#qoren x oc

[xxpeppermintxx109]

green lies, black hearts - chapter xxxvi

summary -

the mind is a fickle thing

(yes I’m reusing a moodboard, I fear I have zero energy to make a new one skskskks)

[audreysfanfics]

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 (Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Sand/Martell! OC)

— Chapter II: Red bricks, black waters

AO3 link (kudos & comments are appreciated 💚)

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ || 1 || 2

────── ☀ ──────

As Qoren had predicted, the letter from King's Landing arrived only a couple of days after our raven had left, and it brought with it a positive response.

I happened to be in the Old Palace that afternoon, posing in my niece Aliandra's chambers while she painted my portrait, so I had the good fortune, or misfortune, to read for myself the words from the Hand of the King.

"To the Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear, Qoren Nymeros Martell:

Your approval has pleased his Majesty, Aegon, the Second of his name, and has filled the halls of the Red Keep with joy.

House Targaryen has great respect for House Martell, since for a century they have seen in them a worthy opponent and envied the bravery with which you have faced their dragons. The King believes it is time for our forces to join yours and for the Rhoynar blood, brimming with bravery, to meet his own, and so he celebrates the union of his brother, Prince Daeron Targaryen, with your sister, Lady Alaessa.

That is why King Aegon II invites you and Lady Alaessa to King's Landing and eagerly awaits, as do all of us on the Council, that you leave for the capital as soon as you receive these words.

The Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower."

“Very nice words, yes, but did you notice that he didn't dare write my complete name?” I observed with the papyrus in my hand.

“It was the first thing I noticed, sister”. Qoren smiled at me, somewhat sympathetically, and walked over to his daughter. He looked at the portrait she was making carefully and then looked at me, comparing the two. “They're desperate”.

“I know," I agreed, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “The problem will be when the war is over. What will they do with me then?”

“By then, you'll have Targaryen children and dragons in your possession," Qoren said.

“Alae, would you be quiet?”, Aliandra caught my eye with some annoyance in her voice. She held her pencil in her fingers.

“I'm sorry," I obeyed. I was in enough trouble as it was, without adding my niece's grumpiness.

“They say Daeron is the best of Viserys' sons," Aliandra interjected. “Aegon had to marry his own sister, and they say he spends more time drunk than sober, while the second brother, Aemond, is one-eyed. One of Rhaenyra's children disfigured his face for claiming a dragon”.

“Fucking Targaryen”, I sighed and tried to stand still, though my body was begging me to stand and walk. “They'll either marry or kill each other”.

“Apparently Daeron is handsome”. Both Qoren and I brought our attention to the princess, who was smiling smartly. “What?”, she questioned in annoyance when she noticed our stares. “Alaessa, this is the last time I'm telling you: stand still”.

“He must have got the handsomeness from his mother because, carrying so many generations of incest on his shoulders..." I observed.

I heard my brother burst out laughing. The surprise was so great that even his daughter put down the pencil to turn and look at him in confusion.

“You're right," said Qoren. “It’s a miracle of nature that he’s handsome. I think you'll even have to thank your God if the boy's cock gets hard…”

“Boy?”

There was silence. Aliandra cleared her throat uncomfortably and pretended to keep drawing, though I had already stopped holding the pose. I saw Qoren take a breath of air, as if it had suddenly dawned on him that he had unleashed a storm.

“Tell me, niece," I spoke directly to Aliandra, for I knew my brother was going to evade the question, "how old is Daeron Targaryen?”

Aliandra looked at her father out of the corner of her eye, cursing him inwardly for dragging her into this situation.

“Fifteen”.

“A fucking child”. Jumping to my feet, I closed the distance to my brother, clenching my fists. “You've betrothed me to a fucking child”.

“That 'child' is the age I was when I inherited the title of Prince of Dorne”. For some reason, Qoren had reddened. “At fifteen, I was already allied with the Triarchy in the Stepstones and I was at proxy war against King's Landing. By fifteen I had long since scattered my seed across the pillow houses of Sunspear”.

“You're overlooking the most important thing," I said, mumbling, "all of that, you did with your consent. Daeron Targaryen is being forced to marry a woman nine years older, and he doesn't even know me”.

“You care about a dragon now?” I saw a smug grin break out on my brother's face, and that was a bad sign: the counterattack was coming. “Well, you're getting attached to them faster than I thought”.

The punch went straight to the jaw and Qoren took it without complaint. The prick even let out a chuckle. That's when I decided to walk away.

“Where are you going Alae?”, my niece called me, “I want to finish this drawing today!”

“You'd better draw your father," I replied, barely turning around. “Draw him with that smile of his, and put special detail on the teeth, as I don't think he'll keep them much longer”.

As I crossed the corridor, I heard Qoren's laughter again.

“See you, dearest sister," he teased me. “Tomorrow, we’ll leave for King's Landing. Tell your maid to pack your best clothes”.

And, despite the annoyance and regret that was growing in me by the second, I did as he had said.

We set out for King's Landing at the hour of the nightingale and did so by land, for word had reached us that the Velaryon fleet had taken control of the Narrow Sea. We travelled through the deserts and barren ground of the Red Mountains of Dorne and then into the dense, damp forests of the Stormlands, where we had to kill a horse that had broken its leg after slipt. By the time we reached Storm's End, we were joined by twenty Baratheon knights as custody, and I had to endure my brother cursing them from then on.

Because of the setbacks, it took us nearly a week of ordeal to reach the Crownlands, and by the time we crossed the Kingswood, Qoren's moodiness was almost as insufferable as my own.

The first thing we met in the Capital was an unbearable stench that forced me to close the window, despite the heat. When passing through the King's Gate, the bustle and smell was so strong that Qoren banged on the carriage, demanding the driver to hurry up.

“This city is a shithole," Qoren couldn't sit still in his seat, and I was about to open the door and throw him through it.

“A shithole that will be my home”.

“Let's hope the Red Keep doesn't stink like this. Do you think this is why the river is called ‘Blackwater’?”

“King's Landing has nearly a million people, Qoren”. I sighed, begging for patience. “And those million people must shit every day”.

Holding my breath, I opened the window and peered out as I knew we were approaching the Red Keep. At the end of the narrow street, the red brick building stood monumental on its hill. I was in equal parts awe and fear, as I imagined its dark corridors, its endless rooms, and the ghost of kings and queens roaming them.

Our knights and the Baratheons preceded us carrying banners, and as we waited for the rake of the Keep being lifted, I caught a glimpse of a figure approaching at my window.

The next thing I felt was a spit in my face.

“Fucking Dornishmen," a thick, bald man with all his teeth missing insulted me. “Turn around and go back to your fucking desert, with your fucking scorpions and your fucking spears”.

I was ready to spit back at him, but then I heard the door on Qoren's side and as I turned I saw that my brother had got out of the carriage.

"Fuck, Qoren."

I had to watch as my brother beat the man to a pulp, rolling him in the faecal mud at the same time as a Baratheon knight tried to stop him.

“Let go of me, you bloody deer-fucker!”, Qoren broke free with ease. “Don't touch me with your filthy hooves”.

The commotion then escalated into a sword fight between Dorne and Storm knights, a conflict that had been brewing since the latter had joined us and got so out of hand that the City Watch had to intervene.

"This is pathetic," I thought as I wiped my face with a handkerchief. "Amazing how men are capable of sending diplomacy to the dogs when they feel their pride has been wounded”.

The idiot who had spat at me was taken between three men to the dungeons, and when my brother tried to get into the carriage, I locked the door.

“Oh, no. Don't even think of that with your clothes full of shit," I said. “You can walk from here”.

“I defended your honour," his hair was dishevelled and his yellow silk clothes were torn and dirty.

“I asked nothing of you, Qoren. Once and for all, stop deciding for me”.

The Green Council was to receive us in the afternoon. For my stay, I was appointed spacious and bright rooms in Maegor's Holdfast, the same place where the royal apartments were located and where the Queen Dowager, the King, the Queen, my future husband and the other brother slept. The butler who escorted me there took great pains to emphasise this to me, as if they were granting me some kind of privilege, but, in my opinion, they were only doing so because it was easier to study me if they had me close by.

I asked Nalia, my maid, to put on the purple silk dress that a lover had brought me from Tyrosh, for it matched my eyes and had been dyed with a color that was much sought after in Old Valyria. Over it, I wrapped a crisp shawl of linen and golden thread around me, matching the earrings and heavy necklace of pure gold that I decided to wear. My brother had strictly forbidden me to wear anything green, even though it was the colour of choice in the Red Keep, arguing his demand that he did not want the Hightower to think they had completely bought our support.

Qoren came to meet me, freshly bathed and beard trimmed, wearing the red and orange of our house. He offered me his arm and we made our way to the Council Chamber.

It was there that I met him for the first time, Maester. Yes, I’m talking about Aemond. I first saw him as we walked down the corridor with my brother, and he was coming from the opposite side, with hurried pace and clenched fists.

He was dressed in black leather from head to toe and his silver hair shone with golden highlights in the evening light. I knew he was the Targaryen prince Aliandra had mentioned because of his eye patch and I couldn't help but look at him: his gait exuded a certain magnetism as well as insolence.

With his one eye fixed on a point in front of him, I thought he had not noticed us, but then, as he passed us, I saw his iris glare at me. I held his gaze for that fraction of a second until he was lost behind us, leaving the smell of leather, ash and dragon in his wake.

I don't know what made me turn my head to watch him go, but I regretted immediately as he seemed to have the same impulse and turned as well, causing our eyes to meet again.

"Fuck," I cursed inwardly and turned, swallowing heavily.

“So that's the Kinslayer," my brother commented, passing by.

“What?”, I felt dazed.

“The one-eyed one, I mean," he explained. “A few weeks ago he had his dragon chase down and devour his nephew, the Black Queen's son, on the shores of the Stormlands," Qoren sighed and shook the head. “You should be thanking him for your future marriage, sister. It’s his fault that things among the Targaryen have been complicated of late, and that they’ve had to call on Dorne for support”.

The Green Council greeted us standing at their respective chairs, tense and silent. As soon as I stepped through the door, I noticed everyone's eyes on me. I saw the Queen Dowager inhale uneasily as she rubbed her hands together anxiously, the Hand of the King give a slight bow that seemed forced, and the rest of the members exchange glances with each other. There was also the King, who remained seated, with the crown of the first Aegon on his head, and a tall, silver-haired boy who half-opened his mouth when he saw me arrive.

"My future husband." I cursed Qoren inwardly, once more.

“Welcome to King's Landing, Prince Qoren and Lady Alaessa," Otto Hightower greeted us.  “I hope you had a pleasant journey”.

“Well, not necessarily”, my brother didn't even bother to say hello. “The overland journey was long and tedious, full of trouble, and when we arrived in the city we nearly died of shit-smell suffocating”. Qoren took his seat, as did I, and completely ignored the way the Council's mood was beginning to sour. The only one who was amused by my brother's words was the King.

“We are trying to fix that problem, my Prince, but the summer is proving hotter than we expected and... well, this weather can make the smells worse," Ser Otto explained.

“If I may, Ser, that's an excuse”. Apparently, my brother was eagerly to start a fight that day. “It's three times as hot in Sunspear as it is here, but it doesn't stink”.

“We will be delighted if, during your stay, you can give this Council some advice about urban planification," the Queen Dowager interjected, smiling. She was soft-spoken and seemed kind but did not give Qoren room to speak further. “By the way, Maester Mellos is going to be our scribe and will transcribe everything we discuss, for the record, in case our agreement does not come to fruition for any reason," she explained, cleverly. “Lady Alaessa, you are more beautiful than I was told," she added, out of the blue and, surprised, I turned my attention to her.

“Thank you, my lady”.

“‘My Queen’," a white cloak guard, whom I had not noticed until then, corrected me with impertinence.

“No," I spoke directly to the guard. “She’s not my Queen. Dornish people have no kings or queens, only princes and princesses”.

The atmosphere began to grow thick from there, and let me tell you, Maester, it would only get worse.

“She will be your Queen when you marry her son," Aegon spoke for the first time, and watched me with narrowed eyes.

“If anything, she'll be my mother”.

“Princess," a new voice added, and then I knew it was my future husband speaking. Aegon cursed under his breath when he heard him call me that, "You have no idea how lucky I feel to have you as my lady wife”.

I settled back in my chair and hated the silence that followed. Everyone was waiting for me to say something, even Qoren.

“So am I, my prince”.

“Well, I see little point in holding this meeting, when the bride and groom themselves seem to have come to an agreement," Ser Otto said, with some urgency. “Prince Qoren, if you wish, you and Lady Martell may join us for dinner," he added, and it did not take him a second to realise his mistake.

The awkwardness, the dense atmosphere and the eagerness played tricks on the calculating Ser Otto.

“Sand," my brother corrected. “Lady Alaessa Sand”.

“On that note, and with your permission, we plan to legitimize Lady Alaessa by Royal Decree and bestow the Martell name upon her," the Queen Dowager, Alicent, commented.

“Why?” I had to interject, after all, it was me they were talking about. “I don't need to be called Martell to know I'm one of them. Besides, I'm very proud of my bastardy”.

“Proud?” Aegon questioned. “Who the hell would be proud to be a bastard?”

“Any Dornish person, my lord," I countered.

I saw Aegon open his mouth, ready to say something, but Qoren beat him to it.

“In Dorne, bastardy is no shame. Lady Alaessa is the daughter of my father's former paramour, a worthy woman who was also his friend”.

“All the more reason she should be called Martell," Alicent insisted.

“My legitimacy would make me my brother's heir, would it not?” I questioned but received no answer. “Not that I don't trust you, my lords, but in order to safeguard the lives of my brother's children and the independence of Dorne, I prefer to keep my bastardy”.

“It's not about Dorne, my dear.” Alicent Hightower spoke to me in a calm voice, but her brow was furrowed. “We have Prince Daeron's image to look after. It does us no favours for his wife to be a bastard, for it would show weakness in the face of our enemies”.

“In that case," Qoren interjected, "there’s still time to stop this venture. I can marry Alaessa to Rhaeyra Targaryen's youngest son, as I hear he has not yet been betrothed and, like my sister, it is said he’s a bastard, so I don't think the Black Queen will mind”.

"Good move, Qoren," I congratulated him in my thoughts as soon as I saw the entire Green Council turn pale.

“Joffrey Velaryon is six years old," Ser Otto observed.

“Sister, would you be willing to wait ten years to consummate your marriage?”, Qoren asked, complicit.

“Of course, brother," I replied, humouring him.

“Sentencing Lady Alaessa to ten more years of maidenhood would be a punishment for her, Prince Qoren," Maester Mellos countered, speaking for the first time. “She is twenty-four now, so she would not be deflowered until she is thirty-four”.

“It’s nine years since I ceased to be a maiden," I blurted, and suddenly there was a silence as heavy as lead. But I enjoyed it, delighted, as did Qoren beside me.

“Don't write that, Maester," Alicent Hightower ordered.

“I like you, Lady Martell," Aegon said, smiling. Even though he was King and in the middle of a war, he took it all less seriously than he should have.

“If I may say so, this is a small matter, and as far as I know, only I, her future husband, should care about Lady Alaessa's maidenhood," Prince Daeron interjected, to everyone's surprise. “Princess," he insisted on calling me that, "I know these matters are handled differently in your land. Please let me adopt, little by little, your ways”.

I watched as Alicent Hightower's face drained of colour and her eyes widened in perturbation, while King Aegon smiled, delighted, as if the situation were hilarious.

“Any objections?”, asked the Hand of the King, after clearing his throat.

But no one said anything. Perhaps they had given up. Perhaps they were too stupefied to speak.

“We'll see you at suppertime, then”. Qoren stood up and offered me his arm. “It's been a pleasure," he added, haughtily.

We walked away from the Green Council without anyone having the decency to even stand up from their seats. When we opened the door, we saw that on the other side, leaning against the wall, was Aemond Targaryen.

He had been listening, it seemed, and his intention was to be discovered. When he saw us, he looked first at Qoren and then at me, taking more time.

“Are you lost, boy? In your own castle?”, Qoren provoked him with some annoyance in his voice.

But he did not answer. Instead, he uttered an almost imperceptible "hmm" and stalked off the way he had come, walking as if he could carry the world before him. Qoren and I watched him walk away and then started walking too.

“Are we really going to have to have dinner with that child?”, Qoren questioned.

“Surely, he's the King's brother too”.

“Every second I spend in this Keep full of madmen increases my regret that I got you into this," my brother said, and that annoyed me. It was impossible he had been oblivious to the atmosphere in King's Landing up to that point.

No doubt Qoren was trying to lessen his burden of guilt.

“Too late," I said , with a bitter feeling in my throat.

And in fact, dear Maester, it was late but not only for me, but also for Qoren, Daeron and Aemond Targaryen.

[grace268]

92 AC - 146 AC

The Selfless Dragon

The Princess of Dorne

Ellena of house Dohaeragon/Martell

My Oc for Qoren Martell✨

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃

pairing: aemond targaryen x daemon's daughter!oc (dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader au)

summary: with the help of her soon-to-be husband, alyssa discovers a secret about her mother.

warnings: for better understanding you should read the how I met your brother oneshot. pure fluff honestly

author's note: based off this ask i received A LONG TIME AGO OMG IT HAS BEEN YEARS 😭 i hope u can still read this, nonnie... this is really short sorry but i really like it and i hope y'all enjoy.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

dad!daemon x mom!reader au masterlist

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓ ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

In the expansive library of the Red Keep, the soft glow of candlelight danced across the rows of ancient books and scrolls. Alyssa Targaryen sat at a large wooden table, her silver hair arranged neatly as she pored over an old, leather-bound tome. Beside her, Prince Aemond Targaryen, her soon-to-be husband, flipped through a stack of documents with focused interest.

Alyssa had been intrigued by the history of House Martell for some time. Today, she was deep into a volume detailing the lineage and achievements of Dorne’s great families. Her lilac eyes scanned the pages with a growing sense of curiosity.

A couple days before that moment, her brother Maegon was telling her story their uncle and father had told him, about the day their father, Daemon, had met their mother, Lady Y/N. A fun fact about the story that her brother relates, is that old and sick Viserys, shares some hints on the dornish heritage of the Lad-, no, Princess Y/N. Daughter to Qoren Martell, the Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear, something that neither Alyssa or her brothers had knowledge of.

She knew better than to question her mother about that. And when she tried to talk to her dad about it, he had dismissed her saying that she should be asking Y/N.

Now, the bookworm couple were trying to find some vestige of Y/N's heritage and family history in some of the scrolls and books at the grand library.

“Aemond,” Alyssa said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet, “look at this.”

Prince Aemond looked up from his reading, his lavander eye curious. “What is it, Alyssa?”

"I think I've found something," Alyssa’s fingers traced a family tree she had uncovered in the book. “this here—Nymeria, the Rhoynar Princess. And look, her descendants...”

Aemond leaned closer, his interest piqued.

Alyssa’s gaze was fixed on the page, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. “I’ve been following the lineage, and as Nymeria’s bloodline continues through House Martell, look–”

Her finger moved further down the tree, connecting to her mother's name, under Qoren Martell's, the Prince of Dorne. “This is my mother’s father... Maegon wasn't lying, she truly is a dornish princess!”

Alyssa frowns, trying to understand why anyone had never mentioned that fact to her or her brothers before, or why didn't her mother went by the "princess" title anymore.

Aemond looked at her with a mixture of surprise and understanding. “It appears so. You’ve uncovered a significant piece of your heritage.”

"Why would they cover this from us? From me? She..." Alyssa chuckled, remembering her childhood, "My mother knew how much I used to admire Queen Visenya when I was younger, and how I wanted to be a warrior like her. And now... I discover I'm a descendant to Nymeria Martell. I'm connected to her legacy."

Alyssa’s expression was a mix of awe and determination.

Aemond reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, caressing her skin with his thumb. “And you are right to be proud. Nymeria was a great leader and warrior. I could say you are the best of both worlds, my sweet.”

Alyssa’s eyes sparkled with a new sense of purpose. "This knowledge... it gives me the strength to forge my own path. I want to do something great, Aemond. I want to be someone known..." she murmured, looking up to her betrothed's orbits.

As they continued to study the ancient texts, Aemond could see the resolve in Alyssa’s eyes. He knew that this newfound knowledge would empower her in ways he had not yet fully understood.

“Perhaps,” Aemond suggested thoughtfully, “we should learn more about the Martell history together. There’s much we can draw from it. Maybe one day we could visit the place so you could meet your grandsire.”

Alyssa grinned to his thoughtful proposal, but snickered humorously “And we'd fly to Dorne? Perhaps we could spend some time there after our wedding. I think they wouldn't mind seeing Vhagar again.” She joked as they both laughed.

As they continued their research, the bond between them deepened, strengthened by their shared pursuit of knowledge and the powerful heritage that now united them. In the quiet of the library, Alyssa and Aemond found not just historical connections but a profound sense of purpose and partnership, ready to face the future together.

[literaryuppsala]

I’m not sure if your requests are open! If not just ignore me !! Can you do a Hvitserk x reader where she’s a Targaryen that has been exploring other lands on dragonback and comes across Kattegat which has never seen a dragon? I just love when the OC is the center of attention 💕💕

Alright this took me a while to make and I had so much fun while doing It, as an asoiaf fan, to write for a Targaryen character was always something I wanted to do, but just never had the opportunity so thank you for your ask, i really loved it.

I'm gonna need your willing suspension of disbelief in two things here: asoiaf and vikings maps and languages spoken, with that being said, there's no warnings, no smut, just a kiss, a few of dragon rides and Ivar being the bad bitch he's always been.

The end is cut short because I totally gonna need more than just one chapter to develop this relationship, let me know if you want something like this.

Enjoy ♥

Life was a willow (and It bent right to your wind)

You were the center of attention since you were born, being the only daughter to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, you inherited your mother’s title: the realm’s delight. You were Rhaenyra’s youngest child, not an heir, just a daughter and you loved that. Your brothers had to deal with lords and lands and battles, while you could do things as you will, and to be honest, what you loved the most was flying around on your dragon. 

You bonded with her very early and started flying at the age of seven, the same age your mother started flying Syrax. You named your dragon Seafyre, it was a she dragon, your favorite thing in the world, your best friend and your protector. She had a beautiful silver color with blue scales, her flames were blueish with a hint of silver and despite not being an adult dragon yet, she was growing very fast, you wondered If she would grow to be as big as Balerion was. 

Rhaenyra loved you dearly, at first she wanted to protect you from the matters of the Seven Kingdoms, but as you grew up, she saw so much of herself in you, she wanted you to do great things, wanted the people to know you not just as a beautiful young woman, but a strong princess. Seeing the love you had for your dragon and despite Daemon’s resistance, she decided to introduce you to the truth. 

Rhaenyra’s claim wasn’t as strong as Aegon’s simply because she wasn’t a man. Despite winning the Dance of the Dragons and killing her brother, not all of the lords accepted her power. They plotted against her and she knew she needed allies to call for when the time would come. You were smart and gentle, and the Queen decided to make you a messenger: you would fly to further lands and offer alliances with the Queen.

“You’re late.” Your mother scolded you as you entered the council room. 

“Lost track of time.” You answered a little embarrassed, taking off your gloves as you walked towards her. 

“Come, we need to talk.” She gently touched your shoulder as she guided you towards the table. 

Gathered around the table there was only the hand of the queen, your father Daemon and the Master of Whisperers, you knew what that meant. 

Every time the Master of Whisperers heard of new lands, he would come to Rhaenyra to tell her about the possibility of new allies, he was the one to tell her you were the perfect messenger for Dorne. After Prince Qoren’s death, his daughter Alliandra ascended to the throne. During the Dance, Rhaenyra asked for Dorne’s support but was denied, Prince Qoren decided he wouldn’t step into that fight. However, after killing Aegon and ascending, the Queen tried one more time, with you. Later, you and Alliandra ended up becoming friends and Rhaenyra finally had Dorne’s support.

This happened a lot of times. Rhaenyra would send you first, on your dragon, like a messenger of peace, you would study the place and the lord, would understand his needs and try to become a friend, then you’d come back home with information and most likely an invitation for a meeting with your mother and your father, this helped Rhaenyra to secure her time on the throne, but she knew she should use as much help as she could get. 

“We heard from a land of men across the Narrow Sea.” The Master of Whisperers started. 

“In Essos?” You asked with a frown.

“Beyond the Free Cities, beyond the Dothraki Sea. Where none of us had ever been.” He continued and you nodded. 

Rhaenyra held your hand before telling you: “We want you to go there.”

“That’s further than anywhere I’ve ever been…” You looked at her with widened eyes. “And I thought we’d had enough allies by now.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest. 

“It will never be enough.” Your mother answered. “We need as much support as we can get, you know that.”

“I know, I know…” Your shoulders brushed and you looked down, she cradled your face between her hands. 

“What is It, sweet girl?” She asked gently, making you look at her. 

“It’s just… Will this ever end? I mean… You… Sending me far away from home to find people willing to help you, offering your help, preparing for a fight that never comes.”

“This fight is lurking between the curtains of your mother’s house.” Daemon intervened. “It will come… Sooner or later.” He walked to you, taking Rhaenyra’s place and holding your shoulders, he gently touched your chin making you look up at him. “I don’t like this as much as you do, but at this point you’ve done it too many times…” 

“Seafyre will protect you.” Rhaenyra stated.

“We trust you.” Daemon caught your attention. “It’ll be just like the others.” 

Everything was settled and the next day you were ready to go. Seafyre was waiting for you at the pit as you said your goodbyes to your parents. 

“We don’t know their costumes, be sure to protect yourself and your dragon no matter what.” Rhaenyra started. “Your well being is more important than any agreement, so take care.” She kissed your forehead, a tiny smile on her face. 

“Yes, your grace.” 

“Be strong.” Daemon warned you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

You smiled at him before walking towards your dragon, you caressed her neck and mounted her, looking back over your shoulder before flying. 

You were used to traveling long distances on the back of your dragon, that was never a problem for you, but the thought of going to a foreign land so far from Kings Landing was still leaving you uneasy. Would they welcome you? Would they be aggressive? You had no idea. And after crossing the Narrow Sea, the thought became stronger, so did your fear. 

You crossed the Free Cities and the Dothraki Sea in one day, but what you didn’t know was that, after crossing those lands you would meet with another sea, a darker one. You caressed your dragon one more time imagining it would be a longer journey than you expected, she would be more tired as soon as you arrived, that would stop you from coming back right after.  

“Keep going, girl.” You whispered in hopes she would hear you. 

By morning you finally reached the sight of land and blinked incredulously: there really was a faraway land after the end of the world. You landed at the beach, Seafyre was so exhausted she laid down immediately. 

“This was great work, my girl. You did great, I’ll find you something to eat.” You murmured caressing her sides. 

You clearly caught the attention of the people there, the little houses around the beach had a few people gathering outside just to stare at you and your dragon. Women and children looked dumbfounded at both of you.

“Look, Lagertha!” A tiny voice sounded some place into the houses, you searched for the source, and it didn’t take long for you to find it, a little boy rushed towards you with a little girl running right behind him. 

“HALI! ASA!” This time a woman screamed, she ran towards the children. 

You quickly grabbed the two before they reached Seafyre and crouched before them with a smile. 

“Calm down, she’s tired.” You warned. 

“Is this… Is this…” The little boy stuttered.

“A dragon. Her name is Seafyre.” You helped him.

“Seafyre…” The little girl repeated, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the dragon.

“Is she yours?” He asked and you nodded. “You came from the sky with her, flying on her back!” 

“Not from the sky, from-”

Suddenly a pair of hands grabbed the children’s shoulders and pulled them away from you, the woman was defensive and you understood, so you stood up and smiled at her, trying your best to look harmless. 

“What are you?” She asked with a growl. 

“A woman, just like you.” You offered your hand for her, she looked at you with a frown and didn’t take it. You withdrew your hand and smiled embarrassed. “I come from another kingdom, one that is far away from here. I come in peace.” You tried again.

“What kingdom? Are you from England?”

“England? Is it another kingdom?” It was your turn to look at her and ask with a confused frown.

“What kingdom are you from?” She insisted.

“Westeros, I’m from Westeros.”

“Never heard of It”

“Never heard of yours either, yet here I am.” 

She was dumbfounded, suspicious to say the least. Looking at you and at your dragon with a deep frown on her face, It was clear to you that these people never once saw a dragon in their lives, you were shocked but no so much, you were separated from each other by two large oceans, a dragon is just one of the probable differences between you. 

“I believe your name is Lagertha, right?” You tried but she didn’t respond. “I know you’re scared but I come from a long journey, and I need to feed my dragon. I see you have a few animals around, I wonder If you could give me one.” 

“What if I don’t?”

“I can’t control her when she’s hungry.” 

Lagertha looked at the gigantic animal and gulped. 

“Come.” She talked to the children who whined and struggled a little to follow her, but did it anyway.

You waited patiently until she came back with two big pigs, showing them to you. You nodded before taking the leash from her hands and taking the pigs towards your dragon. That would give her enough strength for hunting for herself afterwards. You put the two pigs in front of her, she sniffed the air and opened her eyes. She quickly ate the two pigs with a loud growl, startling Lagertha who walked back two or three steps, away from you both. 

“She’s sweet most of the time.” You said loud, caressing her sides as she calmly laid back down. “But not when she’s hungry.” You joked before looking back at Lagertha. 

“I think we should go to see the king.” She mumbled under her breath, trying to look away from your dragon and focus on your face.

“Don’t you think he would like to see her first?” You tried.

“Come here?”

“Yes. This way he can see the nature of my offer with his own eyes.” 

She didn’t answer, just left without saying a word. You stayed there for a few hours feeling a little stupid but before giving up, you saw a group of people coming to the beach, one of them in a chariot while the others followed. They talked among themselves and looked at you with widened eyes. You prepared for their approach, standing beside your sleeping dragon trying to look as peaceful as possible. 

“So, is this the beast?” Said the man coming down from the chariot. 

“Her name is Seafyre.” You corrected him, noticing he needed the help of a pair of crutches to walk. 

“You wanted to see the king. Here I am.” He answered with a smirk. “I’m Ivar.” 

“It’s an honor, Lord Ivar.” You bowed. “As I said to Lady Lagertha, I come in peace, I come with an offer.” 

“What kind of offer?” He asked suspiciously. 

“An alliance.” You answered. “I come as Princess of Westeros to offer you an alliance from my kingdom to yours. My mother, the Queen, is willing to fight for you with all her powers when you ask for, as long as you fight for us when we do the same.” 

“Do you have more of these?” He asked, a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at your dragon and you nodded. “Can you bring them to the fight?” 

“I can.” You smiled and he did the same. 

“You can enjoy our hospitality for as long as you need, then you can teach me more about your kingdom and tell me more about this offer and your dragons.” 

***

You were all gathered in a place they called “the great hall”. It was very cold, and reminded you of Winterfell. You sat around a fireplace at the center and everyone was paying close attention to you. Later you learned they were all related, the king and his brothers: Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd, their wives sat by their sides and all of them looked at you with widened eyes and suspicious looks. You were very different from them with your violet eyes and platinum hair, and your Targaryen attire in bold red drew attention against their black tunics. 

“Where’s this West- Westeros?” Ivar talked first. 

“Across the sea…” You started to answer but were quickly interrupted. 

“We traveled across the sea, never heard of a kingdom called Westeros.” He insisted. 

“You haven’t traveled enough.” You smiled and shrugged. “It took me almost two days on my dragon, and dragons travel fast.” 

“Why is it that you’re looking for an alliance so far from your home?” Ivar’s brother, Ubbe, asked you. 

“Why would you ask for an alliance?” You asked like it was obvious. “Cause it’s good for both parts.” 

“You gotta tell me what’s the good thing for you in It.” Ivar continued. 

You sighed. “My mother is the Queen, but she had to fight for her throne, she earned It… However not every lord of Westeros is comfortable with her power.” 

“You need support.” Ivar mumbled. 

“Don’t you need it?” You asked, a frown on your face. “Don’t you have your own wars to fight?”

“I can very much use the support princess, I mean we’re talking about dragons here…” He smiled. “But I don’t need It, I’ve been fighting my wars with my bare hands way before you came here.”

“So, you’re saying my offer doesn’t interest you?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s not what I’m saying…” He corrected you. “See, as I said, you are welcome to enjoy our hospitality here as long as you need. And we can keep talking about your offer in a way that can be good for both of us.”

Someone filled your cup one more time and you smiled kindly at her, Ivar poked at one of his brothers, Hvitserk, and whispered something in his ear, he looked at you before both of them left the table, excusing themselves, they crossed the curtains and vanished on the back of the great hall as you followed them with your eyes until you lost their sight. You looked around feeling very conscious of your own loneliness in that place, there really was a feast going on, they were quick to prepare the food, but all of them looked at you with fear in their eyes, whispering to each other while staring at you, being the center of attention never bothered you like that before, you drank from your cup and sighed, feeling frustrated already. 

“Are you sure?” Hvitserk asked Ivar, his voice low under his breath while his brother put himself a cup of ale. 

“I am sure. I can sense she needs us more than we need her…” He sipped from his cup before huffing out a frustrated laugh. “At least, in a way she needs us more.” 

“You think she’ll accept It?” Hvitserk insisted. 

“Well, why not?” Ivar shrugged. 

“She’s already offering us her dragons, I mean, she might feel like she doesn’t need to give us anything else.”

“So, we’ll convince her.”

The first rays of sun crossed the cracks of the windows and woke you up, painfully reminding you you were not at your own chambers back in King’s Landing. You sat at the bed and stretched a little, seeing a few clean clothes laid down beside your bed alongside a bow with fresh water. After freshening yourself and changing your clothes, you left the room they prepared for you, walked towards the noise you heard coming from the great hall, but as soon as you crossed the curtains, they stopped talking. 

“Princess!” The same little girl from the other day ran towards you, offering her hand for you to hold, and you smiled accepting her offer. “Come sit by my side.” 

“Of course.” You sat by her side and were quickly followed by the same little boy. “What are your names?”

“I’m Asa.” She answered with a smile. “This is my brother Hali.” 

“It’s very nice to meet you both.” 

“Do you have other dragons??” The boy asked excitedly.

“I gotta tell you, every person in my family has a dragon.” You answered proudly. “My mother’s dragon is called Syrax and my father’s, Caraxes. All my brothers and sisters have dragons of their own.” 

“How many dragons do you have?” Ivar questioned. 

“A lot. Like I said, every person from my family has one.” 

“Where did you find them?” Little Asa asked. 

“Well, that’s a long story.” 

“We’d love to hear It.” Hvitserk was the one to speak this time, you looked at him and nodded. 

You spent the whole morning telling the stories about your family, how they managed to escape from Old Valyria with a few dragons, how the family remained on Dragon Stone for centuries before Aegon decided to finally fly to King's Landing. They paid attention to everything you said, especially the kids who seemed in awe with all the stories about battles and dragons. You learned that Hali and Asa were Torvi’s children and that she was Ubbe’s wife. Ivar was married to another woman called Freydis, and Sigurd and Hvitserk were still unmarried. 

“And he was as big as the sky?” Hali asked with big eyes.

“Balerion could strike a shadow over a whole city when he flew.” You answered with a smile. 

“Did you see him?” Hali’s eyes sparkled.

“He passed before I was born, but we still have a dragon from his time, she’s almost as big as he was, her name is Vhagar.” 

“Does she belong to anyone?” Torvi asked you as curious as her children.

“My sister, Baela, is her rider.” 

“Isn’t she too old?” Ubbe questioned.

“She’s very old, that’s why she’s so big, we suspect her time is already coming to an end like It came to Balerion, we’re just waiting.” 

By the end of the day you were all gathered at the beach, watching as Seafyre flew around. You felt when a tiny hand grabbed yours and looked down, little Asa stared at you with hopeful eyes. 

“Do you want to fly with me?” You asked crouching in front of her. 

“REALLY?” She asked excitedly. 

“Really! Go and ask your mother.” 

The little girl ran towards her parents, Ubbe caught her in his arms and they both walked towards you with suspicious looks. 

“Isn’t It dangerous?” Torvi asked you. 

“No, you can trust me.”

They looked at each other before putting the little girl back on the ground, they nodded, letting her come to you, you grabbed her hand and walked towards the sea shore, you called Seafyre’s name and she immediately came to you, landing right by your side. You rubbed her sides before helping Asa on her top, mounting behind her very quickly. 

“You can hold here.” You pointed to the handle of the saddle, whispering in her ear. “Or you can hold my arms…” 

Asa was very brave, laughing and screaming through the whole time you were flying, she held your arms firmly, but for a moment she dropped it and raised them up her head, making you hold her against your chest with a little more strength. When you landed back on the beach she was already begging you to fly again, but her brother, Hali, seemed to have his own plans. You gave both children a few rides on your dragon, carefully handing them back to their parents afterwards and promising to do the same the next morning. 

After a few hours you saw yourself alone on the beach, watching as Seafyre made a show of eating fishes from the ocean. You felt a presence beside you, looking around to find Hvitserk standing a few feets away from you, you smiled to yourself imagining he feared to be close to you because of your dragon. 

“You can come closer, you know.” You told him and he looked at you, his cheeks reddened a bit and he looked down before approaching. 

“Hali and Asa are way more brave than I am.” He smiled to himself before looking at you, as if he was taking a moment, his smile slowly died on his face and he looked forward before starting to speak again. “Princess, I have to talk to you.”

“Sure.” You answered quickly. 

“My brother has an offer he wants to make to your mother.” 

“This can be arranged, you can prepare your ships to follow me back to King's Landing to have a meeting with her.” You reassured him and he nodded. Both of you stayed in silence for a moment and you felt him uneasy. “But that’s not the only thing you want to ask me, is it?” 

Hvitserk looked down at his own feet, his arms firmly crossed behind his back. “No… It isn’t.”

“Lord Hvitserk I can assure you that my family always respects our alliances, you have no reason to fear, we’ll keep our word.” 

“But you understand we need more than your word, right? We’re not very much of a threat to you, I mean we don’t have dragons, and we need to protect ourselves.” 

This time you looked away, but immediately felt his gaze on you. It made you warm all over for some reason. 

“Is that the nature of your offer, my lord?”

“Yes.” 

A gust of wind crossed your body and you hugged yourself, knowing exactly when Hvitserk stopped looking at you by the way your skin raised in goosebumps because of the cold breeze. 

“It’s a marriage offer.” Hvitserk continued. 

“My mother is already married.” You joked. 

“Are you?”

“I’m not looking for a husband, Lord Hvitserk.” 

“You’re looking for an alliance.”

“In the name of my family, yes. But I am not selling myself in order to get It.” You looked at him with a frown. “And I thought your brother was already married.”

“He is.”

“Than who…”

“Me.”

Both of you looked at each other at the same time. Hvitserk was a handsome man, beautiful green eyes staring intently at you, studying your face like he wanted to know what you were thinking, he caught your eye before, especially that morning when he seemed so invested in your stories, but at that moment you didn’t know if he was truly interested in you or It was just because of his brother’s marriage offer. Seafyre landed by your side startling him, who walked back a step or two, looking dumbfounded at her.

“Do you ever fear her?” Hvitserk asked you while still looking at your dragon. 

“Never. She would never hurt me.” You answered under your breath. 

“You said you can’t control her when she’s hungry.” He insisted. 

“She’s very protective of me, she might resent me for a bit, but never hurt me.” 

You looked at her, rubbing her skin while Hvitserk looked at you with a sparkle in his eyes, he was mesmerized.

“She’s a wonderful animal.” He breathed out.

“She is…” You responded, taking a step away when you noticed she was about to fly again. “You know…” You sighed, looking forward while she flew away. “My mother married another man before she married my father. It was someone chosen for her, someone they said would be good for her. She wasn’t fully happy with him, this I know of, because she always loved my father. Eventually her first husband died and she could finally marry him…” You looked at him. “She promised me she would never force me into marriage, she didn’t want a life of sadness for me, she won’t accept your brother’s offer.”

“Would you?” He insisted.

”I don’t see marriage as a political deal.” You told him. “I want to marry out of love, not out of duty.”

“Are you already saying no?” He asked under his breath. 

“Yes.”

That night you struggled to sleep, tossing and turning on the bed, you couldn’t keep your mind off of that man and how you felt warmer under his gaze. You sighed, stared at the ceiling and mumbled to yourself: “I need some air”. You changed your clothes and left your bedroom, walking over to the beach to clear your head. As soon as you got there you noticed Hvitserk sitting on the sand, surprisingly close from Seafyre, a cup in hand while he seemed to be talking to himself. 

“Can’t sleep?” You asked as you approached. 

“Too many thoughts in my head.” He answered after drinking from his cup. “You?”

“Mine too.” You answered, looking at him. 

“Yeah… A lot of things to think about, right?”

“Yeah…” You sat by his side, staying in silence for a moment, feeling the warm breeze of the ocean on your face. You looked at him as he drank another sip of his cup, Seafyre slept peacefully a few feets away from you both and you smiled to yourself before speaking again. “I see you’re not scared of her anymore.” You nudged his arm and he looked at the dragon. 

“I guess I’m too drunk to think of self preservation.” He answered and you smiled. Another moment of silence surrounded you both before he spoke again. “Would you take me for a ride?”

“You mean now?” You asked him with a frown and he nodded. “Yeah… Sure.” 

You approached Seafyre and caressed her sides, waking her up whispering something in valyrian, Hvitserk stood up behind you, nervously waiting. You mounted her and offered your hand for him, he walked hesitantly towards you, holding your hand before mounting the dragon right behind you, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist, sending goosebumps all over your body, you trembled. 

“Hold tight.” You warned him before flying and he heard you, squeezing you tight between his arms. 

 “I am…” He mumbled into your ear. 

Despite the cold wind cutting roughly through your body, you felt warm. Hvitserk’s hands held firmly on your stomach, you had your back against his chest while he rested his chin on your shoulders. To have him so close brought a different feeling to you, a sort of dizziness that would blur your sight, raise the beating of your heart and make your hands start sweating. You turned your head and looked at him, he had his eyes closed, face slightly red from the wind.

“Open your eyes.” You mumbled under your breath.

You watched as he obeyed you, opening his eyes a little hesitantly, blinking incredulously as he looked forward. You smiled to yourself while making your dragon go up faster and Hvitserk held you tighter. Your skin prickled, goosebumps spread all over your body as you felt his own pressed closely against yours. 

“This… This is-” He whispered in your ear and you trembled again.

He then looked at you, your faces so close you could feel his hot breath against your cheeks, you gulped, quickly looking forward. The ride was cut short, you feared for yours and Hvitserk’s safety considering how much he affected you and as you landed, he easily dismounted your dragon, offering his hand to help you do the same, as your feet touched the sand, your legs betrayed you, shaking from whatever feeling that man was causing you and you needed help to stand, his hands wrapped around your waist one more time and he used his own body to keep you still. Your hands went straight to his shoulders and you looked up at him. 

Hvitserk was even more beautiful from that close, his lips were a thin line as he stared intently at you, your stomach turned again and before you even thought about moving away, he kissed you. His lips softly touched yours for a second and you immediately closed your eyes, like reflex, he then kissed you properly, lips crashing against yours hungrily, tongue massaging yours into your mouth, when you ran out of breath and you separated, a thin line of saliva kept you connected for a moment before parting. His hands came to cup up your cheeks, your noses touching while you both looked into each other's eyes, gazing, lips swollen, still wet from your kiss. Seafyre growled right beside you, startling you both and making you move away from each other. 

“Someone is jealous I guess.” Hvitserk said, rubbing the back of his neck a little embarrassed. 

“I guess we should go back… And try to sleep.” You mumbled, still dizzy. “It’s late.” 

Hvitserk nodded and offered his hand for you to hold and you both walked back to your bedrooms. He walked you towards yours and kissed your cheek goodbye before going to his. As you laid down on your bed again, something was different. You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes and touched your own lips, his face coming immediately to your mind as you thought about that kiss. That wasn’t your first kiss, of course, you had your little flings as you were growing up, but nothing ever left you so uneasy, Hvitserk made you feel different. 

The next morning you were back at the beach, wondering If you could just fly back to your home, trying to avoid Hvitserk’s thoughts but failing as the kiss found a way to crawl back to your mind. As a figment of your imagination, he showed up at the beach, walking towards you with a little smile on his face. 

“You were very silent this morning.” He told you as he approached. 

“Hali and Asa weren’t there to make me talk too much.” You joked, avoiding his gaze. 

“What are you thinking?”

“Coming back home, I guess It’s time.” 

He stayed silent for a moment and, again, you felt when his gaze abandoned your body, the ocean breeze engulfing you uncomfortably. 

“Seafyre is well rested.” You spoke again. 

“What about our alliance?”

“I told you, I’m not willing to sacrifice my entire life in an unhappy marriage just to make an alliance.”

“Would that be so bad?” His hand carefully touched your forearm and you finally looked at him. 

“Are you really interested in me, Lord Hvitserk?” You asked him back, staring intently at him. “You want me, or my dragons?”

He caressed your cheeks with the back of his hand and you unconsciously leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. 

“I already know you’re the most incredible woman I have ever met, I just want to get to know you more…” 

“What are you asking me?”

“To give me one chance, I want to be your lover, want to conquer your love.” 

[asykriel]

Love is the Death of Duty - 11.

® do not repost or translate !

☆ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Male! Targaryen OC

☆ Status: Ongoing 

☆ Summary:  

“He is half of my heart.”

War made monsters of them all, but it also brought the two second sons together in a flurry of death, love, deceit and delusion. The story of Aemond Targaryen and the eldest son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, Maegor Targaryen, second of his name. 

☆ Warnings: Sexual content, explicit violence, dark themes, targcest etc.

☆ AO3 ☆ || ☆ Wattpad ☆

☆ CHAPTERS: (Prologue) / ( 1 ) / ( 2 ) / ( 3 ) / ( 4 ) / ( 5 ) / ( 6 ) / ( 7 ) / ( 8 ) / ( 9 ) / ( 10 ) / ( 11 ) / ( 12 ) / ( 13 ) / ( 14 ) / ( 15 ) / (16 from now on upcoming chaps only on-  AO3  ||  Wattpad  )

☆ Masterlist ☆ ||  ☆ Spotify Playlist ☆

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CHAPTER 11

Lord Corlys, all I ask of you is spare a ship and a handful of men to take my brother to Dragonstone. 

I promised my mother I will keep him safe.

────────────────────────

With dawn comes the clash of steel and wood, arrows whirring through the air, the roar of dragons echoing across the tumultuous sea and flames burning brighter than the sunrise. 

Maegor and Aemond flank Dorne's armada from opposite sides while Addam Velaryon with the Driftmark fleet meet them heads on. The two Targaryen Princes fly and torch in sync and this time Vhagar is not kept in the shadows as a backup plan.

Like the war machine she is, Aemond unleashes her and she seems to remember from the old days how the Dornish smelled when they got charred. It fills her with renewed vigor and youth because not even the few scorpions that manage to scrape her or latch into her flesh slow her down, instead they only make her burn with more fury. And perhaps even Saagael's ferocity reminds her of the times she fought side by side the Black Dread.

As more of the Dornish ships burn or get sunken beneath the waves by the Driftmark soldiers, Maegor steers his dragon and torches right through the enemy again, scorpions flying without precision, failing to hit the swift target. This time he doesn't turn the Cannibal to circle around and launch another attack, instead he keeps on flying straight ahead, leaving Aemond behind to assure the destruction of the fleet and the Seasnake's victory.

When the time is right, I will make my move. I trust Prince Aemond with my life, and so can you.

The black dragon soars through the skies, cutting through the clouds as his wings beat faster than ever before and Maegor has just one target in mind. 

Sunspear.

Dorne, a land known for its independence and resilience, has become Maegor's obsession since last night, his mind churned with plans of conquest. And not only this, but a chance to prove himself once and for all in front of his family and anyone else that might dare question his worth.

I'll show you a real dragon.

House Martell was always too prideful, stubborn and hot blooded. It led to poor decisions and now they had to pay its long awaited due to House Targaryen.

It was Princess Alliandra Martell, seventeen of age, who became the current ruler of Dorne. Her father, Qoren Martell died at the hands of Daemon's spies, years after the first war in the Stepstones, while she was still just a child, not to young to forget however.

She has made a fatal error by sending the majority of her forces to conquer the same barren islands. An inexperienced and reckless choice enabled by her own small council. A mistake that Maegor intends to fully exploit, using her negligence to strike at the heart of Sunspear itself. Now the city is weak and it beckons to him like a ripe fruit ready for picking. 

The distance between the Stepstones and Dorne is covered quickly on the back of a dragon as fast as the Cannibal, and by the break of noon a shadow begins to grow larger and larger upon the sand walls and buildings in Sunspear.

Rare clouds in the sky casting their shadow on the lands, the Dornish think  at first, until the form becomes larger and clearer and they hear the deafening roar that turns their blood cold under the desert sun.

They don't get the chance to react. Maegor spares no time or mercy and he allows the Cannibal to do what he loves the most.

Burn.

Mass hysteria settles in. The people below scatter in fear, scrambling with no direction, their voices echoing with cries of panic as they try to run for their lives and find a hole to hide in. 

But nothing escapes dragonfire.  

Fools did not keep a single Black Scorpion in the city, sending them all with the ships instead. Chaos erupts as the remaining soldiers scramble in a desperate attempt to defend their home. But the arrows shooting at the beast do nothing against the armor that were his dark scales. It was a futile struggle against the might of a dragon and the ambition of a Targaryen.

Every corner of the city is engulfed into blaze and panic. Maegor slowly becomes drunk with bloodlust and power, laying waste to everything below him. His ears pound with adrenaline. The hopeless screams of suffering fuel him more instead of making him take pity in them and cease his attack, while the Cannibal shows them why the smallfolk call him a harbringer of death.

By now half of Sunspear and its people were in flames. A blazing inferno.

The seat of House Martell is left untouched however, on purpose. Maegor wants them to watch from the balcony of their Old Palace how he turns sand into ashes. Break their minds first so that they will bend the knee easily. 

Burning the city continues, until he hears the loud rumble that reverberates through the air. The sign that Maegor was eagerly waiting to hear. It meant only long awaited victory and peace of mind for him, knowing that his lover is unscathed. Not that he ever doubted him or his dragon's might.

Aemond and Vhagar, having decimated the Dornish ships alongside the Seasnake's fleet, appear on the horizon and the older Prince's eye is fixed upon the blazing city, his nephew's masterpiece. The scorching ceases momentarily so that the two of them can be reunited in the air. Maegor wastes no time and takes the lead, flying the Cannibal straight towards the Old Palace with Vhagar on his tail, their presence a formidable display of power.

The two dragons land in front of the castle's gates, flattening whatever structures or humans were under them and the ground shakes under their sheer size. 

Aemond and Maegor dismount and they begin walking together in silence, stealing a few glances from eachother, towards the last feeble display of defiance. No one tries to oppose or stop them. The surviving Dornish soldiers, now faced with the terrifying presence of the Targaryen dragons, can only submit to their riders and they lay down their weapons as both beasts bare their sword like teeth.   

Even if she did not burn this time, the sight of Vhagar alone,  sends shivers down the spines of the Dornish people. The stories of Visenya Targaryen riding Vhagar during the time of Aegon the Conqueror have been passed down through generations. The dragon's flames had scorched the Dornish lands, leaving scars upon the sands that still whispered tales of devastation. 

Now, Vhagar's presence once again cast a long shadow over Dorne. The people see in her the  symbol of the Targaryen might that almost crushed their ancestors' resistance. And today might be the day when she might finish what she started decades ago.

As the two Targaryen enter the main hall of Old Palace, the Princess, her steward and two knights from her guard meet them halfway, the rest of her small council and the courtiers watch in fear and anxiety from the shadows, behind pillars or from balconies. Maegor notes how she immediately locks eyes with him and Aemond, walking with a regal aura around her, trying to seem like she is still in power while her city is smoldering.

Aemond watches her and her knights carefully, a hand on the hilt of his sword as his shoulder is pressed against his nephew's, both of them keeping close to each other at all times. If anything goes wrong he is confident him and Maegor alone could slice through all of them without the aid of their dragons.

"Alliandra Martell." Maegor calls out first, the tone of his voice cold and commanding.

"Maegor and Aemond Targaryen." She mirrors him but her tone is full of spite at the word 'Targaryen'. 

Maegor's jaw clenches slightly.

"Your pathetic attempts to claim the Stepstones have left your home vulnerable and weakened. Without an army too, I made sure of it." Aemond scoffs at her and the two knights exchange worried looks behind her back. A few gasps are heard throughout the hall at the news.

"Surrender now, and I will spare further bloodshed. Dorne shall bend the knee and unite under the Crown's rule with the rest of the kingdoms." Maegor wastes no time laying out exactly what he wants.  House Martell has no options left anyway. Him and Aemond could wipe out every trace of their bloodline, if bastard-making was not one of their main hobbies.

Hushed whispers begin to echo around the main hall, some blaming the poor decisions of the Princess and being in favor of uniting with the rest of the kingdoms. Even in Dorne, Targaryen loyalists emerge, especially in the face of death.

"Our sands have weathered countless storms, including you, Targaryens . We shall weather this one too." Princess Alliandra, her expression a mix of defiance and desperation, takes a step forward. 

"Dragonfire fire burns hotter than any Dornish sun, you should know this by now." Aemond says sharply.

"I'm being generous by giving you a choice, bend the knee and spare the rest of your city and people. I will take Dorne either way, it matters not to me if it's just sand and ash." Maegor was slowly starting to lose his patience going back and forth with her. The Princess needs to decide fast.

The courtiers' voices become louder by now but neither Princes pay attention to them.

"You're no better than Daemon Targaryen. He did the right thing by naming you after a mad tyrant. Perhaps you will have the same fate as him?"

"Watch your tongue." Aemond sneers at her, taking a step in front of Maegor, protectively.

The two Dornish knights both instinctively grip their curved swords.

The younger Prince places his hand on his uncle's elbow, rubbing an unseen thumb against the fabric of his coat to get him to relax. 

"Spare me the history lessons. You don't know anything about my house. And I'm starting to lose my patience." Maegor glares at her harshly. 

Time is ticking against the Martell. 

"Perhaps some more burning will make the Princess decide faster , wouldn't you say nephew?"

Before Maegor could answer his uncle, the steward excuses himself and takes Alliandra aside where they are joined by the rest of the Martell council. What begins as a hushed choir of whispers soon starts into senseless bickering and both Princes can feel their nerves stretched out to a breaking point, especially Maegor who was already irritated from the start.

"Your time has ran out Princess. I've been more than patient, considering I've been dealing with your Triarchy mongrels for a long time." Maegor barks, his voice echoing through the hall. This seems to finally get the Princess and her council to fall silent.

A subtle change is noted by both Princes, Alliandra Martell no longer holds her head high and confident, instead she is frowning at them with visible anger on her face.

Aemond keeps a close eye on her. Wary of the sudden change of attitude.

Instead of her coming before them again to speak, the steward, an elderly Martell man does, bowing his head and keeping it low when he closes some of the distance between them.

"My Princes, we accept your conditions and generous offer to unite under the same Crown, but we beg of you, spare the rest of Dorne."

This is it? All her initial defiance just to be outpowered by her own council?

Somehow Aemond is not buying it, but nonetheless he gives his nod of approval when his nephew glances at him, almost as surprised as him by the sudden change.

"Some wisdom at last." 

(Art by me)

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Time passes quickly and by the time the flames throughout the city die out, night settles in, as well as momentarily peace.

 Realizing that resistance is futile, the Martell Princess feigns submission and disappears from their sight, leaving her steward to invite Maegor and Aemond to a lavish feast in their honor as it was protocol. The Targaryen Princes, reluctantly accept the invitation, keeping their guard raised with a sense of caution lingering in their hearts, while the dragons still rest right where they were left, keeping guard and forbidding anyone to enter or exit the castle.

While preparations for the feast are taking place, Aemond never leaves his nephew's side. They are both given their own private quarters, but neither of them feel comfortable being alone in what not long ago was their enemy's lair. 

"We should send out ravens." Aemond suddenly speaks from the large divan he is lounging in. He raises his nose from a random Dornish book he picked to look at his nephew.

"I'm sure they found out from other sources by now." Maegor sighs, leaning back against the armchair he is sitting in. Weeks of build up exhaustion really caught up with him by now. All he wishes is to be done with this charade and fly out somewhere with Aemond where he would have some peace alone in his company. He's not exactly keen on breaking bread with the Dornish and faking enjoyment, especially since some hours ago he was burning down half of Sunspear.

"Which is why we should personally send ravens. Unless we want our families to go at each other's throat for this piece of land." Aemond puts down the book and stands up from the divan.

"You know they will either way. But if you insist, write the letter, uncle, I trust your words better than my own." Maegor closes his eyes, resting the back of his head against the armchair as he feels his uncle's fingers carding through his silver locks.

Just for a fleeting moment he wants to freeze time like this. Even behind enemy lines Aemond could put him at ease with simple gestures. 

"There's still some time left. Rest up my Prince." Aemond leans over to plant a kiss on his nephew's forehead before he takes a seat at the desk, paper and quill in hand.

The corners of Maegor's mouth twitch into a subtle smile and soon enough he dozes off, lulled by the sound of the hawk quill dragging ink against the paper.

With that, Aemond sets to work, allowing himself the freedom to carefully write a piece of information that none of the possible sources know. Not even his nephew, at least not yet. He keeps it short and brief, no need for bragging and boasting in a letter. 

They could do that later on when they would eventually return to the capital, or at least Aemond hopes they will. He still has to find a way to deal with his mother and grandfather and keep his drunkard and nosey brother at bay, if he wants to take Maegor back to King's Landing with him. For now their relationship needs to stay private, away from the prying ears and eyes of his Hightower side of the family. If the harsh slap that his mother would deliver to Aemond's face, would be the only consequence that resulted from their relationship becoming public, the Prince can gladly take it. But he knows there's no way the punishment will be so light. And worse, Maegor will surely suffer more gravely than him.

At least he comforts himself with the thought that Helaena would surely take their side and support them, she knows best what's it like to be unable to choose who you want to love.

Outside of the quarters, across the hallways, the ruckus of the servants making the final feast preparations grows louder. It doesn't take long for a guard to lightly knock on the door, without daring to enter. Aemond doesn't answer verbally, so that his nephew can be spared a few more moments of sleep. They'll attend the feast when they please, now that Dorne was under their rule.

Instead, he makes his way to the door and demands a raven cage to be sent over. Naturally the guard obeys and swiftly fulfills the command with no complaints. He is simply glad to be alive. Even if a lot of Dornish people hold deep hatred for the Targaryens, House Martell especially, they are now powerless. Between submission and dying an agonizing death ripped apart or burned to death by a dragon, the choice is obvious.

Once the letter is complete, the older Prince rereads it twice before writing another copy, sealing both of them with melted wax and the Targaryen seal.  Two ravens are sent with the letters, one meant for the Iron Throne and the other for Dragonstone.

────────────────────────

I pen this letter with a heart filled with pride and admiration for my beloved nephew, Prince Maegor Targaryen, Second of his name. In the recent war for the Stepstones, Prince Maegor displayed unparalleled courage, determination, and leadership. He led our forces with unwavering resolve, fought fiercely in the battles, and ultimately triumphed in conquering Sunspear and the lands of Dorne. He succeeded what the Conqueror before us could not, uniting all Seven Kingdoms under the same rule.

It is with great honor and privilege that I announce to you all that, in recognition of his valor and dedication, I proclaim Maegor Targaryen as the Prince of Dorne and Ruler of Sunspear. His tireless efforts and sacrifices have earned him this title, and I have no doubt that under the Crown, Dorne will see a new era of unity, prosperity, and peace.

In the name of House Targaryen and the Iron Throne, I ask all the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms to recognize Prince Maegor  Targaryen as the rightful ruler of Dorne and offer their loyalty and support to his rule and rightful claim.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

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The older Prince is positive his nephew will be as shocked as the recipients of the letters when he finds out about his titles. But he deserves them, and who else is better fit than Aemond to give them to him? 

Poor Maegor is still sleeping soundly in that armchair, exactly how his uncle left him. Aemond lets out a silent chuckle and barely brings himself to stand from the desk. He does not want to do this, but they need to show their faces for a few hours in the main hall at least, unless they want House Martell to get delusional ideas once again.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon, dombo ēdrugon." The older Prince whispers against his nephews ear.

Maegor jolts awake, finding Aemond looming over him, hands on both sides of the armchair.

"Qybor." Maegor groans at Aemond, his body relaxing in an instance at the familiar face so close to his own.

"It's time for the feast, nephew. You can rest more, after." Aemond smiles at his annoyed face. His hands are itching for more contact, but if they want to ever reach that feast he needs to keep himself in check. And his nephew.

Maegor groans louder in annoyance, rolling his eyes. He doesn't want to endure any second longer in the presence of any Martell or Dornishman.

"Don't worry, we can leave as soon as dawn breaks and we settle our affairs here. I've already sent out the letters." Aemond reassures him.

"No. We leave after the feast, I'm not planning to exceed my stay in Dorne." Maegor stands up stretching  his tired arms. Even at night the heat and dry air of the desert is unbearable, especially since he was still cladded in his dragonrider garments.  He could swear he has sand in his boots too.

"Our dragons are tired as well as we are. You especially. When was the last time you had a good night's sleep, Maegor?" Aemond rubs over his eyepatch, turning back to the desk to dispose of any drafts he started. 

Tiredness is slowly creeping on to him as well but he can endure it longer, after all his arrival is still a recent one. It was Maegor who had weeks of fighting before him and he's surprised that his nephew is still holding himself out so brazenly. It's to be expected, he's a dragon and a warrior.

"If my head wasn't spinning from all the Arbor wine that night, I'd say when I had you in my bed." Maegor follows his uncle, closing the distance between them. He hugs Aemond from behind, pressing him against the edge of the desk. 

In a year at most, Aemond is sure that Maegor will reach his height, if not even surpass him.

"You can have me in your bed again. After the feast." The older Prince emphasizes and turns around to face him. 

Maegor scoffs at the sound of that dreaded dinner again and drops his hands to his uncle's waist.

"Or I could have you now and we can forget about that whole charade. We can have our own celebration in private." The younger Prince presses his lips against the side of his uncle's neck.

Aemond exhales a shaky breath. He can feel his willpower and composure slowly slipping. His nephew is turning into a cunning fiend right before his eyes, but he has to resist the temptation.

"You know how things work, Maegor. Bare with it for just a few hours." He runs a hand through his nephew's hair, untying the messy half ponytail that were keeping his silver bangs from Maegor's eyes.

Teeth suddenly sink into the side of his neck and Aemond lets out a soft wince. Someone clearly doesn't agree with him.

"Fine. But you need to make up for this, uncle." Maegor sighs dramatically and raises his head from his neck to look at him.

"Ao gīmigon kesan, ñuha dārilaros." Aemond chuckles. His nephew's childish stubborness and playful antics are like a breath of fresh air after the recent events.

A glint of something shines in the younger Prince's odd colored eyes.

Suddenly Maegor presses his lips against his uncle's and Aemond soon enough finds himself with his back flat against the desk, his nephew's body  pushing down on his own. 

Aemond groans in his mouth and Maegor keeps kissing him like his uncle is his sole lifeline. Wild and desperate. Maybe it was the pent up anger and exhaustion that gathered during the weeks at war, but he's starving and hungry for Aemond, worse than before their first night together.

A knock at the door reminds the older Prince that he needs to recollect his scattered thoughts and find his willpower again to be able to attend to their duties. However, Maegor doesn't seem to pay attention to it. 

His uncle's fist in his hair yanking his head back snaps Maegor out from his feverish state. They stare at each other a little longer and Aemond notes how wide his nephew's pupils are blown. 

You'll be the death of me.

Aemond clears his voice. Another knock, and the steward's voice excusing himself can be heard from outside the quarters.

Maegor slams a fist against the desk, groaning in annoyance as Aemond stands up, fixing his clothes before fixing his nephew's garments as well.

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The feast is held in the grand hall of Old Palace, with house Martell courtiers and Targaryen loyalist nobles gathering to witness the pivotal moment. 

Much to both of their irritation, the Princes are seated opposite from each other at the high table. Maegor next to the Martell Princess at one end and Aemond at the other end next to the steward.

The younger Prince could feel his blood boil the moment he sat himself in the chair and felt Princess Alliandra's presence uncomfortably close to him. This arrangement was on purpose, he's sure of it. 

Aemond watches him all the time and begs him silently to keep his calm, for his sake at least.  Maegor swallows down his anger and keeps his usual stoic facade in front of all the eyes that are upon him. Only one matters however, his uncle's violet gaze is the only ounce of comfort that keeps him grounded and collected.

All kinds of lavish dishes and drinks are brought out, carried by the servants on huge plates. Neither Aemond nor Maegor touch anything before they make sure everyone around them does. After all, if pride is the first thing house Martell is renowned for, poisons are a close second. They have to be vigilant.

Maegor tries to zone out and shut off all the noises and voices around him until he feels a light touch on his arm that makes his anger flare out instantly.

"Prince Maegor, I offer my deepest apologies. My house and people have a lot of pride, it's not like us to bend the knee so easily, surely you can understand." Alliandra Martell speaks in a smooth voice, rubbing her hand over his forearm.

For a swift second Maegor contemplates if he should rip her hand off but sucks in a sharp breath instead, removing his arm from her touch politely as he hums in approval. If he speaks now he'll say something that he'll regret. What is the Princess even playing at? First she wishes death upon him and now she's trying to seduce him.

At the opposite side of the table Aemond buries his nose in a wine cup so that the anger that makes his expression contort at the sight displayed before him doesn't become so obvious. His nephew meets his violet glare with an apologetic one and Aemond shakes his head. It's not Maegor's fault. They both have to bear this night without deciding to burn down the other half of Sunspear still standing.

The Martell Princess doesn't quite catch the hint unfortunately and keeps touching and trying to make conversation with Maegor. He's so tensed up he can feel his flesh hurting.

Suddenly she stands up, and the hall falls silent, the courtiers moving their attention to her. Aemond glares daggers at the Princess but it seems like she either does not see him or simply ignores him. 

"After many thoughts and advice from my council I wish to come forth with a proposal, one that will perhaps solidify the union between Dorne and the rest of the kingdoms." Alliandra says looking at Maegor with a smile on her lips, fake obviously, as she raises her wine cup.

The Prince raises an eyebrow and only nods, feigning interest. He's certain delusion runs deep through house Martell but he needs to play along for now.

"I propose we marry each other, that way we can strengthen our houses and forget about our clashes." 

Aemond's slams his empty wine cup loudly against the table, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword at the audacity. All attention falls to him now.

However, before Aemond can utter a word, Maegor lets out a harsh, mocking laugh that reverberates through the grand hall. 

"Marry you? Have you forgotten your place, Princess? Shall I remind you that I've brought Dorne to its knees along with you? You must confuse the term prisoner with betrothed." Maegor lets out another chuckle, staring at the Martell from his chair.

"I haven't, but I believe this marriage would be beneficial to the realm and our houses." Alliandra's expression falters but she tries to keep her composure and deceitful smile.

The Prince scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stands up from his chair, towering over the Martell Princess as he looks down on her.

"Half of Sunspear is in ruins, your army is charred and you've lost your kingdom. This isn't an alliance proposal, it's an act of pathetic desperation. And even if the circumstances were different, I already belong to someone Princess, someone who will have my heart until the end of time." Maegor eyes search for his uncle's for a moment then they return to lock with Alliandra's.  

With her plan crumbling before her, Princess Alliandra's expression turns dark with anger and her facade of hospitality is shattered as she returns to her true self from the beginning.

"You dare to mock and reject me?" she hisses, her hand reaching into a hidden pocket of her dress from behind, from an angle where Maegor can't see.

But Aemond can. And his sharp eye is following her closely as all of his senses are on high alert. 

"Have I not been clear enough, Princess? Stop embarrassing yourself any further in front of your whole court while I'm still asking nicely." Maegor scowls at her, clenching his jaw and fists and doing his best to control the anger that was boiling under his skin.

"Prince Maegor, Prince Aemond, I wish to make a toast." The old steward suddenly calls to the Targaryens as he stands up from his chair next to the older Prince, wine cup in hand.

This brief distraction is all that Alliandra needs. In a fit of rage and swift motions, she pulls out a small vial from the hidden pocket and quickly brings it to her lips. 

By the time Aemond snaps back his attention towards his nephew it's too late. 

With a sinister smirk, she forcefully presses her lips against Maegor's, forcing him to swallow down the liquid.

Gasps echoes through the hall as the horrifying scene unfolds before the courtier's eyes.

Maegor grabs her by the throat and she laughs in his face. He tries to choke her out but almost instantly he feels all the strength draining from his body. His knees buckle under his weight and he falls against the table, his vision clouding. A surge of immense pain follows and he grits his teeth trying to cling to consciousness.

"You treacherous harlot!" Letting out a snarl of desperation Aemond jumps over the table, drawing out his sword in the process and slicing through the steward who, no doubt had a big part to play in this sick plan. Only two foolish guards try to stop him from reaching the Princess, the same two from earlier. 

"I'll send your father my deepest condolences." Princess Alliandra leans over Maegor, whispering in his ear. 

"A shame though, you were such a looker." She traces a nail over a thin scar across his left cheek.

Adrenaline courses through his veins. Acting on instinct, Maegor musters all remaining strength left and, with a fierce determination, he hurls himself from Alliandra's embrace against the floor. He shoves his fingers down his throat, retching until he manages to vomit all of the contents of his stomach in an attempt to rid his body from the poison before it's too late.

Aemond mercilessly cuts through the guards, blinded by sheer fury before he rushes to his nephew's side.

"Seize her!" Aemond shouts but no one dares to move yet, too frozen with shock or fear or perhaps they are all part of her plan. 

The loud growls and restless rumbling of the two dragons right outside the castle walls reminds them of their presence and they quickly make up their minds. By now both beasts sensed something was wrong, especially the Cannibal through his strong bond with Maegor. Eventually house Martell's own guards finally seize their former ruler, awaiting further orders from the older Targaryen.

Princess Alliandra simply stares at Aemond with a satisfied smile on her lips. She knows the outcome of this, but if she can take at least one Targaryen with her, it's a victory in her book.

"Qibor.." Maegor coughs and lets out raspy breaths. 

"Shh Maegor. Ȳdra daor ȳdragon, vīlībagon. Nyke kostagon daor ojughagon ao." Aemond's hands tremble as they cup his nephew's face. Suddenly panic settles in, the thought of losing Maegor like this before they even got the chance to spend their days together is unbearable.

Whatever the poison, it is a very potent one and Maegor would surely be dead by now if it wasn't for his quick thinking. Judging by his state, there are still some traces of it left in his system.

Rushing to the table, Aemond grabs a bowl of salt and pours it into a water pitcher before running back to his nephew.  He forces Maegor to drink large gulps of salt water and waits until his nephew starts retching and vomiting again until there's nothing left to come out from his body.

"You fool, he already swallowed some of it. Your nephew will die and you will make sure to watch." A sudden laugh makes Aemond see red. 

The urge to cut Alliandra's head off her shoulders gnaws at him, but he can't allow her such a sweet, painless death. No. She needs to suffer the same way she made Maegor suffer.

"I'll make you pay. You and all of your treacherous leeches that aided you. Take her outside." The tone of Aemond's voice drops to a dangerously calm.

Throwing his nephew's arm over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, Aemond heaves him up. Maegor feels like he was threading the thin line between consciousness and total darkness while the sharp pain still tears through him, from head to toe. His legs feel boneless as he is suddenly raised up, but he struggles to stand despite the pain and helplesness and stumbles along, supported by his uncle. The guards follow, Alliandra now silent behind them. 

Even in this state, Maegor is raging in his head, angry that he ended up being defeated so easily. 

Angry that he cannot rip the Martell bitch limb by limb with his bare hands.

At the entrance of the Old Palace, the dragons are restless and distraught under the night sky. At the sight of his rider's weak body getting dragged by Aemond, the Cannibal lets out a roar, seething with fury. The beast lowers his head bearing his teeth and growling dangerously at Aemond. Vhagar rumbles and snaps her jaws in the air, close to Saagael's head as a warning.

"Daor! Lykirī!" The older Prince shouts at the two beasts. The last thing he needs is for them to start ripping each other apart.

Maegor groans painfully trying extend a hand to his dragon. The moment he lets go of his uncle however, he almost crumbles to the ground if not for Aemond to pull him back against his body.

The Cannibal lowers his head further, bringing it closer to his rider. He inhales and exhales deeply, taking in the scent of the young Prince before he lets out a low, silent cry.

"Ziry gōntan bisa." Aemond tells the beast and there's no doubt that he immediately understands by the way he reacts.

 Slitted sapphire eyes like Aemond's gem get locked on Alliandra's form. Her face suddenly drains of color when she meets the Cannibal's cold glare.

"Bring her over."  

The guards reluctantly obey and approach the Princes, all while both Vhagar and Saagael watch, sizing them up with a predatory glare as the men cower in fear before them. 

There's no trace of pride or ambition left on the Martell's face. All of her previous confidence and foolish bravery is now replaced by dread and fear.

"Mazverdagon zirȳ hīghagon." 

A final command is given.

Make them scream 

Before the guards or the Princess can react, both dragons lower their head in synch, opening their massive jaws and closing them around the three at the same time, with Alliandra being in the middle. Despite their sheer size, both Vhagar and the Cannibal act with precision, careful to keep their main target alive long enough to be able to feel the pain. The two guards are ripped apart swiftly and almost too painlessly, they aren't the main course however. Alliandra has the privilege of getting torn apart methodically, limb to limb like Maegor wished until her agonizing screams turn into a gurgles and eventually die out completely just as quick as they started. 

If they had any time to spare Aemond would have personally dealt with her, but Maegor is the priority now and he can feel him get weaker by the minute. There's no time to waste. He needs to take him to be tended by maesters as fast as possible.

Staying in Sunspear is not an option. After the scheme that Alliandra pulled on them, there's no one trustworthy in Dorne and he's not stupid to risk getting Maegor poisoned again and killed under the pretext of receiving medicine and care. 

The Stepstones are the closest, but even if the Seasnake's maesters are skilled, there's isn't a lot they can do with the few rations left and even less medicine.

The second closest option is King's Landing. That plan too falls through as Aemond can't risk suddenly bringing Maegor in such a vulnerable state. He barely got away with flying to the Stepstones in the first place, after much nagging from his mother and grandfather. It will raise up too much suspicion if he suddenly shows up with his nephew like this and it will surely cause an even bigger rift between their families as he's certain both Daemon and Rhaenyra would misinterpret and accuse him of poisoning the younger Prince instead.

So Aemond chooses the third option, the safest bet. For Maegor at least.

Dragonstone.

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Translations:

Ñuha jorrāelagon, dombo ēdrugon = My love, wake up

Qybor = Uncle

Ao gīmigon kesan, ñuha dārilaros = You know I will, my Prince

Ȳdra daor ȳdragon, vīlībagon. Nyke kostagon daor ojughagon ao = Don't speak, fight. I can't lose you

Ziry gōntan bisa = She did this

Mazverdagon zirȳ hīghagon = Make them scream

[xxpeppermintxx109]

green lies, black hearts - chapter xxxiii

summary -

a lesson in avarice

[xxpeppermintxx109]

The Prince of Dorne had been felled by a wingless dragon.

- qoren, chapter xiv, glbh

He gathered her into his arms, a burning sun embracing a weeping dragon, and though her grief was like water to fire, he held her ever tighter.

(Once, he had thought her to be the fire of them both—a dragon.

“We can stay here a while,” Qoren whispered into her hair. “Even if you catch fire, I’ll still hold you as long as you need. I may not be a dragon, but I’ll endure it. For you, Shaera, I’ll burn.”

But now…now her tears drowned him like the hot summer sea. How could he ever forget that first and foremost, she was of the sea. And the sea always did well to absorb the sun’s heat.)

- qoren, chapter xxxii, glbh

“But I will certainly strive to make you as happy as I can, even if it’s not half as much as you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve as much as you seem to think, my prince,” Shaera whispered with burning shame.

“Unfortunately for you, Shaera Velaryon, I believe you deserve the world and more.”

- shaera, chapter xxiv, glbh

qoren and shaera from green lies, black hearts

[xxpeppermintxx109]

queen shaera targaryen, the unlikely | GLBH AU, inspired by this edit. this one very much fits older shaera :)

there was not a soul who presumed the quiet firstborn of rhaenyra targaryen would ascend the iron throne, but the dance of dragons had burned away nearly all of house targaryen in a mere two years. with her brothers dead, and her only remaining family her stepsisters and a mere child, shaera velaryon took the name targaryen and was named queen of the seven kingdoms—a sight her half-year queen of a mother would have liked to see. and while she sat the throne in king’s landing, her husband—only in name, some would say—sat the throne in sunspear, officially welcoming dorne into the crown’s purview for the first time. at just twenty years of age, shaera targaryen, the first of her name, had done what her ancestors could not.

but throughout her reign, grief followed her. she had lost nigh her entire family in the war, save only for her stepsisters, baela and rhaena, and her brother, aegon the younger. gone was her dragon, slaughtered by her uncle’s, sunfyre, in a cannibalistic rage. gone was her lover, still chained to his saddle at the bottom of the god’s eye. gone were her brothers and mother and fathers.

similarly to aegon, she wore only black, forever in mourning. however, on the namedays of those she still had left, many claimed she wore velaryon blue and targaryen red, and sometimes a small smile could be seen slipping through her perpetual despair. when she welcomed a daughter back from sunspear a year after the war—one many thought to be a bastard for her pale hair and dark eyes that belonged to a kinslayer—it was only that girl, named visenya for a sister who never got the chance to live, who could truly rouse the queen from the storm hanging over her head. then there was a son, a boy with dark hair and even darker eyes donning the name aemon. though he was surely the son of the prince of dorne, there was little doubt he reminded the queen greatly of her lost love. and when her brother viserys was returned, many claimed to see the first true smile on shaera targaryen’s face—their embrace on the docks of blackwater bay enough to drive many to tears.

for thirty years, shaera targaryen was queen, wearing not the crown of her mother—for that had been sold in exchange for a betrayal rhaenyra would never recover from—but the crown of both a conqueror and usurper. though her reign was largely peaceful, some say the rubies of aegon’s crown were cursed, reddened by the blood spilled to form the seven kingdoms and break them apart as well.

first, her husband would pass quickly. his death would come in the form of a letter brought by ravens from the south, sent by his firstborn daughter, who inherited dorne and loved rhaena of pentos. shaera was said to have grieved quietly and in private, only thirty years old and already made a widow—some would say for the second time. she would not take another husband despite the urgings of the twins, who only wished to see her happy.

next went her son. aemon was only two-and-ten when he was found dead. some said the greens still had supporters so long after the war, some said there was a wish to push the queen to madness so her brother, aegon, could take over—now a man. some said the boy merely had a weak heart and succumbed to an illness that hid deep within him. but the death of aemon was enough to remind many of the queen before, who at the death of jacaerys velaryon seemed mad with grief and chose only to haunt the halls of dragonstone and the red keep. such was a similar state for shaera, who after her son was burned on a pyre, seemed incapable of ever smiling again.

neither her sisters nor her brothers could bring a semblance of peace to her. even the sight of morning, rhaena’s pink dragon, couldn’t stir a moment of nostalgia in her heart—she and aegon were similarly broken by the dragons of old. for namedays, the birth of baela’s and rhaena’s children, the visits from aliandra martell, shaera simply sat upon the iron throne, a crown of rubies upon her dark and greying hair. she only ever watched. she never partook. the last time she danced was with a man lost to a lake.

it was only when her daughter, visenya, wed aegon in an attempt to stall any potential civil wars before they could build, that some say shaera actually cracked a smile, small and weak as it was. though the realm saw them wed per the seven’s wishes, shaera had them wed per their house’s true religion on dragonstone—with fire and blood. neither were truly happy, for their lives had been nothing but loss, but for a moment, many say visenya and aegon found peace. and some say, while aegon always wore black for his mother, visenya always wore green for her true father.

from their marriage came three children: daemon, daenerys, and aenys. but grief was great and sorrow ever present for two children born in a civil war, and visenya was left widowed when aegon died of consumption at only six-and-thirty. some say she could not bear to live without him, and her heart broke one night, slaying her in her sleep, leaving her children to baela and alyn, who took the three in without issue.

shaera, hearing news of her daughter’s and brother’s death, called for her remaining family to return to the red keep. many wondered if she would abdicate to viserys for her grief was too great. she named viserys her heir, baela her hand, alyn the master of ships, rhaena the master of laws, and aliandra the master of whispers. when all was said and done, shaera bid her court a farewell, claiming she was far too tired to continue and that she would return to court on the morrow with news for the approaching winter. lord cregan stark, a dear friend of hers, was set to return after years protecting the north.

however, when he returned to see his queen, he was met only by a corpse. in her sleep, at the age of fifty—almost thirty years of ruling—queen shaera targaryen died. some claimed foul play. some said she deserved it for being a woman on the throne. some simply wrote songs about the grief she endured, and the peace she had brought, unlikely as she was. death had swept through house targaryen once more, but shaera ensured it stood strong, for she settled succession and protected her youngest brother’s claim before she passed. lord cregan stark was known to have lauded her for knowing when her time was near but remaining selfless enough to not return to her family, who all undoubtedly waited for her beyond the living veil, until all was settled.

unlikely, unwilling, shadowed always by grief in a black veil that never seemed to leave her hair, shaera targaryen was a good and just queen despite it all. and while her mother ruled only for half a year, she protected rhaenyra’s memory and claim for thirty long and prosperous years. years that many claim to be better than they should have been. years that went free of blood after so much was spilled before.

reunited once more with her family in death, some say baela and rhaena and viserys and aliandra all had similar last words—that they wished to return to their families. some even claimed that shaera’s last words were a breath of relief, at finally being free, and she called to her brothers and mother and fathers and daughter and son and husband.

and to aemond targaryen, who shaera velaryon loved before she was shaera targaryen. who the good queen refused to let him be known as a kinslayer in all of the histories written in thirty years of ruling. he was merely prince aemond to her.

and she was his shaera, reunited once more.

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the battle of the burning sea - 130 AC | glbh

“it is said that the bloodiest of days during the dance of dragons was merely a bait for prince regent aemond targaryen, set by prince qoren martell of dorne. two men, a sun and a dragon, set the coast alight with their fires, and some say that even the sea burned that day. and at the end, it is rumored that prince qoren only laughed in the face of prince aemond when the latter learned of the true intention of the battle—of the trap he had walked right into, of the insurance he had just lost. some blamed prince qoren for the destruction and death that would follow. some blamed princess shaera for the madness that took prince aemond’s mind and sent him on a holy mission to raze the riverlands.”

- archmaester gyldayn in f&b

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green lies, black hearts - chapter xxxvii

summary -

threads of flesh stained by the paint of kin

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green lies, black hearts - chapter xxxi

summary -

mothers are not meant to remember their children longer than they got to know them.

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green lies, black hearts - chapter xxxii

summary -

the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

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green lies, black hearts - chapter xxix

summary -

and I want your quiet, your screaming and thrashing

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qoren and shaera, the prince and princess of dorne | green lies, black hearts

a huge thank you to lizzy (@/dragontheofhouse on tiktok) for another stunning edit🤍

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Qoren Martell dilf with his controversially much younger wife enthusiasts really won this chapter is all I’m gonna say