more and more but did her best between moans to keep her pace

Viserys's grip on the bedsheets tightened, his knuckles white as he strained towards release.

“No, no, no,” he groaned, “don't stop, Y/n. Don't stop sucking me. I'm close, I can feel it.” Suddenly, Viserys's entire body locked up, his muscles tensing as he came in a torrential flood. His seed shot down her throat, filling her mouth and making her gag. But she didn't pull away, instead continuing to suck him dry as if starving for every last drop.

Y/n moaned loudly sucking so hard he almost fainted as she hit her orgasm squirting down her hand

Viserys's vision blurred, his head spinning as he felt himself being drained of every last drop. “Y/n…oh god…” he whispered, “you're… you're killing me.”

she stopped her hand and slowly milked the last of his seed before she collapsed on the bed her pussy trembling from excitement

Viserys lay there, spent and exhausted, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as he watched Y/n collapse beside him. For a moment, they just lay there, the only sound the heavy breathing of two people who had given themselves completely to their desires. Then, Viserys reached out and gently stroked her hair, his fingers tangling in its softness as he whispered, “You…are…amazing. I've never felt anything like that before.”

"did it please you my dragon?" She gasps

“it pleased me” His voice dropped to a growl, “I want more.” Viserys's hands closed around Y/n's wrists, holding them captive as he leaned in close “You know what would make it even better?”

“What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If you were bound,” Viserys replied, his eyes glinting with a sinister light. He left the bed a moment to grab his belt, expertly knotting it around her wrists before pulling tight. “Now,” he said, his voice dripping with menace, “let's see how long you can hold out.” he grabbed her hair and pulled her to kneel across his lap, he spread her ass cheeks and thighs letting her drip down her legs, she let out a small squeal of excitement as he looks her pussy and ass over a few times before slapping her ass hard

"Ughh! My dragon!"

Viserys's eyes gleamed with pleasure as he spanked her again, the sound echoing through the air. “Oh, yes,” he purred, “my little dragoness likes a good spanking, don't you?” He ran his hands over her skin, tracing the curves of her body with gentle fingers.

“Yes my dragon!”

“And now,” he whispered, “it's time for something else.”

Viserys's fingers dipped between her legs, f

she moaned loudly as his fingers slipped inside her dripping pussy

Viserys's fingers moved in and out of her, pumping steadily as he leaned back on the bed, his eyes fixed intently on Y/n's face. She was so wet, so ready for him,and Viserys couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and ownership “My little dragoness is so eager for me,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. He added another finger, stretching her wide as he pumped in and out of her. “Yes, just like that,” he encouraged, his own arousal growing with each passing moment. Viserys knew exactly what he wanted now,and nothing was going to stop him from getting it.

she moaned and screamed in pleasure as he so roughly fingered her, his fingers moving inside her pumping and stretching her making her squirt and squeal

Viserys's eyes blazed with excitement as he watched Y/n's reaction, his fingers moving faster and harder inside her “Squirt for me, my little dragoness,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. He felt a rush of power as she obeyed, her body releasing a flood of liquid as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her. Viserys's own arousal spiked, his cock throbbing with need as he reached down and wrapped his hand around it, stroking himself slowly. “Not yet,” he whispered, his eyes locked on Y/n's face. “I'm not done with you yet.”

he slapped her ass a few times more making her red and sore before he lubbed up his hand with her squirt and used it to slip two fingers in her pussy, and two fingers in her ass

"Ahhh! Viserys!" She screamed as she immediately came squirting down his hand and screaming loudly as she clenched around his fingers and trembled desperately

Viserys's face twisted in a snarl of satisfaction as he felt her clench around his fingers, her body trembling with release. “Yes, my little dragoness,” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You're so responsive, so eager for me.” He worked his fingers deeper, feeling her muscles contract and release as she came down from her orgasm. Viserys's own arousal was almost unbearable now, his cock throbbing with need as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against Y/n's ear. “I want to see you come again,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

she whined but it was too late viserys found her gspot inside her pussy and all he had to do was rub on it with his fingers and she came screaming and squirting all over him,

Viserys's fingers danced across her G-spot, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body. He felt her muscles tense and release as she came, her screams echoing through the air as she squirted all over him. He didn't stop, couldn't stop, as he rode the wave of her orgasm with his fingers. Each time she came, he felt her body tighten around them, milking him for more. “Faster,” he growled, his own arousal spiking as he felt her climax build once more. He quickened his pace, rubbing against that sweet spot until she shattered apart again, her body convulsing in ecstasy. And still he didn't stop, driving his fingers deeper into her pussy and ass, coaxing out another scream, another torrent of liquid. Viserys's fingers were a blur as he worked her over, his movements swift and precise. He could feel her body building towards another climax, her muscles tensing in anticipation. With a sudden burst of speed, he rubbed against that magic spot once more, sending her soaring into another orgasm.

This time, however, it was different. Her body seemed to shatter apart completely, her screams echoing off the walls of the tent as she came with a ferocity that it took him over his own edge his seed spurting out across her stomach,

As she lay there, spent and helpless, Viserys withdrew his fingers from her pussy and ass, leaving her gaping and vulnerable.

Viserys's chest heaved with exertion as he stood up, his fingers still slick with Y/n's juices. He towered over her, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity “fuck” he growled, his voice dripping with menace. “You are going to be the best queen ever.” he cooed laying down with her,

“Viserys…”

“Yes Y/n?”

“I love you, my dragon" she cooed

"I love you too my dragoness" he cooed leaning down to kiss her lips

she held his cheeks in her hands as they kissed, as sweet and tender kiss full of love until they pulled back

His eyes locked onto hers, burning with a fierce passion. He grasped her wrists, holding them captive as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers once more “No, don't pull away,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “Not yet.” His mouth crashed down on hers once more,

#got fandom #got fanfic #got smut #got spoilers #got fanfiction #got viserys #game of thrones fanfic #gameofthrones #game of thrones #viserys targaryen #viserys x reader #viserys targaryen x reader #house targaryen #viserys iii targaryen #harry lloyd

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shesjustanothergeek · 10 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Four: Before the Storm

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello everyone! How are we doing after the last chapter? I went on a vacay and enjoyed some time with my family and dog, but now we're back to business. I wanted to say that I'm not a literary genius. Later in this chapter Helaena says some lines from a piece of work by Hélène Cixous called Love of the Wolf. I'm not taking credit for her work by any means, but I couldn't help myself not to add it. It was just too perfect. Well, anyways, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA and trauma related to it, sexism, bullying.

Birdsong accompanied you in your daily lessons with Septa Marlow, her parchment-thin flesh wrapped over her shaking bones as she pointed to the large map of what you assumed was Westeros. It wasn’t that you couldn’t identify the outline of your own country. You didn’t care. The tiny sparrow that decided to make its nest on the branch of an oak tree outside the tutor room window was far more interesting.

You could hear the sounds of swords clashing outside over the creature’s call, an added instrument into the melody of the Red Keep. There was no doubt your brothers and uncles were practicing their swordplay, Ser Criston teaching the pairs of children. How you longed to be out there with them, with your family, with your twin, learning of things much more exciting than what region of the country produced the most red wine.

You only wanted to see them and to be entertained. It wasn’t that you wanted to learn the sword, though you wouldn’t say no should someone ask.

But this resulted from the actions from the previous day when you disobeyed the Dragonkeeper’s commands. It surprised you when your mother failed to mention how your brothers and Aegon gave Aemond a pig, but you weren’t planning to go out of your way to tell on yourself and receive any more repercussions. You were already confined to the castle walls and forbidden from seeing your dragon for the next sennight. You couldn’t imagine what your mother would have done in response if she knew.

“Princess, pay attention,” the old crone’s wavering voice commanded, causing you to jolt.

You attempted to follow her instructions, rattling off the names of Houses and their most profitable exports, but metal clanging stole you from your duties once more. Why couldn’t you be with your brothers and uncles? You understood that today’s extra lessons were a punishment, but why couldn’t you join them? You and Jace were the same age, though you were a few moments older, and Luke was younger.

You could comprehend the importance of learning such knowledge, but your brothers were able to understand this and swordsmanship. Why could you not? Seeing as your mother had not learned it, you did not believe it was a skill you needed. This was the only thing that separated you from Jace, and you hated it.

Suddenly, everything went silent. The birds, the clang of steel, your mind halted into a noiseless silence, leaving the only sound of Septa Marlow’s droning, shaky voice. Screams you knew belonged to Aegon and the shrieks of your younger brother, Jace, briefly sounded, causing your feet to twitch in the direction of the sound. You knew your brother. That was not a noise of happiness but one of determination and fear, but once again, it plummeted into silence.

Then, it erupted. Shouts and thick, repeated thumps of what could only be skin on skin replaced the dull thudding of swords, only this time, it was of grown men.

Disregarding your Septa’s scolds of disobedience, you stood, rushing from the creaky wooden desk and chair with a soft wince from the pain between your legs. You ran to the window, face pressed against the glass, to see the situation unfold.

Ser Harwin kneeled over a man in polished armor you couldn’t see as he drove punch after punch into the man’s face. It was a member of the Kingsguard, judging by his attire as onlookers gathered around the two of them, attempting to remove Harwin from his victim.

Why would Ser Harwin be attacking a Kingsguard?

You pressed your face closer to the glass, fogging it with your breath. Soon, your mother’s protector was thrown off, revealing a bloodied, smug Ser Criston Cole, a proud smirk on his tan face as he spat viscous scarlet liquid. Ser Harwin spewed words of anger you couldn’t hear as you observed with wide eyes from above.

“Princess!” Marlow shouted, stomping her slippered foot in exasperation. “Return to your seat at once.”

“Ser Harwin is attacking Ser Criston!” you countered with a whine as you disregarded her demands. Without thinking of the consequences, you ran for the exit only to be met with the face of your sworn shield, halting you from seeing the commotion.

You were stuck. These were the repercussions of your actions, and now you had to sit in dull solitude with a Septa so old that your mother had her as wild possibilities ran through your head as to why Ser Harwin Strong attacked Ser Criston Cole.

Finding where your uncle Aemond spent most of his time was effortless. He was unlike the rest of you, who loved to be outside in the dirt, running about the gardens as you and your brothers played any game you could think of. Aegon and the trio of you teased Aemond for the fact that he was different in this way, your eldest uncle impressing the idea that his brother’s likes of science, math, history, and philosophy were weird for a child. You also enjoyed subjects similar to your uncle’s, thirsting for knowledge of everything related to herbs, flowers, and other plants, but you never brought it up. Aegon would undoubtedly tease you for it if he knew.

Aemond’s interests weren’t typical, but you didn’t see it as something to look down on him for. But since Aegon did, you had no choice but to agree.

The library in the Red Keep was a lonely and shadowy place, rarely visited by anyone, not even the servants. The absence of lit candles or a crackling fire contributed to the eerie atmosphere, creating a sensation of fear that seemed to grip your very core as you stepped inside, as though you were venturing into an endless void of darkness. Despite the unsettling ambiance, you summoned your bravery, clutching your cherished collection of fairy tales for comfort, and gained the strength to push open the library doors. The sound of metal clanging echoed in the silence.

Motes of dust swirled in the beams of light pouring through the windows as you combed through the towering wooden bookcases. Your search was targeted and honed on a particular individual who, besides Lord Lyonel Strong and the rest of the council members, was known to make regular visits to this room. It was just a matter of time before you laid eyes on him.

After the sixth tall hickory bookshelf, you found Aemond resting on a window seat filled with lush fabric cushions, the sunbeams casting him in a yellow glow. You took a step forward, hesitating as you thought about how your uncle would react to your goodwill gesture. Despite anticipating his initial skepticism and harsh words, you held onto hope that persistence and authenticity would eventually make him see you for who you are.

You wished for it to be true.

“Have you come to mock me again, niece?” Aemond asked, interrupting your indecision with his nose still in the pages.

You swallowed as your mouth became dry, stepping out to reveal yourself fully. “No, Aemond. I came to read,” you replied, taking a gasp of air and summoning courage, “with you.”

Your uncle’s attempt to mask his surprise was unsuccessful as his eyes widened in astonishment. He quickly glanced at you and returned to his book, hoping to conceal his reaction.

His usual scowl deepened, pulling down at his freckled cheeks as he interrogated. “Why?”

A lopsided grin scrunched your plump cheeks upwards to crinkle your eyes as you shrugged. “Because I want to.”

Aemond flipped onto the next page with a skeptical face, yet his violet orbs never moved from the same spot. You had his attention. Hiding a victorious grin, you stepped towards him before he could protest, plopping onto the pillows beside Aemond. He quickly recoiled in exaggerated disgust, as if you were no more than an annoying fly that landed on his arm as he slammed the tome shut and briskly left.

This was an expected outcome, and you hurriedly chased after him, your shorter legs struggling to keep up with your uncle’s pace as he fled around a corner from your attempted act of bonding. You understood this was not a simple task and already built the mental stamina to outlast Aemond’s antics as he jumped down the stone steps of the Keep two at a time.

Eventually, he managed to escape you, his notable mane of blonde hair disappearing before a crowd of courtiers in the courtyard.

You huffed a sigh as you observed the sea of people, sweat stinging your privy part, but you ignored it, standing on the tips of your toes to peer over the wall of the pale redstone landing above the yard.

Suddenly, you spotted him at the far end as he caught your gaze, violet eyes widening in horror as if he saw one of the monsters from your stories. He turned away. His confident walk soon turned to a worried jog as you ran as fast as your limbs could carry you, shoving your way through the throng of people. You were used to playing chase with your brothers. Doing it with your uncle was the same, if not more manageable, with the help of his iconic hair and green garbs.

As you reached the area where you spotted your uncle, he was nowhere to be found, and you turned, looking across the vast meadow of the court that ebbed and flowed like the swaying of a wheat field, focused on their afternoon destinations. None of them paid any attention to the two dragon royals, both more than a head shorter and too self-absorbed to care.

With a sharp yelp, you fell to the ground, soiling your gown and dropping your book on the packed dirt as you caught yourself with your palms. They ached at the impact, tiny rocks embedding into your soft skin as you swiftly turned to the person who shoved you and saw no other than your uncle Aemond staring over you with rose-dusted cheeks. His arms securely bound his book to his chest as he looked down upon you with his nose, catching his breath and taking three paces back before you righted yourself.

“Why are you following me?” your uncle shouted down at you as he attempted to make his voice sound like a grown man.

You huffed as you swiped the dirt from your turquoise dress, gritting your teeth to control your frustration. This was one of your nice ones! Of course, Aemond would ruin it. Your mother would surely scold you when she found out.

“I told you I only wanted to read!” you screeched with a stomp of your foot as your arms flew into the air, flailing wildly. “And now you’ve ruined my favorite collection! The spine is loose and the pages are dirty!”

Aemond said nothing as you studied the now-tattered book before you. Every night, Ser Harwin or your father read a short story from this as you sat atop their laps, drifting off into a restful sleep filled with dreams of nymphs playing in a forest creek. Your book, too, was ruined—another consequence of wanting to be kind to your uncle.

“What’s it about?” he suddenly asked, prompting your watery eyes to move to him. The blush that covered Aemond’s face deepened, now traveling to his ears and throat as he dug his nails into the leatherback of his tome. He looked almost pained to inquire about anything that had to do with you.

Your first instinct was to bite with sharpened fangs of hurt, but you stopped, remembering your goal as you batted your watery lashes in disregard. “It was a volume of different stories,” you sighed with disappointment, afraid that if you showed any other emotions, you would revert to your old ways.

“I see.”

You stared at Aemond expectantly, waiting longer than what was proper for him to continue any sentence or explanation. Still, he did not, only observing you with a calculating expression. The low murmur of bustling court members filled the long silence, the occasional gust of wind and rattling metal low in the background. When your uncle refused to proceed with the conversation, you opened your mouth to do it for him, but much to your chagrin, he turned away before you could, not speaking a word as he kicked pebbles with his boots.

You scoffed in response, stunned and appalled by his actions. For a brief moment, one that didn’t last longer than a blink, Aemond showed kindness to you. You felt like an idiot for believing in that small part that thought last night changed your standing with Aemond, yet a ray of hope still lingered in your chest like the flame of a burnt wick on a dwindling candle.

You sighed in frustration as you looked over the worn and tattered pages of the stories. The determination you once had dwindled, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you deserved this. Memories of mocking Aemond’s odd behavior of the pig and making fun of him with your brothers and Aegon weighed heavily on you, intensifying the shame. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips as you reflected on your actions.

Ser Harwin was leaving you. After his fight with Ser Criston in the training yard, he was stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch and was sent back to Harrenhal the next day. You were devastated, fat tears running down your hot cheeks as he said farewell to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey before sleep.

Harwin had been with you since before you were born. He was there to help sort out quarrels between you and your brothers whenever one stole toys and refused to share. Harwin accompanied you to your lessons when your brothers were learning the art of swords or hunting. He taught you how to ride a horse when your father was out at sea with your grandfather Corlys and dried your tears whenever Aegon and Aemond were harsh. Ser Harwin was family as far as you were concerned, and returning to the Riverlands was akin to losing a member because Ser Criston claimed he cared too much about you and your brothers only to be a sworn protector.

You weren’t blind to the rumors surrounding your parentage and the resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch. It was all your uncles could do not to bring it up each moment they laid their Valyrian eyes on you. The word bastard haunted the now four of you wherever you went, a cloak of shame that threatened to devour your girlish body whole.

Jace often raised concerns about who your birth father was, but he was never brave enough to ask your mother about it. It was an open question of uncertainty that never seemed to find the correct answer, yet, no matter what, you knew that even if you were not of Laenor Velaryon’s blood, they could never deny that you were your mother’s. You were a Targaryen, just like your aunt and uncles, and that was something that could never change.

“Be good to your mother. I’ll visit when I can,” Ser Harwin said tenderly, kneeling before you, Jace, and Luke as your mother cradled Joffrey. He stood with a grunt as he observed the four of you, a misty look in his eyes that you could mistake for tears. “But that may be some time.”

Sobs stained the white cotton sleeves of your nightgown gray, sniffling as you wiped away more snot and salty water. You would miss Ser Harwin terribly, and he knew that, but that did not make this any less painful as you clung to Jace’s side and he, your mother.

“I will return. I promise,” Harwin expressed with a gravelly voice as he tenderly brushed loose strands of your hair that hid your wet eyes. You listened to the same voice as you sat on his lap, resting your head upon his chest as he read you and your brother’s fairy tales before bed.

Harwin would tell no more stories in that deep, rumbling tone that soothed your soul beyond measure, and you felt your heart crack more at the thought.

Harwin moved to say his final farewell to Joffrey and your mother, kissing the babe’s forehead as you buried your face in your brother’s neck. “You will be a stranger when we meet again,” he said to the bundle of fabric that cooed in your mother’s arms.

And that was true, not just for Joffrey, but for all of you.

Ser Harwin bid goodbye to your mother with a simple “princess” as they shared a long, meaningful glance with layers of emotion and scores of history behind them. He said no more and gathered his sword, swinging it over his shoulder as you released a cry, running to the comforting embrace of your mother’s bed. You could no longer watch Harwin as he left your life, a new wave of sobs taking over as you shoved your face into her feather pillows. It smelled of her, home, and happiness—fresh lavender and sage on expensive cotton sheets.

Despite your mother’s reassurance that you would see Ser Harwin again someday, you could not help but feel like this was a death sentence. As if you stood in front of his coffin and buried him beneath the dirt and worms yourself. He would no longer be the sworn shield he was when he left at this very moment, as you heard the sound of hurried footfalls exiting the room.

Luke followed you to the wide bed, tucking himself into your side and resting his temple on your chest as you both cried in an agonizing yet loving embrace. You could hear Jace talking to your mother outside the doorway, little Joffrey babbling as she softly bounced him in her arms. Whether it was to comfort your babe brother or her, you did not know.

“Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?” you heard Jace ask. His fierce and unwavering inquiry only made you sadder. On instinct, you covered Luke’s ears as he hiccuped into your chest. He did not need to have doubt burrow into his mind at such a young age.

Your mother was silent. The only sounds coming were from you, the soft crackles of the fire in the hearth, and your little brother’s heaving breaths as you struggled to cope with the loss.

“You are a Targaryen. That is all that matters,” she finally answered, tone strong. Her words were rehearsed and practiced, and they did not quell the thirst for the truth in either you or Jace.

Your barely younger brother returned to the room. His thin lips downturned, and his head hung low as he sat on one of the plush settees littering the area. You could tell he was unsatisfied with your mother’s response, as were you, but he understood he would get the same reply should he push the matter. Your mother followed in soon after, observing the three of you with tired yet loving eyes.

The same question was on your lips, threatening to break free at any moment, lilac orbs landing on your brown ones as she stared at you with your newest brother still in her arms. She was not inclined to answer, and yet you knew. It was written plainly in the fine lines of her face, the slope of her nose, and how tears lined her lashes as your mother inhaled a fierce, shuddering breath. Much like her, you refused to say the words aloud, electing to bask in the grief-stricken sadness that enveloped your family.

The hour of the owl was upon you before you finally went to your chambers, unable to find rest in your kin’s arms. Your brothers choose to stay with your mother inside hers as their tiny bodies pressed against each other after the tears have long dried.

The halls and corridors of the Red Keep were noiseless as you trekked through them with keen eyes. The portraits of your ancestors you passed daily seemed to follow you with their purple gazes, their accusing stares boring shame into your soul and setting your hair alight.

Alicent’s warning rang through your head as the squeak of a rat sounded, her rich voice echoing inside until it was all you could hear. The end could not come fast enough as you shut the large wooden doors to your, Jace’s, and Luke’s shared quarters, swiftly hiding under your blue bed sheets, heart hammering in your chest.

Your bed was cold and safe, and your pulse calmed steadily. Now, more than ever, the uncertainty behind your birth was thrust before you.

It was always easier to deny the fact that you were most likely a bastard than it was to accept it. Those who accused you did not understand that they weren’t only saying your blood was not Laenor Velaryon but that you and your brothers were a sin, your very existence an insult to House Velaryon, the king, and to all those who dutifully suffered unkind marriages.

Bastards were not heirs. They were creations purely out of selfish lust and desire.

It called into question all four of your legitimacy of inheritance. None of you had claims to the thrones or titles you were set to receive upon the death of your parents, and no prospects would want to wed a bastard should you accept it.

You understood why your mother did not admit the words allowed in the confidence of the now four of you. If you spoke them into existence, it would only make them real. It left you no choice but to deny, deny, deny until your tongue withered and lips fell off. Living a life of refusal of admittance would be difficult. Still, it was the only way to ensure you and your brother’s places would be secured until the Stranger decided to take another companion.

The empty well of tears soon filled once more as you sighed deeply in surrender to the turbulent path ahead, tucking your hand underneath your pillow for the relief of rest, but unfortunately, it did not find you.

Your vanity mirror shined like a beacon in the darkness, reminding you of that night. You still needed to move it back to its original place and give your maids the excuse that you wanted to see what it would look like there. It was a lie.

The idea that Aegon knew of a passage into your rooms haunted you when you set foot into the space. You were scared, anxious, no… terrified that your eldest uncle would waltz into your bed chamber at any moment. The unknown was what frightened you—of what he would do. The notion that he could enter pushed you to rise from bed, planting the soles of your feet onto a maroon Myrish rug as you grabbed the legs of the vanity and pulled it back into place. You would have to think of another lie to tell your maids.

“Why is Uncle Aemond unkind to us?” a timid voice rang out into the once private space.

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to see Luke with a wooden toy dragon curled into his tiny fist. It looked as if he had just awoken from sleep minutes ago, which you assumed was the case judging by his messy hair and crusted eyes. As you caught your breath, clutching the skirt of your pale gray nightgown, you disregarded any questions about why he was here instead of your mother’s room.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be,” you answered as your racing heart calmed. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw him push you over in the courtyard,” he ardently explained, his dark brows rising against his pale skin. It reminded you of your father when he tried to speak earnestly with the three of you, yet Luke’s boyish voice had no similarities to his.

You sighed, recalling the now ruined book you hid in your trunk alongside your tattered dress. “He was angry.”

You did not want to tell Luke about Aemond’s rejection, as the embarrassment was still fresh. He would no doubt try to tell you how you were wrong for attempting to befriend him after the mean things he’d said to you all your life.

“He’s always angry, but we haven’t done anything,” Luke countered with a frown on his small lips, fiddling with his fingers at his sides.

You paused for a long moment, unsure of what to say. The three of you were not nearly as cruel to Aemond as Aegon was. Your mother raised you to be kind to your uncles and aunt no matter what they did to you, and while you were not perfect, any jokes or rude remarks were not made with the intent to hurt him. With a great sigh, you lead Luke in front of the gated fireplace, where a collection of your toys rests in the orange glow. He picked up a polished wooden horse, running his tiny thumbs over the varnish as you spoke.

“I think he believes we don’t belong here,” you said. The explanation was vague, and it irked you beyond measure. The truth of your words threatened to surface like an apple thrown into a barrel full of water.

“We live here. This is our family,” he replied in confusion, dark eyes so wide you could see the entire white. He wasn’t wrong, yet the truth of the matter clawed at your throat to become free.

“We don’t look like Targaryens. You must have noticed.” You could not stop the words from being said. You were such a good liar. Why was it impossible to lie about this?

“You mean our hair?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head, scratching his scalp in confusion with one of the wooden toys.

You didn’t want to tell him and put the burden of knowledge onto your younger brother that you and Jace were cursed with, but it was something you understood would follow the now four of you for the rest of your lives.

Luke was still younger than you, yet his simple statement of your hair tested your last bit of resolve. “Our hair, eyes, and everything!” you exclaimed exasperated.

“But I have a crooked little finger like Mama,” he reasoned with the raise of his hand, showing his small digit. You deflated, sighing a drawn-out breath to calm your temper as you picked up one of your rag dolls from the pile.

“A crooked little finger isn’t enough,” you decided to say as you stroked the button eyes on your toy. Why couldn’t he comprehend that no matter how many similarities you had to your mother, the fact of who your father was remained uncertain?

“Well, if we aren’t Targaryens, where did we come from?” The sap inside the fire popped, startling you and your brother as you stared into the flames.

You were Targaryens. That much was obvious. You cannot fake exiting your mother’s womb. It was the matter of your father that sparked rumors, but you did not want to give Luke any more thoughts over the subject, coming to accept that he was not old enough to understand what your uncle was being mean about.

“We were born here. Mama is our mother, but there’s something else and Aemond knows it,” you answered obscurely, clutching your dolly into your chest as the night air howled outside the glass windows.

It felt like the Keep was listening to your conversation, the walls groaning in response to your words. The very castle you lived in understood the truth, and the pressure of it weighed heavily on your soul. Just like the paintings of your ancestors, the Red Keep knew of your shame.

“I do not wish to be different,” Luke confessed with dejection, too sad for your liking, as he stopped playing with the toys.

You didn’t want to cause anyone’s sadness, let alone your brother’s, and you frowned, taking Luke’s hand in yours and scooting across the floor to hug his side.

You loved your family more than words could describe as you held your younger brother closer. Jace, Luke, and now Joffrey did not deserve the torment they would face for the rest of their lives at the hands of your uncles and the court. As the eldest, it was your responsibility to protect them from things your parents could not, to take care of them and dry their tears, not to burden your mother or father, but this was something you understood you could not fix, yet it did not deter you from trying.

“Nor do I,” you finally spoke, holding Luke close to your heart and kissing him on his cherubic cheek. “So let us be good children and please those who love us so they may forget what we lack. Come. It’s time for bed.” Your mother would say that as you took your brother by the hand and led him to your bed.

If you couldn’t change what people said, you could at least change the contents they discussed.

You would excel in your place as the unspoken heir and accept your duties no matter what with your shoulders back and your chin held high. You would learn the history of your ancestors, the politics of your country, and whatever else you believed was dutiful to prepare yourself for the responsibility you would inherit after your mother. Not feeling the same fear you did earlier, now with your younger brother at your side, you pulled the covers over both of you as Luke snuggled into your side’s comforting embrace.

Aemond felt he lacked something compared to his siblings, niece, and nephews. Some of him believed that if a dragon hatched from his egg, or he claimed a living one, things would be different from how they were now. He would not be the subject of people’s taunts nor feel the prominent sensation of inadequacy that weighed on his soul, but it seemed as if Aemond was destined to suffer within the shadows of his family’s success no matter how hard he tried to step out of it.

His older brother possessed the skills of conversation and humor he didn’t have and constantly teased him for it, though Aegon was not without faults. His brother would tell him to stop being a “twat,” to get his nose out of books, and that he was dull, sullen, and far too severe for his age.

Because of this, Aegon preferred to spend time with Jace, Luke, and his niece, but it didn’t help that they were much easier company. His half-sister’s children seemed to have a bond closer than his siblings, each with dragons, which was the one thing he didn’t possess. Aemond would never admit he was jealous of his niece and nephews, for that would mean that he saw them as equals of comparison, which was something they weren’t. They were beings of lesser standing, though they thought themselves on par, as they had been raised with the same extravagance he was.

Aemond knew you would be looking for him the next day as he watched you skip to the library the following morning, your smile so bright on your face that it made him sick. Seeing how the joy fell from your face when you saw he was not there gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

Did you think him stupid?

He could see the telltale signs of tears welling in your eyes as you realized your hidden plans of ridicule were foiled: the scrunch of your dark brows, rapid blinking to get the droplets at bay, and then the pursing of your lips. This time, you held firm and refused to let your emotions guide you. At least, that was what Aemond believed as he observed you exiting the library deep in thought.

He knew you would not give up so easily, and instead of taking solace in his usual places of inhabitant and risking you finding him, he chose to watch you. You could not see him if he was three steps ahead. Aemond was glad that you weren’t nearly as bright as you believed, and as long as he stayed out of sight, he could be sure you wouldn’t bother him. The irony of the situation that he would now be following you to avoid you didn’t matter, and he certainly wasn’t concerned about your well-being after what Aegon did, either.

You were as foreign to one another as Old Valyria; there was no reason for him to care. Aemond would do this every day for the rest of his life if it meant he would never have to spend a moment with you again.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Helaena’s voice drifted through the halls like summer wind through tree leaves, startling Aemond as he watched his niece’s dark head disappear around a corner. Her fair blonde locks, a copy of her brother’s, were braided around the crown of her head, a tiny metal cage in her lithe fingers, and a curious expression on her visage directed towards him.

“You’re avoiding her,” Helaena declared with a resolute lilt to her tone, taking the insect out of its confines. “After what has been stolen.”

Aemond stared at his sister with perplexed eyes, quickly looking to ensure you had not heard the conversation and came to investigate.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond said distractedly, wringing his hands at the pit of unease in his stomach.

There was no possibility that she knew what occurred during the night. Aegon would never willingly admit something like this, and you would undoubtedly keep what happened a secret, seeing as you refused to tell your mother in fear of punishment.

Helaena was silent as she observed the olive-and-brown grasshopper in her palm, petting it with her index finger before it tried to jump away. She held the open metal cage in the bug’s intended direction, and it landed inside, swiftly flicking the door shut before it could attempt to escape again.

“Tis our fate, I think, to crave what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away,” Helaena declared with the furrow of her blonde eyebrows, the insect thumping against the metal bars as she looked at her younger brother.

Her words were cryptic, and Aemond felt a bead of sweat run down his spine as he observed his older sister. He didn’t understand what she meant. She intensely focused on it, so he assumed it was about the grasshopper. Aemond wordlessly shrugged, disregarding his older sister’s vague observation as he peered anxiously at where he last spotted you.

“Tis not difficult for the ewe to love the lamb. But for the wolf?” Helaena began again, standing beside her brother with a soft swish of her satin skirt. “The wolf’s love for the lamb is such a renunciation, it’s the wolf’s sacrifice—it’s a love that could never be requited. This wolf that sacrifices its very definition for the lamb, this wolf that doesn’t eat the lamb, is it a wolf? Is it still a wolf?”

Aemond paid no attention to her now as Helaena spouted what he felt was nonsense and decided to push forward in search of you, ensuring with noiseless strides you would not see him once he got close.

Helaena was someone he felt was misunderstood like him, but now was not the time to go on with poetry and riddles.

“But sometimes it’s the wolf that falls into the jaws of the lamb. Out of love, the wolf falls backward into the circle of fire. It goes around fast. It so happens that the lamb catches the wolf,” Helaena continued, her voice soft like morning spring rain as she followed her vexed younger brother. She was inside her world, purposely or ignorant of her brother’s frustration.

“There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb it doesn’t eat.”

Aemond groaned, losing his temper, which he rarely did in the presence of his sister. His niece had irked him, causing his heartbeat to quicken and his lungs pant.

“Helaena, will you please stop with this nonsense? I have important matters to tend to,” Aemond barked hushedly as a servant passed by, blocking the sun from the windows.

Any other day, he would allow his sister to speak for however long and about whatever she wanted, but this was not one of those times. You could happen upon him at any moment, and the prince did not want to risk the chance of a repeat encounter.

Helaena refused to listen to him as her musings became louder and sharper as if she was trying to convey a point without the proper words, no doubt alerting you and everyone else in the Keep to where he was. Aemond felt the blanket of defeat shroud his figure as the sound of light hurried footfalls sounded in the hall.

“The lamb loves its wolf. The wolf turns white and starts quivering out of love for the lamb. The lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, and the wolf loves the frail one’s force. The wolf is now the lamb’s lamb and the lamb has tamed the wolf,” his sister concluded, violet-eyed with an understanding she attempted to impart onto Aemond with the harsh squeeze of her digits on his arm.

He gasped, his brows arched in pain from Helaena’s sharp nails piercing through his tunic, and tried to wretch his arm free with a panicked grunt, but to no avail. Before he could blink, your pitched voice pierced Aemond’s ears, and he felt like they would burst.

“Uncle! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The loose strands of your neatly styled hair bounced with every step as you approached Aemond with a broad grin on your lips. “I was hoping we could read today. I chose a book I think you would like. I know you don’t enjoy fairytales.”

“Love blackens the lamb, leaving fire and blood to light their way,” Helaena whispered, her violet gaze directed towards the tall window as a bird flew past. She released Aemond’s arm as if she suddenly realized she still had it. She looked back to her grasshopper, wordlessly displaying it for you to see.

“Oh, is that a new one Helaena?” you asked with a bright curiosity in your tone. Aemond didn’t believe you truly cared about his sister and her bugs, curling his lip in disgust at what he thought were false niceties. “Where did you find it? We’ll have to go there sometime to see if there are more!”

You didn’t care about Helaena and her hobbies. You were more like Aegon and made fun of her for the bugs she collected. At least, that was what he had in his mind. Aemond felt conflicted as he watched his sister nod in agreement, asking when your punishment was over so you could spend time together again.

When he noticed Helaena’s faint smile as she left, grasshopper in tow, a warmth blossomed inside his heart. His sister only showed happiness when she truly felt it, not to be polite like most, and it caused Aemond to turn to you, his face pale. You were his annoying, spoiled, bastard niece who got anything she wanted, so why were you not acting like it?

It felt like butterflies were inside your stomach as you took another step toward Aemond, a book clutched to your chest like before. Aemond watched as his sister left the two of you alone without a word, like she was in a world of her own. He wanted to reach out to her to be not alone with his dreadful niece, but Helaena was gone as quickly as she emerged, leaving her younger brother with the girl he hated most in the world.

“I have a book I think we both would like today, uncle. It’s one about the warrior Queen Nymeria and her journey to Dorne,” you announced, a slight sway in your step as you tried to quell your anxiety.

Aemond huffed as he looked for a way out of this and sighed in defeat when he found none, clenching his thumbs inside his palms to control the ire that swelled in response. Your uncle didn’t want your pity or your friendship. He knew you were only spending time with him since you didn’t wish to Aegon and could not be with your brothers because they were in their lessons. You would have never done this if his eldest brother could control his impulses. It made him feel like a second choice, another painful reminder that he was always second to his kin, yet not good enough to be a spare.

Walking away in surrender, he led you back to the library, where no one would see the pair of you, and the sun provided the only light. He knew Aegon would tease him beyond what he could take if he saw you together, and after that night, Aemond did not want to see him anyway.

You set the book of Queen Nymeria’s adventures on a dusty wooden table and giggled as you fanned the air. Aemond was not amused, sulking in the chair beside you as he opened the leather back of the book. You sat next to him, shoulders touching, ignoring his reaction. He mockingly covered his mouth as if he smelled something terrible when he inhaled the citrus scent on your skin. This made you feel a bit upset, but you tried to hide it by tugging at your dark hair and avoiding his gaze.

You read the first page together silently. It stated how the queen looked, how beautiful she was with long, flowing, swarthy hair cascading down her waist with sturdy hips, her skin a smooth, youthful complexion with brown eyes to match. Yet still, she was a fierce warrior with an indomitable spirit who led her men into battle and took no cowards. You imagined you would be like her when you grew up, a beautiful warrior queen who ruled her kingdom with an unwavering though gentle and cunning fist, who people loved and respected her rule.

“Can I turn it?” Aemond asked dispassionately, cutting through the silence. You hadn’t realized you had been so lost in your daydreams that you had not retained a single word written on the page, but to not make your uncle perceive you lower than he already did, you nodded.

You leaned closer to the pages before you decorated them in elaborate colors of blue and red, studying the new page and picture. Aemond glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, unnoticed by you as you were lost in the vast expanse of your mind, your cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different you were, apart from the apparent fact of age and sex. His eyelashes were almost white and translucent, while yours were black, long, surrounding dark eyes that glistened with natural wetness that threatened to suck him into their depths if he stared for too long. Aemond’s skin was pale and dusted with sun kisses, yet yours was plain, flushed, and full of life, your lips more defined and moist than his. You possessed a pug nose matching that of your brothers rather than his aquiline one, a softer, more plump face than his, as Aemond’s was more defined even for his age. His hair, the color of Targaryen’s, the white you didn’t have a hint of and mocked you for, was visible proof of who your father was.

Though Aemond immensely enjoyed pointing out the idea that you were a bastard, he reluctantly realized that you weren’t unattractive, at least by Westerosie standards.

“I will be like Nymeria when I am queen,” you announced to Aemond, breaking the silence. He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. It wouldn’t hurt if there were some conversation between you. It didn’t seem like you would be mean to him, and he supposed you were indebted to him after all.

At your hopeful expression, your uncle didn’t have the heart to tell you that neither you nor your mother would rule the Seven Kingdoms. Women were not fit to rule and carry such a burden. They were too gentle of creatures to make the harsh decisions that ruling required.

“Are you certain you’ll be a good ruler? You can barely get your brothers to listen to you. What makes you think the Lords of the realm will?” Aemond questioned with a trace of bitterness you couldn’t understand the cause of.

Turning to him with a face painted with a serious expression, your brows scrunched together and lips tight in a severe line as you took his hand. “Just as Nymeria burned her ships to prevent any cowardly men from fleeing, I will burn all those who try to hurt my family and oppose my reign.”

You stated the words with such a decisive coldness that it caused Aemond to shiver. He was shocked and in awe at your declaration, stunned into silence filled with momentary admiration. Aemond never imagined that would come out of your mouth. He always pictured you as soft-hearted when it came to violence, having seen you cower when Aegon would hit your brothers too hard when training.

“What would you do if they didn’t allow your mother to be queen? You wouldn’t have the power to do that,” your uncle reasoned, giving you a devoted attention he never gave before. It made you pause.

“Perhaps I was a bit rash,” you reasoned with the gentle tug of your hair, letting go of Aemond’s hand in nervousness. He swiftly snatched it back before you could think, a surge of excitement rolling in the pit of your stomach with the action. “It wouldn’t only be me, though. I would have Jace, Luke, and Joffrey when he becomes a rider. We would help our mother if anyone tried to prevent her, and I would have my husband, too. He would be my Mors Martell and help me conquer all of Dorne!”

You looked at Aemond with uncertain eyes as your gaze flicked from him to the open book the two of you barely read.

“You mean Aegon. Someone with a dragon,” he countered snidely, turning his flushed cheeks away from you.

“No,” you snapped quicker than you could have imagined. “I don’t want Aegon to be my husband.”

Aemond needn’t ask why.

You hadn’t heard your eldest uncle’s name since that night, and hearing it made something within you break. You despised Aegon for his actions. Did he feel entitled to mistreat you because of the betrothal plan? It filled you with blackened fury. You took a quick breath to calm yourself and looked to Aemond, who appeared remorseful.

“You don’t need a dragon to be powerful,” you explained with a gentle tone, but Aemond only scoffed.

“That’s easy for you to say when you have one,” he bit, causing the tips of his ears to grow pink in anger.

You attempted to hide your huff of annoyance at his sulking but failed, rolling your dark eyes as you answered him honestly. “I do believe you’ll have a dragon one day. There are too many around for you not to. You just need to find the right one, but even if you don’t, there are other ways to have power. You could ride with me and Gaeli, too, if you like? If you never claimed one.”

It was an offering of peace, of goodwill, telling your uncle without the words that you were sorry for having played all the jokes you did on him for not having a mount. You wanted him to know he was welcomed into the world of dragons without one, that you would still see him as an equal, if not better than you in some aspects. He was already showing prospects of being a fine warrior.

“Really?” Aemond perked, violet eyes setting alight with happiness you had never seen him show. He felt childish, but he couldn't help it. You offered for him to ride a dragon!

You giggled, unable to hold your joy back as you bobbed eagerly. “Of course, Aemond! As soon as Gaelithox is large enough to ride you will be with me. We can learn together for when you finally mount one!”

It was the first time you saw your uncle smile with genuine, untainted mirth, displaying a set of dimples you didn’t know he had. The pair of you fell into a deep conversation long into the late evening, causing your mother to pace with nerves until you returned, discussing thoughts of the future, of what dragons Aemond could claim, and how, if he never bonded with one, you would make him feel as if he was a dragon rider like the rest of your family.

The following days, Aemond rose with the sun, a sensation he had never felt before in the pit of his stomach as his servant dressed him in traditional green garbs.

Excitement.

He was filled with eager anticipation for the days ahead now that he had something positive to look forward to. It was something only he had now. In a way, though Aemond would never admit it, for it was such a horrendous thought that brought him great shame, he was glad that Aegon raped his niece. If he hadn’t, Aemond would never have gained one of the two things Aegon had that he didn’t.

First, he took the companionship of the only person who steadfastly supported his old brother. Next, all Aemond had to do was acquire a dragon, and finally, he would be equal to Aegon, if not better.

As Aemond traveled the halls, understanding full well that he could read within the privacy of his chamber, he went to the library to read ever since he and his niece shared words of the future. He met you in the same place in the library after your lessons, whether to read, chat, or enjoy the peace of the other’s company.

Though Aemond was proud that he took something from Aegon, he was afraid that his brother would see you together one day, but Aegon never ventured into the noiselessness of the library. The eldest son had never been much of a student.

You typically sparked conversations, and Aemond would answer back in kind. It made him feel better about himself—more of a man to have someone solely seek his attention and knowledge in a way no one else had before. Aemond always ended the day with a pleasant flutter in his heart and tingling in his fingers for what tomorrow would bring.

One night, as Aemond lay fast asleep with visions of the sun blinding his eyes, green scales, and a head of dark hair that flew in the wind, he woke with a start to the sound of his chamber doors opening. He feared it was Aegon and his nephews who were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose within the lush emerald bedsheets, terrified, as the torchlight shone from the hallway, outlining the figure in the door frame. The person stepped forward with a loud creak of the metal hinges.

“Aemond?”

He heard the quiet mumble, the voice softer than that of the feather pillows he lay his head on at night. Aemond could barely see your silhouette in the darkness, squinting with sleep-clouded eyes to ensure it was you. He could hear your soft sniffles and quick breaths as concern hastened his heart.

“Can I sleep with you?”

You could hear your uncle shift on his bed, mind still reeling from being woken up from a deep slumber. The silence stretched long between you and Aemond, and you feared he might refuse your plea for comfort.

“What? Why?” he hissed with venom. There was no privacy from Aegon here. At any moment, his older brother could walk into his room and see you conversing. He didn’t need another excuse to be ridiculed. You had to leave now.

Your hiccups were loud at his rejection as you wiped at your tears, unable to form coherent sentences as sobs racked your lungs. “I…I had a dream. Ae-gon came… back. He hurt me again, and I… I couldn’t…” You cried, palms scratching at your scalp as you tried to speak.

“Go sleep with Jace,” he retorted, ready to return to bed. Spending time together privately was one thing, but this was invading his space, his place of solitude without siblings or nieces.

“I can’t! He and Luke have been sleeping with Mama since Ser Harwin left,” you babbled in despair, glancing over your shoulder as if the monster called Aegon would emerge from the shadows and devour you whole.

Your desperation stung Aemond's heart, and sympathy clouded his sense that the fear you felt was something he, too, experienced. After a long pause, your uncle shifted to the side, noiselessly lifting his sheets and making room beside him.

Breathing a loud sigh of relief that reminded him of a fish gasping for air, you closed the door, running to Aemond’s bed and immediately clinging to his side. He knew you to be affectionate, but he still carried concern in his mind. Yet how you trembled like a frightened fawn, told him this was not a rouse. You were sincerely terrified that your eldest uncle would return and no one would stop him this time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me,” you sobbed into your uncle’s green nightshirt, gripping the fabric so tight that Aemond worried it would rip. “Please, please, please don’t let him hurt me again, uncle. I can still feel it between my legs.”

Aemond froze at the sudden burst of intimacy, slowly wrapping his arms around your quivering body. Despite the context of the situation, having you so close sent a pleasant tingling down the base of his spine. He tried to focus on your breathing, waiting for it to calm down before he spoke again.

Though he was beginning to tolerate your presence, having you within his bed chambers was not something he wanted.

Aemond recalled the last time you experienced panic like this, a type too intense for your body to manage, ripping your hair straight from the root in response. He hated to realize he didn’t want you to suffer like that again, and unconsciously, he began to stroke the crown of your head.

It felt good to be needed, so desperately wanted by someone that they tried to crawl inside him, seeking protection, and Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to protect you how a wolf does its pup. He would shelter you from all monsters and people that sought you harm so long as you returned to him with the same wet eyes and arms full of love.

When you finally relaxed, no longer shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, he spoke, praying that your exhausted mind would forget his confession in the morning.

“When I have a dragon he will not hurt you so long as you’re with me.”

Masterlist of Series

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Oh, sweet prophetic girl. You know so much yet can do so little. Cursed with the knowledge of what will come and what has yet to be. Let's all pour one out for Helaena, besties.

I hope this chapter makes up for how sad the last one was. I love writing for angsty young Aemond. As always, thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist

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starsofjewels · 5 months ago

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*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

More Greggie available on the masterpost

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Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

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To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys.

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple.

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you.

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you.

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now.

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life.

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing.

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more.

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back.

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions.

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose.

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter.

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife.

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting.

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful.

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

#game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #game of thrones x y/n #got #gregor clegane x reader #gregor clegane #greggie c #leave me alone let my man have QT with his kids #this is enitrely self indulgent

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

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Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him.

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

Part two || Series masterlist

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intoxicated-chan · 1 year ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ༻ 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞-𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞

(A/n) ➳ I have written this over three times as an attempt to get Daemon’s personality correct and I butchered his character... P.S, I used a High Valyrain translator. I’m not sure how correct it is but you can find it HERE.

Word Count ➳ 1.8k

Content Warnings ➳ 3rd P.O.V, alcohol use, theft, threats of violence, mentions of murder, mentions of death, mentions of war...

AWOIAF Masterlist

Daemon stepped into the Prancing Pony, slipping off his waterlogged hood to reveal his platinum blonde hair and violet eyes. It was a candlelit inn, a seemingly calm one for the night. He observed the inn a couple of hours before entering, he wanted to make sure few eyes were on him.

But his observation of the inn did him nothing, everyone stared at him, gaining all kinds of attention. Good or bad. He kept his arm rested on his sword, making his weapon known so no one would dare.

He approached the bar, setting his pouch of coin he stole off a drunk bystander. “A pint of strong ale.”

The bartender eyed him before pouring his drink. Daemon handed the man the coin, taking the wooden mug in return.

His nose scrunched at the heavy and bitter taste of the ale. Daemon could certainly hold his own when it came to drinking but this was different. He took the mug as he left the bar and made himself comfortable in a corner with a man.

It was his contact from the last lead that led him to the Prancing Pony. “I was right to say you are not from these parts.” The man started. “You are causing trouble, drawing eyes from people you do not want to start a war with.”

Daemon scoffed, laughing to himself. “These people are the least of my worries. I only care of the dragon people speak of.”

But the man started to laugh, too loud for Daemon’s taste. “The dragon they only hear of is Smaug.” Yet his eyes became wide with a mixture of fascination and fear. “I’ve seen another, not as big but just as fearsome.” He murmured.

Daemon breathed deeply, his jaw clenched as his grip tightened around his mug. “And you dare hold the information from me?”

The man rolled his eyes. He sat back in his chair, throwing his leg over the table. “Go East of the Misty Mountains, you will find Mirkwood.” The man ignored his questions and pointed at his hair. “You will find its rider, a woman with strands of hair that match yours.”

“Now you give me this information? At no cost?”

“You cannot scare me, Daemon Targaryen. There are many things worse than dragon fire.”

Daemon rushed out of the inn feeling frustrated, he was played like a fool. Another reason to despise this place.

He pulled his hood over his head as the rain poured heavily down on him.

He always knew his older brother was obsessed with omens and prophecies, but Daemon was able to believe in one of Visery’s dreams. a Targaryen had found their own path to safety, escaping the calamity that took their home.

“The Targaryen dynasty will rule beyond Westeros.”

He was stuck in his mind for hours, keeping himself busy until he found Caraxes still deep in his slumber. Daemon took a breath before he spoke softly in High Valyrian, running his hand over his long and slender neck.

“Vēzot, Caraxes.”

Daemon flew to the East of the Misty Mountains, it was a trip of two days, three before he found Mirkwood. A kingdom surrounded by woods, isolated from the rest of the world.

Caraxes landed just feet away from the narrow bridge, but his neck was long enough to reach the gates where two guards stood.

They remained still as they felt Caraxes’s hot breath and saw him bare his teeth.

Daemon sat up tall in his saddle, he relaxed one wrist over the other. “I demand an audience with your lord!” He exclaimed. “Step aside and you shall live to go home to your families.”

Caraxes grumbled when the guards did not move or say a word. Daemon clicked his tongue after another minute of silence. He wanted to take his brother’s words into consideration. How he must learn to control his anger, how this world was unlike Westeros.

Talking was getting Daemon nowhere since he was met with silence. “It is a simple request that I am sure you can fulfill, I have no need to burn your kingdom but turn me away and I will.”

But it was a failure.

Yes, they reacted, drawing their bows, and shouting in their tongues. It was not the reaction he was hoping for...

“You have chosen your own fates.” Caraxes pulled back and opened his jaws. “Drac-”

Suddenly, the gates creaked open, another Legolas stood at the entrance, walking forward with his bow in hand.

“You seek and audience with our King.” Legolas stated, looking up at Daemon with a stern expression. “But first, you must hand over your weapons. I shall not let you approach the King armed.”

Daemon's eyes narrowed, his hand itching to draw Dark Sister and so he declared.

“We must obey by their rules, it’s their land but it won’t be for long.”

Dameon gave a curt nod and huffed. He dismounted Caraxes to stand before Legolas. He drew his sword along with its scabbard.

Legolas shouted orders the guards to come forward, his eyes glued on Daemon. They came forward, taking everything out of his hands, Dark Sister, and his cloak.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he knew it gained him access to Mirkwood.

Legolas was sure there were no more weapons on him. “The King awaits.” He turned his back, walking back into the kingdom with Daemon behind him.

He took one final glance, watching Caraxes whistle again until the gates shut.

Daemon did not hide his amazement at the inside of Mirkwood, he made his expressions clear and kept his composure but remained carefree. He was surrounded by guards, but he walked like he owned the place as his head stayed high.

Then, it was just Legolas walking with him, and it was not long before he was brought in front of the king.

Thranduil sat on his throne, one leg over the other. His finger tapped the arm rest as he looked at Daemon with a lack of concern.

“My Lord.” Daemon addressed. “It seems you’ve been expecting me.”

Legolas took his place by Tauriel’s side. She whispered in his ear, something making him huff in anger and shaking his head.

Thranduil stood from his throne, his hands clasped together. “Of course I have, you made yourself quite known.” He stepped down the steps. “I received word from an acquaintance, he said your dragon was like a serpent. I wondered what they called your dragon back in Westeros.”

“You’re aware?”

“I’m quite aware.” Thranduil responded. “You’re home called Valyria, dragons that you ride, and you Targaryens... I’m only aware of the name after her relative stepped foot on Middle-Earth with a clutch of eggs and managed to sire many offsprings.”

“Where are they?”

“All of them killed each other, it’s difficult to say what happened but (Y/n) appeared with said egg hatched.” Thranduil slowly circled Daemon. “I cannot speak to what happened to the rest of the clutch but now she’s here and you’re here for her.”

“I intend to bring her home.”

Thranduil stopped at his left side, shaking his head. “You will not take her home. She knows no other home than here, Mirkwood.”

Daemon wanted to punch him, stab him, have him burned to death. But he knew better than to do anything disorderly. “She does not belong here. She belongs with her family, with the rest of the Targaryens.”

Thranduil’s eyes flashed with anger as he got in his face. “I have raised her since she was a babe, she is my ward, my own. I will not allow you to disturb her home and peace.” He took a couple steps back before waving Daemon away.

Tauriel attempted to grab his arm, but Daemon shrugged her off. “She has no place here!” He shouted. “Where is she?!”

Thranduil walked back up to his throne, sneering at Daemon. “You have no right to demand anything for me.” He gestured for Tauriel to proceed, ignoring the threats and curses coming from Daemon, it clearly had no effect on him.

Tauriel summoned the guards. “Hold him.” She readied her bow.

Daemon kicked the elf in the chest, pushing him back. He twisted the other’s arm, grabbing his dagger only for Tauriel to shoot it out of his hands.

“If you wish to keep your hands, you will come.” She held no room for argument. “īlon līs ȳzaldrīzes mērī.” He nearly froze in place and Tauriel could see her words confusing him. But the guards grabbed hold of his arms and Tauriel pushed him to walk.

“We must talk alone.”

Caraxes awoke, he was curled up near the entrance, grumbling when he caught sight of Daemon surrounded. He shoved their hands off him. “My effects?” Tauriel took them from one and handed them to him.

Tauriel nodded at the guards, dismissing them. “How did you get here?” She questioned, eyeing his armor and then his dragon.

His dragon had a saddle too, but it was wrapped around his chest with a three headed dragon.

“I’d care to explain but I do not.” Daemon threw on his cloak. “Yet I only care to learn where did you hear those words.”

“There is a Targaryen here.” She confirmed in a hushed voice. “And I fear that darker things may be her future.”

Daemon's brow furrowed. “Yet why help me?” He questioned, staring down at her.

Tauriel’s expression softened, sadness forming on her face. “I care for (Y/n), deeply.” She confessed, her voice barely audible. “But I fear the path she is on will lead to tragedy. If there is a chance to changer her fate, I must take it.”

“Where is she?”

“I cannot tell you exactly where she is.” She explained. “I received word that she had left the kingdom once again without the King’s permission. But there is a nest, past the Enchanted River. (Y/n) is known to frequent that area.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, he mounted Caraxes and took to the skies. Tauriel watched as Caraxes flew for a couple moments then descended.

“The King will not be pleased if he learned you gave out (Y/n)’s location.” Legolas appeared, looking disappointed. “He could kill her.”

“He will not.” Tauriel sharply retorted.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I would rather (Y/n) perish happily than see her and her dragon fall on the battlefield.”

(Y/n) drew her sword as Caraxes landed in front of her. Aegar’s upper body hovered over her as he growled at the sight of the two, stretching his wings, ready to defend her.

Daemon dismounted Caraxes, approaching (Y/n) but stayed at a safe distance. “Nyke emagon daor māzigon naejot vīlībagon.” He said.

“I have not come to fight.”

Her breath hitched as her heart quickened. She continued to look back and forth, between Daemon and Caraxes. She kept a tight grip on her sword. “Who are you and why have you come?” She ordered loudly.

“I am Daemon Targaryen.” Daemon replied. “And I have come to take you home.”

Taglist ➳ @mrsdurin , @marsmallow433 , @oneiratxxia10 , @sassybutclassy96 ,

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neilsbeloved · 10 months ago

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ladylike ✷ j. velaryon

✷ ⎯ summary: wherein the battle between the blacks and the greens has one of the most feared sellswords picking a side—for the right price.

✷ ⎯ tags: jacaerys velaryon x afab!reader (18+)

✷ ⎯ notes: happens before luke d-worded, also this is not beta read sorry!!! anw i hope u like this new fic since i tried something new with it (+ the cover)! comments and likes r very appreciated <3 if u want to chat or request for something, my asks r open :D

"This is not enough. If we are to show our power, I say we make the first move at Harenhall. Burn their blockade to send a message." Daemon's suggestion was full of fire, turning to the Queen with an intent of starting and leading this war.

The figures around the painted table shake heads in their dismay. Looking at the Queen with worried looks as she stares blankly at the table in front of her with revenge in his eyes.

"We cannot wager on just yet, your grace. We may have the dragons but our men our far too short in amount," Bartimos Celtigar argues.

Rhaenys expresses her agreement, "I agree with Lord Celtigar. If we are to win this war, we need to approach it with careful thinking both externally and internally. I suggest not making any haste decisions, your grace."

"Haste decisions? What a jest." Daemon scoffs. The jab at the princess results in nothing, choosing to ignore the Targaryen prince.

The rest of the table on continues on about their plan. It was Daemon against majority of the council members; he was pushing for Rhaenyra to attack, get the starting advantage while the others disagreed.

They may have numerous dragons, but it is still hard to gauge their capacity especially with the beastly Vhagar in service of Aemond Targaryen.

By the time when every member has dispersed to their own affairs, Jacaerys and Lucerys head back to their chambers. The younger Velaryon sighing as he rests his head on the thick wooden frame.

"Are you...are you nervous of where Mother is sending us?" Lucerys asks Jacaerys, who had already been fixing his stuff for tonight's trip to the North.

Jacaerys noted the look of nervousness on his brother's face. Halting in his actions to reassure him. "I am worried, a bit, but we are doing this to defend our mother's rightful throne. The Greens have no right to steal it from her."

"And anyway, you will be going to the Stormlands, am I correct?"

"And you to the North," Lucerys says, beginning on arranging his stuff as well.

After which, Jacaerys made his way back to the great hall, two guards approach him. Apparently, Daemon is asking him for a word outside of the castle. Somewhere near the edge, he figures.

And he was correct, Daemon is by the edge. Overlooking the busy seas and cloudy skies with his hand on the butt of his sword, the usual tout look on his face as Jacaerys makes his way to him. He doesn't notice his stepson approaching until Jace is calling him first.

"What is it that you want, Daemon?" Jacaerys questions.

Daemon does not move, except for glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. "Each second we waste, the Hightowers are celebrating their usurped throne. Westeros think of them as the rightful heirs of the iron throne."

Jacaerys' jaw clenches, remaining quiet. Daemon calls him closer. Caraxes appearing to his sight as the beast flies above them and around the other mountains of the island.

Daemon pauses for a minute, "It has seem as though your mother could do all but launch this war."

"Mind your words, Daemon," Jacaerys warns. "Mother has decided no action be done until her word. Your men are well to know that."

The older Targaryen lets out a deep exhale as he turns around, leaning on the stone block, his eyes set on somewhere away. The two of them stay there in silence before Daemon speaks again.

"Two days from now, your mother will send you to the North for Lord Cregan Stark. I am advising you not to."

"Not?"

"Instead, you will go to King's Landing this evening. I have men there that will take you to the place we need if we want to win this war before it even starts. No bloodshed needed, as you and your mother so prefer. Am I correct?"

Jacaerys looks at him wearily. The tone of his mother's husband sounding suspicious enough as the smile on Daemon's lips.

"Why me? Why not you?"

"I am needed at the blockade," Daemon answers simply.

Silence is what Daemon receives as a response. "It is up to you. As the heir to the throne after your mother takes back her rightful place at the iron throne, it is your responsibility, already, to start thinking as the future king."

More silence follows. By this time, Daemon is smirking at him as he toys with a small piece of paper that he had received earlier through a raven from King's Landing.

"Is mother aware of this?" When it was Daemon's turn to be silent, Jacaerys already has his answer.

As the day passed, Jacaerys watched his mother struggle with her unborn child. Every now and then looking outside the window. Lucerys has been everything of help to her, aiding her in possible ways while Jacaerys pondered on about what Daemon told him.

As the words of Daemon echo in his head, Each second we waste, the Hightowers are celebrating their usurped throne...

"What am I even doing here?" Jacaerys sighs to himself, the hood of his cloak hanging lowly on his head whilst various chatters and lewd noise from the sketchy alleyways fill his ears.

"Here you are," the men—man that Daemon apparently knew halts him at a seemingly plain brown door. It was clearly at the back of some building, some brothel Jacaerys guesses.

"Are you not going to accompany me inside?"

The armored man shakes his head, looking side to side, "My payment only serves me up to here," he pauses. "Go inside and whatever is in that paper is what you seek. Ask for a Lady." Jacaerys sighs at his instruction, throwing him the bag of gold coins that Daemon had given him.

Jacaerys takes a deep breath before he goes inside. A circus of lights and cloths dance around his sight. The busy environment with numerous naked women pulling around men of various stature.

"Good evening, my lord," one woman purrs, draping her arms across the expanse of his chest. He coughs awkwardly, shaking his head.

Look for the biggest woman, she is the keeper.

Jacaerys need not to move for a few minutes of standing there, he is pulled away by three women. "What—Hey, I am looking for the keeper," he tried to say but the women ignored him. Pushing past numerous people before they arrive at a room.

"Jacaerys Velaryon," a woman with a gold-colored dress speaks. An eyebrow raised at him before he even gets to pull down his hood.

"Prince Daemon had already informed me of what it is that you seek, however I fear it is not here."

She will tell you a Lady is not there. But a Lady is there.

"I was informed you would say that. However, Daemon told me she is here. A Lady is here." The keeper grins, waving off the women that clung on his arms.

"If that is what you believe, then I shan't hinder you from finding," she looks at him up and down, "The Lady."

"You may explore the brothel...confidently. We will help you no more than ensuring your protection inside of this establishment. If you are unable to find a Lady befit for your liking, your protection outside of this is not of our concern anymore, my prince."

"What does a Lady look like?" Jacaerys asks the keeper.

The keeper merely shrugs, waving at the women around Jacaerys. "Those are ladies, my prince. Everyone here is a lady."

Jacaerys clenches his jaw at the useless answer, leaving the room with the keeper's chuckles echoing in his ears.

She has a scar on her left. Burgundy hair with embellishments.

There is one that catches his eye. The burgundy lady showing off skin with a light pink fabric covering her body. He does not quite see the scar but the hair, he does.

The woman was pretty occupied with bringing this one guard somewhere. The guard had his hand in hers, eyes longing with hunger.

"Her. I need her," Jacaerys calls out quietly, fast in his steps to follow the couple. He loses sight of them for a moment before he sees them once more, finally entering a room.

Multiple women hiss at him as he follows them. Taking one more breath before he goes inside of the room only to see no one but the lady.

"It is rather uncourteous to barge into a lady's room, is it not?"

Jacaerys takes a look around, it was only the two of you inside of that room. You were leaning lazily on of the bedposts, the darkness hindering Jacaerys from seeing your face.

"Where is the guard?" Jacaerys asks.

Your eyebrows furrow in feign innocence, "What guard, my prince?"

"The guard—you came in here with a guard. Where is he?"

"I do not know of such guard that you seek, my prince," your purr strikes that one chord inside of his chest.

"If it is a man that you seek, my apologies but this is a brothel. The street of silk has a different brothel for those that seek men."

Jacaerys shakes his head. "A Lady is what I look for. Burgundy hair, your height, has a scar on her rib."

You hum, silently disposing of the blade in your sleeves to get on the bed. Alluringly pulling off the sheer cover that you wear on your shoulders.

"Burgundy hair is most definitely, the scar, however, I am afraid you would have to find out for yourself," you grin at him, slowly making your way towards the end of the bed where he stood.

"I do not seek such service. I was told a Lady is what you are."

"We are all ladies, my prince," you cock your head to the side, standing on your knees as you finally see his face thanks to the very dim light above.

You were the most beautiful woman he had laid his eyes on. It was as if he was enchanted the moment you put your hands on his shoulders, lips stretching side to side.

Once you are in her grasp, it is all but a pleasurable transaction. You would have to act fast, not to—

"What is it you ponder on about, my prince?" You break him from his thoughts. Trailing your hand down his tunic as you kept your eyes on his. He was speechless, unsure of what to do. "You only have to say the word and I assure you, I will make you forget about them before next morrow."

I must think straight, he repeats in head over and over again until your lips have already touched his neck. Hands expertly unbuckling his cloak before he can even notice.

Jacaerys is then left there, in his tunic and trousers, blood awfully rushing through his lower regions as you now grab his hands and place them all over your body.

Your lips suck and bite tenderly at every skin you come across, grinding your body in his hands as you whisper sweet nothings. Slowly, but surely, pulling him to the bed.

Jacaerys' eyes roll to the back of his head when your hand falls to palm his growing erection. A soft gasp leaving his mouth as you do so.

Refer to her as Lady if you want to get her on our side. Offer her whatever she wants.

He bites his lips, inhaling deeply before he stills himself from your ministrations. "The Queen is in need of your services, Lady."

You chuckle, "The Queen? The prince seems to be in more dire need of my..." you pause, "...services."

"We have gold to offer. More than you may think of. More than any has offered you, I am confident," Jacaerys stammered on with his words, unable to speak straight especially with your gaze on him.

"I do not need gold, my prince. I have gold to spare," you reply back, slipping off the bed to turn Jacaerys around.

"Then what is it that you want?" Your hands grip his shoulders firmly, pushing him to sit on the edge of bed.

"I want you to tell me what you want, my prince. After all, I am a Lady and you are a prince. I live to serve my prince," the words roll off your tongue way too smooth for Jacaerys' liking, your ability to flatter seemingly too good.

You get down on your knees, brushing away your hair as you look up at Jacaerys. The prince breathes heavily, his open mouth unable to let words leave.

"Just relax, my prince. Tell me, is this what you seek?" You breathe in his ear, palming his hard-on as you await his word. He is like stone on your hand, his shoulders tensed and extended.

"I—N-no..." shaky words leave his mouth.

You halt, "No? Do you want me to stop, my prince?"

It takes a minute for everything to register in Jacaerys' head before he's speaking again. "No, my lady. Don't stop."

Your lips stretch into a grin, getting on your knees as you untie the string of his trousers. Jacaerys hastily helping you take them off. When he pulls it off, he's pulling you up by your face to plant a kiss on your lips.

You were caught a bit off-guard and so you pull away, the two of you staring at each other. Jacaerys is staring up at you with heaved breaths.

Pushing him down again, you get on your knees and push your head back. Hand gripping his hard shaft. He lets out a deep guttural groan as you do so, the man biting his lips as you start moving your hand.

You pull your hand away to spit on it before going back to jerking his cock again. Head tilted up to watch his reaction as you put your lips on the head of his cock. Tongue swirling around the head making him thrash his upper body around. Groans and whimpers leaving his mouth.

Soon enough, the prince is all but calm as you bob your head up and down his cock. His arms flailing all around as he looks for something to grip.

"Does it feel good, my prince?" You ask innocently.

Jacaerys breathes, "Yes, oh gods, just like that, my lady. It feels so good."

The encouragement shakes your core when his hands come over to rest on the sides of your head, his hips thrusting up shyly which made his tip reach the back of your throat. Jacaerys' release evidently coming up.

"Don't stop! Please, don't stop," he whimpers desperately trying to reach his high. Hips now moving on its own as you focus on breathing through your nose. The rough movements of the known gentle and calm prince igniting your core.

Sounds of gags and deep moans fill the room. Next thing you know, you're pushing his thighs back down on the bed as you take back control. Sucking his cock with hollowed cheeks while swirling your tongue and hands around the length. My lady was all that was pouring out of his mouth.

"I am near," he informs you. "Do not stop, my lady."

A loud groan sounds through the room. Jacaerys' chest heaving up and down as he explodes inside of your mouth. Quick tingles running through his body the moment your tongue licks around his tip, jolting when the overstimulation hits him.

You wipe your mouth. Spitting out his seed in a random towel on the floor while keeping a keen eye on his body.

"My lady," he pulls himself up to his shoulders, taking a look at his surroundings only to see you dressed in a top. You raise an eyebrow at him, coming close until you're both an inch away from each other's lips.

His eyes shift from your eyes to your lips, internally debating with himself before he seals your lips.

You return the gesture, swiping your tongue on his plump lips before biting something inside of your mouth. The sides of your lips stretching when you see his eyes slant.

And from there, Jacaerys' sight goes black.

For hours on end, you navigated through the darkness. An unconscious prince with a sellsword in the middle of the Blackwater Bay, sailing with hope in a dark heart.

Slowly, the prince's eyes flutter open to a dark and unfamiliar surrounding. He froze. The wood against his body prompting him to jolt upward. You, who was rowing the small boat, watched him unfazed. Much more irritated at the unnecessary commotion than the sword that Jacaerys draws to point at you.

"Where am I? Who are you? What have you done?" his questions shoot at you like a crossbow.

"Calm down, my prince. If you do not think of jumping or killing me with that sword, we may arrive at shore no less than an hour."

He inches the tip of the sword closer to your neck, moving with caution, "Where are we?"

"Calm now, my prince," you let go of one oar to slowly move the tip of his sword away from your neck. Maintaining eye contact with the prince as you smile, "That wasn't how you were acting earlier."

Jacaerys' cheeks faintly flush, gulping silently. You snicker at that, answering the prince. "I am bringing you back to Dragonstone, my prince."

if you liked my writing, you might want to consider buying me a ko-fi <3

#hotd #house of the dragons fic #jacaerys imagines #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys velaryon imagines

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countrymusiclover · 9 months ago

Text

2 - How A Marriage Goes

Part 3

A Wolf Among Dragons

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea @immyowndefender @iamavailablesstuff

Do y’all want me to separate when Lehna is with Daemon and when she’s with Aemond into separate chapters or just keep writing chapters how I currently am?? Let me know in the comments below 😏

It took a little longer than I cared for to put my daughter down for her nap because I also had to put her twin brother down for the night at the same time. My son Caraxes mumbled to me that his father was playing with the Gold Cloaks meaning he was planning an attack tonight that he didn’t wish for him to see at such a young age.

Aemond was sitting in the chair by the fire while I exited my children’s room that was down the hall from my chambers. Draping a simple cloak over my shoulders I crossed the room pouring myself a cup of wine before offering him one. “Do you want one?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, yes.” He responded by tapping one of his boots on the stone floor.

Pouring him his own glass in a goblet I walked over to him, handing the goblet to him where he slowly raised it up to his lips. “So what do you wish to talk about further with me?”

“Tell me about you and living in the North.” He held his goblet cup on one of the chair armrests.

I swallowed thickly the liquid I had just drank from my cup, taken back by his next words. “Are you being serious? You want to know about my family, why?”

“I have learned everything I could about my family history and now I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t do the same of the other noble houses of Westeros. Wouldn’t you say the same if you were in my position?”

Taking a long sip from my cup I dragged the other chair closer to the burning fireplace. “If I was in your position I’d take the time to learn about your future wife and anything I could about her before you wed her. So I understand why you want to know as much as you can.”

“So what is interesting about the North?” Aemond asked me, tapping his fingers on the rim of the cup.

Brushing hair out of my face I hadn’t thought about my family in quite some time. It wasn’t that I didn’t miss them, I had just gotten far too busy since I became a member of House Targaryen. “Winter is Coming" are our family words. For many years my family has guarded the Wall and prepared for the day that the harsh winter truly does come.”

“What age were you when you married my Uncle Daemon?”

I simply answered his question. “The age of ten and seven. My younger brother Cregon was ten and three the day our father died and he was given the land and title of Lord of Winterfell.”

“That’s too young to rule.” Aemond pointed out even though his father was still weakly alive meaning him and his other siblings wouldn’t be Kings or Queens until the day he passed.

Shaking my head I corrected him. “He wasn’t truly the Lord until he turned sixteen, at least that’s what the letter I later received from my former home a few months later told me he was also wed and had a baby.”

“And it was your duty to do the same thing. You beat him by giving my uncle two instead of just one.” Aemond chuckled, taking another sip from his glass.

“I must confess I had no desire to beat my brother by how many children I can birth compared to his lady wife.“ The chamber door creaked open before I heard something slip underneath it. Getting up from my chair I matched up a folded piece of paper with a quick scribbled message showing me a different secret passageway than the one I had used last time. “Oh uh, Aemond I apologize. But I should go and check on the children. It shall be very late before Daemon gets done with the Gold Cloaks and little Caraxes can’t keep when his father is out and about at this late hour.”

Aemond nodded downing what was left in his cup before getting up and coming over to me and handing me the cup before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself. “If you ever want someone other than those gossiping wives to talk to you can come find me. I rather enjoy your company, Lehna.” I smiled listening to the sound of his boots retreating away before I slipped out the chamber door dressed in a dark black cloak over my simple nightgown and my horse riding boots.

Aemond had secretly hidden behind one of the large pillars watching the Stark girl head in the opposite direction of where she said she was going. Causing him to wonder what in the seven was his Uncle Daemon doing taking her out like this.

Sneaking down the last set of steps I squinted my eyes seeing someone dressed in the same black cloak as I standing at the edge of the passageway exit. The torch light showing it was Daemon when he lifted his head up enough for me to meet his gaze. “I was beginning to think you had found something better to do on our anniversary.”

“I’m surprised you had remembered what with all the time you spent with the Gold Cloaks.” I teased my husband with a smirk, despite what everyone thought about me and Daemon only spending time together at royal events. We did spend time together, just not really discussing much of anything. Not like what I had just done with Aemond.

Daemon stepped closer until our chests were pressing up against the other. “I’m not that awful of a husband as most think. Now come on, little wolf.” Looping my arm through his we made our way down from the Keep until we were in the busy and lively streets of the city I had called my home since I had turned 17. I tugged his forearm when we began to walk past a performance going on in the streets.

The king had named his daughter his heir before his son was born and that is all that everyone could talk about for the many years of peace we have been having. King Viserys didn’t want any war, he simply was the King of peace. “Rhaenyra...the Realm's Delight, a girl so young and so slight... loved by all of her people, but would she make a powerful queen, or would she be feeble?” The lead actor announced to the crowd while a man who was dressed up to look like Rhaenyra took a seat down on their smaller made Iron Throne on the stage.

Multiple people shouted back to the performer. “Feeble!”

“Though Aegon, the babe Prince, might long for a claim, he has two things Rhaenyra cannot: a conqueror's name... and a cock.” The player bent down on a knee beside the other man who was supposed to be playing Aemond’s older brother Aegon.

I sighed feeling bad for Rhaenyra who was trying to change the society we lived in. Yet it wasn’t going to be as easy even if your father sat the current throne. “I feel like I need a drink before I can watch anymore of this pathetic performance.”

“You don’t find it entertaining, hmm?” Daemon chuckled watching me pay for a drink from the local tavern we were standing outside.

The owner handed me and Daemon each a glass and I finished half the goblet before my husband who just stared at me waiting for my response. “If I was Rhaenyra getting to watch this I’d be utterly offended. But we didn’t come down here to squabble about that. For one night a year we go back to before we had our two children do we not?”

“Enough though we love them both dearly. We are just two people having fun tonight.” Daemon finished his drink leading me into one of the brothels and found a private room for us. He pushed me against the wall with us quickly removing our cloaks leaving us just in our small clothes and desire obvious in our separate gazes.

“I thought I’d hate doing this with you. But in truth no one tells you how good it feels.” I smirked at the dragon in front of me.

“It’s a shame. A marriage is a duty...Yes. But that doesn't stop us from doing what we want.” Daemon whispers in a husky voice in my ear while my hands start to trace his form. I began to run his fingers up and down his muscular chest softly while I began to feel his hand start to crawl underneath my gown. He yanked the fabric off my head, throwing it to the ground only once before he growled with his lips barely hovering over mine. “Say it, Lehna. Say it.”

“From fucking who we want.” I uttered out the words he had once told me after we had kissed in front of Caraxes in the dragon pit. He smirked loving to hear me say those words to him only in a setting like this. I began to move against him and leaned up pressing my lips down upon his. He embraced me back instantly when my fingers dug into his back shrugging his tunic over his head getting lost in the other's touch. The others outside were discarded like the remainder of our clothing.

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weemssapphic · 2 years ago

Text

Strange

PART TWO: Welcome home

Link to part one - please read that first!

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

Summary: Being on the run is the hardest, most heartbreaking thing you've ever done. More than anything, you wish you could go home.

Words: ~1.8k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: angst, breakups, hurt/comfort for this part!

A/N: This part of the fic is loosely based on the song Welcome Home by Radical Face! Again huge thanks to @dianneking for suggesting the song for this chapter!

It’s been almost six months now since you left your life - since you left Brienne - behind you. Some days are harder than others - especially when you’re technically on the run. You’ve been lying low, never staying anywhere for too long. You’re in the North now, but winter is coming, and you know that soon you should head farther south - who knows, maybe you’ll end up in Dorne. You’ve never been. Perhaps, though, you should leave Westeros entirely - it’s all getting awfully exhausting, and everything just reminds you of Brienne, and of a life you’ve run away from.

Tonight you’re sitting in a tavern. It’s dark and everyone is drunk, and no one cares about a stranger nursing a pint of ale in the corner, so long as that stranger minds their own business. You stare into your mug and twirl it idly this way and that, watching the amber liquid slosh around. Tomorrow, you’ll move on to the next town, the next tavern.

Sleep, don't visit So, I choke on sun And the days blur into one And the backs of my eyes Hum with things I've never done

The door to the tavern swings open - the other patrons are too drunk to pay any mind to the tall, hooded stranger who enters, but you notice them immediately. Because they’re tall - too tall, even for a man - and there’s only one person in Westeros who’s that tall.

You couldn’t tell if you’d be excited or afraid to cross paths with Brienne again - your body can’t decide either, apparently, for your heart flips as your stomach sinks. But there’s no need to get all riled up - the Lord Commander wouldn’t come here, she has no business this far north.

Except the stranger doesn’t take a seat at the bar, nor do they head for one of the many empty tables - instead, they make a beeline for you. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you pull your own hooded cloak tighter around you. Your eyes dart about the tavern, trying to map out an escape route, but it’s too late - you hear the scraping of wood on wood and your eyes snap up to the tall stranger, who has taken a seat across from you.

“Didn’t think the North would be your style. I’d have thought you’d head for Dorne.” Their hood shrouds their face in shadows still, but you would recognize that gentle, gravelly voice anywhere.

You want to cry - you want to scream, actually. You want to fall to your knees and let out all the tears and anguish that you’ve kept in for the past six months. You want to grab onto Brienne’s cloak and beg her to stay with you, whatever she does, to take you back and never let you be so stupid as to leave again.

Instead, you shrug and take a healthy swig of ale. “Maybe for the winter.”

Brienne pushes her hood back just a little. You can see her face now - she looks the same as always, though maybe a bit more weary, a bit more worn-out. Or maybe that’s just your wishful thinking - that Brienne would be just as affected by the absence of your love as you are by the absence of hers. You wonder if she is - just as affected, that is. You wonder if she’s lost any sleep over you, if she still thinks of you sometimes, if she still reaches out in the middle of the night, only to find that spot right next to her in the bed cold to the touch.

Ships are launching from my chest Some have names, but most do not If you find one, please Let me know what piece I′ve lost

Blinking back tears, you drain the rest of the ale in your mug and slam it down on the table, harder than intended. “What’s the Lord Commander doing this far north? Gone to visit Castle Black? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to send a more lowly knight?”

A strange look crosses Brienne’s face. Her brows knit together and her lips part - she seems to be struggling internally with something, and it takes her a while to find her voice. “Haven’t you heard?”

You snort. “Heard what? I’ve been kind of busy surviving, been keeping to myself. I’m not really in the position to be partaking in local gossip.” You don’t mean for your voice to be so cold and so hard, and you feel sorry for the hurt that flits - however briefly - across Brienne’s face.

“I-I’m not… I’ve resigned.” The words come out in a rush. Brienne seems to be holding her breath now, and you cock your head to the side, furrowing your brow.

“What do you mean you’ve resigned? From what?”

Her breath comes out in an annoyed huff. “I’ve resigned. I’ve given up my position as Lord Commander.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“You’ve what?” you hiss. You suddenly feel dizzy - you can hardly dare hope to be the reason Brienne of Tarth gave up the coveted position of Lord Commander, surely there must be another reason…

“Months ago, actually.” Brienne’s gaze falls to the table and she traces a long, slender finger over a little hole in the wood. “I’ve been searching for you… You’re hard to find, you know that?”

You can’t help but chuckle a bit - Brienne’s lips curl up into a little half-smile and she risks a shy glance at your face, peeking up through blonde lashes. Her expression is guarded but her eyes aren’t - they’re soft and hopeful and almost girlish in the sparkling naivety that they exude.

“I probably should have headed to Dorne, it’s fucking cold up here,” you say with a breathy laugh, letting your hood fall back slightly. Brienne’s eyes immediately drink in your face, your hair - in the spirit of becoming harder to recognize, harder to catch, you’ve cut it and dyed it. You suddenly feel self-conscious as Brienne stares at you, your cheeks turning pink. “Don’t you like it?” you mutter, your eyes dropping to your lap.

Strong fingers grip your chin and tilt your head up, stealing the breath from your lungs. “I do, actually. It suits you.” She offers you a soft, sincere smile, and your face reddens further. It all feels so familiar, so comforting, and that hurts. You gently pry your chin from her grip and lean back a tad, just out of her reach - her face falls, and it makes your heart ache.

“Why did you resign? Why have you been looking for me?” Your heart is hammering against your ribcage, so hard it hurts - you’re afraid of the answer but you need to know.

Brienne takes a moment to mull over her words. When she answers, her tone is serious, her expression solemn. “I thought about what you said, the day you left. I-I’m sorry that I got angry, I was afraid. I was wrong to doubt you - I should have taken your side. I afforded my loyalty to the wrong people, and I have been paying for that mistake every day since you left.” Her chin quivers and her eyes are glassy, but she sits tall and looks intently into your eyes.

A swell of emotion crashes over you and you stand abruptly, drawing the attention of a few patrons. You yank your hood over your face and grab Brienne’s wrist - she allows you to drag her outside, where you pull her around to the back of the tavern and push her back against the cold, dirty wall.

“You’ve found me. Now what?” you ask, your voice low and demanding. You can see your breath in the cool air - it mingles with Brienne’s.

“I’m not letting you leave again. I’ll go with you this time. Please. I want to be with you, I need to be with you.”

You search Brienne’s eyes - they’re bright and earnest. “You know what that means for you - for us? Don’t think the King has forgotten what I’ve done.”

“I don’t think he’s very fond of me anymore either,” Brienne breathes out, and you can’t help but chuckle. She laughs, too, and before you know what you’re doing, you’re pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, your hands curling around the base of Brienne’s hood to pull her in for a kiss.

Her lips are cold and cracked - regardless, you feel your heart being mended the second they connect with your own. Her tongue darts out across your bottom lip and, fuck, she tastes like home and you sigh into the kiss as you allow her to deepen it. You kiss until you run out of air - and then you kiss some more.

Peel the scars from off my back I don't need them anymore You can throw them out Or keep them in your mason jars I've come home (home, home, home)

“I have something for you,” she murmurs against your lips, and you rest your forehead against hers as she digs around in the pocket of her cloak. Whatever she’s just pulled out glints in the light of the moon and you pull back to get a closer look. Brienne takes your right hand in her own and places the object in your palm - it’s cold to the touch, and tears spring to your eyes when you see what it is. Her mother’s necklace.

“Bri-”

“It’s yours. It’s always been yours.” Her hand curls around your own and she closes your fist around the necklace, before placing a tender kiss to your knuckles. “I love you,” she whispers against your skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back that day.”

You feel your face break out into a beaming smile - it feels strange (you haven’t smiled properly in so long) but it feels good.

“I love you, too, Brienne. I haven’t stopped, not for a minute.”

Brienne offers you a watery smile and chuckles - she sniffles a bit, her cheeks tinged pink.

“We cannot stay here now,” you whisper, your own smile faltering a bit.

“I know.” She sniffles again but her smile remains, and your stomach does a somersault - she looks so beautiful when she smiles and, Gods, you’ve missed her smile. You’ve missed her.

You bite your lip. “Where will we go?”

Brienne’s blush deepens and she takes in a shaky breath. “Would my lady like to accompany me to Dorne?”

Your smile returns full force - so wide that it hurts. “Your lady would very much like to accompany you to Dorne, Ser.”

“I’m not a knight anymore,” Brienne says with a quirked brow.

“You are to me.”

Brienne smiles softly and her fingers curl in the little ringlets of hair at the base of your neck as she pulls you closer. Her lips brush gently, slowly against your own as her other hand finds your lower back and tugs you flush against her. Her body is warm and comforting, and the tenderness of the kiss steals the air from your lungs and makes you feel dizzy. You wrap your arms around her neck to steady yourself and keep your knees from buckling as your tongue slowly enters her mouth; exploring, memorizing, coming home.

Here, beneath my lungs I feel your thumbs Press into my skin again

You know, without a doubt, that everything will be okay - no matter where you go. As long as Brienne is by your side, you will always be home.

Welcome home (home, home, home)

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shruiee · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! I literally devoured your Vampire Series, it's awesome!

I was thinking since it's summer why don't our vampires go to the sea? Something like Daemon and Rhaenyra want to see the baby girl in a swimsuit and they're specially prepared for that. But the girl is shy because vampires look just divine and she has quite a few scars and marks left on her. And in the end they calm her down.

um! yes! 100x yes! This one is a blurb I AM INCAPABLE OF WRITING THEM. ENJOY THIS 1K+ baby mind you :) So have fun spending a day at Summerhall.

Vampire!Daemon x reader x Vampire!Rhaenyra

masterlist | series masterlist | Vampire AU

warnings: compulsion, oral (F), mentions of blood. a very teeny tiny allusion to self harm (if you squint)

a/n: also Netflix exists in Modern!Westeros :) also reader is kinda toxic but hey this is a dark series so eh. Also other than Marvel, lemme know what odd niche thing you think exists in Modern!Westeros (Teslas? Harry Styles? Cupcake Remixs? EUPHORIA?!) Also, Summerhall is built on one of the StepStones island and reader lived in Storm’s End

Rhaenyra had been worried, you weren’t yourself the past few days. Having merely shown them a glimpse of the sunshine you were for a week, you became quiet again. Obediently offering up a wrist or lifting your skirt for Daemon when asked, pulling up your hair and dropping to your knees on Rhaenyra’s command. Then returning to shield yourself within the pink walls of your rooms. Binging some medical surgery show and smiling along at its romance.

They had your things shipped from your old apartments up at Storm Street, even your little cactus on your coffee table was returned to you safely. Daemon bought you a much larger one, thinking it would have made you happy. You admired the gesture, but it was big and just a little bit ugly. You spent a few hours scrolling through your laptop and phone that was also returned to you, you wouldn’t run, they knew you wouldn’t. Your mind so tightly in their grasp, you no longer looked at the main gates around the island.

Today you laid curled in the theatre room, a melting bowl of strawberry ice cream on your lap as you hummed along to another concert documentry, you missed going out— the fun behind getting ready with friends, the drunk unrelenting laughter and feeling damn sexy by choosing to dress slutty once every month. Now all you saw was scars, yellows, blues and purples. They would have taken longer to heal if Mrs Stone hadn’t brought you a steaming cup of tea with two drops of either Daemon or Rhaenyra’s blood.

You would never see them on the days you healed, away from the island for their business, and you were happier for it. Finding the scarring rather displeasing to look at and relief that you could frolic around this giant property in your PJ’s and messed hair. Sometimes when you truly felt lonely, you would put on your headphones, blaring against your ears as you danced down the hallway. All of whom in witness were the many paintings of Old Valyrian nobility and Targaryen royalty. The first day you did it, merely mumbling along the lyrics but by the end of the month you were sure Mrs Stone could hear you screaming the songs from the kitchen.

The same over and over again for four days at a time, you grew a little worried over your mother—her silence was agonizing to this day. She didn’t have much to say, you wanted to tell her, you were lonely and even alone you might have been addicted to the gentle heaviness in your heart every time you woke up in bed alone after an exhaustive night of being fed on. Yet everytime you heard their car doors thud close, you’d run down the grand stairs to greet them barefooted and in a pretty dress. Throwing yourself at whoever walked through the doors first.

Today in particular, you stood in your giant closet, finally feeling comfortable to partake in all that it was stocked with. While you were happy that your older clothes found a home within the white trim dressers. The gowns, the little girl in you screaming as you put one on, you couldn’t lace it through though, all poofy and tulle. Underneath you had on a lingerie set, throughly pretending to be one of those catalogue models.

You took to the east wing hallways again, waving at the portrait of Baelon Targaryen. Waving around your skirts to a up tempo song and the cool stone underneath your feet. You came to stop at a glass enclosing, Rhaenyra’s coronation gown and her crown laying on a velvet red pillow. Your reflection covering the silhouette of the dress, you imagined yourself in it. You were sure the seams of the dress were made of gold threads.

You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of the main gates opening Daemon’s car waiting behind it.

Fuck. They were home early.

You hiked the skirt of your gown and ran down the hall to your bedroom, struggling hard to be rid of your dress and gazillion straps on your lingerie and changing into a more modest sundress to cover your bandaging. You knew you wouldn’t make it down the stairs in time so you sat down on the arm chair by the fireplace with a book. Trying hard to calm your thudding heart. Just as you expected a knock rang down your door before it opened just a little.

Rhaenyra poured in, dressed in a long red dress. Her arms wide as she came to engulf you, snuggling her chin on top of your head.

“I thought you would return the day after?” You asked, smiling up at her.

“Hmm, the Bravosi deal cracked a lot easier than we had hoped and Daemon found a fine meal last night. So we thought we’d return to our darling sooner.” She explained, lifting you up to sit in your spot and pull you down on her lap. “Unless, you didn’t want us to.”

You shook you head, resting it against her temple before reaching lower with your lips to kiss her. “Where’s Daemon?” you looked back to the open door.

“At the docks getting the yacht out.” she said, tucking your hair behind your ear and rubbing her nose against your neck.

“The yacht?” you were sure they even had nuclear weapons under this palace and Daemon could have been Iron Man because why not? You just wonder why.

“Well the weather is just too perfect to waste it so,” she looked towards the window “and I thought you loved swimming, what better way to spend today?”

Rhaenyra could hear Daemon grumbling down at the beach, scolding yet another house keeper for some odd detail they might have missed. She shook her head “I’m going to go check on Daemon before he rips the head of another worker. Get changed.” She pecked your lips before leaving to find Daemon.

You padded back into the closet, this time putting away the gown you were messing around in neatly. Probably costs an eyeball, you dig around for while to find your older swimsuit, a cute green one piece with paisleys on them, perfectly worn in. Then it hit you when you looked around your closet for a moment. Greens right… you loved that one and now it was probably burned along with other green clothing that you were now noticing missing.

You groan when you can’t find it, instead find a sea of newer one and two pieces. You nearly bang your head twice against the drawer before pulling out a white one. Just as you change the dread fills you, they’ve never seen you like this. Not so bruised, usually all that’s left by the time they lay with you again are small puncture scars that they yet again poke through new. Finding no reason to find a new favourite spot to drink from.

You grimace at the odd colouring of your scars clashing with the white, damn it, stretch marks would have been one thing. It was bearable to you but these scars were ugly. You hastily peeled a patch bandage and sticking them on your inner thighs, the left backside of your shoulder (not and easy accomplishment) and neck. Then you prayed to the gods of makeup gurus and tried to hide the yellowing with concealer. It didn’t work very well but it was better than before, instead of pulling on a cover up you pulled an cardigan with longer shorts. Groaning in your hands before leaving to find them.

You stood at the gates, you couldn’t leave them. Tapping your foot, wondering if they forgot about your little predicament. “I’m stuck here!” you chided out loud, knowing they could hear your from the beaches lower.

Daemon was quick to the gates, you hugged your torso, hoping none of the scars where viable as he gave you a once over. He was sizing you, eyes squinted as he leaned on one hip. He approached you, letting his palm curl around you cheek as he kissed you, commanding—almost a threat.

“You can go through gates,” you mind went blank as his eyes dilated.

“I can go through the gates.”

Your eyes cleared and you looked to gates, Home..? No, no. You stay here now.

Daemon was still watching closely, taking note of the way your heart jumped for a moment. He wanted to trust you, not that you could run far from the bridge across to the mainland forest. He thought maybe you were pliant enough that he wouldn’t have to. Yet your heartbeat jumped once more.

“You will not run.” His eyes dilated once more, clutching your jaw harder.

“I won’t run.”

You shook your head once more and the butterflies faded entirely. “Head down the steps on the left. Nyra is waiting for you on the dock.”

You nodded before skipping down the gates, not a second glance was offered to the mainland bridge. You ran down the long dock to Rhaenyra waiting in the boat your thudding ballet flats warning her much before. She helped you onto the boat, before swiftly twirling you into her arms. Her fingers feeling under the fabric of your cardigan and smiling at the feeling of your bathing suit.

The sun had its glare set upon the open warm sea, the cool winds however making the weather bearable to your skin. In the one hour you had been on the boat, you had been hen mother scolded by Rhaenyra twice. First because you forgot to bring a pair of sunglasses. Second, you only had a bowl of strawberry ice cream for breakfast. You had sheepishly smiled at her as Daemon smirked at his wife. He didn’t mind you being spoilt, anything to keep you here willingly—he didn’t enjoy compelling you. The consequences of compulsion would rain down far worse on you than them.

There were already a few signs, odd blurring of your memories of your older life. You had entirely forgotten which middle school you went to until the reminded you uncomfortably in a conversation. Luckily the many photos albums and stashes of Polaroids you had at your apartment were more than enough grout to fill the gaps in your memory. Then there was spurts of blank, one moment you could be speaking or whimpering in their arms to just blank—robotic like the colour drains from your eyes.

“I wonder what other spoilt things you are up to in the day,” Rhaenyra huffed as she pulled your other leg onto her lap to rub sunscreen on. She knew, both her and Daemon very much knew about the dance parties with their ancestors in attendance. From all the cameras around the house that they checked upon every night away from you.

“Does talking to Aenys Targaryen count?” you giggled, making Daemon’s eyebrows perk up. “He seemed like a good listener, very pretty.”

“Very weak.” Daemon coughed. “What else?”

“Uh… watched a documentary on whales actually. Fascinating.” you mused before looking out to the sea “I’d like to see one some day.”

“Now, why don’t we go for a dip huh?” Rhaenyra pawed at your pink cardigan, the gentle pull gave her glimpse of the white bandage. “Are you still bleeding?” Her eyes scrunched.

“Did you not take the tea?” Daemon questioned, immediately wondering if Mrs Stone would soon be lunch.

“No— I did.” You shook your head, completely forgetful of the anxiety bubbling within you an hour ago. Rhaenyra tilted her head, confused at the rise in your thudding heart. Daemon too pushing down his sunglasses to look at your with a frown upon your face. Your mouth opened and then closed.

“Well?” he questioned with his palm out.

“You’ve never seen me on healing days, it— it’s not pretty,” you stuttered “so I thought I’d cover up.”

Both Rhaenyra and Daemon visually relaxed, both contemplating worse than what was bothering you.

Rhaenyra said nothing, just hooked her fingers around the buttons of your cardigan before pulling it off, Daemon watched Nyra and you, but mostly listening to the music that was your heart. He hadn’t heard something so reactive, accustomed to the rapid increase in his feed’s heart, the crescendo of fear and the sloshing of blood as he controlled its flow from the carotid artery.

You winced a little as Rhaenyra peeled apart the bandage on your shoulder, peppering little kisses on the bruise “not ugly.” She figured if they had stained such delicate skin, they could kiss it better too. She nodded her head to Daemon, demanding he follow along.

Daemon shook his head Nyra, his sweet wife perfectly cunstruck by a human, so was he—maybe, big maybe. He kneeled infront of you, shimming your shorts up to peel away at the bandaging on your inner thigh. His cock twitched at the sight of the healing bruises and the distinctive puncture marks of his fangs.

His pink tongue poked out as he suckled on the spot—keep it fucking marked he thought. You hissed out loud at that, making Rhaenyra kick Daemon in the thigh as a warning glare. He sneered at her before obliging and peppering kisses up your thigh. You wiggled on the spot as his kisses trailed upwards.

“Needy slut.” He muttered under his breath, he could smell your pooling cunt already as Rhaenyra peeled through the bandage on your chest.

Daemon hooked his fingers around your cotton shorts and pulled them down. His nose rubbing up at your clothed mound, Nyra knew exactly what he wanted to do as she shuffled backwards, letting your upper body rest against her chest. She pulled your white bathing suit to one side, letting Daemon groan and flatten his tongue against your warm folds.

He used his thumb to gently push at the hidden pearl, using his tongue to pry open your folds. He was about to open his palm and lay a smack on your mound, he couldn’t help but crave the sound of your yelps and cries. Rhaenyra was faster though, knowing her husband far too well as she reached over to catch his wrist.

“If you’re going to be a dick, we can switch. You like my tongue better anyways, don’t you sweetie.” she teased her husband, this was a fight you refused to get in between as you looked between the pair.

“You didn’t think I was a dick last night with my tongue in your cunt, riñītsos.” He countered, it was never more apparent that they indeed were a married couple.

You couldn’t help stop the cackle that tore through you next, you pursed your lips to stop another from pouring through but instead choked on a yelp as Rhaenyra slapped your cunt. You bit your tongue from smiling as you gave her your sweetest eyes as an apology.

“Don’t be a brat,” she scolded, still giving Daemon a warning glare to be be nice to you “and you keep licking.”

You curled to your side with a moan as the tip of Daemon’d tongue pushed against your hood before suckling it in mouth.

“Daddy.” You mewled, your hands reaching down to grab hold of his silver hair. The ardent feel of his tongue pushing you masterfully to a longing completion.

“Is he making you feel good, honey?” Rhaenyra pulled your chin up to meet your eyes, you nodded breathlessly. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” your toes curled around his shoulder as his tongue rapidly flicked against your reddened bud.

Daemon has a voracious need to feel you gushing onto his tongue as he poked into your clenching hole, Rhaenyra reached down to play with you clit but he slapped her hand away— his turn, he knew you liked his tongue the most. He replaced her fingers with his, rolling the bundle of nerves between his fingers. He spat onto your pussy, admiring your scrunched up face as he rubbed tight circles onto your bud.

“Now, whose tongue is your favourite again?” He asked “gotta answer if you want to come today, pet.”

The vehement predicament he had just pushed you into was cruel, just too cruel for your poor heart as you eyes welled up, your bottom lip pouted out. Looking conflicted between Rhaenyra and Daemon as they bottom looked at your expecting an answer. You mouth opened and then closed as your deeply gulped, he couldn’t hold his serious face together for longer. The sweet battle in your mind, he knew your answer would come along with a major punishment at the hands of the other.

He shook his head once more chuckling, making Rhaenyra giggle and press a kiss to your temple.

“Go on, come on daddy’s face.” Rhaenyra whispered in your ear as she let your hair.

You on command, shrieked, relaxing and letting the dam break through as your thighs shuddered along with your body. You hands tightly clutching onto Rhaenyra

“There we go, what a good pet.” Daemon coaxed you through your high as he kept his rubbing going until your orgasm turned to over-sensitized whimpers. Rhaenyra let go of your bathing suit, still stroking your arms as you recovered.

“Thank you.” you huffed once more at Daemon who returned to nursing in his scotch.

“Now go swim.” Rhaenyra patted your thigh as she pushed you up, gesturing at the very calm open waters. You looked to her once, still dazed before looking at the Sunset Sea. You smiled as you climbed down the ladder to the lower deck. Stopping for a moment to drop you cardigan in the floor, before running to the water.

Tucking your legs in a canonball as you squealed before splashing into the water.

Daemon then turned to his wife “you’re getting bossy these days Nyra, don’t make me spank it away.” He warned her as she pulled of her red kaftan to reveal her maroon bathing suit. He laid a quick swat on her milky pale ass as she followed behind you, sitting on the lower deck with her painted feet dipped in the water as she watched you swim.

“She still likes my tongue better Daemon.”

ahhh you guys, this was so much fun to write hehe. I had this scene of Daemyra bickering like a married couple for a long time and I’m so glad I could use it for this AU.

Also, reader was totally screaming The Weeknd songs and Taylor Swift songs to all the Targaryen portraits.

And yes. There will be a chapter where Rhaenyra dresses reader in 120AC attire for roleplay :)

Ps. I’m trying to piece through a Vampire lore like pros cons and might do a backstory of their turning :)

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15-lizards · 2 years ago

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Ok so i know you did wedding fashions for most of the regions of westeros already but what about the other ones like the north and the vale or the islands. Also the crownlands could be interesting because its a mishmash of westerlands/stormlands/reach/targs and also just plain opulence because royal weddings!!! (Lowkey asking about all these as reference for the multiple ocs rotating in my head at all times. Im a SUCKER for wedding scenes)

Let the wedding bells ring

Northern brides in Kokoshniks are very serious business to me. I like to think they’re leftovers of a pre-heraldic time, when the north was more tribal and clan focused. Certain shapes of the headdress and the size signal what your status is, and the types of jewels inlaid in them and embroidery done is indicative of what part of the north a woman hails from. This heralding of what family you came from carried over into the modern era, becoming more elaborate and taking on different shapes as noble houses began to appear and shaped their own identities separate from that of their original clan. Loose, heavy, long sleeved gowns are traditional bridal wear as well, from a time where a woman might be married in winter, and it became an old wives tale that a northern woman who marries without the traditional garments will freeze to death before the wedding.

Marriage is when a girl becomes a woman, so in my mind in the Vale, a brides wedding day is when she starts to cover her hair. Bc covering your hair from the winds of the Vale is for noble wives who have duties to attend to and no time to fuss over trivial things. Letting your hair down and be tangled and caught is for silly little girls who don’t have any responsibilities. Essentially a rite of passage. I also think that a leftover from when the Vale was only made up of mountain clans is the gifting of a fur to the bride that the groom hunted himself. It used to mean that the man could provide for his new wife but now it’s an old tradition where a man may or may not hunt the animal himself. And it’s another tradition for the woman to use the fur in her bridal gown and for a swaddle for her future children

Marriage for an iron islander woman is particularly important because it’s one of the few instances where she can wear bright colors and pretty things without being ridiculed. She’ll wear her house colors instead of her husbands bc her fathers pride comes first ofc. A bride and her female relatives will probably make their jewelry for the wedding, protecting the bride with prayers to the drowned god carved into beads and bracelets. And any metal she might wear comes from her fathers stash, anything he paid the iron price for and wants to show off on his daughter. It’s part of her dowry too, so for a man to give away a particularly flashy piece of loot is considered very rich behavior

And ofc Kings Landing is a conglomerate of basically everything. Obviously westerlands style is currently the most popular and influential, but there are still fashions from all over the seven kingdoms and beyond being incorporated into weddings. What a woman wears all depends on her age, her homeland, whether or not she adheres to traditions, how modest she is, how rich she is, etc etc etc you get the gist. But rest assured it’s usually going to be over the top

#asoiaf #asoiaf hair and clothing #this one been sitting in the ask box for a hot minute sorry anon

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memescomicswriting · 7 months ago

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It's Nice To Have A Friend

Chapter 6.1: My Words Shoot To Kill When I'm Mad

Summary: Fate is cruel on how it goes about obtaining its desires. It must be fate, because there is no other explanation for how perfectly molded Y/N and Helaena are to one another. They complement one another like opposite sides of a coin. Where Helaena is shy, Y/N is outgoing. Helaena has a photographic memory. Y/N has emotional inteligence. They have the right temperament to be the missing piece in one another’s lives. Ying and Yang. Then there are the boys. Love them or hate them, they’re there. Even the adults cannot escape the Targaryen chaos, and the fallout doesn’t spare the minors simply because they’re adolescents. Follow how Y/N and those around her carve out lives for themselves amongst the weight of the Targaryen legacy in a modern Westeros.

Word Count 7.9K

Pairings: Aegon x Y/N, Aemond xY/N, hints of Jace x Y/N, Platonic! Helaena x Y/N, Father Figure! Harwin x Y/N, Mother Figure! Rhaneyra x Y/N, Mother Figure! Alicent x Y/N

Warnings: 18+ you’ve been warned

Lots of profanity, sexual innuendos, drug and alcohol use, boys being stupid jerks, infidelity, divorce, you get some smut this chapter!

A/N: Chapters drop on Thursdays. Please, please, please, please share your thoughts. I wanna hear them. I don't bite, promise!

Sereies Masterlist

By Y/N and Helena’s junior year, everyone seemed to settle down. Alys, bless her, remained with Aemond. Jace was too busy chasing his tourney aspirations to chase any girl. Alicent met a woman from Volantis. Not so little Joffery and Daeron were teenagers now. Currently, Y/N entertained a sweet Dornish boy, Lewlyn. Just like Aegon suggested, she found someone who honored how special she was. Helaena was accepted into a prestigious zoology study abroad program.

The program was a semester long. They’d spend about a month in each location: the Summer Isles, Naath, Valyria, and Pentos. You’d think it was an odyssey, the way Helaena and Y/N clung to each other in the days leading up to her departure. The excitement was bittersweet and anxious.

“We’ve never parted longer than a week since we met.” Helaena paused her packing to talk through her unease. It was true. Never had they gone longer than a week where they weren’t within walking distance of one another. They not only talked every day, but saw each other as well. Though Helaena technically had Rhaenyra, when she thought of her sister, Y/N came to mind. Was it dependency? Or was it the truest love one could ever know?

“I know.” Y/N sighed. She was equally as nervous, but she tried to hide it. She didn’t want to add to Helaena’s stress. “But we’ll talk every day, and video chat, and you’ll have the most amazing time!”

When Y/N moved in with Harwin, she was numb- frozen in a moment of time she’d never fully escape. Then she met Helaena. Though she couldn’t replace Y/N’s parents, it felt like someone stepped into that void. Once again, Y/N had someone who she wished to make proud, laugh, and happy. Someone was there. It was like she slowly awakened form a sleeping curse. She came back to life.

Helaena was fiddling with the fabric of a shirt yet to be placed in her suitcase. A manifestation of her anxiety. “I’m just worried that I won’t know what to do with myself. No one else knows me like you do.”

Y/N tenderly smiled as she struggled to keep tears from forming. “And you know me like no one else. But this is it Hels, this is the start of everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Though downcast, Y/N could see Helean’s lips turn upwards but quickly back down. “I just worry that I can’t do it on my own. I’m so different from everyone else, and-”

Y/N was on her feet and striding towards her best friend, her sister. She took the shirt from Helaena and intertwined their hands, giving a reassuring squeeze. “No, you can do it. You’re different and that’s how you got in and that’s why you can.”

Helaena gathered Y/N into a rapid hug. The compression from squeezing chest to chest significantly calmed their nerves. Helaena’s chin was propped on Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N had her’s facing away and leaning against Helaena. “Thank you for always believing in me.”

“Thank you for being my family.” Y/N was glad that she faced away from Helaena as she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They flowed like a quiet stream.

“Are you going to be alright without me?” Helaena’s voice was mumbled and it brought out her concern even more.

“Yeah, yeah.” Y/N took a deep breath and chuckled on the exhale. “You know me, nothing can hold me back. I’m too stubborn.”

Helaena pulled away enough to see Y/N in her entirety. Her cheeks were stained with the flow of her tears. She tried to smile, tried to hide her fear and ache, but she truly could never hide anything from Helaena.

“Don’t hold the weight alone.” Helaena witnessed every phase and side of Y/N. She didn’t need to say much to say everything that was needed. As she grew, she understood more of what she noticed. Her friend carried the belief that the world would stop spinning if she stopped being everything, for everyone, all at once. Perhaps it was the trauma. If she was in control no one could get hurt. At the same time, it was hurting her.

Y/N sniffled and nodded in acceptance. “Okay.”

“I mean it. Let Baela, Rhaena, and Jace be there for you. They want to be.” Helaena brushed the tear tracks away. Then, she brought her best friend into a tight embrace once more.

Y/N went with Alicent to the airport. They’d see Helaena off; wave to her from the gate. Y/N promised to keep all the creepy crawlies alive. Helaena had a hard time walking off. Alicent was giving the best motherly assurance. Y/N threatened that if she didn’t get on the plane, they’d have to listen to the obnoxious internet songs that Helaena hated the whole ride home. They exchanged a knowing twinkle. They could do it.

Alicent took Y/N back to her apartment. Of course she was sad to see her daughter go, but she had a bonus daughter in Y/N. She promised that she was only a call away. Y/N had to come over for Sunday dinner or afternoon tea. Helaena would be back in no time. She was young and couldn’t possibly have a bad time.

For the city of possibilities, Kingslanding offered little to Y/N. She had friends. She had so many friends that her friends had friends who were friends with Y/N. What she never realized was that most of those friendships were surface level. She invested all her time in Helaena- and her brothers, by default. Was it though? It takes more than proximity to truly know someone. It takes a privileged vulnerability few were allowed to see.

The end of winter and beginning of spring was marked by several things. First, the snow once piled three feet high shrunk down to only half a foot. Advertisements for Maidan’s Day began circulating. Lastly, and most importantly to the people of Westeros, collegiate tourney season was in full swing. Collegiate was saved for spring so talented graduating seniors could go straight into the fall professional schedule. Collegiate was largely popular in Andal dominated counties. Professional was admired in the North and abroad. Dorne was equally invested in both.

Fittingly, Jace was a member of the King’s College Dragons. The team never had a bad season. It was the capitol. Those with deep pockets paid to ensure they’d receive the top recruits. However, the Dragons hadn’t won the championship in the last several years. It didn’t help that the boosters rotated coaches like a revolving door. Yet by some divine intervention, they’d managed to keep the same head coach for the last three seasons. The team began to work together rather than work for their own stats. They were great and on their way to becoming champions once more.

Of course Y/N went to all the home games. She was practically the adopted sister of one of the players. She, Baela, and Rhaena had designated seats on the sidelines. They usually avoided joining the field, but they often were close enough to shout encouragements to Jace and his teammates. As Jace’s relatives, they were in frequent close proximity to the other players. They knew most, if not all of the team. With Helaena gone, Y/N especially became close to the players. Most were sweet and very protective. Any female relative of a team member could count on a walk home late at night or a ride home from a party turned sour. It’s how she met Sara Snow.

Sara Snow was a freshman and younger sister to another player, Cregan Stark. Y/N had met him in passing. He was reserved, quiet, but dependable. With their personalities being so different, they rarely spoke despite Creagan being one of Jace’s best friends. Sara seemed to be more like Y/N than her brother. She was lively, outgoing, and eager to be involved. Y/N, Baela, and Rhaena took to her quickly. Soon, they were all on the sidelines in coordinating game attire. They often studied together, ate together, partied together. Who knew private Creagan had a party animal for a sister.

Then there was Alys. Through Y/N’s introduction, she and Rhaena became friends early on in their college career. It’s how Aemond met her. Despite their many scuffles, the Targaryens always worked their way back to one another. It was all very “only I can mess with my family” sort of situation. Y/N didn’t remember when Aemond and Alys were introduced, but one day she noticed they were together. That was it.

Alys and Rhaena both had an affinity for where science meets magic. Growing up largely abroad, Alys and Rhaena both had more access to those topics than they would in Westeros. Where magic was discussed, history followed, and that meant Aemond. Often Aemond and Alys were the first ones at a new museum exhibition or speaking engagement. As one of Alys’ closest friends, she often invited Rhaena who invited Y/N. That’s how Y/N, Aemond, and Alys often fell into an awkward trio. Rhaena would excuse herself for one reason or another, and then it was three.

It got easier over time. Alys knew of Aemond and Y/N’s history. Alys knew Y/N had no romantic interest in Aemond. It was evident enough from that complete shit show of a party the year before. Aemond was awkward about his history with Y/N. He always had to make it abundantly clear that he was only interested in Alys. Y/N only acted awkward about it when Aemond did something awkward. So painfully slowly, when the three of them were left to their own devices, it got easier. It graduated to a point where the trio made plans regardless of Rhaena’s availability.

It was strange sometimes. At times, Y/N felt like the world was a hanging picture slightly ajar. She was there. Aemond was there. She and Aemond were spending time together again, but then Alys was there too. There had never been an opportunity for Y/N to be just Aemond’s friend and not his point of affection. It was always either affectionately close or cold distance. This was new. It felt easy. It felt off.

She pushed that feeling away. She had Lewlyn who made her content. She had Jace and Sara. Baela and Rhaena. She had enough to make it by. Helana called every day. They swapped stories and complemented one another’s growth. The world didn’t come to an end when Helaena left. Everything was okay. Y/N was doing fine. Y/N felt something was missing.

To everyone’s surprise, Aegon lasted over seven months with a girl he met in an ethics class, Kakia. The gods’ humor manifested in irony. For the first few months, everyone was pleasantly surprised by Aegon’s commitment. Maybe Peter Pan finally relinquished his youthful negligence. He seemed happy. He showed up to every class and went from straight Cs to As and Bs. He called his parents on a regular basis. His feuds with Aemond were few and far between.

Around month five, something began to feel off. Aegon was chipper, but never answered questions in depth. He’d go no contact for five out of the seven days of the week, then reappear as if nothing happened. He crashed his car. He swore he swerved to avoid an animal in the street. He wasn’t drunk, but he was going far faster than the legal limit. The excellent break hydraulics made it so the impact was only at twenty miles an hour.

Though he hadn’t called her, he shared his location with Y/N. He forgot to turn it off actually. She forgot she had it. Her phone pinged with a notification of crash detection. She was out the door that instant. When she arrived on scene, his eyes were puffy and purple with bags from lack of sleep. He seemed grateful for her presence, then Kakia appeared and his mood soured. He treated Y/N like she was the animal he swerved to avoid. As she left, she noticed Kakia was the one crying and Aegon was comforting her.

Month six, Y/N involved herself. She cornered him at his apartment’s door. Helena was abroad. Aemond couldn’t be bothered to care. Jace was on a tight sport’s schedule. Y/N didn’t want to involve anyone else in fear that it would send the family into a tizzy. Aegon would never trust her after that. So, it was a solo mission.

Aegon hesitantly opened his door like a child spun a Jack-in-the-box. He relaxed once he saw it was only Y/N. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, since you’re so secluded these days, I figured I’d have to track you down.” She walked into the apartment without invitation. It was Aegon. She was going to do as she pleased.

Aegon shuffled after her. He had a twitch to him, those purple insomnia bags, and the smell of stale beer. He had next to no fighting spirit. “And you tracked me down because…?”

Y/N tossed him a blunt which he struggled to catch. His reaction time was slower than normal. “We’re fixing whatever shit rut you’ve slumped yourself into. Also, carry out.”

Aegon looked at the plastic bag full of containers. His need to eat outweighed his desire to snap back; for the moment at least. “I guess I have to entertain you then.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled in satisfaction. He wasn’t resisting, good. Aegon began to scarf down his food like a ravenous animal. Y/N walked around taking in the state of things. A kitchen trash bag sat halfway full of garbage. More littered the room. She began going around and further filling the bag. Normally, if his place was this trashed it was after a party and she’d just tease him till he cleaned up. But Aegon clearly wasn’t operating on normal.

“Have a guys night or something?” Y/N knew better, but to outright accuse him of spiraling wouldn’t help her cause.

“Something like that.” Aegon hollered back with his mouth full of food.

“I’m gonna let some fresh air in, okay?” It didn’t matter his response, she’d do it anyway. He hummed a response. Two grand glass doors lead out to a balcony overlooking college town. The air wasn’t exactly high quality. Plenty of fumes arose from the street below, but there was a breeze, and whatever came was better than the current condition.

On the other side of one of the doors was a desk with all sorts of non school related material. It was Aegon, she wasn’t expecting a valedictorian’s set up. Amongst the stash of magazines, speaker equipment, and other odds and ends rested a considerable stack of handwritten letters. The handwriting was very feminine.

It was a line that Y/N was dangerously dancing. She knew she shouldn’t go through something this personal, but the building curiosity from the previous weeks got to her. She skimmed the contents. It seemed very repetitive, very rambly, very accusatory. She knew who they were from before she even found a signature, Kakia.

Focus remaining on the papers in hand, Y/N let her confusion and worry show. She took steps towards the kitchen but was halted by a now attentive Aegon. He had her by the shoulders. It prevented her from running into him. She looked up and found his blank stare. He looked down and found the letters in her hands. Immediately, he snatched the papers out of Y/N’s grasp. She noticed his red rimmed eyes clearly now. In comfort, she wanted to place a gentle hand on his but he backed out of reach.

“What are those?” Y/N asked in bewilderment. This was an Aegon unfamiliar to her.

“Not something for you to snoop, that’s for damn sure.” His words rang like shots reverberating.

“Are you okay? Those looked-”

“You have no respect for privacy, do you?”

His words took her aback. She and Aegon fought, and fought often, but it was always over some trivial remark or slight. They bickered. They didn’t argue. “I’m worried about you Aegon.”

He scoffed in what seemed to be disgust. “And that gives you the right to go through my things?”

“I just stumbled across it. Everyone’s worried about you. You disappear and reappear, you wreck your car, hells your place is like a homeless dump.” She became aggravated as she listed off the shenanigans for the previous months. She didn’t hide her frustrations well.

“Are they worried? Or did you just need an excuse to overstep like you always do. Gods!” Aegon threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “It’s so like you to involve yourself. Always have to be the center of attention cause otherwise you’re just a loose connection nobody asked for.”

Y/N retracted herself. Yes, she was seething and felt the desire to crucify Aegon for his remarks. However, she was more hurt and confused than anything else. When did he become so cruel? Her eyes began to water. Her cheeks, neck, and chest began to flush. Her fists balled in a need for exertion.

Aegon didn’t take her silence and forming tears well. He needed engagement. He needed her to fight with him, fight for him, wake him up from this hell spiral. So, he further twisted the knife. “I’m not Aemond. Cry, scream, manipulate all you want but I won’t cave out of some lovesick longing to fuck the forbiden fruit.”

Y/N’s voice was as shaky as her breathing, but there was force behind it. There was a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. “Fuck you.”

“That’s right, fuck me. Fuck Aegon he won’t be the puppet everyone wants him to be. Fuck Aegon the fuck up who’s only good enough when you’re pathetic and desperate.” His words were honed in, meant to hurt, meant to lash the same searing pain into her that he was feeling right now.

Y/N rushed only to abruptly stop when she was in his face. There was a line and they were racing to cross it. No one can quite hurt you like the one who can see further into you than your own reflection. “No, fuck you Aegon because you were born to be miserable cunt and you’re only achievement is to dragging everyone else down with you. I pity you. I do. How fucked up in the head you must be to think I would ever care for you.”

Love, hate, it was all just another form of passion. There is no difference between passion, intensity, and heat. Fire lived within them. They were both descended from the blood of Old Valyria. When they burned the world would burn with them. They’d burn each other if only to see their reflection in one another.

She shoulder checked him on the way to the exit. He captured her arm in a death grip. She rounded back bearing teeth. If looks could kill, it would’ve been a double homicide. They held the moment, waiting for the other to make the kill. They each knew the words that would drive them to murder, but nothing was uttered. Neither could cross the ultimate line. Y/N freed herself.

She slammed the door on the way out. No final remarks were heard from either. The look was more than enough. This animosity wouldn’t dissipate. They’d go at it again. Spite was an easy thing to latch onto when betrayed by someone you truly loved.

Month seven and Aegon posted pictures of parties with cryptic messages. “Finally free to be me, beware of those who speak sweet little lies, your loss.” By that point, no one had heard from him in a few weeks, but they knew he was alive. He’d answer texts with a word or two and an emoji. Nothing more. Alicent couldn’t get Aemond or Y/N to investigate further. Both had sworn off interfering.

Spring break came, and Aegon was the last thing on Y/N’s mind. Helena was now on the Pentos leg of her trip. Y/N was going to visit her best friend no matter what. Jace had a tourney scheduled in Pentos that very week. Beala and Rhaena took it as an opportunity to visit where they spent the majority of their childhood. Since everyone else planned to go, Aemond and Alys tagged along. There was enough history in Pentos to occupy their whole week.

So the party of extended Targaryans made the journey across the Narrow Sea. They flew private, perks of old Valyerian wealth. That wasn’t anything exciting. What excited Y/N was seeing Helaena after the longest they’d been apart. They knocked each other over in the airport. Jace and Baela simply pretended they didn’t know the two hot messes on the terminal floor. Rhaena found it endearing. Aemond and Alys passed before the show started. They were determined to settle into the best room and then explore.

“Oh my gods, you actually got a tan!” Y/N exclaimed.

“I know! I guess searching for arthropods in marsh lands was what was missing all along.” Helaena giggled. Her sense of humor had come a long way since age eleven.

“You’ll have to tell me everything! We’re taking you out for the real abroad experience.” Y/N was arm and arm with her other half at last. The weather was warming. In the day it was temperate enough to lay by the pool. The locals were all attractive. Everything was right in the world.

The matchup between the Kingslanding Dragons and the Pentos Pirates was the trip’s kick off. Though scheduled on a Saturday, for a handful of young adults Saturday was the start to the week. Y/N, Helaena, Baela, and Rhaena took their front row seats to the game. Aemond and Alys preferred to sightsee in place of attending. No one begged them to come either.

Though intense, the Dragons won by a single score. As they often did, the girls took to the field to congratulate the team. The most congratulations those sweaty boys received were high fives. Often, they teased the girls by chasing them to get a hug. They’d never force a hug on them, but the excitement of the chase thrilled everyone.

Hiding from one of the larger boys, Y/N ducked behind Creagan. He was large as well and wouldn’t tease her like the others. Though for someone who just worked their ass off to secure the win, Y/N didn’t find him sweaty or disheveled. He was as cool and calm as always.

“You know, I’ll have to leave the field at some point.” Cregan was sly with his smirk. He wasn’t a man of grand expressions. Fierce, but not grand. Y/N always admired his composure as she felt the exact opposite. She was fierce but reactive.

She peaked out from around her guard only to meet his gaze. “Yes, but you can go after Mourmont and then have my favor.”

“Oh,” He huffed out a presumptuous laugh. “Your favor, huh? Well I can’t say no to such a noble cause.”

Y/N honestly grinned. He was fun, sweet, simple. “So where’s Sara? I thought she’d fight tooth and nail to make this trip.”

“That she did.” Creagon chuckled fondly. “But knowing what everyone is going to indulge in this week, do you think I’d want my freshly eighteen little sister around that?”

Y/N hummed in amusement. “You’re a good brother. She won’t think so now, but you are.”

She swore he blushed. Of course he was already rosy from the exercise, but he blushed. Y/N knew Creagan would spend the majority of the week watching out for his teammates. Partying in the Pentos fashion didn’t seem to fit him. Now drinking pints of ale and throwing logs, that seemed more in tune with the Northerner. Though this wasn’t his ideal trip, Y/N hoped he’d have some fun. He deserved it.

“I think coach is dragging Mormont off.” From his height, Creagan had a clearer view. “Looks like he got a little too close to one of the reporters.”

Both laughed imagining The Bear tumbling into some polished Pentosi reporter. He was a bull in a china shop. Once safe, Y/N stepped out from around Creagan.

“Good luck this week.” She waved as she walked backwards in Helaena’s general direction.

Confusion appeared in frown lines on his face. “With what? The game’s over, we won.”

“Oh I think the real game is just beginning for you.” She waved over to the group of rowdy players trying to dump the coolers of sports drinks on eachother. Creagan rolled his eyes like a tired dad breaking up his third fight of the day. She thought he’d make a good dad. He was sweet and had ample practice redirecting toddler like behavior. Y/N laughed to herself as she went to collect the other cheerleaders.

So they won. They celebrated. Then they spent the rest of the week celebrating even more. Helaena remained in her apartment studying for the majority of the week despite Y/N’s pleas. Alys and Aemond remained out of the partier’s way. Rhaena split her time between the two groups. Y/N even agreed to tag along on an excursion or two. Each adventure she dressed in hangover chic. Shorts, oversized hoodie, complete with sunglasses inside- all the markers of coming down from one hell of a night.

Baela never needed an excuse to have fun. Jace was freshly single and wanted to indulge on what he’d been missing. Y/N wanted to live her best life. Needless to say, they spent most of the trip shitfaced. Even the water in Pentos appeared to have liquor in it. Or maybe they forgot what water was. Their schedule went as follows: shower off the night before, eat something, beach, beach bar, get ready to go out, food, club one, club two, club three, drunk binge eating, maybe club number four, sleep, and repeat. They made a deal that they could only post on their socials once a day and it had to be group approved. They didn’t need their parents finding out the extent to their revelry. Aemond was threatened to comply. They had no need to worry about Alys. She wasn’t a snitch.

It was the last Friday night. They flew out late Sunday. Their antics increased as they dreaded the idea that it would all end in less than forty-eight hours. The club was called Titan and it was run by a Bravosi gentlemen. Exclusive and discrete enough for a quartet of spoiled rich kids to comfortably act a fool. Y/N was on her third dragon flame of the night, definitely not her third drink, just the third of that type. Her dress was short, eyeliner waterproof, and happily complied with the new trend to wear sneakers in the club. It made dancing so much easier. She an Baela were shaking their bodies along to the beat of some up and coming Bravosi DJ. Not a damned thing mattered. She couldn’t care about her surroundings, till she had to.

Her back collided with that of another. Half her drink ended up on the floor. Depending on who she bumped into, she’d be either embarrassed or insulted. The last thing she expected was to have the poltergeist himself in front of her.

“What the actual fuck?” Y/N blurted out. Baela escaped into the crowd to find Jace and Rhaena. She was not drunk enough for this shit show of a reunion. Baela tended to dip out on all things family shit show. It was never worth her time. That left Y/N with the current shit show. “The fuck you doing here?” Aegon forgot the girl he was just grinding on. Neither cared to listen to the insults she tossed before leaving to find another source of attention. “Having a good time.” He retorted like the ass he was. Nah, he hadn’t gone MIA for weeks after the worst fight of their lives. “What the fuck does it look like?”

“You scared the shit out of everyone!” Y/N’s voice couldn’t get louder. Simple talking had to be at the highest volume.

Aegon rolled his eyes and curled his lip. “Oh, they just now started caring.”

“We’ve always cared. I’ve always cared despite your attempts to be the world’s biggest jackass.” Y/N was insulted. More than usual thanks to her drink and where they previously left off.

“Fuck ever. Let me live.” Aegon went to leave but Y/N pulled him back around.

“No, you don’t just get to disappear for weeks and then walk away into a crowd of strangers on a whole other godsdamned continent.” All her drink was on the floor now as she shook him by his shoulders. Aegon grabbed her hands and she dropped her plastic cup. No one cared. She continued fervently. “What the fuck did that bitch do to you to fuck you up this bad. Like circa Alicent’s affair bad.”

Aegon waved her off with a scoff. He didn’t need the adopted golden child interrogating him. He wanted her out of his hair. “I’m not getting into this with someone who just last year was down bad over a loser who couldn’t even make her cum.”

He started to storm off, but insulting her with confidences hit all her alarms. That animosity they clutched onto, welled in her. He was going to eat shit. She’d feed it to him. So she trailed behind him as he made his way to a back exit. He’d find another club to waste away in.

Close enough to an exit, her voice carried clearer than before. “Fuck you, you piece of shit.” Aegon whipped back around, seething at her determination. She could never just let him self-destruct. “You can’t handle your own shit so you take it out on everyone else till they’re as miserable as you.”

The recurring insult was a well placed jab so he got in her face. He searched her for a weak point to attack. One wrong move and they’d have bouncers on them. “And you’re so desperate for love that you cling to my family cause you don’t have one. You’ve got all the money and freedom to do whatever you want, but you’re pathetic.”

“Yet I never clung to you.” Her smirk was as vicious as the venom of her words. “Never chased you. Never asked for your love cause I saw you for the fucked up mess you are. Must not be that pathetic, huh?”

Aegon roared expletives and walked out the back door. Y/N was a cat with a cornered mouse, she couldn’t leave her prey. So she followed like the sore winner she was. “What? No retorts? Out of insults? Did I finally shut you up for once.”

Neither realized that the side of the building was not the ideal place for this argument. They were blinded by rage. Aegon faced the street. Y/N was right next to the exit they just flew out of. His breathing was ragged. Despite it being spring, there was enough chill in the air to see the puffs of steam he released. Following their club erratics, they were both molten in temperature. She remained still, anticipating a response, rearing for a fight.

He hated her. Hated her for her self important voice and better than you smugness. He hated her compulsion to take care of him. He hated her for making him feel like he had some value, giving him a reason to do better. He hated her for making him care. He hated her for being so blindly, uniquely, exceptionally everything he ever wanted and needed, just to be forever out of reach. So much so that he allowed himself to be twisted up in a viper’s nest just because at the beginning, Kakia reminded him of her.

Aegon threw his body into Y/N’s. Hate was his passion and passion fueled his desire. Her hands were raised to throw fists, but he caught her before she could do any harm and pinned them to her sides. His lips collided with hers in a mesh of teeth and tongue. It took next to nothing to push her against the wall and hold her there. Her hunger for violence transferred into the initial kiss. Each wanted to dominate the other and claim victory. By the time Aegon lifted to relieve his lungs, Y/N partially forgot why she was angry.

“What are you doing?” She herself was out of breath and desperate for air. They never liked to breathe when they were this close.

His restraint loosened into a gentle hold. He couldn’t look anywhere but her lips. “Shutting you up.”

They clashed into another battle of lips. It was all blinding heat. They had fire in their blood. She clutched him in a punishing manner, fearing he’d escape again. In return, he needed to have his tongue down her throat and hand between her thighs.

They only avoided a public indecency charge because the backdoor opened again. The movement of the heavy steel door was loud enough to distract them from their groping. They released one another and breathed.

“I’m staying in the hotel next door.” Y/N panted.

That was all he needed to hear. Aegon pulled her out of the alley, into the building, and through the hotel lobby. He would’ve picked her up to hurry the pace, but then he’d have to deal with security. To get to the golden elevator they had to pass a retro fitted bar. The bartenders were well acquainted with Y/N and her party by this point. Aegon couldn’t be bothered to care if the staff could place her face to her room for payment. He grabbed a bottle of champagne right out of the bartender’s hands. Gods know they had more than enough money to buy their way out of trouble.

Y/N flashed her room key. “Charge it to penthouse three.” She hollered out as Aegon continued to drag her. Her voice was somewhat giddy. Alcohol or not, she was getting drunk off the situation.

Once in the elevator, they were back at it. Aegon suckled down her exposed skin to her cleavage. Only the first of many marks he’d paint on her that night. Y/N’s hand was already down his slacks stroking his hardened cock. She moaned at the thickness and prominent vein. He’d leave her pleasantly sore. That was certain. Aegon would have made a snide remark but he couldn’t control the wimpers she pulled from him.

The specific key card, when swiped, took guests directly to their penthouse, which was half the floor. The elevator’s double set of doors opened on the correct side causing the pair to go stumbling into the suit. Light was dim, but enough to keep them from falling over any furniture on their dance to the bedroom. On the way, Aegon ripped down the straps of Y/N’s dress. She shimmied it lower until it pooled around her ankles. That left her in only a matching set of undergarments. They were dainty, pink, and so sinfully coquet. Aegon groaned at the sight. He’d seen her in bathing suits this lacking before, he drooled over her curves then, but this was painfully different.

“Gods!” He groaned as his fingers frantically spread to touch every inch of fresh skin. “I’m gonna fuck you until you’re so dumb, the only thing that can come out of that bratty mouth is my name.”

They crossed into the bedroom. Aegon’s domineering words sent her mind reeling to why they were here to begin with. He kissed her to shut her up. She never took his bossiness with docile obedience, quite the opposite. They were eternally locked in a battle of wills. Sometimes they aligned, more than not, one of them needed to feel the pleasure of winning. This was one of those times.

Y/N pushed Aegon hard enough that his knees buckled when he came in contact with the bed. He fell back, spread out, breathing heavy. He was wide eyed, enraptured by her determination.

“Strip down to your boxers.” She commanded. He obliged. Normally, he’d throw the girl around and into whatever position he craved, but this was Y/N. He had no idea that being controlled could be so mind-numbingly pleasurable.

“You think I’m fucking you for your benifit?” Her following chuckle was dark. “Oh you silly little thing. I’m fucking you to put you to good use for once.” Y/N swung her legs over his hips. She straddled him, but didn’t allow their sexes any contact. She hovered and it caused him to mule pathetically.

Aegon raised his hands from his sides to pull her down, touch her, something. She forbade it. She pinned his wrists to his sides and leaned over his pained face. Devilishly, she clicked her tongue in disappointment. “You think after all the shit you’ve said and done you can freely touch?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. “Answer me.”

“Pa-please!” He stuttered out, bucking his hips into the air for some form of friction. She allowed him none.

“That’s right, beg. Beg for it because you don’t get to just take. You receive what I give.” She held him there, unwavering. She was in control, not him, and he better not dare think otherwise.

“Please, please.” He repeated pathetically.

“Please what?” She demanded.

“Please let me touch you.” He whined and tossed his head back like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Good boy.” Y/N hummed and allowed his hands to roam freely. She’d yet to give him something to grind on though. Aegon was whimpering as he grasped every bit of flesh he could get his hands on. When he cupped her breasts, his thumb grazed over the thin fabric covering her nipples. They hardened to the touch. Her moan was stifled only by her words. “You’re being so good for me.”

Aegon preened with her words and the gentle touch of her fingers wafting through his hair. This was nowhere near the peak of his lewd achievements, but never had he been so desperate. He bit his lower lip and released it into a pout, silent pleading.

“Ah, ah, ah use your words sweetness.” Y/N enjoyed the way Aegon shuttered. She’d never been one to dominate in the bedroom, but this, Aegon’s needy compliance was a high she’d never best.

“I need you.” He was whiny and desperately clinging to her hips hoping she’d reward him.

Y/N’s smirk fully stretched her lips. She felt her mouth muscles grow taught. “Poor baby, where?” She pouted right back at him like he was a child.

“On me, please!” His whines increased in desperation. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Well in that case…” She rewarded him, and rewarded him well. She dropped her hips to meet his and began bucking at a wild pace. Both threw their heads back in delight. Y/N was as wet as Aegon was hard. She felt it, her panties were soaked. By the way Aegon groaned and looked at his boxers, he could feel it too. She leaked onto him.

He was so mesmerized by the growing wet spot that he failed to see what was coming next. Y/N unclasped her pretty little bra and pushed herself forward. Her right breast dangled just over Aegon’s face. He leaped to suckle her breast. His lips latched and his teeth nibbled love marks all around that sensitive area.

“Oh Aegon, fuck!” Her enjoyment caused a hum of satisfaction from Aegon. The vibrations made Y/N shutter. Then she shifted so he’d refocus on her left breast. It was euphoric and they hadn’t even reached the moment of euphoria. Aegon’s eyes were rolled back and half shut with desire, but what was visible radiated pure adoration.

Y/N’s cockiness softened. She tilted her chin to get a better look at him. He was so beautiful. He was Aegon. Her Aegon. Her breaths were deep and heavy, but controlled enough to direct their efforts. “I’m gonna remove your boxers and my panties, okay?”

Aegon eagerly nodded and lifted his hips to help her ease down the last remnant of clothing. His cock sprang free. Later, Y/N would swear it bounced off his stomach. Her mouth was left open and drool began to build. With her own half closed eyes, she shifted lower on the bed and took Aegon in her hand. She pumped slowly, testing the waters, lubricating with droplets of his precum. The little wimpers Aegon made only fueled the puddle between her legs. Then she did something that made Aegon involuntarily thrust up. She let her saliva build and trickle down over the head of his cock. Aegon was shaking in overwhelming anticipation. Knowing she’d fully broken this boy, she stuck her tongue out with a wide smile and licked base to tip, swirling around the head. Aegon shook again and called out her name. This time she was the one to hum and she did so with him hitting the back of her throat.

She bobbed her head up and down at a tantalizing pace. Aegon couldn’t string his begging into coherent pleas anymore. Y/N stopped her oral menstrations and took over with her hand. Nothing could beat the image of Aegon pathetically withering beneath her. “You’re so good. You’re being so good. So you get to choose. My mouth or my cunt?”

Aegon’s eyes flashed into wide saucers of delight. How quickly he could shift from pathetic to glee. “I have to be inside you.” It was an eager affirmation.

Y/N chuckled at his vigor and lifted herself back over him. She lined herself up using her right hand. She placed her left in his grasping right. “I want you to hold my hand.”

Tonight he’d been cussed out, ordered, teased, praised, and now with such a simple act of intimacy he felt his heart burst with love for her. He’d say it too, but as soon as he felt her folds part for him, all coherence was gone. His fingers intertwined with hers and they both gasped. Heavenly. This wasn’t an act of sin or shame, but a form of worship only they would ever know. Aegon wasn’t religious, but he knew then that heaven was real and it laid between her thighs.

Y/N set a grueling rhythm, slow as she adjusted. From all the emotions of the night, suspense, teasing, and fulfilled longing, every touch was magnified tenfold. She balanced by grasping the headboard in front of her. Somewhat supported, she was able to raise her hips higher and sink down quicker. Aegon gripped the plump flesh of her ass, guiding her movements.

With the additional assistance, Y/N allowed her pleasure to take over and her head lazily tilted back in satisfaction. Her mouth was left agape and sweatpants filled the space around them. Aegon’s tactile desire grew. His core muscles flexed as he sat up. They were chest to chest now. Y/N balanced by grasping his shoulders. She lulled forward and they made eye contact. Aegon bit his lip trying to control his upcoming release. He needed her to come first. So he began going back and forth playing with either of her nipples. It caused Y/N to release a high pitch squeak in shock. He also found the swollen bundle of nerves that was her clit. His thumb drew frantic circles over the sensitive area. Y/N’s thrusts were practically jumps now. She’d have sore thighs in the morning.

“Gods Aegon, keep doing that.” Though clearly on the brink of being blissed out, she continued making orders.

“Gotta feel you cum.” Aegon panted in concentration. “Gotta feel you come on my cock.”

“Fuck I will! I will!” Y/N’s voice was rasp from all the panting and high pitched involuntary responses. The coil pulling her release had been taught for a while now. His latest moves wound it to a snapping point. When Y/N came it was with Aegon’s name on her lips. She chased him, mouth to mouth in a desperate kiss. She needed every part of him.

Aegon fucked her threw her orgasim. He took over their movements by thrusting up from the bed. Once she came, it didn’t take long for him to follow. It was sudden, blinding, and more than usual. Any words of praise, pleasure, or admissions were halted with Y/N’s tongue thrusting down his throat.

When the last of their movements winded down, Y/N’s body collapsed against Aegon’s. He was still inside her, softening. He wrapped his arms around her torso, holding her close. Y/N dropped down into the crook of his neck. Her lips pressed forward in a prolonged kiss to his sensitive skin. They were incredibly, satisfying, close. For a moment, the world made sense. Y/N had her fingers raking through his messy locks. He shivered. He couldn’t name the feeling, but later he’d come to understand that it was a different type of love. He was secure, adored, cared for- everything he always lacked. It was her.

Eventually, Y/N broke the enchantment. She had to climb out of his lap. Her legs had gone from shaking to numb, and she needed to recline. Her back hit the plush mattress and she sighed content. Aegon followed her down like he was still chasing her. He lounged on top of her. His face nuzzled into the cushion of her breasts. It was pure companionship. All they did was listen to the other breathe and enjoy the after effects of their orgasms. Oxytocin coursed throughout their bodies.

Y/N wiped a hand over her sweaty forehead and propped her elbow behind her head. Her words echoed off the walls of reality. There was more to the world than them and this bed. “I stay because I want to learn how to manage my inheritance. I don’t want to become some tragic tabloid story- cocaine skinny, in and out of rehab, money down the drain. I want to be more than that. That’s why I’ve made my place in your family. They ground me.”

“I’m sorry.” Aegon stated as clear as the chime of a bell. There was no reluctant mumble. It’s all he could feel in the moment. Y/N was a woman unequal to any other and he needed to repent.

Y/N leaned further up. Obviously a little shocked, a little confused, more grateful than anything. She gasped dramatically. “An apology from Aegon Targaryen?”

A puff escaped his lips. He didn’t want it to be a big deal, so he mumbled with his lips against her sweat slick skin. “Yes, because I was an ass to you back there.”

“For several months.” She corrected.

He nodded against her skin, nuzzling again. “Yeah, months.”

Y/N snorted. “Mm, great pillow talk. Keep apologizing and you’ll have me riled and reeling for another round.”

Aegon shifted to lean over her. He was grinning, not as largely as she, but he was happy. His lips hovered just over hers. A flicker of mischief lingered in his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her. “Shut up.”

A/N: Thanks for reading 6.1! There will be other chapter sixes as I had to rework everything for the overall plot. It just made things longer. I may or may not post next Thursday. We'll see how much I get done over the weekend!

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