#viserys targaryen imagine

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

The Good Queen

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing(s): Viserys Targaryen x Fem!Reader, Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Harwin Strong x Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Alicent Hightower, Daemon Targaryen x Harwin Strong (I won’t apologize for everyone being gay for each other)

Tag: hotd the good queen

Warning: Fluff. Happy ending. No one dies (except Aemma, sorry love) and everyone lives. Age gaps. No feud. No greens or blacks. Slight gore.

Word Count: 3,901

Summary: The King must choose a new wife, and Alicent’s older sister, Y/n Hightower, is a suitable choice and a perfect match. For once, Viserys makes a decision that benefits everyone and upsets little few. The Seven Kingdoms are better for it.

Author’s Note: Not a request. Oddly enough, plenty request Otto imagines but never King Viserys. I thought I'd give it a try since I had an idea. But to be honest, Viserys x Reader are sort of background pairing/onlookers of this.

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

It was the most logical choice to pick the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower. It was also all part of Lady Y/n’s plan. After the death of her mother, she had become the guardian figure her younger sister, Alicent, truly needed in her time of grief and loneliness. Older and far more mature in beauty and wisdom, The Lady Y/n Hightower was determined to still give Alicent whatever was left of her childhood and did everything in her power to make her little sister feel loved and accepted. So if there were whispers regarding Alicent, Y/n likely knew about it. One night, her handmaid came into her room and warned her of whispers involving her little sister and the King. The maid spoke of Lord Otto placing Alicent where Viserys could see her after the death of the late Queen Aemma, and Y/n was beyond disgusted and furious.

However, instead of confronting her father, Y/n went behind his back and also placed herself where Viserys could see her. While she couldn’t stop Alicent from seeing the King at night without raising suspicion, she did, however, visited the King between meals and even ask Princess Rhaenyra if she could attend the Small Council meetings to act as another cupbearer. Rhaenyra, excited with the prospect of another woman being a part of the meetings, accepted the proposal. Y/n made sure to fill Viserys’ cup modestly and had even accompanied him in the royal gardens a time or two after that. It didn’t take much effort before he announced to his small council his engagement to her. Rhaenyra, sad but relieved her father found another wife, gladly welcomed Y/n into the family with open arms and was even more excited at the idea of Alicent being ever closer to being a part of her family.

The Hand of the King, however, was less than happy and voiced how displeased he was of her when finding time alone with his eldest daughter, “What have you done?”

“Done?” Y/n questioned from her vanity mirror, removing her earrings after a long day of the people of the court congratulating her.

“He was supposed to marry your sister.”

“Why would he want Alicent, Father?” Y/n tilted her head innocently at the reflection of Otto standing at a distance behind her, “She’s but a child.”

“In the gods' eyes, she is a woman grown.”

“So am I. I am the eldest, so why must she be married off first?”

“She’s the most comely lady in court.”

“If you think me ugly, Father,” she snarled, finally standing up and turning to face her father head-on, “Just say it and be done with it.”

“I had wished to marry you off to your cousin.”

“Ormund is Heir to Oldtown. Surely my uncle would want a better match for him to ally another large house to ours instead of within our own family. You’re a political man. Try to be smarter than the second son desperate for power.”

The insult strained their relationship if it hadn’t been strained already. Lord Otto barely spoke to his eldest daughter after that unless common courtesy compels him to do so, like complimenting her wedding dress before he gave her away to Viserys. Y/n may not have felt love when the King kissed her with the promise of affection and commitment, but she felt relief. Upon watching the way Alicent danced and laughed during the feast that night, entirely unaware and still innocent of childhood, Y/n knew she made the right decision.

It wasn’t long before Y/n was pregnant then the world as she knew it imploded with excitement. The maesters, after tending to all of the former Queen Aemma’s sickly pregnancies, were astonished to see Y/n flourish in quite the opposite direction. In a strange way, she was excited to be a mother, and practically raising Rhaenyra and Alicent helped with that dream.

At first hesitant, the princess grew to love Y/n as her stepmother, especially since the new Queen was her best friend’s sister. Even though Y/n was rumored to be carrying a son inside of her, Rhaenyra tried not to openly worry for her sake. She may be Viserys’ shiny new heir, but the idea of Queen Y/n having a son bothered Rhaenyra, even though Y/n tried easing her worries with the promise of always openly advocating for the princess’ right to the throne. This aggravated Lord Otto for obvious reasons. After Aegon was born, the Hand tried reaffirming his position over his daughter in order to persuade her into raising Aegon as the future king. In return, he got a stone wall, unmoveable even in the strongest of storms.

“You may be the Hand of the King,” Y/n had sneered at her father one night in the safety of her chambers, “But I am the wife to the King. I am the Queen.”

And with his daughter as Queen, Lord Otto found himself in lesser power than when she was just a lady of the court. With her baby boy on her hip, Queen Y/n attended many Small Council meetings, shameless at the stares of men around her when she took her seat next to Viserys, stealing the spot away from his Hand. Over some time, Y/n became to lean towards Rhaenyra when the princess poured her wine and offered small treats to her little half-brother. With the proper influence, Y/n had also convinced Viserys to grant his daughter a seat at the table, no longer a cupbearer. Y/n then happily stepped aside and let Rhaenyra sit next to her father while the Queen sat next to her own. By then, Lord Otto never felt further away from the King, physically and cognitively.

Even less so when his younger daughter was married off under his own nose. Like a carpet pulled underneath him, Lord Otto was forced to walk Alicent down the aisle and be handed off to her new husband, Harwin “Breakbones” Strong. Some wonder who could have ever picked out such a perfect match, while others looked no further than the Queen herself. With her father’s pawns now swiftly taken from him, Lord Otto begrudgingly asked King Viserys for his blessing to resign. Although shocked, Viserys only had to look to his wife before granting his Hand a dismissal.

Tail between his legs, Otto Hightower left for Oldtown, never to return to King’s Landing, even when his daughters produced him grandchildren. In his place, Lord Lyonel Strong was named Hand of the King and he was a better-suited friend to the throne, and most importantly, an ally to his Queen.

Queen Y/n was a busy woman, even while pregnant. Especially while pregnant. She couldn’t afford anyone trying to take away her power and influence when she was knocked down and so she was constantly on the move, no matter how round she got. Her daughter, Helaena, came quicker than Aegon, and so the Red Keep was filled with delight at the announcement of a new princess soon to roam the halls. Rhaenyra was delighted. She was spotted trying to teach the baby girl how to walk, letting her little sister hang onto her hands and trot over her own feet. Alicent was already a proud aunt, but she doted on Helaena much like Y/n used to dote on her own younger sister. It seems as though the Queen had been quite the influence between Rhaenyra and Alicent, both now fully grown, beautiful and proud.

If Alicent was missing her father, she never showed it. Instead, she spent her time excited when she learned she would soon be a mother herself. Watching Y/n raise her children, Alicent had grown to wish to be just like her sister one day. Harwin was kind to his young wife and understood his place in her heart must be shared with the people around her. He knew Alicent loved her sister, the Queen. He knew she loved her niece, Helaena, and nephew, Aegon, and above all, he knew she loved the Princess Rhaenyra. Harwin couldn’t blame Alicent. Harwin had grown to love her, too.

Y/n and Alicent were soon pregnant together, and it felt as though the Seven Kingdoms could not have had a more beautiful, plentiful summer that year. Everyone was happy, whether of the royal family growing or from the prospect of the harvest. Most of King’s Landing was always celebrating and most stomachs were full and warm. With the Queen and her sister expecting, the castle was alive with happiness and love.

However, Y/n knew there was one individual who was internally unhappy. She was no fool. The Queen saw the way Rhaenyra looked at Alicent and the way Alicent looked at Rhaenyra. Surely, Alicent’s unborn child sparked a deep-dwelling of sadness within Rhaenyra, longing still evident in her eyes. Eventually, Y/n saw the way Ser Harwin stared after the princess as well and knew that something had to be done. She wouldn’t dare dream of separating the three, but she knew that Rhaenyra had to marry soon or who knows what sort of rumors might blossom should someone else notice the tension between the princess, Alicent, and Harwin. Rhaenyra needed a husband, despite the princess making it difficult to find a suitor. Y/n knew where to look, but unlike the other times, it would take a lot more effort to convince the King of this match.

“No,” Viserys smiled, despite the clouds looming overhead, “Absolutely not. Daemon is not worthy of my daughter.”

“If you could have your way, no one would be worthy of her,” Y/n sighed, briefly smiling at her husband while rounding the Small Council’s table towards him, her hand brushing over the surface. They were alone at the moment, waiting for the other members to join them, “But she is your heir, and she’s no longer a child. She is unwed, and last I heard, Daemon had recently lost his wife, Lady Royce. As I understand it, their marriage was left unconsummated.”

“Others will look to him to be King, instead of Rhaenyra their Queen,” Viserys retorted.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Not everyone will be happy, no matter what decision you make, Your Grace.”

She reaches the King, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders as she crossed to stand behind him, rubbing his aging shoulders and physically feeling his body slowly uncoil and relax. Viserys sighs, long and exhausted, his fingers rising to rub his eyes, but instead reach further back and clasp Y/n’s hand instead. She squeezes his hand encouragingly, while Viserys still looked hesitant and forlorn, “He’s not worthy of her...”

“No,” Y/n leans down and kissed the top of his head, “But he does love her. And I think she loves him, too. They are dragons, Viserys, and your kin. Your house sigil requires three dragon heads. If Rhaenyra is to be Queen someday, then she will need heirs of her own. She’ll need dragons. This marriage proposal is not an unheard-of custom, especially for a Targaryen. This alliance will keep your legacy strong long after you and I are gone, and your reign over Westeros will remain peaceful long after Rhaenyra has passed on.”

The Small Council meets that evening, and Viserys announces Daemon and Rhaenyra’s engagement. For supper, that night, King Viserys and Queen Y/n sit beside Rhaenyra and invite the children and Harwin and Alicent along for the celebration as well. Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled again for the first time in a while, and if Y/n noticed the tight grip her stepdaughter had on her hand, she didn’t comment.

Thankfully, Daemon was on board with this proposal and made no fuss when he was summoned to King’s Landing. Both he and Rhaenyra were married by the end of seven, long days of festivities. The newlyweds decided to temporarily part for Dragonstone, but both rushed back on their dragons when they received word of Queen Y/n and Lady Alicent both going into labor.

Aemond was a difficult delivery, but Y/n was, as always, overjoyed to have the infant brought into her arms. Down the hall, not long after Aemond was born, the Queen could hear a different cry coming out of her sister’s room.

Alicent birthed a son, Jacerys Strong. The whole kingdom rejoiced over their new prince and little lord. Many spoke about the bond the two would share growing up and strengthening the alliance between House Targaryen and House Strong. Lifelong friends were born that day, and Y/n could not wait to raise her children alongside her sisters'.

Rhaenyra quickly became pregnant as well, and by this time, Y/n had noticed the way Rhaenyra and Alicent hold onto each other as they roam the gardens, both of their husbands following them in tow. The Queen doesn’t miss the way the four often spend most of their time together, day and night. Sometimes, Y/n feels as though she’s intruding when watching them all interact. Rhaenyra and Alicent are usually glued to each other’s side, but if not, sometimes Y/n noticed Daemon accompanying Alicent and Harwin attending to Rhaenyra. There are times when even all three are attending to the princess as her stomach slowly grows. Now that she noticed this, Queen Y/n noticed other things as well, like how intense those training sessions between Daemon and Harwin can be.

For the most part, Y/n turns a blind eye and makes no complaint. She doesn’t say a word to Viserys, but she’s seen the way the King watches his daughter with her... group of confidants, and part of Y/n wonders if her husband sees it, too. Perhaps she is not the only one turning a blind eye in order to see Rhaenyra happy with the family her father always wanted her contented with.

Daemon and Rhaenyra’s firstborn is also named Aegon, nicknamed the Younger. Aegon the Elder was delighted when Rhaenyra confessed she named her child after her brother more so than the Conqueror. Viserys was a proud grandfather/uncle, holding the babe in his arms as he sat upon the Iron Throne to announce Aegon’s birth to the court. During the festivities, Viserys even made a lighthearted joke about how his darling wife was so young and it was nearly impossible to believe that she was now a grandmother.

More children came after that, though Daeron would be Y/n’s last after she broke out in fevers once she birthed him. She survived, but after that, both she and Viserys agreed that Daeron would be their last one. Alicent and Harwin bore two more sons, Lucerys and Joffrey, while Daemon and Rhaenyra had another son and a daughter, Viserys II, and Visenya. Despite a few age differences in between, all the children were raised together within the Red Keep and grew up nearly forgetting that they were, in fact, not all direct siblings. They were taught together. They trained together, sewed together, and fought together.

Ten years passed and they were the best years of King Viserys’ life, or so people claim. Even as his health declined, he made no room for sorrow, only joy when his children and grandchildren were involved. One of his favorite pastimes was overlooking the courtyard and watching as his children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews all played together. All of the Targaryen children’s dragons, still small with age, curiously watched them play as well, acting more like large dogs than fiery beasts.

As they got older, some of the boys got rougher. As siblings-who-are-not-really-siblings do, they all occasionally fight or they take their anger out in training. One unfortunate incident was between Aemond and Lucerys. Whilst training, it was clear that the cousins were angry at each other over something minuscule and so they tried to vent using the swing of their swords. Unfortunately, Luke swung hard and Aemond didn’t sidestep in time to avoid it. The very tip of the Strong boy’s sword slashed across Aemond’s eye, leaving behind an unspeakable scene full of blood and screams.

The Queen was summoned right away, directed to Aemond’s chambers where her son was already abed with the Grand Maester tending to him. It was a gruesome scene, even with the wound already cleaned. Aemond’s eye was swollen and angry, a long, ugly cut running through it, trailing down his cheek and over his eyebrow.

The maester moves away from the bed and allows the Queen to take his place by her son’s side as he explained, “I have given as much Milk of the Poppy as I could, Your Grace, but for a child of his size, it would be too dangerous to give him the proper doses he would normally need to relax. The pain has dulled, but it will linger.”

The Queen sits on the edge of Aemond’s bed, “It will heal, will it not?”

“The flesh will heal into a scar... but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Y/n’s face crumbles in distress, taking Aemond’s hand in hers while brushing some of his silver hair from his young face, “What happened?”

“An accident in the training yard, Your Grace, as I understand it.”

“Luke cut me!” Aemond cried in anger, “He cut me and I should have left my mark in return! I had my chance and I couldn’t take it! I wish I had!”

"Aemond," his mother warns, eyeing him with a look that only a mother could threaten with her child, “You don’t mean that. I understand your anger and your grief, but at the end of the day, what happened was an accident. Tragic, yes, but an accident. Luke is your cousin. He is a part of your family and he loves you. He would have never intentionally harmed you and you know it.”

She leans forward then and kisses his forehead, just above the top of the cut, "We can get you something to cover it up. Or, once it fully heals, we can replace it with a false eye. A diamond, perhaps? Ruby?"

Her lightheartedness softens Aemond’s anger, slightly, as he relents to his mother’s touch, leaning into her embrace as he entertains her idea, "Sapphire."

She leans back so he could see her smile of approval, "A fine choice, my love.”

The Queen stands up, taking her time to help Aemond lie down and get properly tucked into his covers. She lovingly pets his hair down as she turns to the maester beside her, “Grand Maester. Have some essence of Nightshade brought up to my son’s chambers. He needs time to rest and heal.”

“At once, Your Grace,” the maester bows then exits the room.

Y/n leans back down to her son one last time, bringing his hand up to her face to kiss his fingers, “Be hopeful, son. Women like men with scars."

She leaves the room and makes her long trek to the kitchens. Rounding a corner, she comes across her sister. Alicent was distraught and full of guilt, grasping the Queen's hands in hers as she cries, "I'm so sorry... Harwin and I will punish Luke accordingly."

"There's no need," Y/n is quick to reassure Alicent, her sisterly instincts kicking back in. The instinct never truly went away. It was dormant, but Y/n will always protect her sister, no matter how old she gets, "It was an accident, Ali. Aemond will not resent your son for it. I can imagine Luke is very distraught about what happened. You must attend to him. Reassure him that he was not at fault and I would never hold this over my nephew."

After she sent Alicent back to her family, Y/n returns to her original task and heads to the kitchens. She returns to Aemond's chambers a little while later, carrying a tray of food and drink for her son, ignoring the servants when they offered to carry it for her. Behind her, Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron are hovering in the doorway, poking their heads into the room and trying to get a good look at their brother abed. The Queen sets the tray down and turns back to the doorway with a knowing glance, “Come along. Dine with your brother but then leave him to rest.”

A picnic was made in Aemond’s bed, his mother and siblings surrounding him as they nibbled on bread and cheese. They talked about other things to distract the injured prince, telling stories about their day or laughing at a joke Aegon said. Viserys, in search of his family, limped into the room with his cane not long after, smiling softly at the scene before him.

After sending her other children away to let Aemond sleep, Y/n takes her husband's arm and carefully walks with him to her own chambers. His hair had begun to thin out and a hunch in his back drove him to lean forward or off to the side as he walked crookedly. He was no longer the peaceful, handsome king Y/n had married, and a small ache in her heart hammered every time she looked into his eyes, age spots and wrinkles beginning to form on his pale skin. Despite his troubles with his health, he still never looked happier.

"You are a wonderful woman, Y/n," Viserys held her arm in a firm grip, his kind smile pulling those wrinkles further up his face. His eyes dazzled warmly, happily, without a sign of a lie, "You're a good mother, a good queen, but most importantly you're a good wife. Had I not married you... I am not sure I would be surrounded by the most loving family and ruling such a prosperous kingdom. What would I do without you?"

Y/n smiled back, patting his arm affectionately as they make it down the long hallway of their home, "Best not to dwell on such a question, my love. The Seven Kingdoms are better off without knowing."

~~~

Viserys dies in his sleep a few years later. His health had gotten worse and the only thing he allowed the maester to administrate was the Milk of the Poppy to dull the pain. Otherwise, he didn't ask for a cure, nor did he try to even fight his illness. Many often wondered if, in the end, he was waiting to die. Others thought that guilt was a deadly illness and whatever secret the King had, died with him. After being given a window to mourn, the now Queen Regent, Y/n Hightower, crowned Viserys' rightful heir herself.

Queen Rhaenyra's coronation was grand, as what Viserys would've wanted for his beloved daughter. Daemon, his brother, proudly took the name, King Consort, while Rhaenyra named her firstborn son, Prince Aegon the Younger, her rightful heir. Lyonel Strong remained the Hand of the Queen, but his son, Harwin, was named Commander of the City Watch and was given a place at the Small Council's table. His children with Alicent were given titles to many lands, their oldest son heir to Harrenhal. Aegon the Elder was permitted the claim to Dragonstone, while Rhaenyra's other half-siblings were appointed as squires and cupbearers to her court, some were even betrothed to the Strong children.

Y/n, however, remained in King's Landing, despite being granted permission to go back to her family's home, Oldtown. With Rhaenyra's permission, she remained in the Red Keep where she had made a home among her children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Y/n Hightower -once called the Good Queen- died in her bed many years later, after briefly meeting her first great-grandchild to her son, Aegon, and his wife and niece, Visenya.

There were no Blacks. There were no Greens. A hundred years will pass and everyone will know the story of how one woman stopped the Dance of Dragons from ever happening. Or better yet, no one will have ever even heard of it.

~~~

A/N: I know, I switched everything up and made everyone confused. This was a form of therapy for me after I wished that everyone in the show would just get along.

Part Two

[mxacegrey]

Bride-to-be? Assassin.

Pairing: Viserys Targaryen I x Fem! Reader

Summary: "I intend to marry ... The Lady Y/N of the house of Y/L/N before spring's end."

Warnings: Descriptions of violence & references to marrying a child

King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, stood before his council and his daughter, who were all waiting for the name of the King's bride to be. Otto Hightower, the King's hand, sat back in his chair, a small smirk gracing his face.

"I intend to marry... The Lady Y/N of the house of Y/L/N before spring's end." Viserys announced, much to the outrage of Corlys Velaryon and Otto Hightower, both of which had intended for their daughter to be chosen. Rhaenyra looked up at her father, her expression revealing confusion, especially after the previous night's conversation.

"What the f-?!" came a hissed response, unheard by the members of the small council. Hidden in a darkened alcove, by the side of the Iron Throne, a hooded figure stood, hand on their sword and their eyes glaring. Waiting for the exit of the council, the hooded figure made their way through the secret tunnels into the King's personal chambers. Once there, they watched Viserys walk into his chambers and sit in a chair before his table full of figurines. They laughed darkly before speaking. “With all due respect, Your Grace, what the fuck was that?!”

“Such a vulgar tongue for a lady.” Viserys smirked, not turning towards the voice. “My darling Y/N. How are you today, my queen?”

“Enough with this nonsense! Queen? Me?! I’m an assassin.”

“And my Hand. Was it not you who said ‘A queen who knows how to create a network and holds a silvertongue is the strongest queen there is’? Was it not you who has prevented many attacks on my behalf and rid Otto Hightower of his spies in my court?”

“You know very well that I was not talking about myself when I had said that. And what of your family? Of Hightower?” You scoffed as you walked towards him. You stood before him, pushing your hood down. Running a hand through your hair, you began pacing in front of Viserys before his hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his lap. “Hey!”

“Darling. You’ll be fine.” The doors of the King’s chambers opened to reveal the presence of the King’s ‘Hand’, Otto Hightower.

“My King.” Otto bowed slightly, taking in the position that you and Viserys were currently in.

“Otto.” Viserys replied simply, refusing to move from his position.

“You seem to have made a mistake in your choice of a bride.” Otto began.

“Oh? How so?” Viserys asked, his eyes holding a hint of amusement while his voice didn’t betray this. 

“You see, if anyone was to spread the news that my daughter had been spending unaccompanied time with the King, especially at night, it would not look good on either of you.” Otto explained, his eyes attempting to hide his malicious intent.

“I have spent no time with your daughter, the Lady Alicent. Especially not unaccompanied at night.” Viserys replied, somewhat amused by Otto’s actions and somewhat confused at the idea of Alicent in his chambers.

“But...” Otto stated, eyebrows furrowed in response.

“I believe what you have done, Hightower, is try and send your daughter here unaccompanied purposefully at night. Perhaps in a sense to appeal the King and even to have her as queen?” You explained, tilting your head in a seemingly innocent manner and nodding your head in mock-understanding. At Otto’s widening eyes, you leaned closer to whisper, “The walls have ears too.”

Otto left the room in anger and embarrassment, leaving Viserys to hold you closer to him and place kisses on your head. You moved slightly to grab papers and letters before being pulled back into Viserys’ embrace and you began explaining actions that could be taken as you read through different agreements. Viserys nodded from behind you and asked questions as to why you had a particular opinion on a matter, leading to a further explanation as to your discovery of actions in particular houses.

“I’m still mad at you.” You stated, Viserys’ arms wrapped around your middle.

“I know.” Viserys replied simply, a small smirk sitting on his lips.

~~~~

“Kepus.” A young female voice called out in High Valyrian. Daemon turned towards the voice, cool eyes looking at the woman before him.

“Princess Rhaenyra. What are you doing in Dragonstone now?” came his cool reply. Rhaenyra paused for a moment before asking,

“Do you know a... Lady Y/N?”

“Why?” Daemon’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted slightly.

“It’s just. Father said he intends to marry her... before Spring’s end!” Rhaenyra began before Daemon rushed past her and headed towards Caraxes and Syrax. “Uncle!”

Ignoring the calls of his niece, Daemon flew towards King’s Landing, Rhaenyra not far behind him. Daemon landed in the Dragonpit, storming through the castle, knocking out any guards that came in his way.

“VISERYS!” Daemon yelled as he slammed open his brother’s chambers, his voice echoing.

“Daemon. I thought I sent you to the Vale.” Viserys stated, you sitting behind him, sharpening your sword. Daemon glared as he removed Dark Sister from her sheath and held the tip towards his brother. You swiftly held your own sword towards Daemon, eyes daring him to make a move.

“You. You stole my betrothed!” Daemon roared, eyes blazing. “She was to be mine!”

“You forget yourself, Daemon. You are married to Lady Royce of Runestone.” You spat, Viserys holding your other wrist.

“Calm, Darling.” Viserys whispered into your ear as he moved to stand behind you before looking back at his brother. “She is not your betrothed nor has she ever been.“

“I chose her. I wanted to marry her!” Daemon seethed, his commotion gathering the guards. “You only wanted a son!”

“Well brother, she is to be my wife in less than 2 moons.” Viserys smirked slightly as he pulled you into his arms and gave you a deep kiss, ignoring Daemon. “Why don’t you head to the Vale, to your wife, of whom Y/N holds in her affection very deeply?“

[diamantar]

OPORTUNIDAD

→ Viserys Targaryen x fem!Stark!OC (ft. Daemon Targaryen)

✦ Sinopsis: En un matrimonio arreglado las infidelidades son plato de cada día, aunque jamás consideró tomar aquel camino hasta que entabló relación con el hermano de su esposo.

✦ Advertencias: Matrimonio arreglado / Infidelidad / Angst.

✦ Palabras: 2415

✦ Pedido: Si, de Wattpad.

✦ Gif: ladydostoevsky

✦ Nota: ¡Comentarios, likes y reblogs son muy apreciados! ♡

Apenas había cumplido quince años cuando en una nubosa mañana de invierno se convirtió en esposa de Daemon Targaryen, ambos brillando de pies a cabeza en un intento de ocultar el fastidio. En retrospectiva, aún no entendía como pensaron que unirla a él era una buena idea, especialmente cuando lo conocía desde pequeña y siempre expresó lo que le disgustaba. A su parecer no era más que un bruto irresponsable que vivía para seguir impulsos, apenas salvándole el hecho de que era un excelente guerrero. Lloró cuando supo que estaban comprometidos, pero las mujeres de la familia Stark ferozmente reprendieron el capricho por ser “una gran oportunidad”.

La primera vez que pensó bien de Daemon fue durante la noche de bodas, donde el joven fue excepcionalmente compresivo con su terror al coito y se encargó de fabricar una elaborada escena para engañar al resto. Arrugó las sabanas, punzó su muslo para dejar sangre como prueba de la penetración y acomodó las ropas de ambos en el suelo, luego de casi dos horas saliendo y dejando que los mayores encontraran la farsa. Numerosas damas la cubrieron con una bata y él permaneció en un rincón junto a Viserys, en solo unos minutos ganándose su profundo agradecimiento.

Desde ese día comenzó a verlo en una nueva luz, de pronto abriéndose y dejando que rompiera la barrera que había creado entre los dos. Halló en él un buen confidente, una persona que la acompañaba en la cama y no la forzaba a cumplir con las reglas de la realeza en el desespero de tener un hijo. Entendió su actitud y la resistencia a la autoridad, el deseo de vivir libre y no permitir que alguien más lo obligara a tomar un camino que no quería.

Por unos cuantos meses pensó que Daemon era mejor de lo que parecía y de a poco cayó por sus encantos, especialmente cuando Aemma Arryn le informó que, según Viserys, él se enamoró apenas la vio bajar del carruaje que la trajo de Invernalia. La idea de formar familia empezó a ser un concepto atractivo y le emocionaba salvarse de tener que vivir infeliz junto un hombre que no la quería, pero la fantasía de cristal pronto se convirtió en añicos.

Bien sabía de la predilección de su esposo por el vino y nunca cuestionó que saliera a beber hasta altas horas, ya que era una actividad que realizaba desde antes de que se casaran. Aún así, a pesar de que debió haberlo imaginado, la noticia de sus frecuentes visitas a la Calle de la Seda le congelaron el corazón. El poco amor que surgió se esfumó y rápidamente recordó porqué nunca debió ignorar el instinto que desde niña le gritó que Daemon no era el indicado.

Los muros crecieron más altos que nunca y el hombre se sumió en los placeres, ni siquiera intentando superar la fría cordialidad con la que lo trataba. Las pocas veces que dormían juntos él caía rendido luego de tanto alcohol y algunos integrantes del Consejo Privado empezaban a agitarse por la falta de embarazo. Aquellos hombres tenían demasiada habilidad en arruinarle el día y más de una vez deseó que los lobos de su familia los destrozaran, pero, como siempre, debió callar y aguantar en silencio.

Soportó rumores y miradas hasta que un inesperado aliado apareció, Viserys siendo una brisa fresca entre tanto humo que la ahogaba. Con sonrisas apenadas y tímidas se acercó en absoluta comprensión, ya que él vivía los mismos disgustos con la presión de tener un sucesor varón. Al oírlo se sintió entendida y con el paso del tiempo aprendió que era alguien de fiar, ya que ninguna confidencia resonó en los pasillos de la Fortaleza Roja.

El vacío de atención y compañía finalmente fue llenado por el Rey, el cual le enviaba cartas cuando no podían pasear por los jardines o ir a la recamara de alguno a conversar. Mentalmente quería controlar la esperanza cuando ambos estaban casados y él tenía una esposa que se desvivía para cumplir las demandas de un heredero, pero el brillo en los ojos de Viserys no lo hacía fácil.

Por su parte, Daemon, seguía igual de perdido en los placeres de la ciudad y apenas hablaba en las pocas mañanas que llegaban a despertar al lado del otro. De todos modos, a años de la boda y sin aún tener sexo, logró dar a luz a un sano y hermoso niño rubio de grandes ojos violeta.

Rhaegar Targaryen existía para enamorar a quien cruzara camino con él, sonrisas de blancas perlas apareciendo entre un aura gentil y brillante. La personalidad distaba mucho de “Lord Lecho de Pulgas”, tanto que los ancianos que llegaron a conocerlo desde la cuna insistían que parecían opuestos, y oír esas declaraciones solo la aliviaban al no querer que Daemon lo influenciara. Sabía que lo mejor era que todos dijeran que se parecía a él, que así la infidelidad pasaría desapercibida, pero siempre podría anunciar que esas diferencias venían de su parte de la familia.

Viserys mantenía la fachada a pesar de saber la verdad, en el inicio amargura llenándolo al tener un hijo que no podía celebrar. Finalmente tenía lo que tanto deseó y estaba obligado a mantenerlo en las sombras, aunque culpabilidad frenó cualquier fantasía cuando Aemma falleció dando a luz. Se suponía que pasarían varios días celebrando, pero cada acto cesó ante la noticia de que el nonato, Baelon Targaryen, tampoco sobrevivió las primeras horas de vida.

Ambas muertes fueron un golpe terrible y, como era de esperar, Daemon no tuvo mejor idea que escapar a la Calle de Seda y nombrar al pequeño como el “Heredero por un Día”. Ebrio y poco cuidadoso no imaginó que la voz correría, y mucho menos pensó que a primer hora del amanecer Otto Hightower comunicara la falta de respeto a un Viserys emocionalmente herido.

—Señorita Stark, el Rey la solicita.

Monótona e impasible, la sirvienta aguardó mientras bajaba la taza de té y asombro pintaba cada músculo facial.

—¿Ha dicho por qué? —preguntó en el proceso de limpiar cualquier resto de desayuno en los labios.

—No, solo que la acercara lo antes posible al Salón del Trono.

Un incomodo sentimiento le cerró el estómago y provocó una breve ráfaga de nauseas, todo de aquella invitación siendo diferente a los encuentros que hasta ese momento tuvieron.

—De acuerdo, iré.

Inspiró profundo en el proceso de levantarse y dejó que los pies la guiaran, en la puerta recibiéndola un guardia y dejando que ingresara. Avanzó por el enorme espacio apreciando al hombre, el cual vestía de negro y se hallaba sentado con expresión tensa.

—Majestad —saludó antes de reverenciar, fielmente ajustándose a las etiquetas al haber personal militar presente—. Vine tan rápido como pude, ¿en qué puedo ayudarle?

Conectando miradas, pudo notar como sus ojos se suavizaban un momento antes de regresar a un sentimiento oscuro.

—Desde que te he conocido has sido alguien de confiar y no planeo someterte a interrogatorio porque sé la clase de persona que eres… —realizó una breve pausa por la incomodidad de tener que actuar tan distante—. Pero me veo en obligación de preguntar, ¿sabes dónde estuvo Daemon anoche?

—Lamento no tener información que sea de ayuda, pero desconozco las actividades de mi esposo —contestó presionando y frotando los labios en un breve gesto de ansiedad.

—Es de común saber que mi hermano escapa a las responsabilidades, así que entiendo la ignorancia.

—¿Ha sucedido algo, señor? —preguntó con piel erizada en anticipación.

Viserys se removió en el trono y encajó la mandíbula en enojo, un gesto que la asustó al ser muy poco usual.

—Bajo el manto de la oscuridad, Daemon, escapó a un burdel a beber y hundirse con gente cuestionable a faltar el respeto de mi hijo fallecido —explicó elevando la voz en cada palabra—. Lo coronó “Heredero por un Día” y pasó cada rato libre lejos de su familia, ¡ni siquiera consolando a Rhaenyra!

Palidez la pintó de la impresión y colocó una mano en el pecho por el grave error, inmediatamente amagando a disculparse hasta que recordó que no fue error suyo.

—Realmente me deja estupefacta… esto es… no sé… —bajó la cabeza con el corazón sumamente acelerado.

—Daemon ha sido llamado y está de camino a recibir castigo —informó en tono normal evitando generarle estrés—. Como dije, sé la clase de persona que eres y tendré consideración por la gran alianza con tu familia, pero debes estar presente para saber cómo quedará la situación.

—Por supuesto.

Claramente preocupada esperó a un costado y sintió fugaces miradas de Viserys, al ceder apreciando que intentaba tranquilizarla con un lenguaje corporal amable. Emitió una pequeña sonrisa y regresó a mirar el suelo, entonces la puerta abriéndose y enseñando al Targaryen en juicio. Brevemente se miraron y luego observaron al Rey, el cual enderezó la espalda e inmediatamente empezó a tratar el desacato.

—Fue mi manera de llevar el infortunio, cada uno actúa de manera distinta —excusó en tono bajo, definitivamente tomándolo desprevenido que lo dicho llegara a la Fortaleza Roja.

Juntando las manos al frente se contuvo de negar ante el carácter de Daemon, especialmente cuando empezó a pelear por su posición en la Corte Real.

—¡Suficiente! He aguantado, he intentado comprenderte y razonar, pero ya no más —gritó Viserys completamente harto—. Toma tu dragón y abandona Desembarco del Rey, vete y busca en otras tierras como ser un hombre decente.

Aquella sentencia de destierro fue inesperada y la femenina los miró intentando dilucidar donde quedaba ella, un tema que el Targaryen menor también consideró.

—¿Harás que deje a mi esposa e hijo?

—Nunca estás con ellos y apenas cumples tus deberes, ¿ahora te preocupa mantener la farsa?

La selección de palabras la congeló de pies a cabeza y por unos momentos dejó de respirar mientras veía al regente con susto.

—¿Te atreves a difamar cuando apenas puedes ser Rey? Es hipócrita señalar cuando tampoco llegas al estándar —frunció el ceño conteniéndose de acercarse, porque sabía que los guardias lo sacarían de la habitación.

Viserys calló un momento e inspiró intentando mantener compostura, entonces mirando a la mujer que secretamente amaba y notando la oportunidad que se presentaba.

—No solo abandonarás estas tierras, Daemon, sino que también anularé tu matrimonio. Te irás y serás libre de revolcarte con cuanta prostituta quieras, pero no ensuciaras más el nombre y la cama de la dama que todos los días ha soportado tu indecencia.

—¿Cómo? —preguntó con un cambio de expresión que erizó los cabellos, los guardias en la habitación preparándose ante la amenaza.

—Una mujer proveniente de la casa Stark no debería vivir en tales condiciones, con un hombre incapaz de valorarla —aseguró al tiempo que inflaba el pecho y elevaba el mentón—. Cuidaré de ella y criaré a Rhaegar como el heredero legitimo al trono que es.

Exponer la verdad le estrujó el corazón en angustia y miedo, inevitablemente soltando un quejido mientras se le humedecían los ojos.

—¿Qué has dicho? —preguntó incrédulo y sin pestañear, al ver la reacción femenina su cuello y nuca tomando color por la furia—. ¿¡No es mi hijo!?

—Lo siento, p-pero nosotros nunca… consumamos el matrimonio —explicó juntando ambas manos en el pecho.

—¡Mientes!

—Las pocas noches que no estabas hasta la mañana en los burdeles llegabas absolutamente ebrio y perdías la conciencia apenas tocabas la almohada —jadeó con el labio inferior temblando.

—¿¡Entonces la solución fue refugiarte en mi hermano!?

—¡Arruinaste el poco amor que te tuve! —defendió exasperada—. Llegué a ver lo bueno en ti hasta que me cambiaste por la Calle de Seda, quise que nos acercáramos y…

—¡Calla! —interrumpió yendo decidido a hacerle quién sabe qué.

—¡Deténganlo! —ordenó Viserys poniéndose de pie, los guardias inmediatamente agarrándolo y alejándolo—. Ya has hecho demasiado daño, no permitiré que lastimes a mi futura esposa.

—¡Desgraciado! —gritó al tiempo que forcejeaba, el movimiento haciendo las armaduras tintinear.

—Sáquenlo, no dejen que siga un día más en Desembarco del Rey.

Asintiendo pequeño, los dos hombres que agarraban al Targaryen empezaron a arrastrarlo fuera del salón. Maldiciones y promesas de retribución retumbaron en las paredes hasta que estuvo lejos, el ambiente siendo pésimo hasta que Rhaenyra apareció con mirada humedecida.

—Crucé a Daemon y dijo… —apretó los labios y tragó intentando no derrumbarse—. ¿Es verdad? —inquirió a pesar de que sabía la respuesta por el aspecto de ambos.

Viserys dudó un momento antes de recordar la confianza que lo llevó a revelar el secreto, firme bajando los escalones del trono.

—Si, Rhaegar es tu hermano.

La noción del parentesco envió un desagradable escalofrío en Rhaenyra, quien tenía la herida de su madre y hermano al rojo vivo. Miró a la mujer y limpió una lagrima rebelde antes de cerrar ambas manos en puños.

—Felicidades, engendraste al próximo Rey —jactó dolida en el proceso de girar y dirigirse a la puerta.

—No fue con ese propósito, ¡amo a tu padre! —declaró desesperada, pero la joven siguió sin mirar atrás.

—Vigilen la entrada —indicó el regente al personal presente, cada uno saliendo y cerrando la puerta para cuidar desde el exterior.

Ambos voltearon al otro y relajaron los hombros, Viserys abriendo los brazos y encerrándola entre ellos.

—Impulsivo, lo que hiciste no tuvo preparación —reclamó contra su pecho, desesperada agarrándolo de la ropa.

—Ciertamente, pero tomé la oportunidad cuando se presentó —explicó al tiempo que la consolaba con delicadas caricias—. Si lo planeábamos habríamos estado mejor mentalizados, pero las reacciones no hubieran cambiado.

—Puede ser… —suspiró insegura, aunque en lo profundo sabía que tenía razón.

—En poco el impacto pasará y podrás disfrutar de finalmente ser libre.

—La gente juzgará por los pasillos —soltó las telas para colocar ambas manos en el pecho de Viserys.

—Nadie es libre de la opinión ajena, pero serás reina y eso te ahorrará varios problemas.

La noción del rol que cumpliría en el futuro le aflojó las rodillas, sin embargo logró aguantar y mirarlo a los ojos.

—¿En serio me harás tu esposa?

—Absolutamente, es momento de elegir con quien compartir mis días —dijo mientras iba a sostenerla de la mejilla—. Te amo, estoy ansioso de vivir contigo y criar en conjunto al pequeño Rhaegar.

—Nuestro hijo —murmuró poniendo una mano sobre la de él.

Cansados y abrumados compartieron un beso amargo por el mal momento vivido, pero un trasfondo dulce otorgaba la fuerza que necesitaban para soportar y luchar por la felicidad.

[hiatuswhore]

♕ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥—ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ɹǝʍoԀ

♕ A/N: I have been having so much fun writing this little mini-series. I have so many ideas and I wish the show wasn’t so new that way I would have more source material to work off. Thank you for all the feedback it’s a great motivator and I love interacting with you all. The Prince and The Street Rat—A Game of Power.

♕ SUMMARY: The world works in mysterious ways and so does the residents of Kings Landing. One never knows what they find in the alleyways and rooftops. Whores, drunks, knights, thieves, sometimes even Princes.

♕ WORD COUNT: 5.4K

♕ WARNING: Suicide is touched on in this chapter.

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You keep the necklace hidden with the kitchen knife. Each morning Aemond joins you for breakfast. The first few hold odd pauses and sheepish glances. You often do not see him until later in the evening, if at all.

You note how he casually asks about your day by the second week. You answer plainly, offering no outlet to further the conversation. Weeks turn to moons without the faintest clue of what occurs outside the castle walls.

Aemond makes it his business to provide you with a bookshelf. You find a large portion of the books you once debated about in the past. Others are recommendations or ones he believes you will like. These books consume your days, and the room appears smaller and smaller with each passing second. A hollowness sits in the core of your chest, waiting and watching as pieces of yourself become distant memories.

Your silent compliance earns you strolls through the garden under the watch of guards. You use this time just as the sun rises, the judgmental eyes of nobleman still resting. You curse the servants for waking you at your requested hour the first few times. Still, you rise and bathe before first light breaks. You sit in the middle of the garden as the sky scintillates with rays of gold. By the time the golden rays evaporate into the unrelenting beaming of the sun, you are back in your chambers, breaking your fast with Aemond.

"How was the gardens?" The sounds of silverware hitting plates supplants the silence. You focus on the strawberries on your plate as he stares at you.

"Very nice," You say, scooping a spoon full you grimace, the sweetness souring on your tongue. Reaching forward for you grab your wine glass, taking slow sips, staring off aimlessly. The painstakingly slow morning moves at a snail's pace, and you silently praise the gods when the war council meeting time arrives. Aemond's departures are as torturous as his arrivals. It's clear you provide warmth and humor in your friendship. You watch as he fails to piece together words that will garner a reaction, only earning blank stares and curt nods in acknowledgment. The absence of your efforts speaks volumes, and you are sure the gods laugh at your distant dreams.

"It is not your time," Alicent speaks barely above a whisper. Holding you close, she rocks back and forth, humming quietly. Her shushing mixes with your hiccups filling the room as Ser Criston lingers by the door. You meet his sympathetic gaze as the Dowager Queen cradles you like a mother does their child. You cry until your throat burns raw and tears crust to your cheek.

"It is not your time," Alicent speaks barely above a whisper. Holding you close, she rocks back and forth, humming quietly. Her shushing mixes with your hiccups filling the room as Ser Criston lingers by the door. You meet his sympathetic gaze as the Dowager Queen cradles you like a mother does their child. You cry until your throat burns raw and tears crust to your cheek.

They will think me mad; they will lock me away. Swallowing thickly, you lean out of her touch, grabbing her hands fervently. A craze dancing in your eyes, the remorse in your raspy pleas consuming the space between you, "My apologies, your grace. It was only a momentary lapse in judgment—I can be better, I will be better!"

"Calm yourself, child. I know. I know," She coos, wiping your tears from your cheeks, staring down at your skepticism with an unknown warmth. You recoil from her touch, scampering to the foot of your bedpost. Shaking your head, you wrap your arms around the leg of the frame. She wants something. Alicent rises to her feet, stepping forward; she halts as you flinch back. "We will talk soon, okay? A servant will stay in your chambers to ensure another lapse of judgment does not occur."

You stay clutching the bottom of the bedpost well past Alicent's departure. The chamber doors do not open again until she returns. A deep sigh leaves her lips at the sight of you. The sharp-tongued girl she met all those years ago now sits before her, unrecognizable, your fire simmering. Alicent orders the servants to run a bath, and she crouches down, gently taking you in her arms. She helps you rise to your feet as you struggle across the room.

Easing you into the wash basin, she hums an unfamiliar tune. You hug your knees in the water as she carefully works a brush through your hair coils that shrink from water absorption. Her fingertips bring a long-forgotten calm.

"Ow!" You whined, grimacing as your father failed and struggled with the brush against your hair. "Pa, you have to go softer! Start at the ends and work your way up."

"Sorry," He murmured. You were not sure whose home you were in and made it your business to not ask questions. "I just have a few more jobs, and we'll have our place. Maybe even your own room."

"Really?" Your eyes glistened with excitement as your father nodded his head. His big dreams and empty promises invigorated your tiny stature with unfounded realities.

"Come on, my girl. We have to finish up," He said. Then, guiding you back, he held you so your hair was consumed in the water. You closed your eyes as he rubbed at your scalp. The water circled your chin and forehead, but your ease faltered not once.

Your body stiffens as Alicent tilts you back. She cups water in her hand, rinsing the soap off the sides of your ears. Your eyes stay wide open as you note her every movement. The water cools as she finishes rinsing and detangling your hair. She helps you into your nightgown and sits on the edge of the bed as you settle beneath the furs.

"You want something from me," A yawn leaves your lips as the words muffle into a sleepy murmur. Exhaustion blankets your eyelids making them heavy. You struggle to stay vigilant as Alicent reaches forward, pulling the fire higher up. Her presence blurs into a foggy haze without a beginning or end.

Aemond arrives the following day, making no comment about what his mother undoubtedly told him. Instead, he knowingly eyes you without letting his thoughts leave his lips. You stare past him at the bottom of your wardrobe. Aemond follows your gaze, his eyebrows furrowing as he drops his fork against his plate, this does not break your stupor, and the room remains silent.

"I was thinking perhaps we could take a stroll through the city," Your head whips to Aemond as your eyebrows pull knit. He bites the inside of his cheek, watching as you eye him closely. After several seconds a sigh leaves your lips.

"Too dangerous. One wrong turn, and we're both dead," You mutter, shaking your head. Reaching for your glass, Aemond's hand takes your own. You stiffen, eyeing his hand on your own as he tilts his head to meet your gaze.

"Is that your desire to be dead?" The question stills the room as you look him in the eye. Pulling your hand from his, you wipe the back of it against your escaping tears.

"I cannot continue like this, Aemond. Four walls and a book to keep me company. This isn't living. It isn't fair. What could I have possibly done to deserve this?" Rising from your seat, you clutch your stomach, a cry leaving your lips as he stands from his own. Aemond stands before you, cautiously reaching out as you pull away from him. "Why are you hurting me, Aemond?"

"I love you more than I—"Aemond takes your hands, flinching as you shove him back with all your might. The despondence in your tone shatters the faux reality of your gilded cage, "You hurt me."

The two of you stare at the other without another word. Your head pounds as the center of your forehead tears in two.

"You hurt me ceaselessly and then have the gall to feign confusion of my distance, my growing ire, my slipping sanity. Tell me, Aemond, why do you hurt me so?" Taking his hand, you watch as he looks at everything but you. Grabbing his chin, you turn his face forward, looking him intently in the eye.

"I—let me fix this. I can fix this," Aemond's resolve crumbles in your touch. He takes your face in his hands, leaning his forehead to your own. "None of it has ever mattered. Victory, glory, title—from the moment you struck me in the street, I have not been able to imagine a life without you in it. You're my pride and joy. I never meant to hurt you."

"So, where do we go from here?" You croak, leaning into his touch, gripping the edge of his tunic. Aemond pulls back, looking down at you with an adoration unlike before.

"Can you give me a few days?" He asks, sighing; you recoil from his touch, but he quickly recaptures you. "I just need time to arrange something safe and discreet. Somewhere I can join you at war's end if you'll have me?"

Your eyes narrow as you pry yourself from Aemond's touch. Shaking your head, you shoot a scathing glare.

"You want something from me. Your mothers' kindness, the garden strolls, and the prospect of freedom. You think me a fool?" You scoff, the incredulous expression consuming you.

"I do not. You are right. There is something to be asked of you. We are in communication with Rhaenyra and her forces. The prospect of a negotiation has been levied. My sister will send my nephew in her stead but will only accept you as our representative," Aemond explains. Your eyes dart to your wardrobe as you process the information. "I am expected to return to the council with an answer this afternoon. They will not take no for an answer, and I know you will not willingly be a piece on their chess board. My offer is not to force your hand but to make this worth your troubles. To begin mending what I have broken."

"I will not aid my captors in their war," You cross your arms, watching Aemond nod his head.

"I cannot stop whatever the council decides to do to force your hand. But they will (Y/n)," Aemond says. Stepping forward, he kisses your temple. Instinctively, you raise your hand, flinching as he catches your wrist in midair. "I will fix us. I swear this to you."

No word of anything out of the ordinary arrives for two days. A servant stays stationed in the corner of your room at all hours. Each eye you warily when you linger by your window. Aemond's offer remains at the front of your mind, his mention of the war council leaving you dumbfounded.

"Lady (Y/n)," The chamber door opening reveals a Gold Cloak standing fully armored. Your stomach flips as he gestures for you to follow him. In the corridor, you note every turn from your chambers as you descend further into the unknown. You do not bother to ask where he's leading you. He will not answer. Stopping at a chamber door, he steps to the side, "You will only have a moment before we attend to your summons from the King."

Your eyes bounce between the guard and the chamber door. Pushing it open slowly, you peer in with prudence. A gasp leaves your lips as Taliya meets your gaze first. Dirt litters her skin as she looks at you with wide eyes.

“(Y/n)! Oh, thank the gods, you are okay. We were beside ourselves with worry when we received word of your capture," Taliya grips you tight before cupping your face. A feeble smile paints her features as she looks you over. You stare wordlessly between her and Daltis as a dizzying wave of nausea shoots through you.

"You don't hate me?" Your words leave you as a whisper. Daltis chuckles as though you tell an old joke, kissing the top of your head.

"Now, why would that be?" Daltis asks. You gasp at the scars that peek out from his sleeves. Ones you know without a doubt were not there before.

"It's all my fault. I am so sorry. He's dead because of me," You shudder as everything spills from you in another mind-numbing wave of emotions. "Cayde, he helped me, and I left him to die. He—"

"Loved you," Taliya finishes, bringing her hand to your cheek. She wipes your tear away with her thumb. "He loved you so much. You made an honorable man out of him. While, oh, I feel faint."

You grip her elbows as she stumbles back, steadying her in your arms. Daltis reveals their two-day stay in the dungeons with little food.

"I will fix this. I swear it!" You say, rushing to the chamber door. You ignore their calls for you, swinging the door open with a newfound purpose. The guard stands, ignoring your grimace as you exit the room. You march with purpose through the halls before stopping in another unknown sector of the castle. The orator announces your name, stepping aside to reveal a grand room. A long table sits in the middle holding familiar and unfamiliar faces. Locking eyes with Otto Hightower, you do hide your scowl. "I'll do it. I'll meet with the Blacks. Release them now!"

Much of the council turns to Aegon, who sits at the head of the table. Your eyes stay on Otto's smug demeanor, telling you all you need to know. The King does not rule; Otto Hightower does.

"You dare approach the council with such disrespect. Who has emboldened you so? Your grace, I will gladly give you her tongue," The nameless lord glares daggers, and your words sharpen like a blade's end, leaving you instinctively, "Perhaps I'll give him yours."

The chain reaction set off by your vindictive words sends the room into utter disarray. Yells for Lord Lannister fill the space as a blur of silver strands stand between you and the easily angered lord holding a dagger. Ser Criston calls for peace with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"So the rumors are true. You would dare destroy the alliance with Lord Baratheon for a bastard. You forget we are at war," Lord Lannister seethes, glaring at you over Aemond's shoulder. Aemond twirls the dagger between his fingers, tilting his head to capture Lannister's gaze.

"You forget you speak to the Prince of the realm. Lord Lannister," Aemond's emphasis on the title stills grimacing man, his resolve dissolving before your eyes. Otto speaks chillingly as he orders the council back to their respective seats. You remain standing in the center of the room, glancing at Aegon, who appears more decorative to the panel than an actual productive member.

"Word will be sent to Princess Rhaenyra and her forces. Lady (Y/n) will leave to meet with Prince Jacaerys in Riverrun on the morrow. Her message will be clear and unrelenting, bend the knee to King Aegon the second and swear obeisance. At the behest of the dowager Queen, all whom act in rebellion will be pardoned," Otto holds your gaze, and the round table remains in silent agreeance no matter their personal opinions. All eyes fall on you. Keeping your chin up, you square your shoulders, raising an eyebrow in mocking defiance.

"And when they refuse? What is my message then?" You scoff as your eyes narrow, earning a hum of disapproval from Lord Lannister. Otto merely chuckles, a faint smile taking his lips. Aemond purses his lips to cover the smile that threatens them.

"Swear obeisance or die," Your back stiffens as though he shares a secret only for you. The rise of his eyebrows makes your eye twitch as he awaits your next move. His message clear, and this time not for Rhaenyra or her forces but for you.

"It will be done," You say, clasping your hands in front of you; Aegon's the one to dismiss you. A pitiful display of power as he sits at the head of the table battling an evident hangover, his mind elsewhere. You turn to the guard in the hall, "I wish to return to Daltis and Taliya."

"You are to return to your chambers by order of the Lord Hand," He turns down the hall, walking without delay. Balling your fists, you stomp behind the guard glaring daggers into the back of his head as you imagine it to be Lord Hightower, that bastard. A strangled huff of frustration leaves your lips as you scowl through the halls. In your chambers, you fail to stop pacing, even at the instruction of the servant who knits quietly in the corner.

"You dizzy yourself. Pacing only furthers your distress," Roslyn says. Unlike the other servants, the raven-haired girl speaks plainly. If word of your previous escape sits within her knowledge, she gives no inkling of it.

"This wretched family has wrought nothing but trouble, and now my dealings affect the very few loved ones I have. Pacing keeps me from going mad, and madness makes me impulsive," You say, hands on your hips as you watch Roslyn pause. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks up at you.

"If I am understanding correctly, you threatened Lord Lannister, who is on the war council, and in not so many words challenged the Hand of the King? It appears impulsivity is naturally in your nature," Her almond-shaped eyes pierce into you with a mocking glint. You cross your arms, smirking at her bold defiance.

"Well, aren't you a brazen one. Do tell, why do you address me with such familiarity?" Roslyn returns to her knitting as though she resides without care. A familiar pattern of blue in her lap as she works with careful precision.

"A Kings Landing bastard obtaining the affections of a Prince. As a girl, I heard the whispers and thought them mere tales. Until I saw you once, flaunting your dalliance through the streets without care. Then you create the most intriguing gossip, a maddening escape that somehow worked. I heard the whispers of your escape and recapture. You have quite many silent supporters. You are a little inspiration for us nameless people in the kingdom. The crown is doing everything imaginable to keep your declining health under wraps," Your pacing halts as your eyebrows pinch. Roslyn continues her knitting, only peaking up at you with a knowing smile. She appears unaffected by the intensity of your stare. Your search for deception proves fruitless. You narrow your eyes taking a step back, glancing at your wardrobe just feet away. "You can certainly reach for whatever will bring you ease. Even kill me in the name of safety. I am a servant who will care? But you cannot stop what is coming."

"And who masters you?" Your question earns a hearty laugh as Roslyn wets her lips. Her eyes on the thin fabric between her fingers.

"The people of the realm. You have given us an opportunity low-borns nearly never have a chance at—power. You were born a bastard. You will die a Princess," Roslyn says, dropping her hands to her lap; she smiles at you like a giddy child. The frivolity in her eyes contrasts the weight she burdens you with. Your lips part but nothing leaves you. "I imagine this is a lot to process. While I admire you, I certainly do not envy you."

The chamber door opens, revealing the next servant to take watch. Roslyn rises, claiming your hands as long-time friends do. She smiles sweetly, almost unnervingly, "Your company is a pleasure here in court. Be at ease, my lady. Many watch over you, men and women, even children. From here all the way to Pentos."

The revelation of her watch on you makes the room turn as your mind Tregaro sits in the front of your mind. His influx of coins and consistent presence in your vicinity hits you like glass against the floor. You grab her wrist tightly as she moves by you. Pulling her in close, you ignore how the servant keeps her gaze on the floor. Roslyn smiles as you speak for her ears only, "Desist whatever machinations you conjure."

"Dread it, run from it, destiny arrives all the same, and now it's here. You will go down in the histories. Make it your choice and not their force," She curtsies as your grip loosens. You stand in the same spot, her words ceaselessly looping in your mind.

You retire to your bed, spent by the days' obstacles. Ignoring the servants' presence in the corner, you burrow yourself beneath the furs. Sleep nearly claims you. Tapping at the chamber door holds you hostage in the conscious world. The chamber door unlocks, and the servant rises, announcing Prince Aemond.

"What do I owe the pleasure at this inappropriate hour?" You do not move from beneath the furs and are sure he rolls his eyes.

"Get dressed. We're going for a walk," He says. Sitting up, you narrow your eyes as he tosses a dark cloak onto your bed. His own cloak covers his telling Targaryen hair.

"It is quite late," You say, glancing at your window. He holds his hands behind his back, raising an eyebrow at your skeptical gaze.

"For a lady of the court, of course. If memory serves me right, you are not. Am I correct in my observations?" A grin sits on his lips as you roll your eyes. You grumble beneath your breath as you rise, ignoring the servant's pleas for you to change out of view of the Prince. The absence of a corset beneath the gown adds bagginess to the bodice. You tie the cloak tightly to remedy the empty feeling. Aemond keeps his hood pulled as he leads you through the desolate halls. You frown as he guides you through a chamber door, the rooms rather bland but larger than yours. Bookshelves decorate almost every open wall beside the space filled by a bed and a desk. You scoff, punching his arm with all your might.

"What in the seven hells was that for?" He questions, meeting your furious gaze.

"You think I am some easy whore you can bring to your bed chamber as you please?" Your ridicule earns an exasperated huff. Turning away from you, he walks to the large painting beside his bed. Aemond opens it revealing a passageway; he steps to the side, gesturing for you to go first. Your gaze bounces between him and the grim corridor in contemplation.

"Do you truly think me a monster?" Narrowing his eyes, disbelief paints his face. Your demeanor softens, opting to walk into the unknown rather than answer his question. Aemond takes your hand, murmuring to watch your steps, the low visibility constricting your movements. You linger back, allowing Aemond to lead the way. The beginning of the city and end of the secret passageway blurs, the torch lights greeting you.

Aemond slows, joining your side as the two of you ease through the crowd. You ignore how he watches you take in the sight, the merchants yelling amid a consistent flow of movement. Your chest knots at the views and sounds before you that appear almost foreign. A play garners a large crowd. They mock the black Queen and drunk King. You both linger toward the back, inhaling sharply as Aemond's name's thrown. Their jeering starts with derogatory comments about his eye. Though his hood hides him, you can see his jaw clench as his gaze fixates on the actors. The reenactment of Lucerys Velaryon's death makes your head whip to the stage. People around you cheer happily as your mind wanders to the sweet Prince. You never did make good on your promise of a second dance. A rather useless thought, but still, it crosses your mind.

"Let's go," Aemond says, re-securing his hood; you note how he walks deeper into the city. You struggle to keep up as he weaves through the side streets effortlessly—a creeping sense of familiarity makes your heart hammer. Stopping in the middle of the street, hell fire sits in your throat as Aemond stops several paces up the road. He looks back at you, the hood falling from your head, revealing the hesitance that plants your feet on the ground. Your center of gravity shifts as you take a shaky step forward. He meets you halfway, taking your arm to keep you steady. You pull your arm away from his hold at the dead end, glaring at nothing in particular. You take a deep breath failing to keep your composure. None of it's right. No Harwin. No Cayde. No dodging Gold Cloaks. No more jobs from Mysaria or coming and going as you please. It's all different.

"We do not have to go up if you do not wish to," Aemond murmurs, leaning forward to capture your gaze. You blink back several times, bringing the back of your hand to wipe away all evidence of your thoughts.

"I likely cannot make this jump anymore anyway," You murmur. Peering at the ground, you fiddle with the strings of your cloak, taking long deep breaths to combat the light tremble of your chest.

"What harm comes from trying?" Your eyes cut up to the worn clay wall. Aemond takes a few steps back, a curt smile on his lips. More chips in the wall sit ever-present; eyeing them carefully, you chew the inside of your cheek. Then, letting the tension in your shoulders fall, you rush forward, your left foot falling short on the wall as the train of your dress blocks your right leg from reaching far enough. Heavy panting covers the obscenities you mutter beneath your breath on your fourth try.

"Okay, I am done! It is late, and this is utterly ridiculous!" You pull your hood on your head, stomping down the road. Grumbling to yourself, the lack of Aemond's brooding presence brings you pause. You turn back to find he has not moved from his spot, his hands clasp behind his back, "Are you awaiting an invitation, your grace?"

"No. Just for you, to scale that wall. You can and you will," His matter-of-fact tone makes your blood boil, marching forward you square your shoulders as you step toward him.

"I can't, and I won't. I'm returning to the Keep with or without you," The sardonic smile on his lips only fuels the flames of your fury.

"You are climbing that wall by order of the Prince of the realm. I command it," You let out a loud huff ripping the cloak from your shoulders. Aemond does nothing as you take his dagger, tearing up the side of your dress. Returning his blade, you turn to the wall, rushing forward. Your left foot finds the divot, but your right knee hits the wall with an aching smack, wincing you step back. With a shaky breath, you swallow thickly as frustration weighs heavy on your chest. "Take a breath and try again."

Ignoring him, you rush forward, your left foot missing entirely, leaving you rushing the wall with a languid jump. You kick the wall leaning your head against it, the coals in your throat growing hotter by the second. Backing up, you use your shoulder to discard the stray tears. Running forward, your left foot sticks perfectly, and you swing your right leg up, missing by hairs, as your arms keep you upright.

"No. No. No!" You cry out, running your feet against to wall as your arms ache beneath your weight. A sob leaves your lips in a mix of frustration and grief as you linger halfway up the wall. You flinch as hands take your waist, lightening the load. Your head whips down to find Aemond looking up at you. His face lacks a distinct emotion, only studying your own to guide his next course of action. Neither of you says a word, the silence louder than anything around you. He keeps you upright as your leg swings over, and you move slowly across before stopping short. Aemond climbs up without issue, lingering behind you as you take in the roof. A new hammock sits with a blanket and a large chalice of wine. The view of the city no longer brings the previous comfort. Despite the loose bodice, your chest tightens into itself with a suffocating squeeze.

"Why are you doing this?" The pressure in your chest explodes, leaving an ache in its place. You fiddle with your fingers as his cloak casts a shadow on his face. The indiscernible chatter comes with a veil of deja-vu. Above, the moon shines full, leaving a glow in the shadows of Kings Landing. "You don't look at me the same anymore. I miss us, the version of us up here. You hate me, and I deserve your ire—your resentment, but I love you. Selfishly I want your love though I do not deserve it."

"So what, Aemond? You think a sentimental night in the city and some sweet nothings wash away all that your family has brought to my life? That you have brought to my life," Your voice cracks, the accusatory tone matching your questioning stare. Aemond scans around you in a desperate search of the words he's looking for—the ones to make you love him again.

Bringing your hands to your temples, a long sigh leaves your lips. Every hug, laugh, and moment of warmth collides violently with the new versions of yourselves. Neither of you moves for minutes, avoiding the other's gaze. Your sniffle breaks the silence as you wipe away all proof of this rooftop's significance. Aemond watches as you snatch the wine and plop into the hammock. Your feet dangle as you unscrew the top.

"You remember those first few times you would visit me? I would insult you, and your entitlement would just spew out of you into the most sharp-tongued insults you could manage," Staring up at the sky, your lips curl into a smile as your eyes crinkle as though you eye something distant. Aemond's chuckle reaches your ears, but still, he remains the silent observer, "Even then, I could not bring myself to hate you. To give you my rage, and believe me, there was a lot, still is."

Your eyebrows furrow as you are met with further silence. Shifting up, you find Aemond shifting on the balls of his feet, holding out the wine; you speak in a breathless huff, "Are you to be a man of the night's watch, or shall you join a poor bastard down on her luck for a drink?"

"Truly did not think this would work," Aemond admits, taking the wine from your hand. You lean back as the hammock creaks from your and Aemond's weight.

"Me either. Perhaps it's rather difficult to not emphasize when brought to the place where you were a teary-eyed lout," You say. A lopsided grin takes your lips as you bite the inside of your cheek. Aemond manages to not spit up the wine that catches in his throat, earning a heady laugh from you. "I guess I am the teary-eyed lout these days."

"I could have your head for that," Amusement laces his words as he keeps his foot planted on the ground, gently rocking the hammock.

"Well, I am your prisoner," You meet his eye, a longing tenderness in his features. You say nothing as he studies you closely. He trails his hand from your wrist down to your palm, his eyes holding a curious focus.

"As I am yours. You know, not of all you mean to me," Aemond says, handing the wine back to you. You take a large gulp, eyes training on the stars. Both of you fall into a quiet daze, pondering the other's words.

"I still despise your family," You break the silence, relishing in the lull of the swaying hammock. Still, neither of you moves to look at the other. A chuckle filling the silence from the brooding Prince.

For a moment, the first time in a long time. Lady (Y/n) and Prince Aemond were nowhere to be found. Just the Prince and the Street Rat, "We could figure it out."

[fromforeigntofamiliarity]

Hell Hath No Fury | Aemond Targaryen

Request: Yes

Summary: Aemond has become distant and you find out why.

Warning: blood, miscarriage, cheating, assault

Hell Hath No Fury Masterlist

You couldn't believe it.

He was the good brother, the dutiful son, the valiant knight... the faithful husband. There was no way that your Aemond wouldn't do this to you. 

This explains why he was traveling so often to Harrenhal away from you for so long when you needed him the most, you thought as you rubbed your swollen belly staring at the piece of paper in your hand. 

He had gotten that whore pregnant, and from the letter it seemed you two were both soon to give birth.  

Alys Rivers, the strong Bastard, the Witch...Yet another thing you two had in common, maybe your husband had a type.

This was it. the beginning of the end. If Alys Rivers gave birth to that child there is nothing that would stop her from coming to court, having her child legitimized, having Aemond take her as a mistress, bringing shame and embarrassment upon you and your child.

No.

"Push princess, push." The midwife needlessly instructed as someone wiped the sweat from your brow. 

"I do appreciate your help and respect and acknowledge that you have helped bring many royals into this world so please forgive me when I say, 'please shut the fuck up and let me concentrate." You yelled back as you took two deep breaths before closing your eyes and letting your head fall backwards. 

Opening your eyes again you see your in a hallway standing in front of a door, you can still hear the midwives telling you to push. placing your hand in the door you push it open slowly as you see the sight of Alys Rivers and Aemond in bed together. 

His arm is wrapped around her, as they are both naked it isn't hard to guess what it was that had made them so tired. Walking into the room you hear the door close behind you just as you stand right above them. As if sensing your presence Alys' eyes snap open and stare up at you. 

She opens her mouth to wake Aemond before you stop her. 

"Don't bother calling out, her can't hear us." You informed her reaching for his arm and throwing it away from her��causing his to shift in his sleep and turn over. "No one can. From the look on your face I can tell you know exactly who I am, which is amusing considering I knew nothing of you a moon ago."

"I know this must be upsetti-."

"No! You don't because you are not his wife, you are not the one he married and swore loyalty to only to turn around and impregnate some whore." You sneered at her as she flinched back. "What was your plan? to take my husband, become and mistress, you seek to replace me and my child?" You asked as she simply shook her head in denial. 

"It was never meant to happen like this, but I love Aemond and he loves me, I'm sorry that you are hurt by this but that is the truth of it. I never thought I would be able to have children but this is a gift that Aemond has given to me and we both are thankful to be having it, but that does not mean he is any less thankful for your child and I promise you that I mean no harm to your life, marriage or the life of your child."  Alys rushed to explain. Taking a moment you look on at this women in bed with your husband and think of her words.

"Words....are not enough." You say before Alys' body is forced down into the bed. Leaning over her you pulled the sheets from her body exposing her milky skin to the cold air. 

"What are you doing?" Alys asked as she struggled against the invisible force. 

"Don't worry I am simply righting a wrong," You informed her as you pulled a knife from your dress. "The child that grows inside of you belongs to my husband"  You continue as you placed the blade to her belly.

"No! Please no." Alys pleads as she fight to get away from you. "I'm beg you please. I have wronged you I admit but my child is innocent, Aemond's child is innocent." 

"I know." You say before plunging the knife into her womb as she lets out a blood curtailing scream. Once the cut was made you reached inside of her wound ignoring the blood and cries of the women as you pull the child from her body. Cradling the child in your arm you softly coo to the child as Alys lets out another round of sobs. "Please do not morn for the child will live, but it will be birthed by me, as should all children of my husband." 

Turning and walking away the door slowly creaks back open allowing you to walk back into the hall. "Though I am very thankful for this gift you and my husband have given to me Alys, I trust it will be the last one" You say before the door closes once again. 

"Just one more push my princess." You left you head once again over come with the pain of child birth. "Here it comes." After one more push the room is filled with the cries of your child. 

"A prince, you have given birth to a prince." The midwife announced moving to retrieve a blanket for the newborn. She began to hand you your child before you leaned forward and let out a painful groan. "The afterbirth."

another midwife crouched between your leg as you groan in pain. "No there is a head, there is another babe." She informed sending the room into another round of panic as you were instructed again to push.

"Another prince." She soon declares as the second child begins to cry. 

 Cradling both babes in your arms you look down at the two clearly Targaryen princes with a small smile, Alicent entered the room quickly making it to your side "Aemon and  Armon." You names them as she looks to her grandchildren made my her favorite son. 

***

It had been three days since Aemond woke to Alys' screams, the sheets around her covered in blood as she cradled her stomach. The maesters said it was a miscarriage, but Alys insisted that it wasn't, when Aemond tried to comfort her she yelled for him to leave her and refused to be near him. After the second day of trying he chose to return to Kingslanding where is was notified that his wife had given birth to twin boys. 

Entering the chambers he sees his wife cooing at the two newborns laying on their bed. Turning towards your husband your eyes widen. "Aemond, I thought you were Beth to assist me with taking the twins to midday meal, the family wished to meet them." 

"Well I am sorry to disappoint you," Aemond teased walking closer to the bed. "But I promise I can try to be as good as Beth until she arrives." 

"Oh stop." You laughed a bit before letting out a sigh. "Actually I am glad that you are here, I wanted to speak with you."

"What is it you wish to speak of?" He asked rubbing his knuckle along Aemon's face.

"I know that this marriage started as an arrangement, but I understand that at the time we both believed that we become fond of each other and perhaps even love, and I thought that we had begun to share these feeling but I realize that I can not hold you to promises we made as children." You now had his full attention. "And if it is what you want, I will not fight you on seeking annulment."

"You have been distant and it was not until the twins were born that I realize just how distant you've become, we used to spend time together, reading, painting, laughing but I gave birth for the first time and my husband was not to be found." You explained. "I do not blame you for not returning my feeling or for pulling away but I can't live thinking that I'm driving you from your home or thinking that this distance between us will affect our children." 

"Please," Aemond says grabbing your hand and kneeling at your side. "Your feeling are returned I swear it to you, my distance is of no fault of your own."

"Then what is it?" You pleaded looking into his eyes. "I wish for you to be there for our children, for them to love and be moved by you. You once told me you didn't want to be like your father, I do not want this either."

Looking into your eyes Aemond knew he couldn't tell you the reason, he knew it would break your heart and he couldn't do that to you not after you had just given him two son, not ever. "It matters not, It will never happen again." He assures giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "I will not be the father viserys was to me and I will not be the husband he was to my mother. You three are my life and I will spend every second to assure that you know it. 

"My princess It is time for your midday meal with your family." Beth informed entering the chambers.

"Thank you Beth would you please hold Aemon and I will take Armon you instruct as Aemond stands and helps you from the bed. Standing and walking towards the door you asked Beth to please walk ahead of you. "I thank you for hearing me Aemond and I do hope this isn't asking to much but I also must ask something else of you." 

Aemond nodded as he rubs his hand up and down your back in comfort. 

"I wish for this to be a pleasant occasion so I must ask you not fight with Jace and Luke, though it seems you have grown quite fond of Strong bastards as of late." You say before walking ahead leaving his frozen in the door way of the room.  

Part Two

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 8

The rumors surrounding Rhaenyra’s children only got worse when her third child had been born.

Ysilla was now a girl of fifteen. She was very different from the skinny little child that had left Runestone so long ago. People would describe her as elegant, intelligent, and beautiful. She had grown to be graceful, as much as her dragon was. And as Dārysyr, her fierce was known by now. Her dragon had grown large and powerful; his muscles were well-formed, and his wings were strong. Ysilla went flying on Dragonback once a week. She would have liked to do it more, but she had her studies and her duties.

Just a couple of years before, Ysilla had the chance to speak with the Alchemists of King’s Landing, and she had been left very fascinated.

“Vysenia was said to be familiar with dark magic,” she said one day, sitting beneath the Hearth Tree as she observed Aemond practicing combat movements with a stick.

“You want to be Vysenia born again?” He asked, fighting against air.

“Do you think I’d made a fool of myself?” She asked with a little smile as she looked at the boy.

“No,” he answered, turning to her, “I think you are as willed as her. But with the grace of Rhaenys.”

Graceful. Yes. Ysilla had grown up to be very grateful. She knew how to bow, to speak, and to dance. The court was well impressed by her. And from Runestone, her aunt Jeyne was hoping for a good arranging for Ysilla. Not only because she had become very well respected by the people in King’s Landing but also because Queen Alicent seemed to have high expectations from Ysilla. She called her her ward.

“She probably wishes for you to be wed to one of her sons,” that rumor had reached her aunt Jeyne as well. And she seemed pleased by it in her letters. A Royce on the throne.

Ysilla, on the contrary, had no thirst for power. The thought of ambitions and schemes only reminded her of her father and what he had done to be always a step closer to the Iron Throne. But she was not her father.

The lack of personal ambition, though, did not make her blind to politics and schemes. It was because she knew how harmful they could be that she was always vigilant and observant of what happened in court. Fully aware that knowledge and duty were what was required to keep alliances and peace. She had grown up side by side with the Queen, raised by the same people that raised the princes. She knew that the health of the King was faltered, as did the respect some people had for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when her children started to grow up to become more similar to the Captain of the Guards than her own husband. Everybody knew, and yet the King did nothing. This had also happened ten years before when her father had killed her mother.

“Are you not coming to the pits?” Aegon asked that morning when they were breaking their fast.

“You heard that right,” she answered, smiling at him before taking a sip of her milk.

“You cannot ditch me like this,” he said, leaning towards her with playful eyes, “I’ve promised you today would have been fun.”

Aegon had grown up, but his search for fun and enjoyment had remained the same. “Helaena wished to dance today. You know how I love her and how I enjoy dancing.”

He cocked his head to a side, “More than riding Dārysyr?” Then his hands moved to touch a strain of her hair, “Did I say how I like your hair today?” Ysilla took his hand to push it away. Aegon had always had a fascination with her hair, and since he had started to grow and notice women, he had begun to voice his compliments on her hair and appearance more often than not.

“I love nothing more than Dārysyr,” she answered, looking at the boy. "And we already flew with him and Sunfyre last week.”

Not so long before, Aegon managed to bend Sunfyre, becoming his dragonrider. Sunfyre was known to be the most beautiful dragon alive, and he really was. He had golden scales and pink shades, and even his flames were golden.

“I wasn’t meant to go fly together,” he said, a mischief light in his eyes.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, making him laugh.

“What face?”

“The one that always brings you trouble,” she answered with a glare. He was planning something. She knew him too well to be mistaken. She didn’t have time to ask because the wooden door opened to let Aemond enter the chamber.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Ysilla, brother,” he answered shortly. It was how Aemond was, very different from his older brother. He was composed and dutiful. Less impulsive than Aegon was. “Mother is looking for you, Ysilla.” He said, sitting down.

“That’s why you’re not coming. Because of Mother,” Aegon said, making Ysilla turn to him.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, standing up. Her eyes went from one brother to the other. "I’ll see you both when you return from the pit,” then she looked at Aegon.

“Behave.” He blown her a kiss.

“Like always, my sweet.”

“Stop that,” Aemond said, focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. Ysilla ignored Aegon, making her way towards the door. She wondered why the Queen wanted to see her. Ysilla knew she would have been busy with Rhaenyra after the princess’s labor ended and the third of her children would be born. Rhaenyra had been screaming for hours, and Ysilla stopped to observe the corridor that led to her chambers on her way to the Queen. By the screams, she seemed to be suffering very much. That made her anxious. She knew that it was a woman’s duty to give children to her husband. She just hoped the gods had mercy for them and an easy way to bring life to the world.

“Princess,” Ser Cole was guarding the door, bowing his head as she walked closer.

“Good morrow, Ser,” she answered politely. “I hope your day has been good so far.”

The man smiled, “It is, Princess.” His smile would have made her blush just a few years before. But the more she grew up, the less embarrassing it became to share words with men, even handsome men such as Ser Criston.

When Ysilla entered the chamber, the Queen was standing next to the window, and a serving girl was fixing the back of her dress.

“My Queen,” she greeted, bowing. “Have you asked for me?”

“Good morrow, my dear,” Alicent Hightower smiled kindly at her, “Indeed. Helaena is a little... agitated today."

Helaena had stayed the same in those years. She was still the sweetest girl that Ysilla had ever met. Sweet and gentle. But her queer behavior sometimes agitated even herself. Ysilla had seen Helaena in those moments, and she knew that the princess didn't like to be alone when she was feeling like that.

"We'll find something else to do then," Ysilla answered. They could have taken a walk or talked about bugs. Helaena liked bugs. Ysilla would have found something to ease Helaena's mind.

The Queen smiled at her, putting a hand on her arm. "What a blessing you are." Ysilla returned the gesture, bowing her head in gratitude and respect.

At that moment, the door behind them opened to reveal Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ysilla widened her eyes to see her cousin.

"Rhaenyra," the Queen gasped, "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra answered, trying to keep her trembling voice steady. The pain that she had experienced was well visible on her face, and it was not surprising.

Ysilla had heard Rhaenyra screaming only a few moments before. She knew what happened during labor, and the septa had explained that to her. How could her cousin possibly walk? Or even walking up the stairs?

"You must sit," the Queen said, turning to one of her serving girls, "Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.” The girl bowed and turned to attend Rhaenyra.

“There’s no need,” Rhaenyra said. By the Queen insisted.

Ysilla followed Alicent as they walked towards the couple. Rhaenyra had finally accepted sitting down with Laenor's help, but seeing her in pain and holding her newborn baby, Ysilla felt like moving so that she could help her cousin sit. As the girl touched her arm, the Princess turned to look at her. A small smile appeared on her lips, probably still trying to hide her pain. It was well-known how stubborn Rhaenyra was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“There’s no need,” Ysilla answered, then exchanging a look with the Queen.

Alicent was observing the baby like she had done with Lucerys just a few years before. Ysilla knew what she was thinking: even this child had nothing of Ser Laenor in him.

As Ysilla went back to stand next to the Queen, King Viserys entered the chamber with a huge smile on his face. “What happy news this morning,” he exclaimed.

The years had not been gentle to the King. His body was weaker and more fragile. His skin had gotten paler and his hair thinner. The condition of his left hand had gotten worse. He first lost just three fingers, but it kept getting worse until the Maester decided that it was better to cut off the entire arm. Even so, Ysilla’s uncle tried to maintain a positive attitude, always smiling at everyone.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Leanor, taking the child in his arms to present him to the King. Ysilla observed Rhaenyra’s husband’s face as he looked at the baby. He smiled happily and proudly. Could he really be so blind? He had never seemed such a man to Ysilla. It was true, though, that he was not very present as a father.

He is more present than mine, anyway. She thought as she observed the unbothered son of Corlys Velaryon pass the child to the King. But even in his expression, Ysilla could not see surprise or disappointment. She could not understand why both men acted so blindly about the behavior of the future Queen? Why did her actions have no repercussions? Everybody knew, everybody whispered. And yet the King did nothing.

He must truly love her, if he is protecting her like that. Ysilla thought, observing the happiness on Viserys’ face.

“A fine Prince,” he said, his eyes looking at every one of them. Ysilla smiled, lowering her eyes. “Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.”

Surely, Ysilla thought. If the rumors were true and his father was Ser Harwin Strong, he surely could have become a terrific fighter as an adult. Breakbone was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Does the babe have a name yet?” The Queen asked with curiosity.

Rhaenyra took a breath, “We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Ser Leanor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

Ysilla looked between them, hoping that her face did not give away the kind of thought she had in mind. Had they spoken of it or not? Did Rhaenyra agree with such a name?

“An unusual name for a Velaryon.” The Queen was speaking the truth. Velaryon came from Valyria as much as the Targaryens. Their names came from Old Valyria to keep the traditions. But it wasn’t only their costume: in the Seven Kingdoms, all the Noble Houses had names and family names. Ysilla’s name was a Royce name. Her mother, Lady Rhea, had done it on purpose. Ysilla’s father could be a Targaryen, but she had Royce’s blood in her veins as well.

“I do believe he has his father’s nose,” Ysilla would have frowned at the King’s words, but she had to keep her composure, so she decided to look at Rhaenyra and smile at her. The Princess did the same, but there was no truth behind that gesture. They were both aware of what was happening.

The King chuckled, still focused on Joffrey, and soon after, Laenor did the same before clearing his throat.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest,” Ser Laenor said, ready to help his wife get on her feet.

“Of course,” the King answered. The Queen was soon at his side, taking Joffrey in her hands. Ysilla moved aside when she saw the King walking closer to his daughter, but she didn’t walk very far, curious about what they would have talked about.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said with tenderness. Such a tone forced Ysilla to lower her eyes, fully aware that her father would never have such sweetness for her. If she’ll ever see him again. She knew that he was an Essos with his lady wife and their two twin daughters. She wondered how he was fathering them. If he was cold and cruel like he had been to her so long ago. Ten years had passed, and yet she remembered the way he had looked at her as he said that he felt nothing for his firstborn daughter.

“I do hope the labor was easy,” the King said as Ysilla walked towards the Queen, who was giving the baby back to Ser Leanor.

“Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Sooner or later, you may get one that looks like you.” She had said it so politely, but her intentions were quite clear—she was voicing the thoughts of the entire court. The man looked startled, and when he noticed Ysilla standing there, she didn’t say anything. She only smiled, with no true intention behind it.

Rhaenyra then walked towards her husband before they both left the chamber. Ysilla bowed gracefully as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

“What a happy day,” the King exclaimed full of happiness.

The Queen lowered her eyes from next to him. “Indeed, my love,” she answered.

The whole situation was against everything that politics and duty required. Ysilla could understand why her uncle was protecting his daughter, but her King was making a fool of himself. And whispers could only get louder and louder, not only against Rhaenyra but against the King as well. He was not only Rhaenyra’s father; he was the Protector of the Realm, of the peace of the Realm. How would the realm answer once the King had left that world? What was ahead of them? That uncertainty was heavy in her heart. Politics could be ruthless, and it could reclaim anyone’s life.

“You wanted to dance, I’m sorry,” Helaena was saying as they walked in the corridors of the Red Keep.

“Nonsense, Helaena,” she answered honestly. The events of that morning had left little room for light emotions in her heart. “I don’t feel like dancing today.”

“Running from the back is important,” her cousin said. Ysilla turned to observe her. It didn’t matter how many years they had known each other; Helaena’s strange sentences left Ysilla confused all the time. She knew better than to ask. Helaena didn’t know how to explain the meaning of her words, and the more people asked her to, the more she got agitated. That was one of those days. One where Ysilla stood quiet, listening to all the strange things her cousin felt to say. She loved Helaena, but on those days, the hours went on slowly.

I wish I was at the Dragonpit, she thought. Ysilla wished nothing more than to be with Dārysyr, especially during days that felt so heavy in her heart.

They were back in Helaena’s chamber when the Queen arrived. Ysilla was set next to her cousin, who was very interested in counting the rings of a centipede. They have been there long. And Ysilla decided to take one of the many books that she had in her chamber to keep herself occupied until Helaena was satisfied with her counting. When the Queen entered, Ysilla was ready to stand up and bow, but the woman gestured for her to sit still and keep with her reading.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each, ” Helaena whispered, looking closer at the centipede, “It makes two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“Yes, it is,” the Queen said in a soft tone, even if her expression could not hide her worry. It was difficult to communicate with Helaena when she acted like that. They had to be patient.

“It has eyes,” the girl spoke, looking closely at the creature in her hand.

“Does he?” Ysilla asked, keeping reading her book.

Helaena muttered in agreement, “Though, I don’t believe it can see.” Ysilla looked at her with a confused frown.

“And why is that so, do you think?” Asked the Queen.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

Beyond mine, for sure, Ysilla thought at her cousin’s words. Those were too much of abstract concepts for her mind. She liked history better.

“I suppose you’re right,” the Queen answered. Some things just are.” As she finished speaking, though, the door opened to reveal Aemond. Ysilla put aside her book. Her eyes widened, seeing how dirty his face and clothes were.

“Aemond,” the woman gasped, walking to her son, “What have you done?”

“He did it again.” Ysilla stood up after Helaena’s words. He must have entered the Dragonpit. That place was dangerous for someone without a dragon, and Aemond was the only one of them without one. Dragons bend only to one person, and when they did, they will only listen to their rider. They could become very dangerous for anyone else. But Aemond had always been very fascinated by dragons. The pain in his eyes was always visible when they went to the Dragonpit.

Ysilla could understand him. She had been fascinated, too, before Dārysyr’s egg hatched. Being a Targaryen without a dragon hurt a lot.

“After how many times you’ve been warned,” the Queen reproved him, “Must I have you confined to your chambers?”

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued angrily. Who made him do it? Ysilla moved forward, feeling for her cousin. He truly seemed so upset. What had happened? But the Queen didn’t seem to share Ysilla’s same thoughts.

“As if you needed encouragement,” the woman said, worryingly observing her son to be sure he was not harmed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.” When she spoke like that, the Queen truly reminded Ysilla of her mother's skepticism about dragons.

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond exclaimed. Ysilla’s eyes widened.

“A what?” The Queen asked in confusion.

“They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig!” Aemond answered, trembling with anger.

I’ve promised you today would have been fun. Aegon had said to her that morning. He was behind it. Ysilla could not believe it. He knew how Aemond suffered since he was the only one without a dragon. Even Rhaenyra’s sons had one each, but not Aemond, a son of a King. How could he be so stupid to do that to his own brother?

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent said trying to calm her son, “I know it.”

Aemond deserved a dragon. It was saddening to know that his egg hadn’t hatched. He had asked Ysilla many times how she did it as they grew up, but she truly wasn't sure how or why. Dārysyr was just born one day. It had been a very normal day. But Aemond’s didn’t, and it was not fair. Why did the Gods play such games?

Aemond lowered his gaze, “They all laughed.”

And why did the Gods make Aegon to be such an idiot?

_____________________________________________________________

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If you liked it, please leave a ♥️ and reblog!

[fragileheartbeats]

Can you make an original Valyria house (like Targaryen and Velaryons). A house that had the most beautiful people and rode ice dragons?

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐑 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑉𝐸𝑁 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

─ 𝘐𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𖤐

─ 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘴, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴 𖤐

House Celestyr, descended from the ancient and mystical bloodlines of Old Valyria, stood as a beacon of beauty and grace amidst the dragonlords of their age. Their sigil, a majestic ice dragon mid-flight encircled by a ring of stars on a field of iridescent blue, symbolized their affinity for the heavens and the frozen beasts they tamed. Their words, "Beyond the Flame, Our Essence Soars," whispered of their nature, transcending the fiery passions of their kin to embrace the ethereal and the intellectual. The members of House Celestyr were paragons of ethereal beauty and physical perfection, their stature towering and their features fine. Their senses were sharp, able to detect the faintest whisper of a threat or the subtlest of nature's wonders. Resilient to the ravages of time and ailment, they were the embodiment of the Valyrian ideal, their slender forms housing a strength that belied their graceful appearance. Their connection to the ice dragons of the Shivering Sea, creatures as rare and enigmatic as the house itself, granted them a dominion over realms both frostbitten and arcane. The Celestyrs were lovers of the world's innate splendor, drawn to the sea's endless depths and the night sky's diamond brilliance. Their home, the Fortress of Frostfire, was a marvel of architecture, perched upon the edge of the world where the sea kissed the stars. Libraries and gardens adorned its halls, reflecting the house's unquenchable thirst for knowledge and beauty. Yet, the Celestyrs were not untouched by flaw. Their pursuit of perfection could breed a dangerous pride, and their hearts, though resistant to darkness, were not immune to the lures of power and vanity. It was their challenge to navigate the fine line between their noble pursuits and the temptations that came with their gifts. Among them, the most radiant was Valyra Celestyr, a name that echoed her house's affinity with the skies above. Daughter of a Targaryen princess and a Celestyr king, she possessed a beauty that seemed to cast a spell over all who beheld her. Her hair was a cascade of gold-silver strands that shone with the light of the stars her ancestors adored, and her eyes, a shimmering violet, held the depth of the cosmos. Valyra was the epitome of her house's virtues, a lover of nature, art, and the mysteries of the world. Her intellect was as renowned as her beauty, and her presence was as soothing as the sea breeze. But it was not just her mind and looks that drew people to her; Valyra's spirit, kind and unassuming, was a stark contrast to the ambition and intrigue that often surrounded her. The history of House Celestyr is a tapestry woven with threads of light and shadow, its legacy enduring in the legends of a people who soared beyond the reach of fire, to dance with dragons in the frost-kissed heavens. Their tale is a reminder of the beauty and peril that come with extraordinary gifts, and of the eternal dance between the lofty stars and the mortal hearts that aspire to reach them.

Chapter 1

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[bowls-bowls-all-types-of-bowls]

behind the scenes of house of the dragon

why are they all so pretty

[maidragoste]

was your meme w the daemon au about the oneshot where she married him to avoid marrying viserys? because i would LOVE to know how people reacted when daemon (i assume it would be daemon) sends a message to viserys - 🩵

Hi Anon 💖, sorry for the delay in responding but I was actually writing something totally different but I saw your question and Viserys' reaction came to mind so I started writing haha

btw, I thought this would be shorter

I hope you enjoy it 🥰🥰💖💖

I recommend people read "The Decision" first to better understand this

At first, when barely an hour had passed since you had disappeared on the back of your dragon, your family had not worried, thinking that perhaps you had lost track of time while flying. It wouldn't be the first time that happens. But then it got dark and you still didn't show up. The worst thing was that Viserys wanted to dine with you in his chambers. Corlys excused your absence by sending your maid to tell the King that you were feeling ill. Rhaenys was furious with her husband for not telling Viserys that you were missing, if the king asked for it then everyone would look for you but Corlys didn't seem to care about your safety, he seemed more worried that Viserys would think that you had escaped to avoid marrying him. Of course, your father couldn't hide your absence for long. Somehow Otto Hightower had found out about your disappearance and reported it to the king.

The next day the entire council was gathered and the king's fury at having been kept secret from the disappearance of his fiancée was evident. Rhaenyra listened worriedly as her father asked Lord Velaryon for explanations. She feared that you had made a drastic decision to run away, her heart ached just thinking that you had left without saying goodbye first.

Corlys didn't even have the chance to excuse himself and make up some story about actually knowing your whereabouts when a maester interrupted the room. The Grand Master was already about to scold him when the youngest reported that a letter had arrived with the seal of House Targaryen. Viserys instantly ordered the parchment to be given to him, knowing that it must be a letter from his brother.

Everyone watched in silence as the king's face became redder and redder as he read the parchment. “Daemon took her as his second wife,” he announced as he twisted the letter into a bun in annoyance.

Rhaenyra felt her heart skip a beat and had to hold onto the table to keep from losing her balance. You were supposed to run away or find a way to break off the engagement, not get married. The worst thing is that you married her uncle. It was unfair that he could have you but she couldn't. If only she had been brave enough to tell you how she felt but she was a coward and she settled for your friendship. She settled for pretending that you were hers every time the two of you walked hand in hand through the hallways or when she exchanged her rings with yours as if it were some declaration of love.

“Poor Lady Y/n, Prince Daemon surely took advantage of her,” said the king's hand with mock regret. Corlys was not blind like Viserys so he could see how Otto Hightower was forcing himself not to smile. He should be the only attempt with this situation, now with you out of the way he could push his daughter Alicent again so that she could get the king's attention and thus make her queen.

“You can annul their marriage,” said the princess, drawing everyone's attention to the obvious desperation and pain in her voice. Years later, different versions of the reason for Rhaenyra's despair circulated in history books. Some would say it was because she was in love with her uncle. Others would say that you were actually the owner of her affections.

“The king can no longer marry Lady Y/n. Not now that Prince Daemon…”Lyonel Strong trailed off, trying to think of a not-so-shocking word to finish with.

“He ruined her,” Otto continued.

“You're talking about my daughter, watch your mouth!” Corlys demanded furiously, hitting his palm against the table. Lyonel had wanted to avoid exactly this.

Rhaenyra also glared at the king's hand. She hated that he had used that word to describe you but I can't help but think that maybe it was better that the lords thought that of you because then they wouldn't want to marry you. Her father would annul your marriage, you would come home to her and she would never have to worry about someone else trying to steal you from her.

“They married under Valyrian customs. It may not be valid in the eyes of faith but in my eyes, it is” declared the king. Besides, he wasn't going to annul your marriage and then marry you. It would be humiliating. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life with a wife who didn't love him. You had made it more than clear in the letter. He couldn't be mad at you, not when you had apologized for not telling him how you really felt sooner, had told him that you appreciated him but couldn't imagine loving him the way you love his brother, and that you thought he deserved a wife who truly loved him. Still, he was furious with his brother because he had taken advantage of you, it didn't matter that in the letter you said that Daemon didn't force you into anything and that it was your decision to marry, Viserys was sure that Daemon didn't love you, that he had only taken you as a wife to annoy him, as revenge for making Rhaenyra his heir.

“I am very sorry for my daughter's actions, your Grace,” Corlys apologized almost through his teeth. He was furious with Viserys for being so weak. Another man would have instantly annulled the marriage and gone to find his bride but he was not surprised by the king's attitude considering that he had been more interested in planning the wedding than in putting an action plan for the situation that was occurring on the Stepstones

He was so furious with you too. If before Viserys was not interested in the Stepstones, now with you breaking your engagement even less so. He couldn't believe you did this to him. He thought he raised you better. You could have made the Velaryons go down in history by giving the king a son but you ruined everything.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Imagine...

Pairing: Dark Viserys Targaryen III x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Manipulation; Blackmail.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

"But I do not want to be your queen.” the words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Viserys raises his blonde brows, surprised and incredulous.

“Your grace, I…do not love you. I couldn’t possibly marry you.”

Viserys‘s tongue pokes his cheek as he chuckles, the sound devoid of any humor.

“And I didn’t ask. I don’t need your permission to wed you.” he replies, annoyance painting his features. He grabs your hand, squeezing his fingers around it until you gasp with pain, a satisfied smirk replacing his anger.

“I’m going to be king very very soon. My word will be the law then and you will obey me, whether you like or not.”

His nails bury into your soft skin, and you cry out, shaking as you attempt to push his hand off.

“You’ll be my queen, I promise you that. It’s either that or perhaps you should start planning for your family’s funeral. Your choice, my love.” 

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

The Good Queen (Part 3)

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing(s): Viserys Targaryen x Fem!Reader, Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Harwin Strong x Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Alicent Hightower, Daemon Targaryen x Harwin Strong (I won’t apologize for everyone being gay for each other)

Tag: hotd the good queen

Warning: Fluff. Angst. Time-skip. Happy ending. Age gaps. No feud. No greens or blacks. Blood & Gore. Grusome death.

Word Count: 7,011

Taglist: @gruffle1​ 

Summary: A look into Queen Y/n Hightower’s life is busy and full of love and family. But something else lingers in the dark, waiting for her.

Author’s Note: Laena still dies but under different circumstances and Aemond claims Vhagar honorably. Rhaena and Baela do not exist so everyone is proud of Aemond by his accomplishment and he doesn’t steal the right to Vhagar from anyone.

Part One - Part Two

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

130 AC

So much to do with so little time to enjoy the beautiful day, Queen Y/n Hightower makes her rounds about the castle after breaking her fast. As usual, she walks gracefully down the long hallways and winding staircases, entering the throne room to extend her greetings to her husband before starting her day. She climbs the stairs to the Iron Throne and leaves a kiss on Viserys lips before briefly exchanging their morning agendas. As usual, they speak mostly of their children. The Queen speaks of the planned events for Helaena's upcoming name day while the King mentions the many lords who have reached out to him to ask for Helaena's hand. Y/n appeared hesitant but further asked her husband to send these letters up to her chambers when he has the chance so she might look into these suitors as well.

"They may try to woo her during the celebration," he warns her lightheartedly, "Best to warn her so she is not overwhelmed."

"I shall," Y/n stands from her seat on Viserys' knee, cupping his face in her hand before she makes her departure, "I'll see you at supper."

"Hm. I'm afraid I have to take supper in the Small Council meeting tonight," the King smiles apologetically, "But you are welcome to join. I could use your sharp eyes on the matter of the meeting."

"Not tonight," Y/n sighs at the idea of another council meeting. They appear to be more crucial than naught these days, "If it would please you, my love, allow me to rummage through all the letters of liege lords addressing Helaena's hand. I'll invite Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent for supper tonight in my apartments and use their opinions to narrow down the pool of suitors."

"Excellent idea," Viserys beamed, quickly grasping her hand and kissing her knuckles before she could turn away, "I wish you luck."

She descends the Iron Throne and exits the throne room, nodding to her ladies-in-waiting when she found them still in the spot where she had left them. They dutifully follow her as she expertly navigates through the long hallways of the castle, bowing her head and smiling whenever someone stopped and bowed to her in greeting. She stops in the training yard before all else and immediately spots Ser Criston Cole overseeing a training session between Aegon the Elder and his cousin, Jacaerys Strong. She glides down the steps and makes her way to the sworn shield, "What shall they be learning today, Ser Criston?"

"Mostly defensive maneuvers, Your Grace," Cole bows, but is unable to draw his eyes away from the fight in case he missed something, "Aegon has improved since his return from Oldtown. Do give your lord father my compliments. Whoever he had training the boy during his stay must have been quite exceptional."

"I shall," she finds herself repeating a second time, to her inner amusement. Her shoulders began to feel tight with the reminder of Otto Hightower.

When he first started writing letters to his eldest daughter, it was to reach out and learn about his grandchildren. Y/n should have felt relief to learn that her father was wanting to mend their relationship. Instead, she only felt this cold dread in her heart when she learned that he had only written to her and not to Alicent, who was also his daughter and had given him an equal number of grandchildren. Y/n tried to be courteous and kind to her father in any returning letter she sent, and yet each one he replied with felt more like a stone crushing her against the sea bed, despite feeling the light weight of the paper in her hands. Eventually, Lord Otto requested to host his oldest grandchild, Aegon, in Oldtown. His reasoning was for personal reasons only; to make up for lost time and congratulate Aegon on becoming a man. Otto also stated that perhaps it would be good for both Aegon and Daeron to reunite again as brothers. Y/n had hesitated before finally agreeing, despite the memories she had of her father when Aegon was first born. She remembered Lord Otto trying to force her hand, telling her how to raise her sweet, innocent son into becoming a king.

She gave her father the benefit of the doubt. That had been years ago and she agreed that Aegon deserved to see his little brother again, her own ache to see Daeron the deciding factor on this arrangement. She sent Aegon to Oldtown, promising him that it would only be for the season. Her inner demons wished to demand her eldest child to steal Daeron away as well, but forced the words down and bury them as she hugged Aegon tightly. Now Aegon has finally returned -and not with Daeron- just before Helaena's name day. The Queen watched her son easily defend himself against Lord Jacaerys' advances, feeling proud and yet in turmoil over how mature he's become. Her children really were growing up before her eyes.

She nods to Ser Criston, "I'm sure he would be proud to hear you say that, ser knight. Excuse me."

"Your Grace."

Next, she makes her way to the gardens, taking a moment to stand in the warm sunlight with the soft breeze brushing through her hair like a loving touch. The Queen takes her time winding through the maze of flowers and trimmed hedges until she comes across the gazebo stationed at the center of all the plants. Her sister, Lady Alicent Strong, is seated under the shade of the gazebo, Little Aegon in her lap while Little Viserys crawls around at her feet, her hand gently grazing the woman sitting beside her.

Princess Rhaenyra, heavily pregnant with her third child, is the first to notice Y/n when she neared the gazebo, and smiles at her stepmother, "Good morning, Your Grace."

Alicent looks up and immediately finds Y/n, only pulling her hand away from Rhaenyra when she noticed the Queen's handmaidens trailing behind her. Y/n nods as she approached the two women, "It certainly is, Princess," her fingers briefly push a strand of Alicent's hair out of her face before leaning down and kissing her cheek in greeting, "Ali. Jacaerys is faring well in his training, I see."

"If only he was doing well in his studies," Alicent quips with a gentle smile as she stares up at her elder sister, who takes Aegon from her arms and rests him on her hip, "What brings you here?"

"I am here to invite the two of you to a private supper tonight," Y/n tickles Aegon the Younger under his chin, smiling as he squealed with laughter, though it doesn't reach her eyes as she spoke of her troubles, "I have letters from various lords of the realm who wish to wed Helaena and I could use your help reading through them all, as well as getting a second and third opinion."

"Of course," Alicent beams, although Rhaenyra doesn't seem as thrilled.

"Helaena is still too young to be thinking about marriage," she immediately replies, a frown cutting through her beautiful Valyrian features. She is distracted by her thoughts, however, when Little Viserys pulls himself up onto his chubby feet using her skirts. Her hand brushes his silver hair back, the toddler cooing under her attention.

"She's near one-and-twenty, Rhaenyra," Y/n appeared downcast, even as she smiled down at her stepdaughter and squeezed her shoulder in comfort, "You were even younger. We all were. We've been holding this back for long enough. We can't keep her forever."

The Queen knelt down to the princess' round stomach, peering up at Rhaenyra with an encouraging twinkle in her eye, "Besides, pretty soon you'll have a daughter of your own to fret over."

Rhaenyra faintly smiled, running a hand over her stomach even as clouds formed in her eyes. She had always wanted a sister and finally got what she wanted when her father married Y/n and they bore Helaena. Rhaenyra was always so protective of her little half-sister, even more so than the brothers, "You speak in confidence. And yet Alicent believes I'm having a boy."

"You look no different than when you carried Little Aegon and Viserys," Alicent comments in defense of her opinion when Y/n glanced over to her.

"We'll make wages tonight then, at dinner," Y/n smirked at her sister, briefly glancing back at Rhaenyra and winking. The Queen sets Aegon down next to his brother and stands up straight again, nodding to the other two, "Until then, my sweets."

"Good day, Your Grace," Rhaenyra chimes while Y/n disappears from the gazebo, her ladies keeping their heads low as they follow her.

She trails through the gardens with her usual company in tow, wishing to waste a little time if it meant she could enjoy the lovely, quiet day. That is until the peace is suddenly interrupted by the loud, high-pitched laughter of a small child. Looking around, Her Grace tried pinpointing the laughter, which now followed shouts of disapproval, until she discovers Little Joffrey Strong, the small boy running through the gardens while being chased by his septa, dark curls bouncing as he sprinted. Y/n laughs under her breath and decides not to intervene, knowing that not even she could save her little nephew from his strict teacher. The Queen shushes her handmaids when they all began to giggle at the sight, and with a smile, directs them to exit the gardens quietly until they are out of sight of the poor, winded, septa. The ladies all bow to their queen and go on about their day, leaving Y/n alone to her thoughts as she walks back into the castle.

The library is the next stop on her to-do list, allowing the guards to open the heavy doors for her before entering the grand room, full of books from top to ceiling. However, she didn't find herself alone as she originally thought. At the nearest table were none other than her son, Aemond and Lucerys Strong, playing a competitive game of cyvasse. Both young men look up at the sound of the library doors opening and stand to greet her when they recognized her face.

"Mother," Aemond thinly smiles, his eye lowering in respect.

"Who is winning?" She smirks as she glides across the floor to join them, her fingers pinching the sleeve of Aemond's tunic as she practically stood in the shadow of his tall form.

"Currently me, Your Grace," Luke's eyes sparkle mischievously, his smile only broadening when Aemond directs a small glare at him.

Y/n rolls her lips to try to retain the growing smile of amusement before crossing over to the board game, peering over either side of the divider so she can see both sides of their placements. Turning and walking away, she calls over her shoulder, "Careful, nephew. If he's smart, Aemond can defeat you in two moves."

She hears scuffling and squawks of surprise from behind her as she disappeared beyond the bookcases, smiling to herself. She travels through the small aisles between shelves until she finds what she's looking for, picking up a book to her liking and dusting off the worn cover. Tucking the leather book under her arm, she makes her way back through the maze of books until she stumbles across her son and nephew again. Y/n ruffles Luke's hair, earning another squawk of indignant from him and causing Aemond to hum in amusement under his breath, much similar to his mother. Y/n beams and walks out of the library and onto her next destination.

Walking back up the winding stairs to reach the floor of her daughter's chambers was an easy feat, having gone the same way for years since Helaena's birth. Today, however, Y/n's feet felt heavy as she inched closer to the princess' room. Her steps felt like lead by the time she reached her daughter's door, knocking and announcing herself before entering.

"My heart?" Y/n called into the room as she shut the door behind her.

Helaena had her knees up to her chest, lounging over her couch by the window, heavily focused on the embroidery in her hands. Y/n walked closer and recognized the pattern to be a dragonfly. The mother smiled as she goes to sit in the open space of her daughter's couch, relaxing her regal posture as she leaned back against the cushions, sighing in exhaustion as she watches Helaena work.

Their days together are often spent like this, in silence but in comfort. Helaena isn't fond of loud noises, touches, or even conversation, so Y/n respects her boundaries and tends not to force her daughter into such situations unless absolutely necessary. This is why guilt and shame settled uncomfortably in the Queen's gut, the weight of letters regarding a future husband for her lovely daughter heavy before Y/n could even read them herself. Even though she had not seen the letters in person yet, they still lingered in the back of her mind, dreading the conversation that will have to happen, and the celebrations of her name day that Helaena will have to attend.

"Has your uncle stopped by for your lessons?" Y/n suddenly asked, realizing that she had not seen Daemon at all this morning.

Helaena paused in her ministrations but continues to stare at her embroidery as she answered, "He left early. Kostōba vali emagon kostōba ondos." [Strong men have strong hands]

Though the Queen herself was not fluent in High Valyrian, she has spent enough time in the company of Daemon and Rhaenyra to catch a few words. Y/n tilts her head, suspicious, "Does 'kostōba' mean 'strong?'"

Helaena only nods as she continues her work, unaware of the playful roll of her eyes her mother presents. Y/n sinks further into the lounge chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. One of these days, she'll have to reprimand her brother-in-law for leaving his niece and depriving her of Valyrian lessons only so he could sneak off with Ser "Breakbones" Strong.

"My daughter's mother tongue should be more important than the need to stick your tongue down Ser Harwin's throat," Y/n could already hear her own lecture in her head, to which she can imagine Daemon's sly smirk gleaming down at her in response.

"Have you seen Ser Harwin's throat, dear sister?"

Y/n scoffs out loud and had the decency to appear bashful when she realized that Helaena had heard her. She flashed her daughter an apologetic smile when the princess looked up, but it slowly faded once Helaena looked back down, the Queen was sorely reminded of the main topic of today's events. Sighing, Y/n reached a hand out to Helaena, "My dear, may I touch you?"

Helaena immediately went stiff as a board, to which Y/n retracted her hand, "Okay, I'm sorry," she whispered, guilt now evident in her eyes, not that Helaena had noticed as she continues with her embroidery. It only made her mother feel worse, the woman who once loved her innocence but now felt saddened by it. Helaena is a woman grown now, and it was still hard for Y/n to wrap her head around. How can something so pure grow up so fast? Just trying to picture her daughter in the care of a man whom she has never met frightened her; haunted her even. Y/n, as Queen, understands that this is the way of things and no matter how hard she tried, there are just some things far beyond her control, like her daughter's impending marriage. It will happen eventually, whether Y/n Hightower likes it or not.

Originally, she came to Helaena to talk about these matters but decided she wanted her child to remain innocent just a little bit longer. Instead, Y/n set the book from the library down on the table across from the couch and slid it over to Helaena, "This was a book that I read years ago... before I married your father. It's about these rare butterflies native to the islands of Naath. They carry a disease that is deadly to anyone who isn't born and bred from their natural habitats," Y/n huffs in mirth, mostly to herself, "I remember that imagery kept me awake at night, but I thought this would be more to your liking."

Helaena had paused her embroidery upon her mother's explanation. The princess peers over to the book with faint interest and reaches out to caress the symbol of the butterfly engraved into the front cover, "Thank you, Mother."

Y/n beams, feeling her heart skip a beat at the sound of her most proud title. Even as her children grow into adults, she still feels her heart melt every time they call her by her true name. Aegon says it as if he mocks it, but in a playful way. Aemond says it with respect and admiration and with a hint of a smile. Helaena says it softly, like a butterfly's wing. And Daeron...

The Queen quickly shuts her thoughts down and rises from the couch, patting the cushion closest to Helaena's foot, "I'll leave you to it then. If you miss dinner, I'll make sure a meal is sent up to you."

She moves around the furniture and heads toward the door.

"Mother."

Y/n looks back, smiling patiently as she waits for Helaena to continue.

The young princess doesn't look up from her new book, speaking in riddles as she often does. But today, her riddle felt haunting, almost like a warning, "A sire wishes to breathe fire. Fire burns to skin, and his eldest breeds it."

Puzzled as she often is by Helaena's riddles, Y/n tries not to let it bother her. Over the years, she had learned to stop asking Helaena what she means and has stopped trying to understand her. Sometimes, even Helaena appears confused by what her own words mean. When she started saying these riddles, Viserys took it as a sign that she was a dragon dreamer, much like himself. Daemon had rolled his eyes and had started an argument with his brother for the sake of an argument, so Y/n never try to investigate further what her husband meant.  

Instead of asking her to reiterate, Y/n only nods to Helaena before leaving the room, taking a longer route toward her own apartments so that she might have a little more to walk and think alone. The time it takes for her to get to her chambers is peaceful and the hallways are empty except for the occasional maid walking in or out of rooms to fetch or retrieve clothes or food. Ser Harrold Westerling is waiting outside of Y/n's room when she arrives, and after he opens the door for her, the Queen turns back to him, "You may leave, Ser Harrold. Please see to it that no one bothers the Princess Helaena while she reads."

"At once, Your Grace," Harrold bows and marches down the hall, and Y/n closes the door behind her.

A late afternoon nap was in order, but Y/n knew better than to try when she still had so much to do. Looking around, she found the stacks of letters she had asked the King for and crossed the room to the table. She picks up one of the letters, inspected the contents, and made out the name Prince Qoren Martell.

"Absolutely not," Y/n found herself talking out loud, laughing at the gall of House Martell. She decided that all suitors she didn't approve of will have their letters burned immediately so her husband would not see them, lest he tried to marry their daughter off without her knowledge. She sauntered over to the hearth and watched the letter burn in the small flames, still amused but faintly disgusted at the idea of Helaena being sent to Dorne. The embers of the hearth appeared to mock her, the andirons; the two tall bracket spikes supporting the logs from falling into the room were shaped suspiciously like a Sunspeare. Y/n doesn't try to think about how her andirons were probably forged in Dorne and instead focused on watching the letter burn.

She hears rustling behind her and turned to face the maid she expected to find. Instead, a knife is pressed into her neck, and a hand grips tightly onto her arm. Y/n lets out a squeak of shock, reflexes kicking in as her free hand tries to push the knife away from her. The attacker is male, close to her own height, and reeked of filth. He doesn't demand or restrain her, instead, he speaks in grunts and growls as he fights with every intention of killing her.

"HELP! GUARDS!" Y/n screams at the top of her lungs once her brain had caught up with her body, still trying to push the dagger out of the way. He pushed back with equal strength and determination, with Y/n's own adrenaline turning quickly into fear and causing her arms to tremble. Her breaths quicken as she can feel herself slowly go into shock, limbs heavy and slowly giving into the weight of the knife. At one point, she tried to pull away and run when her legs began to feel like jelly, but her attacker had a hold of one of her arms, so she had no choice but to continue to fight for her life. As they both spun in this twisted dance, Y/n quickly realized that the hearth now stood directly behind her attacker. Sucking in a deep breath with every bit of strength she had left, she shoved the man hard, even trying to place her foot behind his to trip him for added measure.

The man falls, knife sliding like butter down Y/n's forearm in the descent. Before the assassin could place his hands behind him to stop his fall, his head hits the mantle above the hearth and he crumbles in pain, forgetting to fight against gravity as his body drops into the hearth. His neck, unfortunately, lands right on top of one of the andiron spikes, spearing through flesh and bone. He spits out blood, gurgling, choking on the red liquid as he slowly realizes he was trapped with his head sticking directly into the flames. As he spat out blood, his whole body convulsed and writhed in response to his entire head beginning to catch fire, unable to escape with his neck completely skewered onto the spike. His eyebrows turned to ash, and his skin began to blister and melt, his body twitched and kicked for freedom, even as the heat of the flames forced his skin to sizzle and pop like a boar on a spit. The smell was unbearable as Y/n quickly steps away, only to fall to her knees on the floor when she found no strength left, tears uncontrollably rolling down her face. All she could do was cling to her injured arm and watch, horrified, as her attacker's body slowly stopped fighting, going limp as the fire somehow burned brighter. The Queen tried gasping for air, her entire body shaking out of fear and pain just as the doors burst open to reveal the Kingsguard.

"My Queen!" Harrold Westerling had returned, immediately running to Y/n's side while his men inspect the scene before them. Ser Harrold guides her to the nearest furniture and inspects Her Majesty's injuries while a maester was called forward. Between the bustling of the guards and the shouting involved, other residents of the castle began to stir with all this commotion.

The first to arrive was Alicent, with Rhaenyra slowly following her in her condition. Alicent looked around the room, horrified by the man lying dead in the fireplace before she scanned the apartments and quickly found her sister, "Y/n!"

She rushed over to the Queen, gathering her up in her arms as they both wept in fright and relief. Rhaenyra excused Ser Harrold from attending Y/n so that she may sit on the other side of her stepmother and hold her close. The Grand Maester finally arrived and quickly made good, efficient work on the Queen's arm as Daemon marched into the room, sneering at the scene of the crime. He looked as though he wished to spit onto the dead body before releasing his anger elsewhere.

"Who was meant to be on watch here?! Who failed to protect the Queen?!"

"It was me, Prince Daemon," Ser Harrold bowed his head in shame.

Daemon only takes two steps towards the knight before Y/n finally found her words, even as she stumbles over them, "N-No, Daemon! It was not his fault! I... I... I ordered him to go tend to Helaena. I made him leave his station."

Her brother-in-law relents after a while of the two of them staring down one another, stepping away from Ser Harrold and moving to stand behind the three women on the couch, "Has my brother been informed? Is someone with him?"

"Ser Criston is guarding the King, my prince. He's on his way."

"Mother?" Aegon calls out from the doorway, only walking into the room when the sea of knights part for him to see the Queen alive and well. Jace also walks in with him, leading his father, Ser Harwin, to inspect the scene for himself.

"I did not realize I was hosting in my chambers," Y/n muttered under her breath, wincing when the maester added yet another stitch to the cut. However, her irritation melts away when her eldest son approached her, reaching out to him with her free hand, "I'm alright, my sweet. Have you seen your brother and sister?"

"Your daughter is safe in her room, Your Grace," Ser Harrold cut in, "I left a guard with her."

"And Aemond? Last I saw, he was in the library with Lucerys."

"I'll go get them," Harwin volunteered after a pleading gaze from his lady-wife Alicent. He quickly heads towards the door only to stop short and bow as Viserys finally enters, his cane trembling in support of him.

"What is the meaning of this?" The King demands as everyone bows in his presence, all except his family members sitting on or surrounding the couch. Viserys turns to his family, inspecting each of their expressions before settling on his queen, "And why is my wife bleeding?"

"There was an assassination attempt, Your Grace," Ser Harrold quickly reports with a ramrod back. Ser Harwin finally leaves the room after nodding to his father and Ser Criston when they entered the Queen's chambers. Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong, steps up to stand beside the King, appalled and worried.

"An assassin? How is this possible?" He questions.

"I did not recognize his face," Y/n answers, her voice now stronger with her family surrounding her. Her back straightens and she now looks onto Lord Lyonel with the fierceness of a queen once more, "I pride myself in knowing every staff member in my employment, and I have never seen that man before in my life."

"It will be hard to identify him now, Your Grace," Ser Harrold continues to address Viserys while also moving aside to show the King the horrifying sight of the death. Viserys' eyes widen at the body stuck in the hearth from the neck up. He looks at his wife and then back to the body, affronted and speechless. In this time of the King taking it all in, Ser Harwin returns with Prince Aemond and Lord Lucerys, both young men striding across the room to join their respective family members. Aemond stands beside his older brother, standing over their mother as he inspects her appearance with only his single eye. He didn't speak a word, and yet confessed he was afraid by looks alone.

Alicent felt the need to stand and pace, and by doing so, caught a glimpse of the dead body and noticed, to her horror, his attire, "He wears our house colors," turning back to her older sister, Alicent recognized the equal shock spreading over Y/n's face, "Could this man be from Oldtown?"

Y/n's shoulders fall, a faint look of acceptance written in her sad eyes, "If so... then there could only be one prime suspect who resides there."

The room is filled with mutters of both surprise and indifference, depending on who you talk to. Some, like the Kingsguard, are appalled by this revelation, some, like Daemon, know it to be true and their eyes darken. Others, like Lord Lyonel and Lady Alicent, are in a state of disbelief.

Alicent even voices her disbelief as she shakes her head, "Father would never do something like this. Why would he want you dead if you're married to the King?"

"Because Father's wish wasn't for me to marry the King, it was for his blood to one day sit on the Iron Throne," Y/n stated boldly, loudly, to make sure everyone in the room heard it and accept it, "When I pledged my loyalty to Rhaenyra's right as Viserys' heir, Father's plans were ruined."

Rhaenyra squeezed Y/n's knee in comfort and the room stirred with this bit of information. Viserys grinds his teeth while glaring at the floor, enraged by the gall of his former Hand.

"A sire wishes to breathe fire. Fire burns to skin, and his eldest breeds it."

All eyes turn to the door of the room, where Princess Helaena now stood, half hiding away as all eyes turn to her. Y/n's worries all float away as her face softens at the sight of her daughter, smiling in encouragement, "Yes... that's what you meant, my heart. You tried to warn me."

"If Father is responsible for this attack, then he risks himself becoming a traitor to the crown," Alicent interrupts, her voice low in anger, "He should be punished immediately."

Viserys huffs out a large, enraged sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Maester. Once you are done attending to the Queen, please inspect the body. I will have the Kingsguard bring the corpse down to the dungeons and you may meet them there."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Ser Harrold," Viserys broadens his voice, the man in question straightening to attention at the power of it, "I demand the arrest of Lord Otto Hightower. Send out a regiment to Oldtown to obtain him and bring him back to King's Landing."

"Your Grace," Ser Harrold bows and vacates the room.

"Ser Criston," Viserys turns to the younger knight, "Remain outside the Queen's room tonight."

"At once, Your Grace."

"Half of you bring the body down to the dungeons," the old man orders the remaining Kingsguard, "The rest of you follow me. I will summon the court and address the crime at hand."

"You mean to warn them of your interrogation into their treachery?" Daemon questions with a sly glare, appalled.

"Treachery?" Viserys appeared affronted at his younger brother, scoffing in disbelief.

"Someone inside the castle must have helped, my love," Y/n decided to cut in before another spat between brothers could begin within her chambers, "I do not believe my father acted alone in this attack. I believe he had help from someone on the inside. Only someone with the proper knowledge of the castle and my whereabouts could have instructed the assassin on where to go and when to strike. No doubt whoever this traitor is had hired the attacker using Lord Otto's coin."

The maester had finished Y/n's stitches and stood to instruct the Kingsguard on how to remove the body without tampering with it. Roughly five Kingsguard managed to lift the corpse off the sharp andiron and pull it out of the fire without distressing the skull from its shoulders. The Queen keeps her eyes fixed on her husband, refusing to even glimpse at the body of her attacker. Viserys former dismissal relents, his shoulders slouching as he nods in agreement. The body is removed from Y/n's chambers and with it follows a parade of Kingsguard along with the Grand Maester. Viserys waited for them all to leave before also exiting with Lord Lyonel, mentioning under his breath of a secret council meeting.

The room grows silent, the rest of the royal family sitting uncomfortably, unnerved by the situation. Y/n's mind is buzzing, her thoughts running from her attacker... to Oldtown, to her father, and then to Daeron. Dread freezes in her chest, worry for her youngest child taking place.

"Daemon," Y/n stands up, feeling the strength of her legs again as she rounds the couch in a flurry of skirts, stepping up to her good brother. She makes sure to stare directly up into his eyes, unwavering, as she carefully spoke her next words, "I wonder if you would be so kind as to take your dragon to Oldtown and bring me back my son?"

Mischief sparkled dimly in Daemon's war-aged eyes, a corner of his lips slowly turned up as he feigns innocence with the tilt of his head, "Not by horse, Your Grace? Surely, you wouldn't want your lord father to feel insulted by the mere threat of a dragon."

A playful taunt that she would normally meet, but the Queen's mind remains fixed on her baby boy. Her words are blunt and powerful compared to the stutter she had possessed earlier, "Perhaps I would like him to feel insulted by the mere presence of your company."

She leans into her brother-in-law's space, taking both of her hands and gripping onto one of his forearms. She lowers her voice so that only he could hear the rest, "Go. I don't care what you do, or how you do it, just bring me back my son alive."

He schooled his features, emotions neutral while firmly nodding once down to her, "Yes, Your Grace."

Daemon breaks from her hold on him and cross to the door before Aemond began to follow him, "I'll accompany you, Uncle."

Y/n quickly steps towards her second son, reaching for him, "I do not wish that, Aemond--

"It's alright, dear sister," she turns to Daemon's voice, "Vhagar and Caraxes will definitely be a sight your father will remember for the rest of his miserable years... or whatever time he has left."

The grave promise in his tone may have felt intimidating to some, but it was strangely a comfort to the Queen. Aemond grasps her elbow in comfort, forcing her to look up at him. Glancing between her son and Daemon, she eventually surrenders with a stern expression as she narrows her gaze onto Aemond, "Fine. But you do what Daemon says and you do not fight. Promise me."

"I promise, Mother," Aemond whispers gently to her, "I'll bring Daeron home for you."

He pulls out of his mother's grip and saunters over to join his uncle at the door. Daemon nods to Rhaenyra before exiting from her sight. Aemond takes one look back at his family, narrowing his sight onto his older brother. He tilts his head in question and Aegon only shakes his head in rejection. He will not join the hunt. Aemond nods with understanding, a silent conversation only two brothers can share, before he, too, leaves. Aegon turns back to his mother, dutifully placing himself at her side, "What would you have me do, Mother?"

"Stay with Helaena in her chambers tonight," she instructs him with a warm smile, cupping his face in her hands, meeting his eyes as they stood the same height, "I would feel comforted knowing neither of you would be left alone for the time being."

"We can all stay together, Aunt," Jace mentions with a smile of reassurance, "All the children. We'll have the wet nurses bring Little Aegon and Viserys to Princess Helaena's room and we can keep each other company until we know everything is safe again."

"I'll go find Joffrey," Luke volunteers, springing up and disappearing from the room.

"Very well," Y/n laughs under her breath, amused by Luke's lack of courtesy before gently patting the side of Aegon's face, "Will that please you, my dear? Will you and Jace watch over your siblings and cousins until we apprehend the people involved in this attack?"

"We'll make it a celebration, Mother," Aegon comforts her, "As to not worry the smaller ones."

"Thank you, my sweet child," Y/n whispers, feeling lighter when she watches the remainder of the children leave, though it was getting harder and harder to recognize them as children when the older ones are nearly fully grown and so responsible.

The room remains occupied by Y/n, Alicent, Rhaenyra, and Ser Harwin, the latter noticing the way the Queen chewed on her bottom lip while in thought as she began pacing the room, "What is it?"

"I wish to know who among our court would want me dead, and if their intentions have any motive behind hiring my attacker."

"If the assassin had lived, we could have questioned him," Harwin had commented.

"Not likely," Queen Y/n shook her head, "The maester may confirm this, but I believe the attacker's tongue might have been cut out prior to assaulting me. I remember he never spoke a word, only making pained noises and grunting. Whoever helped him into the castle was more careful than my father. Whoever they are, they covered their tracks."

~~~~~~~~~

It was well into the next day and yet none of them left Y/n's side. They had all stayed up the entire night, debating on what to do next as the Queen anxiously waited for news from Oldtown. To try and distract her, both Alicent and Rhaenyra offered to assist in looking through the letters asking for Helaena's hand in marriage. The three women had done so until morning, with Harwin standing guard inside the room and Ser Criston guarding outside of it.

Ser Criston had yet to be informed of Daemon and Aemond's return when they all heard the familiar roars of Caraxes and Vhagar flying overhead, even shaking the floor of Y/n's chambers. The Queen abruptly stood from her chair, running to her balcony to spot the two dragons for herself. However, they had flown directly to the Dragonpit and they were now too far for Y/n to see who sat on top of their mounts. Anxious to see the riders with her own two eyes, the Queen sprinted out of her chambers, barely acknowledging the others shouting her name behind her. She knew for a fact that Ser Harwin and Criston were running after her, but Alicent and Rhaenyra's voices faded away, not following Y/n, most likely because of the princess' round stomach.

Y/n paid no mind to courtesy or manners as she ran through the halls of the castle, not even nodding her head whenever a servant or lord stopped to bow in greeting her. She even kicked off her shoes, grace be damned, so that she may pick up her skirts and take two steps at a time down the winding staircases.

By the time she ordered guards to open the doors of the Red Keep, the front gates were slowly rising. Y/n bounded down the steps of the courtyard, finally stopping to catch her breath as she anxiously waits for whoever to come through. Daemon entered first, followed by his nephew. Aemond, however, was occupied with another silver-haired individual, the older brother playfully shoving a younger boy forward.

Although upon looking at him, Y/n could hardly describe him as a boy. Daeron, and the age of six and ten, was technically a man grown, though he could never possibly reach the same height as Aemond or Daemon. He always kept his traditional Targaryen hair short, at least to his shoulders, and Y/n's eyes briefly squinted at the green-colored apparel her youngest son wore before quickly forgetting about it, her smile uncomfortably stretching as her eyesight began to blur.

Daeron had kept his gaze on the Queen, even as the front gates closed behind them. The courtyard was still until the young prince stepped forward, his own smile smaller than Y/n's but it was one of relief and shyness, "Hello, Mother."

She broke after that, huffs of laughter under her breath as joyful tears ran down her face. Y/n opened up her arms and Daeron dutifully fell into them, hiding into her shoulder as his mother hugged him tightly, shaking with relief.

~~~~~~~~~

"Has Daeron comfortably moved back in?" Viserys asked his wife that following night, both of them sitting at the corner of the Small Council table, alone.

"Yes. Although I wouldn't be surprised if we found him in one of his sibling's rooms the next morning," Y/n smiled fondly behind the lip of her wine glass, "Aemond said that he was thrilled to be coming home. Apparently, he hated Oldtown."

"And your father? What has become of him?"

Y/n's smile falls, immediately avoiding her husband's gaze as she carefully swirls the wine in her goblet, watching the small whirlpool instead of the King's reaction, "I don't know. I didn't bother to ask."

Viserys sighed, all too well acquainted with Daemon's temper and his opinion of Lord Otto, "Well, my men will be there in a few days and they will make do with what is left of Otto Hightower."

The Queen sets her goblet on the table and leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the arms, "Perhaps Daemon chose mercy. Perhaps he wished to surprise us and soon the Kingsguard will bring my father back alive and whole."

It was a comforting thought, but Viserys only huffed in amusement, "Knowing my brother, I wouldn't get your hopes up, my dear."

They both laugh from their chests, even if there wasn't much mirth behind it. They settle back into a comfortable silence again, while a thought comes to Viserys' mind. It pleases him, and he outwardly shows with the broad, toothless smile he gifts his wife, "You know... even though you're kind and caring, you're also fierce and harsh. Those are tremendous qualities, my love, that not many can possess. Did you know what the smallfolk call you? The Good Queen. My grandmother, Queen Alysanne, was also nicknamed the Good Queen."

Her curious expression slowly melts into a fond smile, allowing Viserys to continue as he sets down his own wine goblet, "It's an honorable title, perhaps more honorable than just being a King or Queen. It goes to show that you are well-loved and you are good at what you do... I often wonder what would happen to this kingdom and this family without you, especially after nearly losing you last night."

Y/n's heart squeezes in her chest, touched by her husband's words. Eyebrows furrowed and lips turned up, the Queen looked over at Viserys with sympathy as she reached her hand over to grasp his, holding it tight, "Best not to dwell on it, my King."

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: It took me an embarrassing long time to realize I was spelling ‘Jacaerys’ wrong. I blame Rhaenyra for giving her son such a difficult name.

I hope you’ve enjoyed! This will likely be the last part of ‘The Good Queen’ since I don’t think it really needs to be a series. It’s bad enough that I have three other series that need updating. Please leave a request in my pm or ask box!

Inspiration for this chapter HERE

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

The Queen's Gambit

pairing: Fanon!Viserys Targaryen x Female OC

summary: Vanesha Lannister will not rest until she reaches her goal.

Word count: 1,7K

Warnings: Smut, P in V, squirting

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The Red Keep stood tall, its imposing towers casting shadows over the city of King's Landing. Within its walls, a game of power and ambition unfolded, and at the center of it all was Vanesha Lannister.

She was a woman of intelligence and cunning, possessing a beauty that could captivate even the most resolute of men. But her true strength lay in her ability to identify weaknesses and exploit them. Viserys I Targaryen, the King of Westeros, was her latest prey.

As Vanesha walked through the gilded corridors of the Red Keep, her mind churned with calculated thoughts. She knew of Viserys' insatiable desire for sons, heirs to carry on the Targaryen legacy. It was a vulnerability she intended to exploit to the fullest.

In the candlelit chambers, she found Viserys engrossed in his own thoughts. His brow furrowed as he stared at a map of Westeros, contemplating the future of his dynasty. He looked up as Vanesha entered, and for a moment, his expression softened.

"Vanesha," he said, his voice laced with a longing he could barely conceal. "You look as radiant as ever."

Vanesha smiled, a calculated glint in her sapphire eyes. She moved closer to him, her movements graceful and deliberate. "My lord, I've been thinking," she began, her voice a velvet whisper. "Have you noticed how few daughters my family has produced over the years? It's always sons, strong sons to carry the name of Lannister."

Viserys, ever the dreamer of male heirs, nodded eagerly. "Yes, I've heard the tales. The Lannisters are blessed with sons, while the Targaryens..."

Vanesha's hand gently touched his arm, a subtle caress that sent a shiver down Viserys' spine. "It's a trait that runs in my blood, my lord. And I would be honored to provide you with the sons you so dearly desire."

Viserys' eyes widened, his vulnerability laid bare. It was a promise he had longed to hear, and Vanesha knew she had him ensnared. The courtship began, a dance of seduction and manipulation, and Viserys was utterly captivated.

Years passed, and Vanesha became Viserys' confidante and advisor. Her beauty remained undiminished, even after childbirth, as she presented him with not one, but three sons. The King was besotted, his every decision influenced by the woman who had fulfilled his dreams.

In the shadows of the Red Keep, Vanesha Lannister's ambition thrived, and Viserys I Targaryen remained a willing puppet, unaware of the strings that bound him to her will.

"Gods yes" Vanesha's head fell back, pure pleasure coursing through her body. She wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment forever.

"Viserys please" Vanesha moaned out loud. her thighs burned from the position. Viserys smirked watching her bounce on his cock, she looked like a goddess, his cock so deep inside of her, filling her.

"Take it" Viserys ordered, grunting as he pushed his hips up to meet her thrusts. Vanesha felt her whole body beginning to tremble with the orgasm coursing through her fighting to come forward.

"So close" She cried. her arms wrapped around his neck yelping when he moved. Her whines made his heart thump as he pulled out of her hole.

"Whore" Viserys smirked. he manhandled her body to move her to kneel on the bed. He pushed her down on her hands before entering her again.

"Viserys!" She squeaked, desperate to cum again. Viserys' hips snapped forward into her, burying his entire length inside. He felt delicious, so deep inside of her. He had already pulled an orgasm from her earlier with his lips merely suckling on her breast, emptying them helping her with the ache from not breast feeding their newest addition, Jahaerys, their son was being fed by the wet nurse while Vanesha finished her queenly duties.

"Yes, you like to be filled up, don't you?" Viserys asked. He never felt anymore power than he did with his cock deep inside of her cunt.

"Yes fill me up, give me a child" Vanesha whined, she pushed her hips back wanting him deeper. One of her hands sneaked in between her thighs, rubbing her pearl furiously.

"Cumming" She warned, Viserys picked up his pace. Vanesha's eyes rolled back with pure pleasure. She gasped when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her back.

"Viserys" She moaned, her back falling on his chubby belly. Her head rested back on his shoulder giving him access to kiss up and down her neck. He pushed her hand away and took over rubbing her clit.

She wiggled in his arm with overstimulation, he was adamant on making her cum having heard that when a woman cums there are higher chances to conceive. After the orgasm he gave her from suckling on her breasts he moved down to suckle on the same clit he was rubbing like a mad man, she made him a mad man and he was happy with it.

"Shit" She wailed hoarsly, her whole body falling forward, the knot in her stomach snapping making her gush around Viserys' cock. Viserys watched proudly as his wife's body trembled under him but refusing to push his cock out, her hips moving back unconsciously keeping him inside.

Vanesha shivered as Viserys ran his hands up and down her side to comfort her. She moved back on her hands and looked back over her shoulder at Viserys with a dazed smile. Viserys grinned in return and resumed the movement of his hips.

"I shall make sure your womb is filled to the brim with my seed tonight" Viserys declared. One of his hands moved onto her lower belly and pressed down on it. Vanesha gasped deliciously eating the pleasure he gave. She was ready to give him a millions sons.

"Don't stop" She begged, she was desperate. Viserys picked up his pace feeling his balls tighten, he was close.

"Fill me with your royal seed" Vanesha begged. She was going to give him more children, she was going to choke him with them, she was going to rule him with them.

Viserys' head fell back, her soaked pussy was just right, he has never felt this kind of pleasure before. He wanted to devour her if possible. His thick finger rand down till they reached down between her legs pinching her pearl again.

Vanesha's cried echoed off the the walls losing herself to the pleasure. Each touch made her skin light up on fire. Viserys collected her wetness and moved his hand up to her face. Vanesha opened her mouth welcoming his fingers into her mouth, moaning loudly when she tasted herself on his fingers.

"Good breeding mare" Viserys praised. Vanesha almost fainted right then and there at his words. She sucked his fingers as if they were his cock.

"Viserys" Vanesha moaned around his fingers. He pushed her tongue down, moaning when she swirled it around his fingers.

"Fucking hell, will fill you up with another son" He gasped quickening his thrusts. Vanesha thrashed in between his arms. he pulled out his fingers from her mouth with a pop. Vanesha cried now moans on full volume with nothing blocking them from coming out of her mouth.

She thrashed and cried and pushed back and forward, her orgasm was like fire, her back arched like the one of a cat as she squirted. Viserys pushed his cock inside of her as deep as possible making sure to shoot his seed as deep inside of her as possible, not to waste a singular drop even when he walls resisted him, even when her liquids tried to push him out.

The birth of their fourth son, Aeryn, marked another significant moment in Vanesha Lannister's plan for power and influence within House Targaryen. She had already achieved the unimaginable - securing her position as the mother of four sons, each of them a potential heir to the Iron Throne.

As Aeryn's cries echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, Vanesha held the newborn close, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. She had successfully given Viserys the sons he so desired, and now her attention turned to the next phase of her ambitious scheme.

In the privacy of their chambers, she broached the topic with the king, her voice gentle yet persuasive. "My love," she began, "I cannot help but think of the future of our sons. Aegon, our eldest, is a true heir in every sense. Strong and capable, he embodies the qualities of a future king."

Viserys, who had longed for male heirs, listened intently. "You speak the truth, Vanesha. Aegon is a fine boy, and I'm proud to call him my son."

Encouraged by his response, Vanesha continued, her words carefully chosen. "Rhaenyra is a remarkable girl, but it's well known that sons are favored in the realm. Aegon should be our heir, my love. It's the best way to secure the future of House Targaryen."

Viserys hesitated, torn between tradition and the desires of his heart. "Rhaenyra is my daughter," he replied, his voice filled with paternal affection.

Vanesha placed a reassuring hand on his arm, her eyes filled with concern. "I understand your love for her, my king. But we must consider the stability of the realm. Aegon is the strongest choice, and he would have the support of many lords and allies."

Viserys contemplated her words, his gaze fixed on the newborn Aeryn. He had always dreamed of strong sons to carry on the Targaryen legacy, and now he had them. The idea of naming Aegon as his heir, instead of Rhaenyra, held a certain appeal.

Vanesha continued to work her persuasive charm, planting the seeds of doubt in Viserys' mind regarding Rhaenyra's suitability as an heir. She knew that, with time, she could mold his thoughts to align with her ambitions.

As the days turned into weeks and months, Vanesha's influence grew, and the idea of Aegon as the heir to the Iron Throne gained traction. Viserys, still enamored with his sons, began to entertain the possibility.

Little did he know that his queen, Vanesha Lannister, was orchestrating a quiet revolution, one that could alter the course of history in Westeros. The future of House Targaryen hung in the balance, and the queen's ambitions knew no bounds.

[hiatuswhore]

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ

♕ A/N: Writers Block has kicking my ass. Feedback please, it’s a great motivator!!

♕ SUMMARY: A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid.

♕ WORD COUNT: 3k

♕ WARNING: Sexual Violence, Harsh language, misogyny

previous — Masterlist — next

kin in all but blood

Your heavy pants fill the throne room as the nobles chatter dies down. Coils of hair curtain your face, appearing more like a wild animal than a noblewoman. The nameless knights grip on your forearm makes you grit your teeth. Lords and Ladies stand at a distance gaping at what remains of the once most vibrant lady in Kings Landing. A lady from a great house. The last of House Azgeda.

“Your Grace she slaughtered my brother, Lord Houghton and his men. I beseech the court to take her head with haste. For to not do so would be an act against justice,” Dawsin Houghton, the new Lord of small house Houghton. The new head of a house of leeches.

“You speak of justice though your house has committed atrocities in your insatiable thirst for power. I’ll see you in the seven hells,” Your eyes peek through the opening of your hair, glaring daggers at Lord Houghton. His facade faltering and recovering in an instant. The King reminds you of your time to speak, urging Lord Houghton to continue.

“You’ll be there a good long time before I show up,” Lord Houghton goads. A faint smirk plays in his lips eyeing you with smugly.

“I don’t mind waiting,” There’s a chilling calm to your tone. More beast than man, pure unadulterated fury. That of a warrior not a noble lady.

“The Lady of Azgeda has taken to madness. Too feeble minded to understand the workings of politics and houses. Entitlement leading her to believe security in the name Azgeda absolves her of the consequences of treason,” Lord Houghton voice booms through the hall. The sickly King’s coughs follow but do not dissolve the tension.

“What of these atrocities does Lady Azgeda speak of?” King Viserys hoarse voice grates your ears. The tread between the living and dead, far too familiar. No longer the cheery seemingly healthy man you once knew as a girl.

“Your Grace, the girl has gone mad. I fear the past six years she has been unable to come to terms with the fates of the traitors she calls kin. It is unwise to believe a word she says. Like her treacherous house I accuse the lady of murder,” Lord Houghtons gaze bounces between the iron throne and your fixed stare.

“Lady (Y/n) you stand accused of murder, of treason. What say you?” Lord Houghton steps forward insisting on dissuading the King. Viserys voice still booms with authority despite his failing health. “I asked a question of the Lady. I demand an answer!”

Lord Houghton’s back straightens, watching you warily. You scan the room slowly caring little for the gawking stares. All the Royal family stands eyeing you curiously. Many of the lords and the ladies of the court appearing vaguely familiar.

“I bled Lord Houghtons men by simply poisoning their wine. Then I cut the former little Lord neck to navel,” Your words leave you at a slow pace, sending a wave of chatter across the room. The incredulous stares meeting your lopsided smirk. “I intend to the same to Lord Dawsin.”

“You confess to the charges brought against you on this day, Lady (Y/n)?“ Viserys eyebrows pinch, eyes narrowing down at you.

“No for the only crime I have committed is being a woman who took it upon herself to seek retribution for the wrongful slaying of her great house—a house that gave even Aegon the Conqueror what he deemed a worthy challenge. Your Grace, you descended from conquerors, I descend from survivors. My house words, from the ashes stemming from the survival dragon fire put upon us. Your Grace, to my understanding conspiracy and lying to the crown is an act of treason. The House of Houghton has committed both of these acts against the crown,” Your voice raises, ripping your arm out of the hold of the knight. “I will have Lord Dawsin’s head!”

“You lying bitch! I should’ve have fucked you bloody!” He growled, walking into the unmoving hand of a Kingsguard.

“Perhaps you should have. Rest assured I did not hesitate as I took your brother!” You hiss, gripping the chains as he rushes past the guards. Parrying his strike with your shackles, kicking out his back leg bringing him to his knee. You bring your chains around the wrist of the hand that holds his sword pressing his back to your knee, holding his hand and sword inches from his eye.

“Hold!” The Lord Hand yells as the King coughs muffle his words. You steady your breaths, using your leg to block his free arm. The Kingsguards eye you with their hands on the hilt of their swords, awaiting the order to cut you down.

“Lady (Y/n) continue,” Viserys eye focuses on you, ignoring Lord Houghton’s trembling gaze on your hands that hold him captive.

“You know not of the horrors I have lived due to a lie. The only crime my family committed was being favored by the crown. For the fortune our perseverance has brought us. Envy green brought the demise of my house. My mother and father butchered in their sleep. My sister defiled as my brother’s were cut down in pursuit to stop them. They made me watch I—,” Your words garner gasps at the revelation. Swallowing a shudder you pause while pulling his sword closer to his face, “I was only a girl then.”

“Then why not seek aid from the crown?” Your head whips to the left revealing the Rogue Prince.

“For what, you to send men to claim their lives in my stead? Marry me off to lesser a man to become the new face of my house? No, I wanted the last thing they ever would ever see to be the daughter of Carth Azgeda looking down on them as they died. If I am put to the sword then so be it. They sold me to Pentos slavers who put me in the fighting pits. The crown be damned I will be the one who ends the craven cunts of house Houghton,” The chatter of the court raises the many gaping at your boldness, at the vulgarity and brutality you speak so fluidly. You kick out Lord Houghton’s other leg, his pleas drowning in the onlookers whispers.

“Do not forget yourself Lady (Y/n). You accuse House Houghton of egregious crimes. Can you provide the crown with more than just hysterical accusations?” You release your chains from Dawsin’s sword kicking him to the floor. Gripping the edges of your tunic you rip down the sleeves. The ink marking your skin earning gasps—the markings of a repeat conclave winner.

“My desire to cut down my foes is what kept me alive all those years in the pits. That aided me in winning my freedom. Your Grace, I implore you to ponder all that House Houghton has gained in House Azgeda’s demise. No longer little lords, but a members of court. Lands and grand titles. My King, you were a dear friend to my grandsire and a great supporter of my mother in the wake of his death. She said you helped prepare her for her duties as the Lady of House Azgeda. King Viserys is our kin in all but blood. Her words. I beg you to right this wrong not only as our King but a beloved ally to the House of Azgeda,” Holding your head up high you blink away the searing heat in your eyes. Clasping your hands in front of you, swallowing the knot in your throat. Visery sighs, his resolve softening at your petition. An image of your mother hidden beneath the evidence of survival that litters your skin. The eyes of ghosts staring back at the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Viserys calls for a private council meeting, a change in your detainment effective immediately. A guard unshackles you ushering your out of the throne before the dismissal of others. You catch the faint call for Lord Houghton and his remaining men to be sharply questioned.

In a private chamber your eyes never leave the hands of the servant who bathe you. The older woman’s the only one of the servants who do not eye you warily. Her touch gentle but it does little to ease your guarded tension. Not once does she meet your gaze.

“My apologies for the wrongs done to you and your house. I remember your family quite fondly. The only house of pleasant nobles to be guests of the King,” She speaks barely above a whisper. Her hands moving slow over the scars across your abdomen. She studies them closely, her eyes revealing nothing but acknowledgement. You grip the edges of the basin.

“You’re not in pits anymore, my lady.” Her hand rests on your white knuckles. Your eyebrows furrow, the ache through your hand averting your gaze. You splash water up and onto your face, your demeanor dissolving back a guarded stare.

“We’re all in the pits. The arena much larger, the fighting more calculated, far more complicated. I won’t delude myself into thinking otherwise,” You stare off at nothing particular, speaking plainly. The attempts to place you in a gown prove fruitless, even with the looming threat of the Kings command. A guard escorts you back to the throne room, donning a black tunic and leather slacks.

The throne resides with a much smaller audience. Westerling, Lannister, Wylde, Beesbury, and a Grand Maester. Their colors reveal their houses as you count the number of guards. The false maester of war stands in your houses colors, a fiery orange with the likeness of your sigil, the Phoenix. To the right stands the Targaryen family, the only other women in attendance being the Princess and the Queen.

“The accusations thrown today are of the highest acts of treason. Today somebody lies and deceives his Grace. An act of open defiance. Due to the Kings disposition to an accused party it has been decided the small council will carry weight in the decision going forward. To the council members do best to know if House Houghton is proven to be as treacherous as the lady claims. His Grace will being taking a look at all the great houses whom benefited from this tragedy,” Lord Hand Otto Hightower booms with authority. The neutrality of his features telling all you need to know, a man of secrets—of hidden machinations. Each of the small council members nod in acknowledgment, taking their respective seats looking down on yourself and Dawsin. “At the start of this mess we began with Lord Dawsin. Now we shall start with Lady (Y/n). Do you confess to the crime of murdering the late Lord Seth and a considerably large number of his soldiers?”

“I confess to no crime on this day. Seth Houghton and his men were my lives to claim. Just as Dawsin Houghton’s shall be,” Your eyes cut to Lord Houghton who shifts on the balls of his feet. A sharp glare slitting your eyes, his own meeting your gaze with an uneasy huff.

“Mind yourself lady (Y/n). If your words are true I cannot imagine the ire that burns within you. But this is my court and it will run by my command,” Viserys eye stays on you, the decay of his flesh reminding you of your stolen youth. A long stretch of time in a constant fight for survival.

“Lord Dawsin. You stand accused of an egregious list of offenses. Murder, treason, conspiracy, defilement of a noble lady and deception. All against the crown and a great house. A house with great reverence from his grace. Do you confess to the crimes that stand against you this day?” Otto’s eyes do not leave your piercing glare that remains on Dawsin. A deafening silence takes the room, Dawsin’s eyes meeting your own.

He turns forward his gaze downcast, eyebrows pinching you watch as his mouth opens but nothing leaves him. Otto glances back at the King receiving a nod before turning forward, “Today Lord Houghton.”

“I Lord Dawsin of house Houghton, confess to no crime committed against House Azgeda. House of Houghton detests such accusations and will not forget such a slight.” Lord Houghton speaks with a conviction leaving even you questioning your memory. Balling your fists, a scoff leaves your lips garnering a look from Lord Houghton. He looks you in the eye his words cutting through you sharper than a blades edge, “Be at ease little bird. Your wings are yet to be clipped.”

“Relax little bird. Your wings are yet to be clipped,” His breath tickled the shell of your ear. Your head throbbed as he held your arms locked behind you.

“Stop it!” Your voice wavered, dry and itchy. The burn of your knees soothed by the crimson puddle beneath you. Heart hammering as though it will explode from your chest. Your eldest brother head parted from his shoulders, your youngest brother throat slit to the bone. Anya’s screams filled your ears as she thrashed ceaselessly.

“Enough!” Seth Houghton roared above her, a sickening crack took the room. Only your sobs remained. At the satisfied groan of the younger Houghton, your eyes widened at the fate that awaited you.

“No!” You screamed. The next moment a blur, of heavy pants and trembling limbs. Your legs burned without a moment of reprieve. Dawsin Houghton’s large hand grip tight as you both stood mere miles from the docks.

“—I sympathize for girl. Just a girl when her family committed acts of treason. The massive changes must have taken a h—” You blink back into the moment, finding many eyes watching you. A shudder rattling your core as you turn to the throne.

“I escaped by biting a large piece out of Lord Houghton’s shoulder. Large enough to leave a permanent scar. I was apprehended mere minutes from the ports, he was supposed to kill me but instead he sold me to slavers,” Your resolve crumbles in a moment of weakness you have grown to loathe. Lord Houghton’s hands searing your skin, his grip still fresh in your memory.

“This is nonsense,” Lord Houghton chuckles but it does not reach his eyes. The King calls for the removal of his shirt, “Your Grace you cannot be serious.”

“At once,” Lord Hightower says. Your eyes stay on Dawsin’s struggling stature, weak against the three Kings guard who detain him. The burn of your eyes leave you blinking incessantly to halt the tears that build. His no’s and your sisters blurring the lines between the past and present. The removal of Dawsins shirt reveals a faded scar, the print of teeth faint but visible.

“You fucking bitch!” Dawsin lunges toward you, stopped short by the guards. You do not flinch nor look away. The next moments occur in a flash. Not a single small council member votes against you. House of Houghtons fate sealed. Even in the face of every thing you wish for, a fate worse than grief—worse than death plagues you. Nothing.

“Dawsin Houghton dies by my sword,” Your voice so small in the large room, your words nearly missed. Scanning the room a sneer consumes you at the shared expression amongst those who observe you, pity.

“Lady (Y/n). We understand that you have suffered a great amount of misdealing,” Lord Lannister earns a scoff as the others observe you wordlessly.

“Do you now? Tell me, my lord. Were your parents butchered in their sleep. Were you ripped from your bed in the middle night to watch your brothers cut down before you. Your sister defiled and killed right in front of you. Did you live six years of your life in fear others would slit your throat in your sleep. Do you truly understand that? If so then there would be no conversation of who swings the sword to bring Dawsin Houghton to his end. I seek nothing but retribution. No title, no lands, I care for none of it. All I ask is for this,” You plead. The small council turn to Lord Hightower who turns to the King. Silence takes the room, the men dismissing you from the hall to await further instruction.

Pacing the corridor, you do not miss the quiet movements of the Targaryen after you. He stands by the door of the throne room door, eye never leaving you.

“Lady (Y/n), will you join me for a walk in the gardens,” The baritone of voice as uninviting and calculated as his cold stare. You do not cease your pacing, fingers drumming at the sides of your thighs.

“No.” You speak plainly, his hand around your forearm halting your steps. All the cards reside not on your face but in the bawl of your fists. You turn slow looking up over your left shoulder to meet the Princes glare. “Is this meant to frighten me?”

“It would be foolish not to,” He leans down closer, eye narrowing. A scoff leaves your lips, glancing at his eye patch—the words leaving you instinctively.

“It would be foolish to continue without hand as you do without an eye,” His eye flares his other pinning you to the wall as he unsheathes his sword. Your free hand skims his waistband, the hilt of his dagger between your fingers.

“Mind your tongue you brazen whore! I have you,” He hisses, the smirk on your lips like oil to a fire. The Valyrian steel sits beneath your chin, your reflection broken against the blades surface.

“Do you?” Your voice raising, the glint in your eye shining. You press the blade of his dagger further into the divot between his stomach and hip. “One wrong move and you live a cripple. Tell me, who truly has who?”

His eye stays on your own, silence dancing between you. The opening of the chamber doors reveal, the Queen’s trusted knight. A dornish man.

“Prince Aemond,” He calls out. You both turn to him as though you do not threaten the other with blades. “Lady (Y/n). Is everything alright?”

You turn facing the knight, your stare empty and voice light, “All is well Ser..?”

“Ser Cole,” He says, nodding you turn back to Prince Aemond. His eyebrows knit as he watches you.

“Right, my prince?” Aemond releases you sheathing his sword, saying nothing as his dagger disappears from view. You stop at his side speaking low enough for only his ears, “A bit of advice. I’ve killed far greater people than you. It’s be a shame to add a dragon prince.”

You catch a mere glimpse of his furious glare as you walk to Ser Cole. The cold metal of the prince’s dagger kisses your hip, quietly you follow Ser Cole back into the throne room.

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Yandere Viserys and his Royce niece

Daemon knowing Viserys drugs his daughter every night so Viserys can have his way with her as she sleeps

Royce!Reader being oblivious to her uncle fucking her every night despite the ache between her legs in the mornings

Daemon also secretly slipping fertility potions into his daughters drinks knowing Viserys will fill her cunt with his seed as she sleeps

Royce!Reader in shock at getting pregnant despite being an untouched virgin (as far as she knows)

Royce!Reader even more shocked when her uncle Viserys pins her down in his bed the night he announced he was will marry her to her horror

Viserys telling her he hopes their child is a boy as he fuck her cervix

Viserys was pleased to find out that you are very fertile. You got pregnant even before your wedding. He fucks you day and night and even continue to drug you sometimes because he just loves you vulnerable and helpless. You wake up sore and cun in your holes.

Viserys has ordered the guards to not let out of your room, especially after you got pregnant. You can only wear what he wants you to wear and most of the time he keeps you naked in his room.

Imagine he roughly fucking you while you are pregnant and telling you pregnancy suits you and he will always keep you pregnant.

He was extremely delighted when you gave birth to a boy. And he is certain within the next ten months he will have another son.

You have begged Daemon to sneak some moontea to you but instead he secretly gives you fertility potions, in fact Viserys knows about it

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Season 1

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn in the members of the House of the Dragon.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[fragileheartbeats]

Can you please post again about how Targaryen men look?

Sure!