#regency council

[wonder-worker]

are there any books you'd recommend for Isabelle of Angouleme?

Hi! I’m really not an expert on Isabella of Angouleme so I'm probably not the best person to ask for recommendations for her. Here are some I've heard of, though I haven't read all of them:

"Isabella of Angouleme: John's Jezebel" by Nicholas Vincent (King John: New Interpretations). I haven't read it myself but I've heard good things!

“Maternal Abandonment and Surrogate Caregivers: Isabella of Angoulême and Her Children by King John” by Louise J. Wilkinson (Virtuous or Villainess? The Image of the Royal Mother from the Early Medieval to the Early Modern Era). It focuses more-so on Isabella's tenure as queen, the period shortly after John's death, and her decision to leave England. Despite what the title may imply, it's sympathetic to Isabella and analyzes her situation in detail.

“Co-Operation, Co-Rulership and Competition: Queenship in the Angevin Domains 1135-1230” by Gabrielle Storey, her PHD thesis which collectively focuses on Isabella of Angouleme along with Empress Matilda, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Berengaria of Navarre. You can read/download it here, it's an excellent piece for all four women.

Sally Spong has written/is writing:

Isabella of Angouleme: The Vanished Queen (Norman to Early Plantagenet Consorts). You can see her conclusion here. It's nuanced and sympathetic, though not without its issues and pre-conceived notions.

Isabella of Gloucester and Isabella of Angouleme: Female Lordship, Queenship, Power, and Authority 1189-1220 (PHD thesis University of East Anglia).

“Isabelle d’Angouleme, By the Grace of God, Queen” by William Chester Jordan. You can read it online here, though I will say that it's ... very very questionable, accepting the sensational claims of lot of unreliable sources (including the idea of John abducting Isabella in a fit of uncontrollable infatuation) entirely at face-value.

“The Marriage and Coronation of Isabelle of Angouleme” by H.G. Richardson, available here on JSTOR.

Isabella has also been the subject of two complete French biographies till date:

"Isabelle d’Angoulême, reine d’Angleterre" (Aquitaine: 1998) by Sophie Fougere.

"Isabelle d’Angoulême, comtesse-reine et son temps (1186-1246)" [Actes du colloque tenu à Lusignan, 8 au 10 novembre 1996] by Gabriel Biancotto, Robert Favreau and Piotr Skubiszewski.

There are also a few blog posts about her (here and here) which may help if you want a brief overview of her life, though they can get a little sensationalistic sometimes.

Hope this helps! If anyone knows any others, please feel free to add on!

[wishesofeternity]

“Much has been written on the extent and effects of the Woodville influence on Edward of Westminster [Edward V], but the nature of his mother's [Elizabeth Woodville's] role has usually been overlooked, or subsumed into the general picture of her family's activities. Initially her position was probably the most prominent in his household. She was the only member of his original 1471 council not already on the king's council and her name headed the list of those appointed as administrators in Wales during Edward's minority. It was, therefore, not only with the queen's 'assent' that the council (or four of them) made their decisions, but with her 'advise and exp[re]se consent', and this included nominating the prince's officers when posts became void. The interests of many of Prince Edward's council were not primarily focused on their role in this council, so ten new members were assigned prior to the prince's departure for Ludlow in 1473, among them the queen's cousin Richard Haute and her confessor, Edward Story. Lowe has argued that of the twenty-five members of this council, only fourteen were fully active, the three principal members being the queen, Rivers, and Haute, and that of the remaining eleven, at least eight had prior connections with the Woodvilles. The queen was one of the three members to hold a key to the prince's treasury; she travelled with him to Ludlow and she, along with the prince's other councillors, appears to have been the 'driving force' behind efforts to restore peace in the area by punishing those responsible for disorders in the previous autumn. Elizabeth, 'oure Sovereigne and Liege Lady the Quene', presided over the commission to hear trials in Hereford with the infant prince until the king himself arrived."

- J.L. Laynesmith, The Last Medieval Queens: English Queenship 1445-1503

[a0random0gal]

Do you know what infuriates me the most about Rhaenyra?

No, it's not her entitlement, her spoiled princess behavior and surprisingly not even her insufferable stans.

It's her complete lack of action after she marries Daemon. She finds herself in a situation where her father's health is declining at a steady pace and is as such incapable of ruling and in need of a regency. This is her big moment right? Historically when an old king/queen needed a regent their heir always stepped up to fulfill that role, to start taking the crown and testing the waters while their parent was still alive and show the council, the nobles and the people what kind of ruler they were going to be after their mom/dad died.

But not Rhaenyra. Who loved to talk about the things she was going to do after becoming queen, who loved to remind everyone that she was still the heir in spite of Aegon's birth.

This is her occasion, her opportunity to take power and start ruling, to hold her first meeting with the small council, to begin making allies at court and establish her authority and gain respect as future queen.

But no for some reason she decides to fuck off to Dragonstone and leave all the politics, all the big decisions and royal duties to the greens.

And after that not only has the audacity to complain that Alicent and Otto are the real power behind the feeble Viserys, but to get mad after being "usurped".

Like girl you literally handed them the chance to dismiss you and crown Aegon in your place on a silver plate, you don't have the right to react like this, cause unlike you they can actually recognize an opportunity and seize it lmao.

[jinjeriffic]

DC x DP Prompt

Danny hasn't been crowned yet. His regency council (on advice from Clockwork) and Lady Gotham make an arranged marriage for him: the Ghost King is now engaged to Gotham's Avenging Knight, Red Hood. They are both halfas after all...

Something something best timeline, Danny has to get married in order to be crowned King so it's now a combination wedding and coronation ceremony. Now to deliver the good news to all parties involved (they do not think it's good news. At all)

[greenqueenhightower]

I also remembered the scene in 2x03 where Aegon says “I’m as fearsome as any of them” and then the council goes silent and Alicent sighs. Oh yes, doomed Aegon, no one knows you better than your mother, and your mother knows you are her own image and the council doesn’t take you seriously the same way they don’t take your mother seriously.

That is why Aegon needs Larys to grapple with power just as Alicent needs Larys to have access to power. Now Aegon is maimed and will carry a permanent disability like Larys while he has advanced along the board and does not need him and his mother anymore. He fails to support Alicent's claim for regency and pursues his own interests through Aemond instead, while Aegon and Alicent are debilitated and disempowered in his shadow.

[helaenalyst]

i think it's so interesting the way alicent's trauma manifests in her relationship with criston. honestly i think it's pretty insane to know someone for 20 years, have him serve you faithfully, share your bed with him and explicitly forbid him to call you by your name. but it makes sense for alicent to only be able to take a "relationship" in which she is fully in control after what she was put through with viserys. i think criston knows this and is willing to accept it as repayment of his debt to her. but from his pov she is now asking him to do something that would endanger her. after what aemond did to aegon, is it such a stretch to think he would off his own mother too if she's what stands between him and the throne that he so desperately desires? or that he would not go finish off aegon so the entire regency is skipped and the throne falls to him as heir? i do get his reasoning but i also get alicent's pain at being denied once again the right to choose her own fate. i loved the way that he could not bear to look at her at the council meeting. of course he couldn't. i hate knowing there's not going to be a happy ending and that neither them nor anyone around them will be okay

[thelustybraavosimaid]

There is an unfortunately pervasive aspect of this fandom in that people conflate and replace what is established in canon with what is "true" in fanonland. Or they let their biases run wild and come up with a wide array of baseless ideas.

I tire of this.

Was is when a 22 year old adult started showing interest in a pubescent 14 year old?

This is not out of place in a universe where the author turned Daenerys and Drogo into some love story, twisted as it was, or when he had admitted he was playing around with Sandor and Sansa in the books and that "there was something there," or when he has commissioned Sansan fanart hanging on his wall.

The man does not give two flying fucks about age gaps, even problematic ones by our modern standards.

Was it when he trapped her in Dorne with knights outside ready to kill anyone who tried to help her?

Why would they kill anyone who tried to help her? Lyanna was found in a bed of blood and was ill, so she possibly had puerperal fever after giving birth. There was no way she didn't have a wetnurse to accompany her. Was this wetnurse supposed to have been slain by the Kingsguard for daring to assist Lyanna?

Was it when he joined the war to kill her remaining family and Northerners?

He didn't join the war to specifically kill her family. I find it hard to believe that anyone could forget Rhaegar had stakes of his own, and family of his own. Like, if it wasn't for Rhaegar dying, Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon wouldn't have been killed by the Mountain and Amory Lorch.

He didn't deliberately join the war to kill Lyanna's family, he did it so he could win it, return to King's Landing, and depose Aerys. This has been his goal as far back as the tourney at Harrenhal:

His lordship lacked the funds to pay such munificent prizes, they argued; someone else must surely have stood behind him, someone who did not lack for gold but preferred to remain in the shadows whilst allowing the Lord of Harrenhal to claim the glory for hosting this magnificent event. We have no shred of evidence that such a "shadow host" ever existed, but the notion was widely believed at the time and remains so today.

But if indeed there was a shadow, who was he, and why did he choose to keep his role a secret? A dozen names have been put forward over the years, but only one seems truly compelling: Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone.

If this tale be believed, 'twas Prince Rhaegar who urged Lord Walter to hold the tourney, using his lordship's brother Ser Oswell as a gobetween. Rhaegar provided Whent with gold sufficient for splendid prizes in order to bring as many lords and knights to Harrenhal as possible. The prince, it is said, had no interest in the tourney as a tourney; his intent was to gather the great lords of the realm together in what amounted to an informal Great Council, in order to discuss ways and means of dealing with the madness of his father, King Aerys II, possibly by means of a regency or a forced abdication. (The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring, The World of Ice and Fire)

—

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but...well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." (Jaime I, AFfC)

The major wrench thrown in Rhaegar's plans was Aerys attending said tourney.

Was it when he left her to die in a pool of her own blood?

Rhaegar was dead before then, and even as he was dying he whispered Lyanna's name, as was semi-confirmed in the World of Ice and Fire app.

Leading a large host to the Trident, Rhaegar met Robert in battle duelling on horseback in the fording of the river Rhaegar was killed after giving Robert a serious wound. He would die with Lyanna's name on his lips. (Rhaegar Targaryen, AWoIaF app)

She was in his thoughts even while dying.

Was it when she screamed for her brother to save her?

She didn't. And she would never call Ned "Lord Eddard."

As they came together in a rush of steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. "Eddard!" she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.

"Lord Eddard," Lyanna called again.

"I promise," he whispered. "Lya, I promise..."

"Lord Eddard," a man echoed from the dark. (Eddard X, AGoT)

This is based on a fever dream, of which George already said that not all dreams are literal. Rose petals certainly were not blowing across a blood-streaked sky, after all, and by Ned's account, the petals in Lyanna's hold were not blue, but crushed and blackened.

Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. (Eddard I, AGoT)

Moreover:

I might mention, though, that Ned's account, which you refer to, was in the context of a dream...and a fever dream at that. Our dreams are not always literal.

[Source]

So we're still, deliberately, in the dark about the events surrounding the tower of joy.

You'll need to wait for future books to find out more about the Tower of Joy and what happened there, I fear.

————

Was it when she begged to be buried with her family in Winterfell?

About this.

It was already a given that Lyanna's body was going to be returned home, as all Starks are traditionally interred in the crypts.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that. (Eddard I, AGoT)

The only exception to this rule has been Brandon the Shipwright, since he was lost at sea. Rickard and Brandon died in King's Landing yet they were returned to Winterfell, so I doubt she'd truly have to beg Ned for that:

They were almost at the end now, and Bran felt a sadness creeping over him. "And there's my grandfather, Lord Rickard, who was beheaded by Mad King Aerys. His daughter Lyanna and his son Brandon are in the tombs beside him. Not me, another Brandon, my father's brother. They're not supposed to have statues, that's only for the lords and the kings, but my father loved them so much he had them done." (Bran VII, AGoT)

The problem is how frequently this allusion to a promise has been in Ned's chapters. I doubt he would be thinking of it nearly as much if it was solely about Lyanna's bones returning home, so her pleading must narratively carry a deeper meaning. We are talking about a man who has said before that he had lived with lies for fourteen years and how it often troubled him at night.

Jon was fourteen at the start of the series.

Please direct me to the "love story"

Regarding the possible nature of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship, I believe this quote of George's implies it was indeed a romance, in his own preferred telling of one:

It’s interesting, to get back to this issue of romance that you raised earlier. When I was in Spain a few years ago, I had dinner with a woman — a Spanish academic — and a big fan of both science fiction and romance, and she had read a lot of my stuff because people said I was a very romantic writer. And she sort of launched at me and said, “What are you talking about?! You are not a romantic writer, you know. Nobody ever lives happily ever after in your books!” I was defending it, saying, “Well, but that’s a different tradition of romance. I don’t — I’m a romantic writer in the tradition of The Great Gatsby and Romeo and Juliet, and, you know, the Beauty and the Beast. These things don’t necessarily have happy endings, but aren’t the most powerful romances the unfulfilled romances — the romances where people go their separate ways, but they’ll always have Paris, like in Casablanca, one of the films I showed here. You know, they go separate at the end, but they’ll always have Paris.” And she basically said, “No, you’re wrong. They have to be happily ever after together for it to be romance, otherwise it’s just sad.”

[Source: 03:19]

Rhaegar and Lyanna's story is analogous to the tale of Bael the Bard and the Stark maiden; there was a reason why this tale of the blue winter rose was told to Jon specifically. Like the Stark maiden in the story, Lyanna loved Rhaegar so much that she bore him a son.

Bael and the Stark maiden's tale was not a happily ever after, either; both lovers died in the end. But their union did produce a child.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black actually any special, and were they seen as some kind of royalty to outsiders?

Because in every (or most) fanfic I’ve read with them, they are always depicted as being way above anyone and everyone else, even their own partners. The only ones good for them, or the only ones who understand them, are the ones with black blood running through their veins. As if they are some sort of gods that no one, but others with their blood, can touch. And everyone loves (and/or hates) them and wants to be a part of their family because they are so powerful and attractive, but watch out because they are prone to being crazy.

Which is actually another thing I wanted to point out and ask:

Did the Black family actually have some kind of curse of madness?

Hi 👋

Now, like many, I'm not immune to being completely fascinated by the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, so I was pretty stoked about this ask.

For the first part, are the Blacks actually as important as they make themselves (or fandom makes them to be)?

The short answer is not really, but they are important.

Now, the long answer:

I mentioned here how I believe the Wizengamot functions like a council of lords (which is what the Witengamot is named after in our real world), as such, families like the Blacks, the Longbottoms, and even the Potters likely do have a "noble title" (for lack of a better term) that allows them a seat there.

That being said, I don't think the Blacks are above any of the other families there, not really, but they think they are. The Blacks are an old wizarding family, they can probably trace their family tree back to the founders' era and perhaps even before, and it's important to them. They take pride in this legacy of one of the oldest pure-blood families in Britain. The Malfoys, for example, are probably richer than the modern Blacks, but they don't have the Wizengamot title and they came from France, they're not British Pure-Bloods, not originally, and I think the Blacks as a whole would look down on that. But other Wizengamot families that have just as much British history should be their equals then, and they are unless you ask a Black. They are a very proud family, and they might think they're above everyone, but they're the only ones thinking it.

I also personally headcanon that they have more houses aside from Grimmauld Place as well. I mean, back in the Regency and Victorian era it was common for richer aristocrats to have a manor away from London and then a townhouse/manor in London for the social season. So, I kinda assumed that's what Grimmauld Place initially was. So it isn't the family manor the way Malfoy Manor is and there is a Black Manor somewhere in the countryside.

For the second question:

No, I don't think the Black Madness is real.

Let's define "madness". Since it isn't really a medical term, I'd go with the dictionary on this one:

So, we'll treat it as repeated foolish, frenzied, or uncontrolled behavior that cannot be explained by other factors.

We don't meet many Blacks, and most of the ones we do are far from mad (I'll get to Bellatrix and Walburga).

Both Narcissa and Andromeda are completely sound of mind. Sure, they might have made mistakes, or rash decisions on occasion, but that's being human. They both care deeply for their families and act in their best interest. And they are intelligent, logical, controlled, and consistent in their behavior. So, two Black sisters are not insane.

What about the Black brothers, Sirius and Regulus?

Well, neither of them ever read as mad to me. Regulus was obsessed with Voldemort until he realized what he got himself into and his actions weren't ones of a madman, a desperate one, maybe, but not mad. He was smart enough to figure out about Voldmort's Horcruxes and smart enough to do something about it without Voldemort knowing.

Sirius isn't at the best of mental state when we see him considering it's after 12 years in hell on earth. But he is logical, sane, and sound, especially during Goblet of Fire in which he uncovers the plot with Barty Crouch Jr perfectly, just getting the wrong Death Eater. He comes to correct conclusions about people and is clearly intelligent:

“I don’t know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don’t know . . . Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

(GoF, page 334)

Yes, his mental state deteroits in OOTP when he's back at Grimmuald Place, but that's Sirius dealing with his grief, trauma, his sense of helplessness, and complicated feelings about his family. He never was mad, even then, just in a really shitty situation.

And yes, he was cruel as a teenager, but as I keep saying later in the post, cruelty does not equal madness.

So, what about Bellatrix, the fandom's poster child for the Black Madness?

I don't think she's insane either, well, at least she wasn't until Azkaban. In her trial, she is quiet throughout the proceedings, looking board, even, until the verdict is given:

The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys’ three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, “The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!”

(GoF, 595-596)

She is fanatical, sure, but there's no baby talk like we see in OOTP, she is cold and clearly understands the situation, she isn't in a frenzy but in control. She just knows about at least one Horcrux so she truly believes what she is saying and from her point of view, it makes sense she believes that. I won't say she is right to torture and murder Voldemort, no, she is cruel and sadistic, always was. But you can be cruel and sadistic without being mad.

The baby voice she was useing when talking to Harry in OOTP was a taunt as well, not how she usually speaks:

“Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?” she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now.

(OotP, 810)

The moment he cast an unforgivable and she started treating him seriously she dropped the baby voice.

She is cruel and fanatical, but not insane. She rightfully suspects Snape throughout HBP and DH, she is aware of her surroundings enough to see Snape's loyalty is odd when many others don't. She is intelligent and logical. She can keep herself in check when she wants to, she's, just, obsessive, and willfully blind to anything to do with Voldemort because she practically worships him.

But, she isn't mad in the sense the Black Madness seems to imply. Also, I think how we see her, post-Azkaban is worse than how she was before. I think we met a less stable, crueler version of Bellatrix, not that she wasn't cruel before, but she was more stable I think. I mean, she did spend about 14 years in Azkaban, and Fudge said Sirius looked too sane to him after a decade in the place. The Wizarding World expects the prisoners in Azkaban to lose it. So, is it really a wonder Bellatrix was affected by her time there?

And what about Walburga who screeched about blood-traitors and mudbloods constantly? Well, I think, like Bellatrix, we're seeing the worst of her.

I mean, Walburga had her portrait painted after:

Her eldest and favored son ran away from home

Her second obedient son joined the Dark Lord and then disappeared. She likely believed he died a painful torturous death of a traitor considering that's what everyone thought.

Her husband died soon after, leaving her alone with Kreature in a gloomy home that hasn't felt like a home to any of them since the war started brewing in the 1970s. Since Sirius left.

So, I think the version we see of her, is one who was grieving. She was lonely, bitter, and in mourning. And that is the state of mind the portrait captured. I think magical portraits capture the person as they are when they sit down to have the portrait taken, so it captures all of Waburga's pain, and Walburga, proud daughter of the house of Black spits acid instead of letting her pain get to her. Instead of allowing herself to feel the guilt that is weighing her down.

Walburga was never been the picture of a good mother, or of stability, but I mentioned here and other times that I don't believe Walburga was physically abusive at any point, but she always had high expectations for her sons, especially Sirius. She probably had control, and she wasn't always as frenzied as we see her, we just see a version of her broken by life, and when she broke, she got so much worse.

So, I don't think there is a curse of Black madness, not really. It's just the Black family had shit luck in the Wizarding Wars, and to a degree, it was their own doing — their pure-blood mania that sent their kids away.

As for other members, well, we know Alphard was sane enough to give Sirius money when he ran away. We know Araminta wanted to legalize muggle-hunting and Elladora started the tradition of hanging house elves' heads on the walls. The thing is, you don't need to be mad to be cruel, you can be perfectly calm, collected, and intelligent and still do unimaginable horrors. In the case of Araminta and Elladora, they don't consider muggles and house elves as human, as equal to them. therefore their pain and suffering aren't cruel in their eyes, it's like killing a deer and mounting its head on the wall, it's an animal, and it's fine. I don't think they were even necessarily cruel towards other wizards, just towards those they considered lesser, who they thought of as animals. They weren't good people, but that doesn't make them mad.

I think there is something to be said about evil not always equaling insanity and that people who'd be medically considered completely sane can do a lot of evil. I think calling every evil character insane or mad cheapens these terms and has always felt to me like a cop-out. Insane is what you call someone you want to Other, to forget that the evil they committed was done by a person, it's a way to wave their behavior away and say: "Well, I can't understand why they did that, they're insane," and this kind of excuse for characters' behavior always left a bad taste in my mouth. Evil can be done by perfectly sane humans, and I think that angle of analysis, is much more interesting because then you force yourself to understand. You force yourself to face the humanity in a character in a way calling them mad won't allow you to. Real evil is hardly ever so simple as "madness" makes it out to be.

(As a side note, I think it's possible quite a few of the Blacks have mental health issues, but that's very different than how terms like madness and insanity are thrown around and portrayed)

[necromancelena]

Hey mutuals you're all on my regency council now, can you manage my demesne while I take a little afternoon nap? I would appreciate as little corruption as possible also.

[empiredesimparte]

⚜ Le Sacre de Napoléon V | N°21 | Francesim, Paris, 29 Thermidor An 230

The Council of State finally approved the regency calendar, with the Empress's agreement. Napoleon V was to be more present than expected, particularly at weekends when he was not at sea with the crew. Charlotte remained bitter, but could no longer prevent the regency from taking place, given her husband's enthusiasm and the fact that the machine was already well under way.

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

⚜ Traduction française

Le conseil d'État approuve définitivement le calendrier de la régence, avec l'accord de l'impératrice. Napoléon V sera plus présent que prévu, notamment en fin de semaine, lorsqu'il ne sera pas en mer avec l'équipage. Charlotte reste amère, mais ne peut plus empêcher la régence de prendre place devant l'enthousiasme de son époux et la machine administrative échauffée.

(Napoléon) Messieurs, nous allons devoir revoir le calendrier de la régence.

(Napoléon) Il se trouve que l’Impératrice attend notre premier enfant.

(Philippe) Félicitations, Vos Majestés ! Une bonne nouvelle (Charlotte) Oui. Louis et moi sommes ravis

(Charlemagne) Mes félicitations Sire, Madame. Les Français se réjouiront de l’apprendre eux aussi (Henri) Avez-vous une idée de quand le bébé arrivera ?

(Casimir) Le docteur estime que ce sera pendant le mois de Ventôse

(Napoléon) Oui, nous aimerions l’annoncer aux Français d’ici une semaine

(Philippe) Entre la régence et le bébé, le peuple va être surpris (Charlotte) Effectivement mon cousin

(Charlotte) C’est pourquoi mon époux et moi-même pensons qu’il faut reconsidérer la régence

(Charlemagne) Je pense que nous pouvons réaménager quelque peu les études de Sa Majesté en conséquence

(Casimir) Oui, l’Empereur ne partira réellement que 6 mois en mer. Cela laisse 9 mois sur le sol français

(Casimir) Ainsi sa Majesté ne sera pas trop absente pour le bébé (Philippe) Il faudra médiatiser votre formation mon cousin, pour rassurer les Français

(Napoléon) Un reporter de la marine se chargera de cela

(Henri) Nous discuterons avec le contre-amiral pour aménager le temps libre de l’Empereur

(Henri) Il pourra assurer des devoirs et être de temps en temps à vos côtés, Charlotte

(Henri) Avec ce calcul, l’Empereur ne sera absent que pour les six premiers mois de l’enfant

(Napoléon) Est-ce que cela vous convient, ma chère ?

(Charlotte) Je n’ai d’autres choix que d’y consentir, il semblerait (Napoléon) Très bien messieurs, jetons un œil au calendrier en détail

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part vii)

a/n: cutest dragon claiming ever istg, toothless and hiccup dynamics. a looooooong sexy chapter because I have no self-control

When dawn broke over Dragonstone, there came a time for mourning. Princess Rhaenyra's red ire upon hearing the news from the Red Keep brought forth her premature labours, a strained one at that. She had anticipated the stillborn through her screams and struggles, grieving before the birth of her second daughter, who was to be named Visenya. As the Black Queen stood over the funeral pyre, she pledged to the flames that this larceny shall be answered for in blood.

Her only daughter, Princess Aemma's arrival proved most significant among the Blacks. Her brothers welcomed her back with open arms, indifferent to her gloom. Even Jace believed that his once insouciant sister had discovered her husband and dear friend, Prince Aemond's, vile motives through adversity. Even as the Concilliator's golden crown came to rest upon Queen Rhaenyra's head, even as her daughter bent the knee, the bereft mother was aware of the black heartbreak the princess came carrying, seceding from the traitor's nest to affiliate with her blood and kin.

After an advantageous gathering of the Black Council, Aemma harboured Rhaenyra's silent suffering, holding her mother close to her as she relieved her outcries into her shoulders. Aemma mourned with her, for the loss of her little sister, for her indefinite adventures, for whatever the inklings of a fabled future Aemond had painted for her.

When silence descended between the mother and daughter, Rhaenyra settled in bringing Aemma to her chest and stroking her arm. She glimpsed at the hushed tears that rolled down her daughter's cheeks, her chest constricting at the sight. She could tell why, she couldn't partake in any queries when the reason was unmistakable. Her lovesick daughter longed to be reunited with her other half, fiercer than when they were friends.

Rhaenyra couldn't bring herself to bear hostility toward Aemond—her son-by-law had essentially salvaged her daughter by sending her away from him. No matter her allegiance, Aemma's life would've been in constant peril by her husband's side. For that overthink from Aemond's behest, she was grateful. But, it did not overshadow his disloyalties.

The queen littered kisses around the princess' crown. "I know I can count on you. But, on what is to come—I want your standing on my council."

Aemma smiled with quite an effort. "I couldn't."

"You are shrewd, Em. I require a little novelty at my table."

"Do not treat me as your heir." She pulled away from her mother to glare at her. "I have had enough of you wheedling me into it."

"You must understand—"

"I will not. Declare Jace as your successor and honour your vow to me. He is male, your first son, more willing to rule than I ever will be. I am not him or you. I am not so flawless."

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra sighed. "I am anything but."

"I am simply not suited for such regency."

Moreover, Aemma could never hope to rival her dear friend without the assurance that he had truly turned against her. And if that day ever came, her fragmenting mind would split into a thousand pieces. Deep down, she knew Aemond's actions were driven by his desire to protect her, so harbouring any ill feelings toward him proved futile.

"No one is ever suited," Rhaenyra said sourly. "You are born with it. The Iron Throne is your birthright."

Aemma sensed her vision blur. "Then please relieve me of it, mother. You promised me."

"Such are the circumstances, Em. Once the war is over and I have taken what is mine, I will make sure that you are free to do as you please," her mother agreed with her. "But until then, you will carry the title of my heir."

Aemma considered this, swiping at her nose. "You would pit my brother against me in doing so."

Rhaenyra recovered with a smile. "Jace would lay down his life if you asked it."

"And I am to simply take your word for it? Like the last time?"

Her mother's violet gaze narrowed. "The word of your queen, to whom you bent the knee."

Aemma would merely be an auxiliary in this castle. Just another puppet at the queen's behest. She strode out the door in a temper, slamming into a smirking Daemon before making off into her chambers.

Aching for some relief, Aemma instinctively searched the little chest by her writing table where she had stored Aemond's old letters. She sat on her bed, wistfully reading them, one by one, and realizing how oblivious she had been to the unmistakable. Each word to her was affectionate, deep-rooted in a love that never seemed to sway. It was then that she realized what a mistake it was to simply leave Aemond behind without putting up a fight.

A mere two years ago, he had written to her: My love, Aemma. Recently, I have read about the late Good Queen Alysanne, and I imagine you bear semblance to her; both in beauty and aspirations. Her command at court, the love she shared with King Jaehaerys. Her peaceful but invincible steed, Silverwing, resides on Dragonstone. I envision it every night, you and I, on our dragonbacks, side by side. I long to see you again, have you, hold you. Make it real for me. Yours, Aemond.

My beloved, Aemma, he penned in another letter. Shall I fly to you tonight?

My darling, Aemma. I wish for the day we free ourselves of these burdens and leave the world behind.

My Aemma. You are all my hope.

Aemma held the little scrolls to her chest, staring unseeingly. How had this escaped her? Had she been so blind to Aemond's budding love all these years? So focused on hearing his tales, that she had not read between the lines? It was never a spurred decision on his part or one born from jealousy. He had longed to make her his from the beginning.

Despite Aemma's growing yearnings, she sat awake in front of the mirror, brushing her trimmed hair with overt care. Long for distraction, she recalled the day she had tried to claim Vermithor, how the gulf of dragon fire from the beast's gullet had rained down from the lair, how Daemon's armoured body had shielded her from a charred death, how she swore to herself that she had had enough of dragon power.

"There is no defeat except in no longer trying," Daemon had said to her reflection in the mirror when the handmaidens sadly snipped away at her once-luminous, long hair.

Aemma's hand fisted against the brush, the words echoing in her mind. She lacked in a lot in comparison to her other Targaryen kin; crowns, power, dragons; but not a conviction. She would rather lose all her hair twice over than abandon hope. If there was one thing that would grant her sufficient power before her mother or the realm, it was dragons.

Make it real for me, Aemond had written. And that was more than flesh and blood could stand.

X

Call it harebrained or temperament of self-destruction, Aemma grappled a blazing torch from her corridor and lurked down to the Dragonmont, where she was certain that more riderless dragons were being sheltered. Seasmoke, her dear father's dragon, was among them. It was long after the hour of the wolf, nobody would be awake to stop her. Except—

"Sister?" A surprised call emerged from behind a pillar. Decked in his riding vestments, Jacaerys had come down to see his dragon, Vermax, possibly to relieve his tension.

Aemma held her nervous stutter and faced her brother down. "I'm going to claim Seasmoke. You can try and stop me."

With that, she walked past him without a second glance but came into shock when Jace caught her forearm. His jaw hardened as he took in the determination in her eyes.

"If I don't come with you, Father's ghost will haunt me for the rest of my days," he weakly jested. When she tried to deny him, he smirked and seized the torch from her.

"You can try and stop me," he quoted her.

Hence, the siblings embarked on a descent into the hellacious caverns of the Dragonmont. Jace held his sister's hand like a rock, leading her down the meagre stairways and eventually onto sturdy gravel.

Their boots crunched as they progressed through a hot, dark passage, illuminated by the embers from their torch. Jace chuckled when he noticed the rash slits on Aemma's skirts that now hung in tatters at her knees then the tight knot of hair over her head.

"'Tis not an absurd look on you. I've seen worse," Jace teased.

She shoved him playfully. "If Aemond were here, he would've appreciated the effort."

Her heart clenched a little when she spoke of him, an old pain that persisted from years ago. Jace said nothing but rolled his eyes.

"You should be on that throne after our mother, Jace," Aemma said, suddenly weary. "You are more befitted to rule than me."

"That is a lie," he reassured. "I can think of no abler ruler; so compassionate, peaceful, loved by all. Although I would row on your selection of king consort."

She managed a grin. "Perhaps Baela would make a fine queen. She's fierce."

"I do not dissent." He smiled back at her, warmed. "When you are the law, who dares question your authority?"

A nearby bellowing growl—or a snore?—alerted them. Neither Jace nor Aemma had any idea of what dragon waited for them in the lair that lay beyond. Luck was on their side, as they witnessed a dozing Seasmoke, begin to blink awake at the bright glares. The young dragon's silver-grey scales which resembled her late father's hair dazzled in the darkness. He was as handsome and fierce as his late rider.

Jace quickly informed her of the tethers on her thorax and straightforward Valyrian words of command, such painstaking instructions to his impetuous sister. So distinct from Daemon's nonchalance before facing off with Vermithor: "Power and patience, sweetling. Go and do me proud."

Aemma gritted her jaw and steeled herself. She would rather go with Daemon's command; to simply trust in her blood and approach in confidence. How much ever she tried to quell her fears, once the dragon began to sniff at her, her hands began to shake. Her mind blanked, and her perseverance dwindled. She turned aside slightly.

"Say 'lykirī', sister! 'Dohaerās', 'rȳbās', 'lykirī'!" Jace hissed to her in a reminder.

Seasmoke snapped his beady gaze to her brother, wavering on its hind legs, and then back at Aemma when she raised her palm and commanded in her strongest voice—"Lykirī, Seasmoke. Lykirī."

The distempered dragon unhinged its powerful jaws, a tongue of flame ready to breathe forth on her. Aemma willed her feet in place, brazened out the beast and began to shout, more in alarm than valour. This had to work, it had to.

"Dohaerās, Seasmoke! Rȳbās! Lykirī, please!"

It was past oversight once more when her brother leapt at her with his cloak, putting his body before hers and hauling her to the ground. A noxious heat bowered by them, the rage and sound of a firestorm, but they narrowly escaped the lick of fire while they crawled out of the recess. The disappointment deferred as Jace urged her to her feet and rushed her onward.

"Go, Aemma. Run," he ordered.

Their path had gone dark as they had abandoned their torch at Seasmoke's lair. Blind on their trail to safety, they knocked into each other, the bumpy stones, held onto dear life and sprinted ahead. Once they made it to a clearing on the far side of Dragonmont, annularly illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, the siblings tumbled to their knees to catch their breath. They were swathed in plumes of smoke and soot, and scrapes on their knees, but nothing else mattered.

Jace fell about into wild laughter. "Insanity, Em. Gods, have I missed such fun with you!"

His laughs faded when he noticed Aemma with her head in her hands and her shoulders quivering with muffled weeps. Her devastation was evident—all the grief, rejection, lovelorn—and all he could offer her was his bare solace whilst she aired her grievances.

Jace gently put his arm around her as she bawled it out, like her very nerves were tearing asunder. It was mortifying to see Aemma break like this, no one truly had bore witness to her sorrow. She rarely ever did so in front of their parents or alone.

"Mother merely sees me as a pawn. My only friend forsakes me," she sniffled before another sob ripped out. "Now father, too. What have I done to deserve this, Jace?"

When Jace attempted to affirm her, a startling rumble stilled any movements. He risked a glance over his shoulder and something stirred in the darkness. Beyond a doubt, the tapered symmetry of a nimble, enormous beast emerged from within a hollow beyond. Its growling thrummed the very rocks around them until he realized that the dragon's leathern wing was straddled on their farthest side, still half-shrouded in shadow.

"Aemma," Jace murmured to get her attention. Alas, his good sister was lost to her woes.

He read between the lines as he weaved his gaze between the calmly vigilant dragon and his sister. It was ridiculous to even entertain the thought of leaving her defenceless, but he was inclined to believe the possibility of... a dragon claiming a rider. Who was he to question the magic of Old Valyria? Jace could only take an unwilling step away, keeping his eyes steady between his sister and the sharp-eyed beast. Not just any beast.

Once under the moon's rays, the she-dragon, Silverwing, rose in her lasting glories. Formerly the docile mount of the Good Queen Alysanne, the pale silvery-blue dragon unwound her neck, rattling the ground with her faint bellows, snaking herself closer toward Aemma's balled-up figure on the ground. There was a hesitance to the dragon, never seen before, going further than her curiosity allowed. She took one sniff and let out another faint rumble.

Jace watched on, disbelieving, as Silverwing nudged her snout against Aemma's back. Her growl pealed like a peaceful purr, seeking out Aemma's affection or perhaps even showing her comfort.

Aemma hardly shifted, preoccupied with troubles of her own.

Unrelenting, Silverwing repeated this twice, more intent to win a reaction now. It was obvious that the dragon had already bowed to the likes of Aemma and her desperation.

Finally, Aemma lifted her head and glimpsed over her shoulder, her lips parting at the sight of the massive beast. When familiarity flickered into her head, she looked at her brother with tears in her eyes, disoriented.

Jace encouraged her with a nod.

Wiping her face with her dirtied sleeves, Aemma pushed to her feet and misstepped when an intense pang needled into her head. Silverwing, perceptive of her ungainly movement, offered up her snout as balance and carefully stood her rider upright.

"Sliverwing," Aemma spoke, her voice a shaky rasp. Her fingers ran across the glistening cobalt scales, feeling her heat and strength. She glimpsed at the dragon's glinting orange eyes.

The she-dragon let out another undragonlike purr.

Aemma was riveted by her unique friend, who stared at her in wonder. Silverwing's arched horns resembled her mother's mount, Syrax, fashioning an elegant crown of spikes around her great head. She inclined her windborne body to the ground as if making her obeisance to Aemma.

"Kirimvose, gevie riña," she whispered to her dragon, laughing to herself. (Thank you, beautiful girl.)

Such was the peculiarity of dragons, no one could understand their ancient minds. Jace immediately ushered Aemma toward Silverwing's timeworn saddle and she began to climb up, finally mounting her steed. When Silverwing roared and flapped her strong wings, Aemma appeared before her brother as the incarnation of the Good Queen Alysanne herself, with her wild hair and radiant grin. It was no wonder the beast was so quick to take her under its wing.

"I'll find Vermax and follow you out," Jace shouted to her, raring to go. He had dreamed of the day he would fly side-by-side with his dear sister.

That gloaming morning, all of Dragonstone awoke to the sight of Princess Aemma emerging out of the mountain as a proud dragonrider and cementing her name in history as a trueborn heir of the House Targaryen.

X

Across Blackwater Bay, the information of Princess Aemma laying claim to Silverwing had arrived in King's Landing on a sour note. This would be a dire consequence to the Greens, outnumbered in dragons against their own mere three adult dragons, even if one of them was the queen of dragons. Eight to exceed their three.

King Aegon headed the High Council meeting with the dowager queen and his grandsire, the Hand. Ser Criston ranged behind the King's seat, mum to his treasons. And Prince Aemond, most dutiful to the throne, was seated by the King's side. Absently, he stroked the marital scar on his palm, a prisoner to his wandering mind.

"The Blackwoods continue to fly Rhaenyra's banners in the Riverlands. Further aid must be assured to the Brackens who have bent the knee to our king," Ser Otto devised in utmost composure.

"The Brackens and Blackwoods have been at each other's throats for centuries," Aemond mentioned passively. "Our focus should be to withdraw all backing to the princess."

Aegon interfered with a scoff, leaning back into his chair. He glanced at his pensive brother.

"Are we to ignore this endless litany of my bitch niece's claim to one of the largest dragons in Westeros?"

Aemond bit on his cheek, amused. Between blood rights and bravery, his Aemma had chosen the most sleepy and stately dragon as her mount. If he knew her at all, she would never fly that new friend of hers to a damned war.

It was Otto who spoke instead. "The princess surely lacks the skill, Your Grace. Silverwing is meek, yet to experience battle... unlike Vhagar."

"So you would send Aemond to snuff his wife from the skies?" Aegon seemed to draw pleasure from this. "I am quite inured to savagery and this compels me to consider."

A formidable silence fell over the room. Aemond eventually looked up from his hands and met Aegon's eyes, seething. To even spare this sordid idea made Aemond's flesh crawl. He would rather lay on a bed of nails rather than meet Aemma on opposite sides of a battlefield.

At the sight of his brother's sinister ire, Aegon doubled back.

"For the good of the realm, brother. Now what of our allies in the Reach?"

The doors to the council chambers opened and in came a gold cloak, bearing a scroll in his palm. "There's been a raven from Dragonstone, addressed to the prince."

Aemond's heart pulsed an uneven rhythm. All the eyes around the table watched him toughen and receive the letter.

"Time for the prince to kiss some traitor cunny," Aegon mused, taunting.

Only the glad tidings came especially to Prince Aemond in the princess's handwriting. He did not need to speak aloud for the members of the small council to grasp what laid within that letter. The moment his drifting eye gripped the words on the page, he hailed a hurried exit from the small council, thoughtless of his mother's refusals.

"You would risk your life and that of Vhagar's?" Alicent needled, hot on his heels through the Red Keep. "If you go to her now, Rhaenyra will be forced to assume your intent to bring the battle to her and make her reprisal."

Deaf to his mother's heeds, Aemond was halfway through twisting on his riding gloves, preparing himself to ride to and ascend on Vhagar. He was already overdue, she waited for him.

"Love renders you unsighted, you fool," Alicent warned.

Aemond's smirked at his mother. "Then I have been blind since I was a boy, mother."

Thus did Prince Aemond soar into the night airglow, Vhagar roaring out into the vast sea. He couldn't help the ardent smile that almost split his face as he urged his dragon forward, faster.

My dearest Aemond, a bygone dream has finally borne fruit. Silverwing has accepted me with good graces, and she is simply magnificent. I've made it real for you now. Will you come to me? Yours, Aemma.

X

In the watchtower overlooking Blackwater Bay, no guard had sighted Vhagar's black wings under the clouded eclipse of twilight. Yet her shadow swept across the posterior end of the island, landing on the coasts of black sand where the ocean raged on. Come what may, Aemond decided. If his half-sister's wrath bore the flames of his death, he would first see his dearest wife's dream fulfilled.

As if lying in wait for his arrival, Silverwing's call pealed out in trills, like a hymn rather than a roar, making herself known to her audience, thundering the night sky. Ser Otto was asinine to think Aemma lacked the knowledge—the lithesome agility she always carried was finally being played upon her skills in dragon-riding. Aemond swelled with pride at the sight of his wife, a gifted rider, swooping and parading for him.

Silverwing circled the coast once before her huge wings battered the air, to land far away from a growling Vhagar. Aemond lurched forward, halting only to notice Moondancer, Baela Targaryen's dragon, circling nearby. Keeping watch with her rider. So, he had been permitted to slip by unseen.

Scarcely had Silverwing grazed the sand then Aemma gracefully coasted off her back. She had traded her pretty skirts for black-and-red dragon-riding attire, bearing the red three-headed dragon sigil of their house. With his one good eye, he noticed that mischievous smile was not yet lost, and so was the delicate tenderness in her doe eyes.

She remained a good distance away, her sweet dulcet voice carried in the wind. "What have you come as, my prince? A delegate of the usurper?"

Aemond bared a slight smile at her, his restless hand gripping his dagger. None of those words held any significance in her mouth. Vhagar roared again behind him, sharing his fervour.

"A husband, I hope," she continued to wonder.

"My highest honour, princess," he agreed. "Even so, you would rather make me wait to hold my wife and celebrate her."

Her joy wilted to a sullen grimace. "A small penance."

He concealed all the misery that overwhelmed him. He hummed. "Hmm. On what charges?"

"Forfeiting me to my family when you swore," she emphasized, "that you would never part us. No matter the odds."

"You expect me to sustain my only light in this bleak world, within that shitpit where you were nearly slain in your sleep, well nigh after my discretion." Shock rattled into Aemma's eyes. "I will not gainsay that which you claim. But I would do it all the more if it means to have you alive before me."

Aemma looked at the waves, her eyes turning to glass with the onset of sorrow. Once she gained control over her expression, Aemond was robbed of his breath when she glanced back at him. He ached to touch her.

Behind her, Silverwing whistled another rumble when she asked, "Have you truly renounced my hand then? Has the dowager queen declared it so?"

"I won't amuse that farce with an answer," Aemond affirmed hotly. "We are bound together by blood. Cast me far away, Aemma, and I will still resist and crawl back to you while there's still air in my lungs and a beating heart."

A heartened smile arose on her lips. She hid it in the guise of scratching the scar near her eye. "Sweet talker," he almost heard her. Or perhaps an expletive.

Aemond frantically tugged off his gloves with his teeth and pocketed them, sighing aloud. "My love, this is living death. Have I been absolved yet or do you revel in my misery?"

"Both," she teased.

Aemma laughed as she swiftly strode forward, her cape snapping and kicking up sand. When she leapt up to swallow him in a generous embrace, Aemond shut off everything else, nestled her close, and pushed his face into her neck, inhaling her deeply: smoke and leather, just a lingering hint of lavender. He spun her about once before setting her down, drawing a soft squeal from her. Her sweet laugh resounded in his ear.

He smoothed hurried kisses wherever he could; her neck, jaw, cheek; and lips, exploring the world between them softly. It was endearing how she tried to imitate him with uncertainty, cupping his face and threading his silver tendril between her fingertips. He let a smile spread on his lips whilst a soft moan slipped out, bowing her into him, noticing how each finger of his pressed into each portion of her spine. He traced the suppleness of her throat, the sweet dimple over her lips, he could map ancient seas and lands on the divots of her scarring. This was his own little coming home.

She pulled away too soon, then laid her head against his neck to find the pace of her breathing. Aemond sketched soothing circles at the small of her back with a sharp eye on Silverwing, who was intently watching their exchange. Such an incredible girl taming a queen's steed.

"Is she not the most breathtaking creature?" Aemma asked him, looking at her dragon half in wonder and half in pride. "She came to me, showed me solace. Like you did."

"Has your new friend transcended me?"

She kissed his jaw. "Never."

Aemond trailed by her side and watched as she softly stroked at the blue dragon's enormous snout, laying her forehead against her scales. He admired how she forged bonds with all her steeds this way, with Seasmoke the direwolf and that horse, as if she were giving regard to what she would receive.

Silverwing gave off another leonine purr, gently bumping her head against Aemma submissively. Aemond could tell that this was going to be another animate doll of his wife's. Perhaps she'd train this one, too, to play fetch.

"Jaelan ao naejot rhaenagon ñuha valzȳrys," she said, her Valyrian tongue irresistibly smooth, and patted her dragon once. (I would like you to meet my husband.)

Aemond beamed at this. Aemma called him forward, took his cautious hand and rested it upon the heated scales of the she-dragon. As if thoroughly understanding what her rider had said, Silverwing patiently received his touch. He braved out her auburn-eyed stare.

"Jaqiarzus hae se dāria ao iderēptan," he praised under his breath. (Glorious as the queen you chose.)

Aemond did not really care if Aemma had heard him. Turned out, she was too fascinated by the bond between her husband and her dragon. Aemma knowingly darted between them, deliberating to herself.

She palmed Aemond's cheek and whispered, "Fly with me, my friend."

He shook up with laughter, a quiet, lighthearted sound that surprised the both of them.

"Six long years have I waited to hear those words," he said.

With one more kiss, Aemond and Aemma mounted their dragons and took to the air, going against the tide. They flew together, and their dragons danced, not in a battle for ranks, but as sworn friends in their springtime of life, immersed in their own world.

X

After having been apart from each other for nigh on two days, and flying their dragons to their heart's content, Aemond refused to let go of Aemma once the night started to unwind frigid winds their way. They withdrew from Dragonstone, and she followed him to Sharp Point where a thin strip of grassy beach was left untouched by the townspeople, a space of peace of quiet amidst the brewing tempest in both their homes.

Paying no heed to the openness, there in the shroud of the tall grass, completely persuaded by desire, Aemond gently urged Aemma closer, divested his thick coat to lay it on the ground as a rug, and held out his hand. She went all too willingly.

It was vulgar, of course. She was a princess; moreover, she had pledged him her virtue, but he couldn't help his fixations. His yearning has taken root in the neediest part of him. Neither did he have the heart to vent her absence to a nameless whore in a brothel. Why bother with the horses when he had a dragon to ride?

Aemond unlaced her bodice painstakingly and caressed the silhouette of her body, her skin warm against his palm. Her woodsy eyes met his, composed.

"I don't care. I want you, too," she comforted him. Then she reached to unfasten his breeches.

The air turned electric amidst the gathering gale—with her eyes fixed on him, she stroked the length of him under her, his hardness, and a shudder falling out of his lips. At her own pace, she hitched her leg up, sitting astride him while undoing her own hosieries. He ran his knuckles down her jaw and pushed his fingers into her hair, sharing another fond glimpse. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how lonely his mornings were without her laughter, how often he had frequented her chambers just to get a whiff of her presence.

She traced the skin of his scar, gradually slipping a finger through the fastening string and tugging it off. Then she smiled at him, "This is the face I love. My love."

That could've been his ultimate undoing. On the brink of losing himself, she had offered up her everything.

"My love," he echoed, breathy.

Aemma sunk down on him, stretching herself to the limit, her face straining. Aemond grunted, unfaltering to the sweet friction, and watched her get her fill of him and begin to ride him to the floor. He was simply there to catch her as she fell, and fell, and fell... blurring the lines between him and her. Quite physically branding each other for good. The noises she made into his ear were melodies, and her name was a whispered chant from his lips.

She brought his head to her chest, cradling it there. Everything around him was her—her scent, her heartbeat, her warmth. He let his tongue taste her sweetness, skin and sweat before sinking his teeth down, covetous to claim. She laughed, as if tickled by this, laying her nose against the top of his head, her pace getting prompter.

When he felt her go rigid around him, she plunged back on him, and his fingers clawed at her hips, tipping her over until she was on the cusp of falling apart. He lifted her chin from gauging their progress, meeting his hot stare. Her dark eyes clouded with lust, so fantastic to watch, as she blew to kingdom come. That sheer sight of her was enough to let himself go, but through the heady daze, he bore in mind the liabilities. Softly, he pulled her off him and released his spend into his breeches. He shut his eyes, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him, breathing hard.

Aemma wasted no time in settling back over him, all surfeited by sex, and pouring her silent, appreciative kisses into his tousled hair. He laughed, rubbing at her bare thighs, nipping kisses at her neck.

She opened her palm for him, and his eye patch was nestled there.

"Perhaps one day, I'll wear it for you," she jested, winking.

He playfully poked her waist and she giggled. He slid the eyepatch back on, shifting it into place. "So replete with wisecracks when it comes to my eye."

They lay there together on the bed of smoothed grass, with Aemma's head slackened off his shoulder, twisting little braids into his long hair, and Aemond's arm slumped behind his head, lost to remembering the exact planes and dips of her face with his fingers. Too many long years he had gone without seeing her.

The breeze whooshed around them, unable to humble them, the blood of the dragon was running hotter than usual.

"We should've left and never looked back," Aemond breathed out.

She watched him, her cheek pressing into the grass. "It's too late now."

"No," he said, shaking his head. He brought both her braiding hands to his lips for a kiss. "The east lies at our feet and our dragons lie in wait. We have nothing to lose, dearest. Only each other. This isn't our battle."

"Yet something stops you from leaving," she remarked quietly.

Your whore mother and her clan of bastards, he wanted to say. Your bastard brother still roving about, unavenged. The Iron Throne and the unbidden power to the Targaryen who wield it. It was bizarre to even think these thoughts in her presence.

And all this time, Aemma studied the turning cogs in his mind and his evident discontent. She attempted to bring him back to her by touching his cheek and faced commotion in his lone eye.

"You have strengthened to a warrior. A terrific sword. A spirited rider," she said. "Deep inside, you desire a good fight. Your intuitions cannot be helped."

He gritted his teeth. "You kindly withhold the bare truth: I am conditioned to blood thirst."

"You have an old score to settle," she murmured, unearthing his elusive motive. "With my brother. With your brother. This is an open path to their reckoning."

Aemond stared at her. The world stilled for a beat; it was a foregone conclusion. How could she still lay her eyes on him after learning of his intentions? Where was the hatred he had pictured in his agonies?

"Aemond, my love." Her voice got along his skin like a silken caress. He dreaded to endure her next words.

"I cannot atone for Lucerys' mistakes. But I can appeal to your humanity." Having anticipated this, Aemond's jaw clenched tight. "We were reckless children, callow to the coming times. Hotter blood conquered that night."

"And he remains an unpunished child," he differed.

"Once your debt is paid, you've won Luke's eye, then what?"

"Then he is acquitted and I am much obliged."

She frowned at him, unconvinced. "What of esteem and civility? Or would you prefer to be feared by the realm?"

"Better to be feared than scorned."

"Even by me?"

He pressed his lips tightly, his face tensing. He didn't have to say anything, she understood. A calm wroth simmered behind his lonely eye.

Aemma watched him for a beat, absorbing his words, and Aemond unshiftingly persisted. She witnessed a little boy mocked all his life; for his losses, his scars, his audacity; seeking his worth. The grimness in his stiff lips, the endurance in his words—this was the face of a stewing, dauntless man, lost to his vengeance. His scathing words struck her deeper when she realized his due reward was still unclaimed.

She shivered when he stroked a thumb across her bottom lip, his lone eye softening to fondness. "I know your insight of this now will harrow what we share. I have always known, I looked the other way. If you wish to never see me again—"

This jostled her world. She shook her head in defiance, holding his cheek in place. His face had twisted to reluctance once again. He didn't want it either, such a short distance had already left them helpless.

"I have had enough of broken vows," Aemma insisted. "I intend to keep mine to you, rooted, regardless. Let's not have the chances sour our time now."

He let a gratified smile spread out, leaning forward to catch her lips in a heated kiss, rolling her over, all urgent touches and knocking teeth. She didn't fight it, merely let it happen and allowed him to vent his gall. He gushed all his affirmations into her, his love, his fears, his hopes, and the significant one being that if he were to lose her, he would lose himself.

"Stay here with me tonight, please," he whispered into her neck.

She laughed when she heard his plea, disbelieving. "Are you to stand guard through the cold night?"

He let her go for a moment to skim the coat from under him and shroud it around her shoulders. The material drowned her stunted stature and he settled her back in his impenetrable hold. She muffled another laugh into his open-shirted chest, stroking her nose against him.

"Warm enough for you, my little dragon-rider?"

"Not that I care, but such is your spousal duty," she hummed, still playful on the hour.

He clicked his tongue. "I ought to fling you to the ocean floor. That should teach you."

"I ought to employ Silverwing's fire," she threatened.

"Spare my heart," he laughed quietly. "I'd be burning for you twice over."

And so Aemond maintained a vigil, inspecting Aemma as she slumbered soundly not soon after. He oh-so-softly touched her plump lips, the aquiline slope of her nose, her eyebrows, and the scar that dashed through one. Maddening how she continued to rest, unaware of the soul she refused to return to him.

His single eye flicked to something moving amidst the leafy plains beyond Aemma's shoulder. With one hand grasping Aemma tight, he edged a guarded hand to the dagger stowed above his breeches.

A viper, as black as the night, slithered across the golden sand. It wreathed a pattern toward Aemma's spine, hissing out a rattling tongue.

In a split second, his dagger was airborne and impaled the viper to the floor, gone in a painless death.

He had offered it his mercy, affixing his aim right into its eye.

X

[mejcinta]

These interesting shots from the Trailers and/stills make me lose my mind. 🧐🧐🔥🔥

1. Upon a closer look Aegon, mounted on Sunfyre, appears to be wearing a red cape???

2. Tyland Lannister and Grand Maester Orwyle welcome Alicent to the small council. Criston seems to still be her sworn protector here, with his s1 haircut.

3. Aegon confronting Larys, armored and ready for war.

4. Aegon will wear the Conqueror's Crown to war.

5. A gold cloak being bribed to let intruders into the Keep.

6. In this still of Helaena she is embroidering. One of her children with Aegon seems to be playing in the background. 👀👀

7. The aftermath of Blood and Cheese. The shot below is ominously slow, showing a bedsheet soaked in Blood.

8. Aegon about to beat a prisoner's face in with something that resembles the weapon Blood carried into the Red Keep. 👀

9. Dreamfyre upset, has to be quelled down by a dragon keeper. 👀👀

10. Criston is already Hand here, as the golden chain around his neck indicates. This could be before or during Aemond's regency, as Aemond states he's willing to take Daemon on.

[charlotte-of-wales]

a summary of the Monaco Tea, creds to the lovely anon who sent me the article <3

btw most of the information on the family was in article one, the latter were more just info on real estate + off shore accounts

again, this info is all coming from the former accountant of the family:

Prince Rainier III was seriously considering changing succession laws so Caroline would be the head of the family and Monaco as he found Albert to be weak. Albert is said to be the "despised member of the clan" who would stutter while speaking to his father. Rainier even looked into what this would mean to the Grimaldi name since Andrea - at the time 17 - obviously carries his father's name (Casiraghi) and not his mother's (Grimaldi). Rainier told the ones carrying the investigation that this was done in case Albert died.

the funds from Albert's state endowment and his private funds would be mixed all the time.

Albert would say yes to essentially everything his family asked for, including a $30 million apartment for Stephanie

Palmero (the accountant) would frequently buy things for the family to keep "their privacy". He bought Charlene's engagement ring and multiple properties for the Grimaldi's in France. He would pay property taxes for those properties and have the family pay him back.

Caroline and Stephanie would frequently make use of and sell family property (Rainier's cars, family jewelry and art, etc) without letting him know, even though they technically belonged to Albert.

Caroline is in charge of the family's castle in Marchais, which he had an issue with as she would always go off budget.

he makes a note to pay attention to Pierre Casiraghi as he is very ambitious and his dealings in real estate could create problems (spoiler alert: it did)

Caroline is said to hate Charlene

the allowance that Charlene, Caroline and Stephanie receive increases constantly, which worried Palmero. As of late, they were: 1,5 million euros for Charlene, 900.000 for Caroline and 800.000 for Stephanie yearly. This follows the family hierarchy.

 Jazmin Grace receives 86,000 dollars per quarter. In February 2010, Palmero had to spend $5,000 “extra for her birthday”. Albert also bought her a $3 million apartment in New York City.

Albert spends almost a million a year funding Nicole Coste's (the mother of Albert's second illegimate child) fashion business. It's all in Alexandre Coste's name as Nicole fears that Charlene might create issues when Albert dies.

loots about Charlene. She frequently demands high sums in cash, her personal chef is $300 a day, she has multiple undocumented people from the Philippines working in her staff, the celebrations for the birth and baptism of the twins was well over half a million euros, in eight years Charlene spent around 15 million euros when she received 7.5 million euros in endowment (the Palace didn't deny this and said that the accountant was simply told to pay the difference with the family's personal funds), she spent 965,000 on a villa in two and a half months, her office decoration cost a million euros, she requested 3 x 300,000 for her brother's house.

Palmero made sure to change Monaco's regency laws so in case something happens to Albert while Jacques is underage Charlene won't be regent. Instead, the principality will be ruled by a regency council.

Albert has a secret apartment in Monaco, bought by one of Palmero's secret companies. He also got rid of problematic photographs of Albert (hinted at blackmail).

there was a whole system for hiding sums used on "special missions". They were labeled DS (for special destinations) and with time were used to pay for an informal intelligence unit that operated within the police force of the principality. They'd collect information on those close to the family and even on politians of the principality. He would also pay journalists to paint a good picture of Monaco while Hollande was president in France and was constantly criticizing tax-havens.

the DS accounts would be used to hide over-budget situations, including budget for the children's nannies and the budget for the wedding.

they were terrified of the Panama papers, as a lot of money laundering funds go through Monaco and the family had accounts on Panamanian banks.

a link between a Russian billionaire and the Monegasque Minister of Justice was revealed in 2017 and the Minister was forced to resign. An investigation was launched by a French judge and there was fears that the palace would be involved: jurisdictional immunity was granted to members of the sovereign family by order. There was rumours that the French judge wanted to hear the Prince as a witness......he was told to leave the principality. He was accused of having, through his “behavior perceived as authoritarian and vexatious”, “endangered the proper functioning of the criminal justice system”.

the real estate market is a big point of collision here and a big focus of article 3. Nothing too interesting to report - Palmero says he tried mingling in the market to break down the monopoly of real estate owners in Monaco (centered around a bestie of the Casiraghi brothers) while Albert claims Palmero had close ties with some of the developers and tried mingling with things that were of interest of the government in order to make money. The real estate issue was what eventually led Palmero to be fired. Palmero and a former laywer of Albert who was his childhood bestfriend and is also now a persona non grata claims that Albert is now fully under the influence of the bestie of the Casiraghi brothers who now controls the real estate in Monaco.

Palmaro is STILL paying property tax on properties he bought for the family!! crazy!!

Palmero detailed a number of off-shore accounts that hold about 250 million euros of the family's fortune including a company created specifically for Charlotte Casiraghi. He passed on the information from that account to Albert's new accountant at a monitored meeting.

Albert's explanation is lowkey....pathetic. He claims he told Palmero to move all of his family's assets from off-shore accounts to Monaco but Palmero never did it and that was that. He claims he was never able to obtain a precise statement on the family assets due to Palmero's secrecy and Albert just trusted him. He claims Palmero would act in his name and refuse to delay his decisions.

[thelostgirl21]

I must be tired, because the more I read that paragraph, the more I'm just sitting here, giggling to myself...

"No one could predict or guess then that this boy of thirteen years, which at that time was a person without any relevance in a country ruled by the Regency Council and by Dijkstra, would become king. A king who, after he paid all the insults that had been given to his mother and him, would go down in history with the name Radovid the Stern."

Source material Prince Radovid's main trait during the events that are being covered by the show: Being irrelevant.

Netflix's Prince Radovid main problem before meeting Jaskier: Feeling irrelevant.

There's something somewhat funny, to me, about the idea that a bunch of people have been getting upset over some writers going "Hey! Let's make a completely useless and irrelevant character useful and relevant to our adaptation", and now I can't stop giggling!

Yeah, I know, they're upset over Netflix ignoring the character that CD Projekt Red wrote, and trying to enforce the idea that the videogame's OC is "true to Sapkowski's vision", while Netflix's isn't.

But, from where I'm sitting, I'm just going:

- Book Radovid: is useless.

- Netflix Radovid: is useless.

- Book Radovid, by the end of the events covered by the books: is still 100% useless.

- Netflix Radovid, by the end of Season 3: replaces Queen Hedwig, can help expand Jaskier's role as the Sandpiper, can help develop Dijkstra and Philippa's character arcs, might be used to replace other minor characters from the books by assuming similar roles without needing to constantly introduce new people on the show, can be used to remove/modify some of the more problematic elements of the books that wouldn't fit well with the show's overall tone, themes, and characters as we've grown to get to know them (like Hedwig's inability to function in the wake of her husband's death, perhaps Jaskier's choice to "abandon Ciri" to pursue his own happiness...), is now providing Jaskier with a love interest that carries enough power, weight, and influence that their romance might play a role in shaping the Continent's fate and history, rather than being tokenistic / only existing to show that Jaskier is queer, etc.

Yes, Netflix is doing something awful... They are giving significance to an insignificant book character, and ignoring that one line of epilogue saying that, one day, he'll eventually surprise everyone by finally becoming a relevant adult king (who would've thought?!), to such extent that history will remember him as "The Stern".

Instead, he shall be remembered as "The Spoon".

Five letters, starts with "S"...

Meh! Close enough, I say!

[green-eyedfirework]

Confession: after your regency/royalty fics finish strangling my heart I imagine a modern day omegaverse Dick and Slade come in and are like “man you live like this?”

Dick beats up the council (and Slade) while Slade is giving tea to a very confused Grayson who doesn’t know if it’s a trick or not

Capes!Slade, sneering at King!Slade: you let other people tell you what to do?

I also love the idea of capes!Slade clearly not passing up the opportunity to charm yet another Grayson (especially from under the nose of an alternate version of himself, he does love a challenge), while King!Slade is getting angrier and angrier and unable to explain why.