#this is aegon and sara coded

[northsborn]

@dcviline

If I wanted him, I’d have him. And I’d have their wives, but I don’t.

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 15: All You Wanted

Viserys Targaryen had to be, without a doubt, a great lover of Christmas—or maybe just parties in general, or perhaps an exceptional networker. Victoria wasn’t sure which was the most accurate version of him, but she pondered it as she stepped out of the Uber Aemond had graciously paid for, dropping her off in front of the massive estate where his family was hosting the record label’s Christmas party.

The car had pulled up to an enormous courtyard. In its center, a grand fountain spouted water, which glowed crimson under cleverly positioned lights. The same deep red hue adorned the string lights wrapped around the towering trees lining the driveway to the villa’s entrance.

Vic immediately regretted wearing heels. But Aemond had been very clear—at least for tonight—about the black-tie dress code.

Of course, Vic owned nothing remotely suitable for the occasion and she had to spend a lot of the money of her first paycheque to buy an appropriate dress. Sara had helped and styled Vic’s long brown hair into an updo so elegant and polished that not only could Vic never have managed it on her own, but she could hardly recognize herself in the mirror.

She actually looked her almost thirty years, for once.

When she’d left the house, she’d felt confident—poised for the occasion, even beautiful. But now, standing at the edge of this glittering spectacle, Vic felt completely out of place.

Her discomfort wasn’t solely because this was Aegon’s big night—the first public debut of a piece of their hard work. It wasn’t even because she was about to be thrown into the lion’s den of industry big shots, a world that had terrified her since it had chewed up and spit out Charlie.

No, what really made her stomach churn was that Aegon, the bastard, had pulled one final trick on her.

He’d decided to perform the single acoustically.

Which left Vic standing on the sidelines, reduced to being little more than a polite face in the crowd. All she could do was smile, nod, and exchange pleasant conversation with these industry giants, each one reminding her just how far from her comfort zone she really was.

Aemond appeared less than a minute after Vic texted him to let him know she was outside and offered her his arm in a gesture so formal that Vic had only ever seen it happen in movies.

Weird, damn rich people.

“How’s the devil?” Vic asked, referring to Aegon. She pictured him dying with anxiety, maybe completely hammered—or, more likely, both.

Aemond chuckled softly, his head held high and his gaze fixed straight ahead, matching her pace as she navigated the steps leading to the main hall. He didn’t rush her, giving her all the time she needed in her impractical heels.

“Strangely calm,” he replied.

Vic instinctively turned her head to look at him, still gripping his arm for balance. The news was oddly reassuring but confusing at the same time. If she knew anything about that idiot brother of his, it was that Aegon’s calm was usually a front—arrogance as a shield to hide how terrified he really was underneath.

Aemond immediately caught the skepticism in her expression. “And how are you?” he asked, finally meeting her gaze. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder blade as they reached the top of the stairs, making sure she was comfortable in her heels.

Great. Even he had noticed how awkward she was in "real adult" shoes.

“I just hope he likes the single,” Vic said finally, purposefully vague about who he was. But it was clear she meant Viserys. She could almost feel the ripple of her anxiety pass from her to Aemond.

“If he doesn’t, that says nothing about you as a songwriter. You know that, right?” Aemond replied firmly.

Vic looked up at him, momentarily stunned and unexpectedly grateful. Aemond had a knack for saying the right thing exactly when she needed to hear it.

But she wasn’t worried about herself—not really.

With a small nod, Aemond motioned toward the grand hall, silently inviting her to step inside.

Vic stepped into the grand hall, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor. For a moment, she stopped in her tracks, overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of the space.

The room was massive, its vaulted ceiling soaring high above her head, where intricate frescoes depicted scenes of mythology and grandeur. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the center, throwing prisms of golden light across the room. It sparkled so brightly that it almost hurt to look at.

The walls were lined with dark, rich wood panels, each carved with delicate patterns that seemed to tell a story. Between the panels, tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling, draped with deep red velvet curtains tied back with thick golden cords. The view beyond the glass was obscured by the night, but the faint outline of manicured hedges and twinkling fairy lights hinted at the grandeur of the estate’s gardens.

Scattered across the hall were clusters of small, round tables draped in white linens, each adorned with towering floral arrangements of blood-red roses and gold-tipped white lilies. Golden candelabras provided additional lighting, their flames flickering softly in the slight draft that swept through the room.

Waiters in perfectly tailored black uniforms wove through the crowd, balancing silver trays of champagne flutes and tiny, elaborate hors d’oeuvres. The scent of something decadent—truffle, maybe, or roasted lamb—lingered faintly in the air.

The guests themselves looked like they’d stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Women in glittering gowns and men in sharp tuxedos moved effortlessly through the space, champagne glasses in hand, their conversations light and polished. The hum of chatter filled the room, punctuated occasionally by bursts of laughter.

Vic suddenly felt the weight of her expensive dress and perfectly styled hair. The whole room felt like it was drenched in wealth, every detail screaming refinement and power. She scanned the space quickly, looking for Aegon or anything remotely familiar to anchor herself.

Her eyes caught sight of a massive Christmas tree standing proudly near the back of the room, its base surrounded by wrapped gifts that Vic suspected were purely decorative. The tree itself was a spectacle: towering and perfectly symmetrical, decorated with golden ornaments, white twinkling lights, and red ribbons cascading down its length. It was so picture-perfect it could’ve been plucked from a holiday catalog.

“Welcome to the circus,” Aemond muttered beside her, his voice low and sardonic, as if he could sense her discomfort.

Vic exhaled, straightening her shoulders. “More like a museum. I feel like I should be paying an entrance fee.”

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but he said nothing, simply gesturing toward the far end of the room, where the Targaryens were undoubtedly holding court. Vic swallowed hard and followed his lead, forcing herself to blend into a world that felt entirely too big and too foreign for her.

Vic grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest tray, momentarily forgetting her manners and failing to thank the waiter. She was too preoccupied, her eyes darting around the room as she tried not to feel suffocated by the magnitude of the occasion. She searched for Aemond’s gaze, hoping for reassurance, while scanning the crowd for Aegon.

But he wasn’t there. Not anywhere.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Aemond, his hand steady on her back, steering her toward Helaena and a stunning woman with long auburn hair. Vic recognized her instantly, even though they’d never met—Charlie’s stories had been vivid enough. This was the infamous wife of Viserys Targaryen, probably twenty-five years his junior.

Vic downed her champagne in one gulp.

“Vic!” Helaena’s cheerful voice rang out as soon as she noticed them approaching. “Good to see you!” she added with a warm smile.

“You too,” Vic replied genuinely, before her gaze flicked toward the elder Mrs. Targaryen.

Her smile was polite but faint, her eyes scanning Vic with the intensity of someone trying to sniff out danger—so much so that it bordered on inviting it in. If Aegon’s confessions were true, his mother was attempting to size her up, trying to figure out who this girl was, the one who had consumed so much of her son’s time in recent months.

“Vic… I mean, Victoria… Nice to meet you,” Vic said awkwardly, instinctively moving to offer her hand. But Mrs. Targaryen merely nodded in acknowledgment, a subtle reminder that in these circles, such gestures weren’t necessary.

“The pleasure is mine,” the woman replied smoothly. “I’ve heard you’re a very talented musician,” she added, her formal smile brightening ever so slightly.

Vic glanced reflexively at Aemond, whose hand had just slipped off her back so he could shrug in response. “And an excellent songwriter,” Helaena added proudly, making it clear that she’d been the one to tell their mother about Vic.

Vic blushed without realizing it, nervously tucking her bangs behind her ear before mentally kicking herself for probably ruining Sara’s meticulous handiwork.

“Thank you,” she said softly, lowering her gaze. “Working with Aegon has been an incredibly rewarding opportunity,” she added, hoping her words conveyed only the professional admiration she felt for Aegon and not… well, everything that had happened outside their apartment building.

At the mention of Aegon, Mrs. Targaryen stiffened again, her expression tightening with an odd mix of anxiety and discomfort. But before Vic could study her further—or wait for a response—Aemond reached for her empty glass, replacing it with a full one.

“Cigarette?” he offered, locking eyes with her.

Vic nodded, bowing her head slightly toward Mrs. Targaryen and murmuring something about how it had been a pleasure to meet her. Then she allowed Aemond to guide her toward the villa’s gardens, grateful for the escape.

"Your mother is stunning," Vic remarked as she and Aemond navigated through the crowd.

Aemond must have picked up on the reverence in her tone because he replied, "She can be a bit... intense."

Before Vic could say more, Cole intercepted them. "Aemond!" he called, drawing his attention. Then, with a quick nod to her, he added, "Hey, Vic." Turning back to Aemond, he continued, "The sound tech is screwing everything up. The acoustics are already trash, and I really need your help."

Aemond rolled his eyes. "Right now?" he asked, flicking a glance at Vic before looking back at Cole.

"Sorry, man, I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’d be a huge help," Cole pressed, clearly anxious.

Aemond exhaled in irritation. "I’ll be right back," he said to Vic before heading off with Cole toward the sound console on the opposite side of the room.

Vic watched him go, an unwelcome pang of dread settling in her chest. Being left alone when she didn’t know anyone definitely sucked. For a moment, she considered finding Helaena, but the thought of enduring another round of scrutiny from Mrs. Targaryen quickly put her off the idea.

Her discomfort drove her to lift her champagne flute again, but before she could take a sip, a hand snatched it away.

"Just because you’re off duty doesn’t mean you need to get hammered. Are you trying to miss my big debut?" Aegon’s voice teased as he grinned at her, holding the glass out of her reach.

Vic turned to face him, and he watched as surprise flickered in her eyes before fading into irritation as recognition dawned.

"Well, I was perfectly happy to do my job before you decided to relieve me of it for the evening," she retorted, reaching for her glass with a dramatic wave of her arm.

*****

The sudden, brief contact with Vic’s body made Aegon flinch. She was painfully hot tonight. She looked like one of the high-society ladies his mother had always tried to shove in his direction, but somehow worse—like she had stepped straight out of one of his hidden, borderline depraved fantasies. The untamed, maddening Vic Dawson, forced into heels and a chignon, flailing like a petulant child because he’d taken away her favorite toy.

"Thank me instead," Aegon said with a smirk. "I saw you with my mother earlier. If you’d had to perform tonight, you’d have had a heart attack before you even got on stage."

Without waiting for her response, he drained her champagne, ignoring the glare she shot at him.

"Really?" she muttered, crossing her arms in irritation as he handed the empty glass to a passing waiter.

Aegon’s eyes flicked downward, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but notice the way her posture was pressing her tits against the fabric of her dress. The gown seemed like it was barely containing her, the neckline so prim and proper it made the tension almost unbearable. If they rebel and pop out, it’ll be her fault for looking like that he thought, amused.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice,” he drawled, tilting his head as if studying a rare artifact.

Vic snorted, her laugh sharp and biting. "I could say the same about you," she shot back, letting her eyes trail over the tailored suit he was wearing. For a moment, her gaze lingered just long enough to unnerve him, but then she added, almost as if she couldn’t stop herself, "I wonder how it’d look with Sara’s t-shirt."

Interesting.

“Fuck off, Vic,” Aegon replied, leaning casually against a nearby column. His smirk was self-assured, the kind of grin that spoke of a man who thought he’d already won a game she didn’t even know they were playing. His hands slid into his pockets as if to underline just how little he cared.

Vic didn’t flinch. Not really. But Aegon caught the faintest flicker of movement as her hand twitched, almost rising to fix her bangs. She stopped herself just in time, instead flagging down one of the endlessly circling waiters with trays of champagne. The effortless save annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

“What’s the matter?” Vic asked as she reached for another glass, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “You don’t like compliments anymore?”

“Far from it,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening as she plucked the glass from the tray “I just think your timing is absolute shit, princess.”

He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what exactly she was trying to drown in his father’s overpriced champagne. Embarrassment? Guilt? Jealousy? Or maybe—just maybe—that infuriating cocktail of feelings she clearly couldn’t name but had no problem writing into a song.

Probably guilt, though. For fucking him and then leaving like he was some stray dog she’d made the mistake of petting.

Fucking Vic Dawson. Her mouth, her eyes, her stupid bangs, and those tits crammed into that ridiculously proper dress that somehow made her even more distracting. He hated that she was in his head, the fact that, for some reason, he cared about worming his way into her thoughts and snatching the glass out of her hand.

Her narrowed gaze was back on him, assessing. Curious. Always curious, like she couldn’t help but wonder what was beneath the smirk. He hated that too.

“Say what you mean,” she challenged, her voice low and steady.

Aegon hesitated, just for a second. He could feel the words clawing their way up his throat, every accusation he’d swallowed since that night. He could tell her how cowardly it was, pouring every emotion she had into lyrics but going silent when it mattered. He could remind her of the way her lips had still been swollen from his kisses when she’d walked away without so much as a backward glance.

Instead, he shrugged and took a step closer, the corners of his mouth curling into something sharper. “Nah,” he said lightly. “I’ll save it. Maybe I’ll write a song about it later.”

Her eyes flickered—maybe irritation, maybe something else—but she didn’t bite, just stared at him like she was trying to read something in his face. For a moment, he thought she might call him out, but before she could say anything, they were interrupted.

“Aegon!” Cole’s voice broke through the tension like a hammer through glass. Aegon turned his head sharply to see Cole striding toward him, Aemond trailing just behind.

“What now?” Aegon groaned, his annoyance evident as he stepped back from Vic.

Cole gave him a look that was somewhere between exasperation and panic. “You need to get ready. We’ve got five minutes before you’re on, and the sound tech still isn’t convinced we’ve fixed the monitors.”

Aemond crossed his arms, his expression as calm and unimpressed as ever. “I did fix the monitors,” he said flatly, though there was the faintest edge of amusement in his voice.

Aegon sighed dramatically, throwing one last glance at Vic before turning back to Cole. “Fine, fine. Keep your pants on.” He shot a wink at Vic, his smirk firmly back in place. “Enjoy the night Vic”

And with that, he let Cole pull him away, though he could still feel Vic’s eyes on his back as he walked off.

Vic took another slow sip of her champagne, watching Aegon stride toward the stage. She hated how her stomach twisted when he ran a hand through his hair and grinned, that trademark cocky smirk he wore like armor. Damn him. Damn him and the way he always made her feel like the floor might drop out from under her.

The crowd began to shift, gravitating toward the stage, and she instinctively stepped closer to Aemond, who, despite his usual air of indifference, seemed oddly attentive tonight. Before long, Helaena appeared at Vic's side, her delicate floral perfume announcing her arrival even before her bright smile. Trailing behind her was the ever-composed Mrs. Targaryen, who gave Vic a quick, assessing glance before fixing her gaze on the stage.

"Looks like he's finally ready," Helaena murmured, clapping her hands together softly, like an excited child.

Aegon climbed onto the stage, the microphone in his hand, and cleared his throat. He looked out at the crowd, his expression teetering between confidence and nervousness. Vic could see the way his fingers fidgeted with the mic stand, and for a moment, she felt a pang of something she didn’t want to name—concern? Pride? Annoyance? Probably all three.

"Uh, good evening, everyone," Aegon started, his voice a little uneven at first. "I know you’re all here for the drinks and the free food, but let’s pretend for a second you care about the music, yeah?"

There was a ripple of polite laughter, and Vic found herself rolling her eyes, though she couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. He paused, then added with a shrug, "No, but seriously. This song… it means a lot to me. And, uh, I hope you hate it less than I think you will."

That got a bigger laugh from the crowd, and Aegon grinned, more at ease now as he adjusted the guitar strap on his shoulder.

Vic leaned toward Aemond, lowering her voice. "Endearing, isn’t he? Like a drunk frat boy giving a wedding toast."

Aemond smirked faintly, his eyes still on the stage. "He's consistent, I'll give him that.“

Vic snickered, doing her best to keep her voice low enough so that neither Helaena nor the Targaryen matriarch could hear her. “It pisses me off that he didn’t want us to play tonight.”

Aemond gave her a sympathetic look, his sharp features softening slightly. “Anyone who can figure him out deserves a prize,” he replied, releasing a sigh laced with faint irritation.

“No, it’s just... I feel like that single is a little mine, too, you know? We worked so hard on it that…” But her words trailed off, hanging in the air like an unfinished thought.

Aegon had started playing.

Vic’s head snapped toward the stage, her breath catching as she saw him—solemn, his head bowed low, his eyes closed. His fingers moved across the strings with practiced ease, the first chords rising into the air like smoke. Chords she knew. Chords she knew too well.

She didn’t need to turn to feel Aemond’s confusion radiating beside her. He had no idea what his brother was playing. But Vic did.

The moment Aegon’s voice cut through the room, rich and haunting, it confirmed what her racing heart already knew.

“This is my song,” Vic whispered, her voice barely audible, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.

“Well, it’s not Oblivion...” Aemond muttered, completely missing the point, his brow furrowed in mild puzzlement.

“No.” Vic turned sharply toward him, her voice firm now, her words cutting. “It’s my song.”

But she didn’t wait to see if the meaning of her words sank in. Her attention snapped back to Aegon, who had just reached the chorus. Her chorus. Or was it his now?

A thousand thoughts roared to life in her head, tangled and messy, refusing to sort themselves into anything coherent.

How the hell did he get this?

What the fuck is he doing?

How does he even know about “All You Wanted”?

Her chest tightened, and she felt small. Vulnerable. That song wasn’t just music—it was a piece of her, raw and real. A secret she had kept locked away. It was the embodiment of her regrets, her fears, her hopes she had never dared share with anyone.

She had never intended for him to hear it. Not that night outside his house. Not when she’d rested her head on his shoulder. Not even when his smile had made her heart flutter, and she’d foolishly entertained the thought of letting herself feel something more for him.

And yet, here he was. Singing it. Claiming it. Dragging it out of her safe, hidden world and exposing it to everyone like some cruel joke they were in on together—except only one of them had agreed to play.

Brazen. Arrogant. Unapologetic.

Vic’s hands clenched at her sides as she watched him, still singing, perfectly composed, as if nothing about this was extraordinary or wrong. As if the song wasn’t hers.

As if it wasn’t a love song she had written for him.

As soon as the song ended, Vic barely had time to register the roar of applause and cheers erupting around her.

Aegon, too, seemed completely detached from the moment. He gave the crowd a small, grateful smile—genuine, yet missing that usual false arrogance he always carried with him. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment before locking eyes with her, standing there in the middle of the sea of people. His expression was slightly guilty, paired with the same kind of smile a kid would wear when caught scribbling on the walls.

A look that seemed to say, Yeah, I messed up, but you love me anyway.

Vic felt a sudden wave of anger rise inside her.

Aemond had known. Aegon had known. Her music was supposed to come out on her terms. That had been one of the conditions when she had agreed to write with him.

But as Aegon stepped off the stage, her anger turned inward as well—because the real reason she was mad was that he knew. He knew exactly what she had meant when she wrote that song.

Suddenly, Vic felt stripped bare, pressed against a wall of red bricks, shame creeping up on her like a debt collector coming to settle accounts. And now that her carefully built façade of indifference had shattered, she knew exactly how this was going to end.

She had lost.

Once again, she had folded in front of a man who would walk away the second he saw her real feelings. No—worse. A man who had humiliated her by throwing those feelings right back in her face, after days of silence, of polite collaboration—only to then disappear into the oblivious crowd, leaving her standing there, exposed.

The whirlwind of thoughts consuming her vanished in an instant the moment she heard Aemond’s voice calling her name.

Snapped back to the lavish ballroom of the villa, Vic turned sharply toward him, barely giving him the chance to finish before she was on him like a storm.

“What the fuck is this conspiracy? This wasn’t the deal! And how the hell did he even hear that song?” she yelled, panicked, gesturing wildly and nervously adjusting her bangs.

Aemond, though confused, wasn’t panicked.

“Calm down, Victoria, please! I have no idea. It wasn’t me,” he said, placing both hands on her shoulders in an attempt to steady her rage. “But you’re right, this wasn’t part of the plan.”

Vic froze.

Right. He was on her side.

For a brief moment, she felt guilty—Charlie guilty—for jumping to a thousand conspiracy theories in the span of a second.

That idiot had definitely rubbed off on her.

“Oh,” she mumbled, still dazed.

“We’ll find him and get some answers,” Aemond added, already moving forward with purpose. Vic could only nod, nervously trailing behind him as he led their little search party.

She wished she had a torch and a pitchfork.

Maybe even an executioner’s mask.

More to hide her embarrassment than for dramatic effect.

As they pushed through the crowd, they spotted Criston Cole approaching, muttering something about the lighting technician being prepared for a completely different song and how it had been a disaster.

Vic was relieved when Aemond handled the entire interaction in two seconds flat, sparing her the need to engage.

Continuing their way through the crowd, they ran into Helaena and Mrs. Targaryen. Helaena stopped just long enough to congratulate her, saying she had no doubt the whole album would be a success if this was just the single.

Vic stiffened.

My music. My song. My feelings.

She wasn’t sure if Helaena noticed how she hesitated before mumbling a weak thank you and excusing herself to follow Aemond.

As for Mrs. Targaryen, Vic didn’t even glance in her direction.

If she was out hunting for whatever trouble her reckless son had stirred up, Vic was certain she reeked of guilt and shame.

Of beer.

Of fucking in public.

And it would take her all of thirty seconds to read it straight off Vic’s face.

Vic and Aemond were making their way out of the ballroom, heading toward the grand staircase that led to the villa’s gardens, when an uncontrollable urge hit her—to rip off these damn shoes that, at this moment, hurt even more than the secret humiliation she had just endured.

Aemond noticed her stop at the top of the stairs and turned back to offer his arm for support.

She took it.

“And here I thought you said you hadn’t written anything good,” he remarked, more as a compliment than to tease her.

Vic wrestled with the last buckle of her shoe strap before flashing him a bitter smile.

But just as she was trying to figure out how to explain that this song, in particular, had never been meant for an audience—hadn’t even been written for the person it was about to hear—it happened.

She felt Aemond tense beside her.

And then, he said a word that froze the blood in her veins.

“Dad.”

Aemond’s voice was stiff, the slight tremor in it betraying the fact that he was just as thrilled about this encounter as she was.

Vic shot upright so fast that her carefully styled bun—painstakingly arranged by Sara—promptly fell apart.

Disheveled, barefoot, still clutching her heels in one hand and fighting the very real urge to punch half of this man’s offspring, Vic turned to face Viserys Targaryen.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are! This one here hasn’t stopped shoving all your demos at me, Like a dog bringing back the same chewed-up bone, over and over again,” said the devil himself—the man who had ruined Charlie, who had ruined his own children, and who was now speaking to her.

Aemond dint even flinch despite the awfully cruel metaphor.

Vic felt the full weight of the presence that was Viserys Targaryen, the way he commanded fear without even realizing it.

But she also felt the weight of something else—of knowing that while he was aware of her existence, his interest in her barely surpassed the attention he had just given the valet who’d handed him a box of cigars.

Without so much as glancing at the boy, Viserys plucked a cigar from the box, while beside her, Aemond fidgeted with his hands, clearly aware there was no escaping this interaction.

“Just doing my job,” Aemond muttered, eyes darting around in search of an escape.

“Well, it seems you’re quite the mentor, Miss Dawson,” Viserys drawled, his cheeks flushed from champagne, exhaling a thick plume of smoke between words.

Vic realized she was so insignificant to whatever good time Viserys Targaryen was having that her messy hair, bare feet, and her general presence weren’t worth much more than a mild inconvenience—just a brief disruption between another flute of champagne, another Cuban cigar, and another jab at his son.

“I should go to the restroom,” Vic said, a mix of panic, disgust, and the sheer urgency to get the fuck out of here—knowing full well that no productive conversation was ever going to come from that absolute prick.

Viserys gave a short, exaggerated bow before letting out a crude, belly-deep laugh, clapping Aemond on the back as she turned and left them both behind.

She felt a flicker of guilt for abandoning what had been her only ally these past few weeks.

But this was about survival.

*****

Aegon was outside, alone, tucked away in the farthest corner of the garden, smoking a cigarette he barely cared about.

The night air was crisp, the sky stretching dark and endless above him, but he wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. The muffled sounds of the party still hummed from inside the villa—laughter, music, the kind of meaningless chatter that filled rooms like that. He let the noise fade into the background, tilting his head back against the stone wall behind him, exhaling smoke through his nose.

Well. That had been fun.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he replayed the moment in his head. The way the room had eaten it up. The way the applause had rung in his ears. The way Vic had looked at him—

Fuck. That had been the best part.

She hadn’t seen it coming.

And why would she? She’d spent all this time pretending. Pretending their night together hadn’t meant anything, pretending she didn’t want him, pretending she didn’t care. But she had cared—she had cared enough to write a fucking song about it.

She had handed him the truth wrapped up in melody and lyrics.

Aegon grinned to himself, dragging the cigarette to his lips again. He could still picture the exact moment she had realized—right there in the middle of the crowd, eyes wide with fury, with something else underneath. Something she didn’t want him to see.

And fuck, that had been a rush.

Did he know she was probably going to try to kill him? Yeah.

Did he regret it? Not even a little bit.

He flicked the cigarette away, watching the embers glow dimly in the dark, before rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Maybe he should have stayed inside. Should have found another drink, someone to distract him, some other kind of chaos to cause. But instead, he was here. Waiting.

And then—there she was.

Storming through the garden, barefoot, her hair a mess, looking like she was ready to rip his fucking throat out.

God, she was beautiful.

It was exactly in that moment—when his eyes locked onto Vic’s instead of the way that green dress was hugging her curves perfectly—that Aegon realized something truly fucking terrifying.

He was more scared than satisfied.

More hopeful than angry.

Shit.

He had just felt the exact same way he did when he used to lie to Mr. Dalton, saying the only reason why he did coke was to piss off his parents.

Okay, fuck it, there was no harm in admitting that maybe—just maybe—some small, pathetic part of him had hoped that song would be the turning point. That it would make Vic realize they were just two idiots, too proud and too scared to grab hold of whatever chemical reaction had fried their brains enough to make them think they felt something for each other.

No. He was doing it again.

They were two idiots, too proud and too scared to admit that maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t some chemical illusion. Maybe it was just… normal. Uncontrollable. The kind of thing that happened to everyone.

Maybe it could even be good.

Aegon felt the weight of all the dust he had shoved under the rug for years—years spent running, dodging anything that could make him hurt in a way that was worse, sharper, more permanent than an overdose and a needle in his arm.

That pile of dust was bursting at the seams.

And he wondered if she—panting, out of breath from the eight hundred fucking stairs—had come to the same realization.

She must have. She must have figured it out, too

But Aegon couldn’t tell from the furious, exhausted glare she was aiming at him.

Not even when he stepped toward her, watching as her thoughts finally clicked into place and her breath evened out.

Maybe she knows.

And then she slapped him.

Hard.

Loud.

Aegon barely managed a groan, his head snapping to the side.

Yeah. He had earned that one.

“That was my song!” Vic snapped, her voice full of something raw—so simple and childish a sentence that Aegon almost laughed. That’s the best she’s got?

So much for being a songwriter.

“I know,” he said, rubbing his cheek, trying to dull the lingering sting of her fingers still burning into his skin.

Vic blinked, looking at him like he had just spoken in some alien fucking language.

“What? It was my song!” she repeated, even louder this time, frustration building, rising—

Yeah.

She hadn’t understood a goddamn thing.

Aegon figured the only way to shut her up and stop her from repeating the same fucking sentence like a five-year-old was to kiss her.

And then he admitted that he just wanted to.

So he did.

Vic tasted like nostalgia—the same kind that had just crashed over Aegon, dragging him back to weeks ago, when her kiss had also carried the sour tang of beer.

She also tasted like chaos. Probably the same chaos that had caught her off guard, the reason she hesitated for just a second. Just long enough for Aegon’s heart to stop—before slamming back to life when he heard the dull thud of her shoes hitting the grass and felt her hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer.

It took him a while to listen to that voice in his head telling him to just say something real for once. And he only did because the adrenaline from the kiss had given him just enough confidence to not give a shit about looking like an idiot.

He cupped her face between his hands.

“I know your songs are yours. I wasn’t trying to take them from you.”

Vic just stared at him, lips parted, like that had never even been the problem in the first place.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone that night without saying anything,” she said suddenly, her voice just as intense as his had been.

Shit.

“We need to talk,” he muttered, as the realization fully hit him.

Vic just nodded.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

As he bent down to grab her shoes, that little menace was already two steps ahead, barefoot, hair a mess.

Aegon glanced up toward the top of the stairs and caught sight of Aemond. He shot him a quick nod.

He could be the one to explain to their parents where the fuck he had just disappeared.

[chicken-wayng]

I don’t understand how 2x08 is pro Rhaenyra only, imo it was pro Alicent and Rhaenicent also.

Alicent is finally putting herself first for once.

She’s CHOOSING Rhaenyra which means finally choosing love over duty, that’s radical for someone like Alicent who was raised to always put others first.

S2 is her redemption arc, which accumulated to her abandoning Team Green aka the patriarchy.

If the writers truly hated her they wouldn’t have her side with Rhaenyra, this tells me they do care about her and want her to be a fan favourite.

Olivia has been boasting for ages that she was the brains behind both Rhaenicent reunions, Alicent’s own actress was the one pushing for this the most.

This is politically smart, it reduces casualties by ending the war.

Aegon II is not a good person, Jace however is. Sometimes the best thing a mother can do is accept her children for what they are, including the bad.

Rhaenyra is the only one who sees Lady Alicent Hightower, not the Queen forced into a marriage by her father and impregnated against her will by her husband. Alicent comes to her as the childhood companion she once was, how is that not pro Rhaenicent?

Sara Hess said Episode 8 was about “humbling” Alicent but imo what she meant by that was Alicent finally realising she made a mistake and wanting to atone for the mistakes. It’s a much better written arc than her book counterpart who doesn’t regret her political decisions until her death bed.

Alicent is sacrificing her Queenship, political influence, reputation, family, power etc. for Rhaenyra’s sake. You don’t get more romantic than that 👍🏽

This is the other side!!! Thanksya for writing it out for me. These are the choices that make Alicent coded the way I talked in prev.ask. Plus I do think the way they've changed her to be more subservient (in the books I'd say she's definitely written as more confrontational and like the bitter step mom trope) to make her more "likeable". Honestly I wish they'd given us more of the Green Queen, we deserved it.

I personally love how they're handling Rhaenicent, I'm really excited for the Queen in Chains/Mad Queen cuz even though they've cut it down and butchered it into 8 eps they did an amazing job. Thanksya for saying the part about seeing your child as they are, that's so true.

And I think that's pro. Rhaenicent to a degree; yes Alicent wants to be seen as nothing more than as the lady Alicent, HOWEVER that's not all that she is but it is all that Rhaenyra ever saw her as. Her lady. Which is kind of romantic but it takes all of Alicent's desire and ambition out of consideration.

Sorry if this is brief, this is the other part I was trying to get at but I'm getting ready to go hang out with my bestie so I'm on a rush. Thanksya for coming back to POLITELY respond to the other anon. I'm all for facilitating this discussion as long as it's that💜

[allyriadayne]

Sorry if it has been asked before, but what are your favorite pairings with Jace and why?

hii i haven't answered this before. i'm assuming you mean romantic and not platonic so here you go

jace x aegon — this was funny because i did NOT meant for it to be serious when i suggested it to my friend as a joke about people shipping anything in this fandom. jokes on me because i did end up shipping it. i like jacegon because well i really find interesting that aegon and jace are each other's foils and each other's alternative version. aegon is everything jace wants to be, and jace is everything aegon /should/ be. and in spite of being in different sides of the war they were childhood friends (how do you reconcile my brother killing your brother, my mother killed by you). i also think aegon would let himself being taken care of and loved by a jace who needs to be in control of everything. they would manage each other's sicko tendencies....jace wouldn't need to be perfect and perform every minute of his life because aegon already thinks he's perfect anyway (self hatred my old friend...), and with jace's intensity aegon would love to be the centre of someone's attention and love for once without any strings attached. ANYWAY.

jace x baela and jace x alyn x baela — to me, jacela is very lavender marriage coded, on both sides. i headcanon everyone as bisexual so they are fine. i absolutely eat every mention of jace and baela's relationship in f&b and believe they loved each other very much. i mean, they grew up together, became step siblings and then betrothed, that's practically a targaryen fairy tale! their history may have allowed them to get close and inside the limited circumstances choose each other above anyone else. they were very devoted to the other and i also headcanon they had a cheating kink and this is were alyn comes up. okay hear me out, they are A LOT of cheating allegations for jace and baela!! jeyne arryn, sara snow/cregan stark, all the boys baela was apparently kissing.... i mean, if you love someone you also want them to be happy so i headcanon they knew about the other's...activities let's say. i like to think alyn was included and both cheated on the other with alyn who was, apparently, irresistible. which means that when jace died baela and alyn were miserable and were the only other person who loved and knew jace the way the other did. chef's kiss.

thanks for the question!

[agentrouka-blog]

What do you think abt the phrase "it was the dragons we married" at the end of AGOT? Umber cannot know abt R-L; neither was there a marriage even before that. I thought it was foreshadowing for Jon's parentage and/or endgame. Why would a Northerner qualify a submission as marriage when "a dragon" killed two Starks for an abduction and rape against them by another "dragon"? I found it really curious and provocative. Has the North forgotten?

Hi there!

It's a figure of speech. Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon the Conqueror to avoid a pointless bloodbath. The North "married" the South in that they were absorbed into Aegon's rule. 

The North being the wife who must submit to her "Lord Husband", that is. Not a marriage of true minds and equal status.

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" He pointed at Robb with the blade. "There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m'lords," he thundered. "The King in the North!" (AGOT, Catelyn XI) 

Considering the phallic image of the swords in the Iron Throne and the one the Greatjon immediately starts waving around, it certainly fits with the very masculine idea of becoming independent under a Northern king again. Manly men with their own pointy weapons!

I do think that the phrasing is meant to hint at RLJ, which is more likely to be the forced kind of marriage to mirror Torrhen. But there was possibly one promising other marriage in the past.

The rumored marriage between Jace (son of Rhaenyra) and Stark bastard girl Sara Snow does a lovely job of giving us both a dragon with a dominant mother and a Stark bastard marriage, and a marriage out of love, which foreshadows a shift away from that overt masculinity toward feminine-coded reconciliation. The identity of the dragon husband is based on his mother (ironically a Stark mother) and he gains nothing politically by marrying the Northern bastard girl. It could work the same way again, if you shake the ingredients a little. A Northern maiden, a bastard and a marriage for love. Northern independence under a queen. A Snow dragon with a white wolf for a sword, absorbed into the North.

[multi-fandom-simp]

Chapter 7: S.O.S. Code 4✏️

PAIRINGS:  Aegon x OC, Helaena x OC, Aemond x OC, Jacaerys x OC, Jacaerys x Cregan, Luke x Sara

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: After some trusty advice from Daeron, Aemond enlists Lillianna’s help. Which ultimately throws everyone into questions and chaos.

TW: Profanity, mention of sexual situations

Text between images

“Okay, so-” Lillianna held a finger up to silence Aemond as she took a long sip of her latte. Her eyes were closed and she hummed thoughtfully as if the drink was being evaluated. 

“Alright, go on.” Aemond rolled his eyes, grumbling underneath his breath at her dramatics. 

“ I need your help.” Aemond sighed.

“ With what?” Lillianna urged, “And how?”

“ With Floris Baratheon. I need someone to date me so she’ll back off.” Lillianna stared at Aemond in disbelief as he explained. Her cup paused against her lips as she contemplated what he could possibly be asking her. Aemond simply awaited her reply with plain features. A bystander might think the two were in some sort of old west standoff with the way they stared at each other. 

“ So you need me to help you find a fake girlfriend?” Lillianna inquired before sipping her chai lightly. 

“ No, I need you to be my fake girlfriend.” Aemond corrected while holding a napkin in her direction for the spit take he knew Lillianna would do. 

“ HUH?!” As if on cue, the brunette slapped a hand over her mouth to shield the chai from going everywhere. She snatched the cloth from his waiting hand and pressed it to her lips. 

“ Listen, all of Helaena’s friends despise me because of Aegon and I don’t exactly have any other female friends.” Aemond sighed. 

“ Okay, but WE’RE not even friends, Aemond? Floris knows that.” Lillianna argued. 

“ That’s exactly why it’ll work. You weren’t around when I was with her, so she doesn’t know you that well. She’ll never suspect a thing.” Aemond shrugged. Lillianna leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and eyes squinted at the blonde in distrust. 

“ How do I know you’re not just trying to make me look stupid.” The brunette scrutinized, causing Aemond to scoff and pull a piece of paper from his coat pocket. 

“ Here, it’s a list of terms and agreements on the arrangement that has my signature. You get a copy and so do I.” Aemond unfolded the pages and slid them across the table towards Lillianna. 

“ You make contracts for your fake girlfriends?! What are you, 50?” Lillianna scoffed, snatching the paper to read over the terms. 

“ Just read it.” Aemond huffed. Lillianna’s eyes scanned over the terms. 

Do not openly date anyone else while in the arrangement.

If either of our parents question things, ESPECIALLY my mother, do not tell them that this is fake. Just keep pretending. 

Physical affection is fine, but I would prefer to be the one to initiate. Do not do things like suddenly hug me. 

Pet names are required-

“Pet names? What are we talking about ‘kitten’ or some shit?” Lillianna raised her eyebrow at Aemond over the paper. 

“ Most girls that I’ve been with know that I���m very verbal with endearments.”Aemond stated simply, leaning back in his chair. 

“ Does that apply in the bedroom too or?” Lillianna smirked, a twinge of tease coating her voice. 

“ Just keep reading.” Aemond grumbled, not meeting her eyes. 

“ I think I’ve read enough.” Lillianna sighed, throwing the paper down,”What do I get out of this?” 

“ I’ll keep Hallis off of your back for the duration of the arrangement.” Aemond offered. Lillianna cocked her head to the side in thought. She knew how to deal with Hallis on her own, but it would be nice for someone else to do it for a change. 

“ If you deal with all of Rowan’s lackeys, then you’ll have a deal.” Lillianna bargained. 

“ Sounds easy enough.” Aemond hummed before setting a pen down.

“ Do you treat your actual girlfriends like a business deal too?” Lillianna inquired while scribbling her signature down. 

“ Mhm, now that’s classified information, kitten.” Aemond emphasized the pet name as he spoke to pick fun at her previous complaint. 

“ oh my gooooddss” Lillianna’s head dropped to the table as she hid the blush dusting her cheeks. Aemond reveled in her embarrassment and let a chuckle slip through his lips while reaching for his coffee. Neither of them were paying enough attention to spot the northern eyes watching them from the opposite corner.