#scandal westeros magazines

[westerosoliviapope]

Foreign Affairs Minister Lyanna Stark | Scandal Westeros

A routine search for "Lyanna Stark" yields all the information Daemon found on his first go round. A stellar academic record at Riverland Women's College. Highly competitive fellowship at the World Council headquarters in Braavos. Posts at Westerosi embassies across Essos—Norvos, Pentos, Lorath. Her brief affair with Braavosi naval officer, Jaero Ennys. Who died on assignment in the Shivering Sea, four months before Lyanna gave birth to their son.

It's a photo search that yields a new, mysterious result.

A passport. Belonging to a woman with blonde hair worn in the short, curly style that was popular in the 1980s. Lya Knight. Resident of River Run. Born in 1968.

Lya, it seems, lived a life. Her passport number shows up on flights from the Riverlands to Braavos. To private, unnamed islands in the Summer Sea. To the ruins of Old Valyria. A deeper search uncovers the names of her frequent travel companions, B. White, W. Oswyl, and A. Summer.

It's A. Summer who reserves the hotels. Charters the flights. Books out entire restaurants for parties of two. Fills penthouse suites with bouquets of blue roses. Bids thousands of dollars on rare, out of print sonnet collections at the King's Landing Historical Society.

Lya and Summer globetrot for two years. Then drop off the face of the planet. No travel records, purchases. No passport renewals.

Stranger than that, there is no evidence Lya or Summer existed prior to 1988 when their first passports are issued.

And Lya, minus the short blonde hair and brown eyes in her passport picture, bares striking resemblance to Foreign Affairs Minister Lyanna Stark. Also born in 1968.

An affair, Sarella concludes. Lyanna was a brilliant, ambitious woman in her 20s. It would have been easy for her to catch the eye of an older, affluent man. Likely someone who shared her lust for learning. After two nights of tedious investigation into the mysterious "A. Summer," Sarella has nothing. His passport, ID photos, and birth certificate are redacted. His spending accounts are linked to a dummy corporation in Dorne. She can't even find a full first name.

It's the middle of the fifth night when it hits her. She's on her living room floor, surrounded by magazine and article clippings and one particular photo catches her eye. She checks the year on the publication.

Her jaw drops.

Please be wrong. By the Old Gods and the New, please be wrong.

Scandal Westeros - Episode Seven

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cozened Indigo - Part One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

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

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

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

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

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him. 

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

[crescentmooninjuly]

i’m a nepotism, baby, you can trust me (chapter 1)

Summary: When the success of his film is threatened by a personal scandal, famous actor Aemond Targaryen has to fake-date his costar/nemesis.

Notes: Aemond & the original character from my other fic! (linked here)

Daemon is not related to Viserys in this fic to avoid incest between Daemon/Rhaenyra & Aemond/OC

TW: references to Sam Taylor-Johnson💀

Word Count: 3,118 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So is his dick really as big as they say it is?”

  Lyra coughed on the piece of kale she’d just forked into her mouth. “What?” 

 Baela raised her eyebrows suggestively. “How long is it?” 

 Lyra rolled her eyes. “You know we didn’t actually have sex, right?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rhaena grinned. “That sex scene was realistic as fuck.”  

 “But you at least saw him naked, right?” Baela asked eagerly. 

 “No!” Lyra laughed. She threw a fry at her sister across the table and it clung to her silver-blonde curls. Baela flicked some of her lemon water (room temperature, obviously) at Lyra in retaliation. 

 “Would you call it a porn addiction, hypothetically, if you just want to watch the same, tasteful, “how-can-it-be-considered-an-R-rated-movie-if-there’s-hardly any-nudity” sex scene over and over again?” Rhaena asked genuinely, chin contemplatively in the palm of her hand.

 “Gross,” Lyra smirked good-naturedly, popping a fry into her mouth. “You guys are a bunch of perverts.” 

 “How can you blame us?” Rhaena giggled. “He’s so  hot."

 Lyra rolled her eyes in response.

 Their current topic of conversation (as most of them had been recently), revolved around Lyra’s costar/nemesis, Aemond Targaryen. 

 Lyra and Aemond had spent most of last year filming an epic, World War I era, tragic romance, called The Great War. The movie was scheduled to be released in two months, and Lyra had just returned to LA after seeing the premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. The lead actors were praised for their performances, earning award-season buzz for their incredible on-screen chemistry. But what the press had yet to find out, (and the production company certainly wasn’t keen on leaking the information) was that the two stars had been at each other’s throats for most of the shoot. They had constantly bickered on-set, disagreeing about almost everything. The studio had been forced to bring a moderator in during filming. But their off-screen hatred hadn’t ruined their characters’ relationship. If anything, it had elevated the passion between them. As soon as filming wrapped, Lyra and Aemond gratefully went their separate ways. And besides the film festival, where he spent most of the night ignoring her, they hadn’t seen each other since. 

  “Oh, did you see that Rolling Stone article? They placed you second on their list of favorite current nepotism babies.” Baela said. She was Lyra’s media and marketing manager. One summer, when Lyra was off filming an Indie movie in a remote part of Europe, Baela had been entrusted to update her Instagram account every few days. Lyra had gained five million followers in less than a week, and Baela had been in charge of her social media presence ever since. 

 “Who was number one?” Lyra asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

 Baela smirked. “Aemond Targaryen, of course.” 

 Lyra furrowed her brows. “That seems sexist.” 

 “At least when people bring up the nepotism conversation, his name will always come up first,” Rhaena said. 

 Lyra’s mother was Evera Lys, an actress from the 90’s. Evera and her co-star, Daemon Prince, from the popular teen drama  Westeros High, had begun dating right after the show finished airing. Their whirlwind relationship had been plastered on every magazine cover and tabloid at the time, and they got married after only six months of dating. But tragedy struck a few years later, when Evera died from complications in the hospital after giving birth to Lyra. 

 Despite never getting to meet her mother, Lyra had had a mostly happy childhood. She had grown up in Malibu with Daemon, his second wife, screenwriter  Laena Velaryon, and their twins, Baela and Rhaena. And they had all become very close.  

 Daemon rose to even greater fame after starring in the period piece, The Iron Throne, with Oscar-winning actor, Viserys Targaryen. Aemond’s father. Hence the nepotism. Daemon and Viserys had played brothers, and became best friends during filming. After his amicable divorce from Laena, Daemon married Viserys’ oldest child, Rhaenyra, his daughter from his first marriage. Viserys had been initially hesitant about his daughter dating someone who’d been like an uncle-figure to her, but had grown to accept and respect the relationship after seeing the love they had for each other firsthand. Viserys’ second marriage to supermodel Alicent Hightower (Rhaenyra’s former best friend) had apparently caused quite the scandal back in the day. And it was rumored that Rhaenyra was his favorite child over the four he’d had with Alicent.  

  Since Lyra’s father was best friends with Aemond’s father, and Lyra’s stepmom was Aemond’s oldest sister, Lyra and Aemond had known each other long before they had been casted in The Great War. They had gone to the same private schools, and had seen each other often through the years at family gatherings and holidays. Even though Aemond was two years older than her, they had competed in the same acting classes and extracurriculars throughout their childhood. When Lyra got the part of Sandy in their school’s production of Grease, Aemond was casted as none other than Danny Zuko. And the same week Lyra had finally gotten a call-back audition for an actual speaking role in a network show, Aemond had booked his first movie. Granted, his character ended up having only two lines, but still. The small role landed him a SAG card and an IMDb page.

 Lyra couldn’t remember a time they hadn’t been competing against each other.

 “Speak of the devil,” Lyra muttered as her phone buzzed with Aemond’s contact name, sliding the screen to answer his call. “What do you want?”

 “Nice to hear from you too,” he said. She could tell from his tone that he was smirking. Asshole. “You busy?”

 “I’m having lunch with Baela and Rhaena.”

 “Hi, Aemond,” Baela cooed into the phone’s microphone. 

 Lyra rolled her eyes at her sister’s enthusiastic greeting. As if his ego needs more boosting. “So, what’s up?”

 She could practically hear the leather of his jacket crinkling in the background. Aemond had claimed it was fake, but the $800 receipt Lyra had found in his trailer begged to differ. 

 “Have you checked Twitter recently?” he asked warily. 

 “Only every hour of every day,” she said, mocking the insult he’d thrown her way months earlier.  “It’s called interacting with your loyal fanbase,”  Lyra had said defensively, when he’d scoffed that she was on her phone too much.  “You should try it sometime!”

 “So you haven’t seen it then,” Aemond deadpanned. 

 “Seen what?”

 He sighed into the speaker. “I think you should probably just look it up.” 

 That was never a good sign when you worked in the entertainment industry. “Shit,” Lyra said, putting him on speaker and opening up Twitter. She quickly went to the Trending section and her stomach plummeted. #AemondandLyra was number one. 

 She clicked on the top article, headlined  Aemond Targaryen Cheated on Ex with Co-Star Lyra Lys.

  New York Socialite Alys Rivers, 40, claims that her relationship with actor Aemond Targaryen, 25, recently ended because he was having an affair with his co-star, Lyra Lys, during the shoot of their upcoming movie,  The Great War.  It’s no secret that the two actors had amazing chemistry, with one source even stating, “They spent so much time together, even when the cameras weren’t rolling. They’ve been close for a really long time and the long distance took a toll on his relationship with Alys.” The two stars have yet to confirm the dating rumors, but were seen “hanging out” at the Cannes Film Festival last week…

  “What the fuck?” Lyra frowned, completely forgetting that Aemond was still on the line. 

 “I know,” Aemond sighed. “It’s not great…”

 “Not great?” Lyra nearly shrieked. She took the phone off speaker as some of the surrounding restaurant patrons started to glance in her direction. “Alys just told the entire internet that you cheated on her…with me.”

 Baela and Rhaena widened their eyes from across the table and immediately pulled out their phones.

 “Okay, but have you read what people are saying?” Aemond asked. “Did you see what’s also trending?”

 Lyra looked under #AemondandLyra. The second most trending topic was #HesFree. Curious, she clicked on the hashtag and pulled up the top tweets.

 Justaholeforaemondtarg: lmaoooo Aemond finally dumped granny💀 #hesfree

  Sleeplysinseattle: Aemond Targaryen is the only person i will forgive for cheating. Thank you @lyralys, our lord and savior🙏 #hesfree

 wolfdaddy12: okay but is anyone talking about lyra’s dating history?? She literally bagged Cregan mf Stark and now Aemond Targaryen, she’s really God’s favorite huh😭😭 #hesfree

 Aemondtstan4life: is meemaw really trying to make us hate Aemond for finally getting out of their toxic relationship? She literally groomed him lol, as far as i’m concerned Lyra saved his goddamn life #hesfree

  “Holy shit,” Lyra said as she scrolled through the tweets. Based on the twins’ frequent gasps and laughter, they were reading them as well. 

 “I know,” Aemond said.

 “Wait, so let me get this straight,” Lyra began, getting up from the table so Baela and Rhaena wouldn’t overhear. “Alys told the press that you guys broke up because you cheated on her…but the internet is…happy about it?” 

 “Mostly,” he answered. “Listen, my publicist wants to get ahead of this. Can I meet you at your place in an hour?”

 Lyra glanced back at the table, the twins furiously typing on their phones. She let out a long sigh. “Sure, let me text you my address.” 

 “No need,” Aemond said. “I know where you live.”

 “Funny, I don’t remember telling you…” Lyra trailed off. She supposed Helaena must have told him. As much as Aemond seemed to exist only to drive her crazy, Lyra had always gotten along very well with his siblings.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Lyra drove through the Hollywood Hills in a daze. She hadn’t seen Cregan Stark, her boyfriend of almost three years, since their breakup a few months ago. It had happened shortly after she’d returned from filming The Great War in the UK. He was a rising Indie musician, and his album from earlier that year, Dragonfire (his old nickname for her based on her signature red hair), had been a huge success. He’d had a steady following before its release, but his fanbase had tripled in the months since. Most of the songs had been about her, of course. Love songs about their relationship. But the long months apart on separate continents had been difficult, and they would have only had a few weeks together before he was set to embark on his year-long tour. So they’d decided to take a break. 

  When she pulled into her private drive, after the security guard at the gate buzzed her through, she immediately noticed a familiar car parked in front of her expansive garden. 

 “Jace!” Lyra exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck when he opened the car door for her. “What are you doing here?” 

 “Just wanted to take advantage of your giant house and hot tub, obviously,” he grinned. But his face fell as he noticed something behind her. 

 She quickly turned and spotted Aemond’s black Lamborghini pulling into her driveway. Because of course he had one. 

  “That’s actually why I’m here,” Jace frowned, watching Aemond intently as he casually slid from the driver’s seat and made his way toward them. He threw his leather jacket over his shoulder and pulled off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. 

 Lyra internally fumed at how attractive he was. It was much harder to hate him. 

 “Like what you see?” Aemond smirked at her expression. And before Lyra could come up with a snarky comeback, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth. 

 “What the hell, Aemond?” Lyra breathed, pulling away. They’d kissed lots of times while filming the movie, of course, but this was different. She suddenly felt dizzy…and infuriatingly not in a bad way. 

 Jace stared at the two of them in shock, mouth agape. 

 Aemond shrugged. “Our little secret’s out, Lyr. We don’t have to hide anymore.”

 “So it’s true?” Jace shrieked. “You guys are…together?” 

 “Jace—” Lyra began in a panic. 

 “I came over here to make sure,” he sighed dejectedly. “How could you do this to Cregan? Did you cheat on him?”

 “No! I would  never —”

 “You know how close I am with him,” Jace said, running a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. 

 Lyra felt her throat start to tighten up. “Yeah…”

 Cregan was Jace’s best friend. That was how Lyra had originally met him. And up until now, Jace had done a pretty good job of not bringing him up around her. 

 “So how is he?” Lyra couldn’t help but ask. Aemond snorted from beside her. 

 “He’s not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

 “That’s not what I was asking…” she mumbled unconvincingly. 

 “Well, he’s not,” Jace said. “But he thinks you’re dating Aemond now. And I guess he’s right.” 

 Lyra wanted to bury herself under her covers and never come back out. “Listen, I never would have done that to him. Okay? Aemond and I aren’t—”

 “—Aren’t ready to talk about our relationship,” Aemond interrupted hurriedly. 

 Lyra glanced at him in confusion. What was he playing at?

 “But neither of us cheated, I swear,” he said seriously. “Alys just made that shit up to get back at me for dumping her.” 

 Jace looked between the two of them skeptically for a few moments before nodding in resignation. “Alright, I believe you.”

 “Great,” Aemond said, slapping a hand on Jace’s shoulder and steering him back toward his car. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we just want to finally be alone.”

 Jace huffed in annoyance, but obeyed, sending Lyra one last, small smile and a promise to call later. 

 As soon as his car disappeared from the end of her driveway, Lyra stormed inside her house without looking back. She slammed the front door shut, but Aemond managed to stop it before it closed completely and made his way in behind her without an invitation. 

 “What the fuck was that?” Lyra yelled, turning to face him. 

 And to her fury, the prick had the audacity to smirk. “Just wanted to spend some quality time with my girlfriend.”

 He lazily slumped onto her living room couch and wasted no time in making himself comfortable. 

  She crossed her arms. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny—”

 He sighed and leaned forward in the chair. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. But I have an idea to fix this situation. Before it gets worse.”

 Morbidly curious, Lyra took the seat across from him and waited for him to continue. 

 “If we say nothing,” he said, “If we ignore the rumors or even try to deny them, the majority of people will assume we’re lying to cover up an affair. A spur-of-the-moment, reckless decision that resulted in not one, but  two breakups.”

 “Cregan had nothing to do with this,” Lyra frowned. “We broke up before you dumped Alys. ”

  “But no one will see it that way,” Aemond sighed. “We shot a movie together for several months. In a different  country.  As soon as filming wrapped, both of us just happened to break up our respective relationships? It’s unfortunately very coincidental.”

 Lyra just scoffed, too hurt to reply. 

 “I know, this sucks,” he said gently, his tone suddenly more sympathetic. “But we could spin this story to make it seem…romantic. Understandable.” 

 Her eyes widened, slowly starting to put the pieces together. “You want us to fake a relationship?” 

 He nodded.

 “But how would that fix things?” Lyra asked. “Wouldn’t that just confirm the cheating rumors?” 

 Aemond rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, his smug and arrogant tone from before completely gone. “You know how the media works. Once something’s out there, people accept it as fact. But if we revealed that we fell in love while filming the movie…”

 “...they wouldn’t necessarily blame us?” Lyra finished.

  “Exactly,” he grinned. 

 “But I thought the internet was already on your side.”

 He shrugged. “Some, maybe. But it’s never the man’s fault, is it?” 

 She quickly pulled out her phone and opened Twitter again. In her shock earlier, she had failed to notice some of the more negative comments. About her. Hundreds of people calling her a homewrecker. A cheater. A slut.

 Because everyone assumed Aemond had cheated on Alys, they were now questioning the true reason for Lyra’s breakup with Cregan.

 Aemond noticed her sad expression, and his tone turned uncharacteristically sad. “I know, I’m sorry. But we can fix this.”

 “You really think this would work, though?” she asked quietly. “I mean, we could barely shoot a movie without almost killing each other.”

 The corner of his mouth twitched upward. An almost smile. “If we managed to convince the casting directors that we have good chemistry, we can convince anyone.”

 She let out a long sigh, still unconvinced. “You do realize that we’d have to lie to everyone we know.”

 “I know,” he said, running a hand through his long hair. “We couldn’t afford another scandal if the truth was leaked. But we worked too damn hard on the movie for it to be ruined by this. I need your help. Please?”

 “Okay,” she finally answered. “But I think we need to establish some ground rules.”

 “Like what?” he snorted. 

 “No kissing,” she said, crossing her arms.

 He scoffed. “You didn’t seem to mind when we were filming. This would be no different, we’d be acting.” 

 Lyra rolled her eyes. “I was being paid to do it before. It would be…weird now.”

 “Fine, whatever,” he muttered. “Anything else?” 

 She thought for a moment. “We can’t see other people, even secretly. It’d be too suspicious.”

 Aemond nodded in agreement. “Deal. Should be easy enough for you,” he smirked. 

 “Shut up,” she glared, throwing one of her couch pillows at him. “I’ve been asked on tons of dates since Cregan and I broke up,”

 “Mmm hmm,” he hummed sarcastically. 

  He stood up and stretched, revealing a thin strip of his defined lower abdomen as his shirt rode up. Lyra quickly looked away before he could notice her staring and her face beginning to flush. It was bad enough she’d had to endure seeing him shirtless while having to make out with him during the film shoot. It’s just pretend, it’s just pretend, she repeated over and over in her head as she followed him outside back to his car. 

 Aemond was already busy typing in his phone, making plans with his publicist for their official relationship reveal. “I’ll keep you updated,” he promised. “See you later, baby.” 

 And with one final smirk, he revved his engine obnoxiously loud and squealed out of her driveway. 

[aslee1x1]

Name/alias: Aslee, or Az, if you’re feeling lazy

Age and timezone: 24/CST

Discord: Aslee #3389

Favourite ASOIAF character(s)?: Renly Baratheon, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Loras Tyrell, etc, etc! Sometimes I feel like I only like Jon because the plot demands I like at least one Targ, but the more time I spend reading about the other dipshits in Westeros, the more beautiful Jon becomes to me. Truly, we deserve someone level-headed and moral on the Iron Throne???? If not Jon, then Sansa, right? Literally anyone who doesn’t declare war at the drop of a hat. We stan a man with critical thinking skills and problem solving. Funnily enough, the first time I read the books, I hated Jon and loved Dany. URP. Not that Dany isn’t smart, I just wonder if dragon fire is really a sustainable governing method. ANYWAY, RENLY, yeah, he would have been the best King. Like, I genuinely think George Knows This. His quote about the Baratheon brothers as precious metals? Yeah, he made Renly copper because to a modern audience, the fact that copper is the most valuable is common knowledge!! ... And yet, because the characters disparage Renly, so does most of the general audience. RIP RIP RIP. Renly really had to die because his rule would have ended the books too soon. 

Character(s) you’re most interested in at TKAK: Renly! I’m a Baratheon babe 100%, and also I don’t have time to apply for 300 characters like I usually do. However, the characters I’m interested in that I don’t plan on playing are all the Tyrells, Stannis, Tommen and Myrcella, THEON!!!!,  basically anyone gay tbh, also I really want to see what happens re: Cersei and Sansa’s relationship in this AU. Actually, I think I want to see what happens to Cersei in this AU the most because I think that, in a world where she had more room to be her own person, she wouldn’t be such a heinous motherfucker all the time!!!! Letting women be human in 2019? A blessing.

What you’re most looking forward to in the group: Uh  I think I answered this too early but like as a person, I really look forward to uhhhh filtering my current political rage into creativity. Also? Just the sheer ability to see matchups that couldn’t happen in the books. Like I just want Renly and Sansa to have One (1) conversation and then I could die happy. Also, Renly doting on his nieces and nephews because he doesn’t really want kids. 

What you’d really love to happen in game: VICIOUS MURDER ATTEMPTS. Uh, realistically, I think that given the focus on activism in Margaery’s bio, it would be cool as hell to do a pride parade plot? Or like a scandalous interview in Cersei’s magazine-- Maybe one of the interns got the Key Quote someplace? I would also love love love if maybe there were false positives in this whole whodunnit quest. I want more accused parties than a Murder, She Wrote episode, and plots to hide/rescue loved ones from the long arm of the law. 

Describe what the aesthetic of this verse is to you: A world slowly draining of colour, cleaner than it should be. The cleanliness lends no comfort; You realise how much the trash and graffiti of the city meant home to you. People are arranged in a line, starting in sharp suits and meandering down to sharper tongues. No one looks you in the eyes, and you’re too busy staring at the blood dripping from their hands to notice. Ned Stark lays dead on the table in front of them all, wreathed in garnish like a suckling pig. Music, unique in its genericness, cues up and the people start a stiff, robotic dance. 

Who killed Ned Stark?: God, I hope it’s Stannis. I don’t even know why, but I just really want Stannis to ascend to his rightful throne as murder hobo.

Is there a meme for the state of TKAK’s London right now? 

[westerosoliviapope]

Jolona Qo, Mother of Sarella Sand | Scandal Westeros

They ran her photo beneath the headline "Snake Charmers: The Red Viper's Intercontinental Coterie of Concubines," and named her, simply, "Number Four."

Her mother believed a well-lived life required three marriages. The first for youthful passions. The second for raising a family. The third for growing old. A fine approach. Jolona imagines it would have worked fine. But faulty birth control during a two-month station in Oldtown led her down a different path. So went her assignment on the SS Feathered Kiss. And her plan to follow in her father's footsteps as an officer in the Summer Isles Federal Navy. Instead, she found herself co-parenting at age 20 with a magnetic Citadel student who caught her fancy one night over darts and rum.

There's no such thing as a right or wrong decision—you make your choice, then you make it right.

You tap into your village of family and friends to finish university as you raise your curious-eyed, precocious little darling.

You refuse to let your child's father take her to his homeland until you've seen it—and the family who lives there—yourself. You don't care none of his other daughters' mothers made this request. How they raise their children is their business.

You spend untold sums staring down teams of Dornish attorneys. Negotiating custodial arrangements that send your daughter out of the country every summer. And saddle her with a last name that isn't her father's, but denotes her Dornish heritage. If the entire Martell line vanishes from the face of the earth, taking her elder "bastard" sisters with them, she'll assume Dorne's royal throne.

You endure your law school classmates' whispers when an international tabloid publishes your photo in a line of unnamed playthings. And build your reputation on the backs of those who assumed you were nothing more. Until the Dornish Prince who fathered your child is an afterthought. A footnote in the biography of Summer Isles Federal Chief Justice, the Honorable Jolona Qo.

Scandal Westeros - Episode Seven

[westerosoliviapope]

In her first interview since her father's removal from office, Myrcella Lannister Baratheon opens up about her family drama, forgiveness, finding her happily ever after, and newfound family ties.

On Having Her Family's Dirty Laundry Aired for the Public "Imagine the worst thing that ever happened to you happening every day for two years in front of the entire world," Myrcella says of the scandal that destroyed her family and her father's administration in one fell swoop.

"Okay, your father had an affair and you have ten-year-old twin siblings. Oh, your father has had children all over the country since before your parents even met and abused his power [as Prime Minister] to pay off their mothers. Your entire life has been a lie. It gutted me. And the very people you're supposed to rely on for comfort—your family—are the source of this awful toxicity swallowing you whole."

On Losing Yourself to Find Yourself "Those early months in Dorne, I spent a lot of time volunteering in nursing homes. Just spending time with older people who needed social interaction and companionship. I became a demon at Cyvasse," she says with a chuckle, "and was really humbled by their wisdom and life experience."

"They helped me remember that as horrible as my family issues were, I had so much life to live. And I still had time to foster healthy, loving, trusting relationships."

On Falling for a Prince "It's all rather cliche, isn't it? I tell him [Prince Trystane Martell of the Sovereign Principality of Dorne] all the time that I wish our story had more substance than 'I was renting a condo from a family friend in Dorne and met a prince at a party.' And when I was so jaded about love and people in power... To meet an utter marvel of a man..." Myrcella says, shaking her head. "It's a little fantastical. If it wasn't my life, I wouldn't believe it."

On Embracing Forgiveness "I didn't speak to my father for a year. We've got a long way to go in repairing our relationship, but the Faith teaches us to forgive. I believe he can be a better man."

On Newfound Family "I went from being 'the only girl' to having FIVE sisters. Once I got over the shock, I was very intentional about reaching out to them. Here I was 'Daddy's Little Princess' while they had to live in the shadows. Thankfully, they've all been very gracious."

"And they're such badasses! I've rock climbed with Mya [Mya Stone - national rock-climbing champion and owner of Moon Gate Indoor Rock Park] and taken a few of Bella's [famed pole dancer Bella Rivers] pole classes. I'm afraid I didn't inherit the notorious Baratheon athleticism."

[westerosoliviapope]

Skagos Raiders center Rickon Stark talks his record-breaking rookie season, his favorite Northern ales, living up to his famous family's legacy, and those pesky rumors about him and a certain Baratheon princess.

On Being Rookie of the Year The notoriously aggressive scorer is surprisingly humble about the accolades he's collected for his rookie season. "I'm a pack animal at heart, so am I gonna give 'em hell every time I lace on my skates? Aye. But it's all for my team. I'm honored the league chose me, but next year, we want that Wierwood Cup."

On Northern Ale Supremacy "Anything brewed below the Neck is rubbish, I don't care what those Stormlanders think," he says with a mischievous grin. "Except The Vale — they make a damned good ale." And he'd know after spending two years there at Seven Stars University, his father's alma mater. "The shit beyond the Wall will put some hair on your chest, but you get used to it." His favorite Northern offering? "I like a good brown ale. Thousand Years Ale from Barrowton Brewery is the best."

On Living Up to the Family Name "I don't run from it," Rickon says confidently. "I didn't get a lot of time with my father [Northern Fire Commissioner Ned Stark was killed in the Bear Island Courthouse Bombing of 2002 when Rickon was just two], but between my uncle [Benjen Stark, a detective on the Northern Police force] and my big brothers, I got a firm grasp on the type of man he was. 'The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.' You gotta give a shit about the people around you. That's our father's legacy. The rest, the accomplishments, the attention and all that, is just extra."

When pushed on that long list of accomplishments (his eldest brother Robb is a war hero and member of Parliament, his eldest sister hosts Good Morning Westeros With Sansa Stark, his sister Arya is an activist for working-class rights, his brother Bran is a tech prodigy, and his Aunt Lyanna is the first female Foreign Affairs Minister), he shrugs. "Aye. We're lucky. I'd hope anyone born with the opportunities we had would make use of them."

On the Comment Heard 'Round the Republic Last month, Rickon set the gossip blogs on fire when he commented under the viral video of Shireen Baratheon unloading on beauty standards amid a torrent of social media critiques about why she won't surgically alter the scars she earned after surviving a childhood bout of greyscale. Rickon left a supportive "Those scars mean that something tried to kill you and failed. You're a warrior and a bloody rockstar. These fuckers can piss off," which spurred rumors that the two were dating.

"I meant it," Rickon states firmly. "It's a wonder women aren't all mad with the silly shit the world heaps on them. That she's brave enough to say 'Fuck that. This is who I am' is fuckin' badass." But no, he and the daughter of Justice Minister Stannis Baratheon are not dating. "Honestly, she's probably too good for me," he says with a devilish smile. "I'm a bit of a beast."

[westerosoliviapope]

After blasting onto the political scene on campaigns for the likes of Selwyn Tarth and Robb Stark, Sarella Sand is rising through the ranks of crisis consulting to become one of the republic's best-known fixers. While she refuses to dish on her top clients, she chats with us about her dual heritage, sisterly bonds, how she got into politics, and free advice to help celebrities avoid scandals.

On Her Heritage "I take great pride in having two homelands." But don't expect her to reinforce any reductive stereotypes about the Dornish or Summer Islanders. "I, unfortunately, dealt with a lot of coded language about my 'spicy' and 'inherently sensual' background when I first came to Westeros, but that's not what I take from my heritage," she says. "Growing up in two rich and distinct cultures taught me to be more open to the world than people who strongly identify with being one thing or another."

On Being Raised by the Ultimate #GirlDad "A man with my father's reputation shouldn't have been enthusiastic about raising a brood of girls," Sarella says of Dornish Prince Oberyn Martell, who famously fathers eight high-achieving women. A friend once said I grew up in a 'training camp for badass girls.' He wasn't entirely wrong."

On the Importance of Sisterhood "It's like being born into a sorority," she muses. "We have matching tattoos. We do an annual Solstice Eve sleepover with just the eight of us. As we speak, I'm packing for the King's Landing Tennis Open [her sister, Elia Sand, is the early favorite]."

On Keeping Her Cool in Tense Situations "My mother [Summer Isles High Court Judge, Jolona Qo] and her mother are extremely poised, some of it is genetic," she says. "Years of archery practice help, too," she answers. "You can't hit your target when you're panicked."

On Her Jump from Academia to Politics The former history and linguistics student credits her Citadel advisor, Maester Marwyn, with changing the course of her career. "He was big on tying his expertise [ancient cultures and anthropology] to the present day with guest lecturers from outside academia."

She planned to become a professor/researcher until she attended a guest lecture by political consultant Wyman Manderly in her third year. "I think it was called 'Mythology in Modern Politics' or something similar. And it helped me see how the seemingly abstract topics I studied still play out in modern power structures. I was hooked."

On the Craziest Problem She's Ever "Fixed" "I make problems disappear, so I'll never tell." But she's willing to share a recurring issue: celebrity sex tapes. "Just don't do it," she advises. "They always land in the wrong hands. I've seen too many of you [famous Westerosi] naked."

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623448

[westerosoliviapope]

In this special edition, we take a look at a new school of Westerosi politicians — leaner, meaner, and ready to succeed where their predecessors have failed.

We start with People's Councilman Renly Baratheon of Storm's End who is ready to step in as the standard-bearer for an old and embattled family name.

On Voting to Remove His Older Brother From Office "It was an easy decision with difficult consequences," Renly says. "Under no circumstances could Robert stay in office once the evidence was presented. He'll always be my big brother, and I love him, but when I'm in Parliament, I'm not 'Renly,' I am the voice of my constituents. And unfortunately, Robert failed them as Prime Minister."

On Running for Prime Minister and What He'll Do Differently "You know, this isn't just my brother's name. Baratheon is my father's name, his father's name. Long before Robert was born, my family had a tradition of serving this republic well. We need leadership that's open and willing to listen to everyone, not just this little interest group here or there."

On Being Margaery Tyrell's Arm Candy "I'll never get tired of hearing how amazing my wife is," Renly says with a warm smile. "You don't marry a woman like Margaery if you're afraid to occasionally play second fiddle. If she ever decides to run for office, I'm toast."

On Westeros's Sexiest Man Alive "Listen, I'm a self-conscious guy," he says with a laugh. "And you've seen my wife — I have to keep up. Couple of hours in the gym. A few extra dollars on the good suits. It's all for her. If some magazine editors appreciate it, all the better."

[westerosoliviapope]

Modern Maiden sat down with the spice heiress and newlywed to discuss her whirlwind romance with Willas Tyrell, becoming a "bonus mom," and bringing a worldly flair to The Reach's art scene with her new gallery.

On How She Met Willas The art enthusiasts met at an auction in King's Landing after Kojja outbid him on a painting. "It was a spirited contest toward the end," she recalls with a chuckle. "I was in an aggressive mood. But being a good sport, he insisted on congratulating me face-to-face." What drew her to him? "His openness and curiosity. People who move in art circles love to impress you with their knowledge. Willas was far more interested in my passion for art than proving how learned he was."

On Relocating to Westeros It wasn't a true relocation — she's had an apartment in King's Landing since she was 19, but Kojja admits to being taken with The Reach's unique charms. "More than any other region of Westeros, they've retained a sense of tradition and ritual that's quite lovely."

On Being a "Bonus Mom" "I was raised with the idea that children have agency, so I'm intentional about letting them [Gwayne (8) and Ellyn (6)] define my place in their lives. After all, they have a mother. Their father fell in love with me — they didn't, so I want to give them the time and space they need to determine where I fit."

On Bringing Her Artistic Sensibilities to The Reach "Oldtown has some of the best museums on the continent. I'd like to complement that with a contemporary space in Garden City that features more modern, diverse, and up-and-coming artists — much like my gallery in King's Landing."

On Marrying Into Westerosi Political RoyaltyComing from a well-known family [The Mo Spice Company is one of the largest spice brands in the world], Kojja is no stranger to societal expectations. "I've always understood what it means to carry my family's name wherever I go. I'll be as careful with the Tyrell legacy as I am with my own. And you know, we [the Summer Isles] have a rich history of women in leadership, so it's quite lovely to count Westeros's first female Prime Minister [Olenna Tyrell] as a relative."

[westerosoliviapope]

In an unprecedented interview for a member of the Royal Family, Princess Danaerys gets up close and personal about grieving the loss of her mother, her human rights advocacy in Essos, and redefining everything from her look to her royal role. Ask her anything you want — unless you're asking about her brothers or ex-boyfriends.

On Losing Her Mother "It's a strange thing to be an orphan at 33," she says. "And there aren't enough words to accurately capture that loss. You know, my good-sister said something that I've found very helpful. [Queen Elia lost her mother to cancer twenty years ago]. She told me I'll never stop looking for my mother's face in the big moments of my life. And that has to be okay because the day I stop looking is the day I stop carrying her in my heart."

Still, the loss was a big motivating factor in her dramatic makeover. "It was odd to look in the mirror and see so much of my mother, only to remember, once more, that she's gone."

On Dedicating Her Life to Human Rights As the youngest Targaryen child, born after her eldest brother had his heir, Danaerys never lived with the pressure of potentially sitting the throne. "My mother encouraged me to embrace that freedom and create as much of my own life as I could. I would never be content with simply smiling for the camera." After earning dual undergraduate degrees (International Studies and Economics from Sealord's College in Braavos) and a postgraduate degree in human rights, she undertook a series of diplomatic missions across Essos while raising funds to start The Mhysa Foundation to advocate against human rights abuses throughout the Known World. Right now, she lobbies fervently against archaic labor laws in Astapor, Yuncai, Meereen, and Volantis that she calls "little more than slavery."

On Redefining. Everything. "We can't be afraid to question ourselves," the Princess says and one can't help but wonder if she's talking about individuals or the monarchy, itself. "In fact, we're cowards if we don't. You can't expect to stay relevant to the world if you don't thoughtfully engage it and be willing to let it change you."

On Her Brother's Reign as King "He's had all his life to consider how he'd rule," Danaerys says of King Rhaegar, who comes into the throne as a new grandfather [after his heir Princess Rhaenys gave birth to twins]. "As long as he stays as curious and kind as I know him to be, I trust he'll do well. Long may he reign."

On That Notorious Other Brother of Hers "Nope," she says with a chuckle. "Not going there."

On Her Alleged Penchant for Essosi Futbolers — Specifically a Certain Tattooed Enforcer from Vaes Dothrak "Who I do or do not shag is literally the least interesting part of my life."

[westerosoliviapope]

Scandal Westeros | Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen & Princess Elia Martell Targaryen

Seated, as if posing for a lifestyle magazine cover, are Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia.

The Prince had been ethereal in his youth; with porcelain features that looked like they would crack under too much pressure. Now in his mid-50s, his face is fuller and harder, with lines in the corners of his indigo eyes and around his graying goatee that give him the distinguished appeal of an aging movie star. The type who starred in women’s fantasies of being bent over a hard surface by an assertive older gentleman.

So the legend isn’t all bullshit. Just sitting, the Prince has enough “it” to make Sarella feel like her blushing schoolmates that swooned over Oberyn back in the day.

Next to Rhaegar, her aunt sits with her knees pressed together and ankles crossed; hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, with simple rubies adorning her ears and thick lashes fluttering over warm, dark eyes. “Girls,” she says with just a hint of her old Dornish drawl. “So good to see you.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056939

[westerosoliviapope]

Scandal Westeros | Dueling Stags (the Baratheon Brothers)

Robert rounds on him, pointing a thick finger near his chest. “You self-righteous son of a bitch, you’ve always been jealous—”

“And you’ve always been weak,” Stannis spits. “So addicted to praise you won't take responsibility for anything. That’s why your wife never respected you. Why your precious Lyanna never wanted you. Why Ned wouldn't come work for you. It’s why Joffrey’s a dead junkie at thirty-one; because he’s just like you—selfish, lazy, entitled, and weak.”

“OH-KAY. Antlers down, Cain and Abel.”

Stannis’ chest heaves and Robert’s eyes have darkened with rage when Renly strides outside like he just stepped off the cover of Chivalry, Quarterly Magazine. His suit—some overpriced custom thing from Myr or Braavos—fits his 6’5, gym-sculpted frame. His dark hair, thick and slicked to precision, is a perfect contrast to the light dusting of scruff on his jaw that shows faint traces of gray. He’s grinning his smug grin, but his eyes—more blue-green than Robert and Stannis’ pure blue—betray his frustration.

“Why don’t you two just sit down with Varys Snyder and tell her everything if you’re going to carry on where everyone can hear you. Gods be good,” he huffs, eyes darting between Stannis and Robert.

“And you— ” Robert starts, but Renly waves a dismissive hand.

“Yes. Traitorous, opportunistic, yadda, yadda, yadda. But not currently making a scene in the Lannisters’ backyard so let’s all take a beat.”

Stannis wipes a hand over his face and mumbles “I should’ve stayed home.”

“You’re bloody right you should have,” Robert says.

"Gods, why couldn't I have sisters? I would've really liked sisters." Renly steps between them and Stannis doesn’t miss that he’s standing in the exact spot where he can be seen through the patio door.

So full of shit.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34292524

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A/N: Still not over about this Baratheon Brothers scene. So much fun to write. Especially when Renly comes in with "Gods, why couldn't I have sisters?" LOL.